Day of War (28 page)

Another wave of enemy troops was coming. Shammah would need a moment to prepare, so they hugged each other, unashamed, bid him farewell, and the three of them ran toward the dark canyon.

The fighting raged through the night. The Hebrews combed the remnants of the encampment for any surviving Amalekites and struck them down when they found them. The men with families to rescue battled ferociously, moved with perfect precision, and showed their enemy no mercy. Many Amalekites attempted to surrender but were cleaved apart with iron axes. Smells of blood and smoke followed the battle as it pressed through the woods.

Joab’s task was to clear out the open fields at the edge of the forest to make sure the Amalekite camp was secure. It was an arduous and time-consuming process. Joab was splashing his face from a water skin when Abishai appeared out of the smoke.

“Total success. I have not lost a man yet.”

“Don’t stop,” Joab said irritably. “They are not all dead. Keep your company moving forward.” He motioned for his brother to follow. “And keep your eyes open for Asahel.”

Joab had not seen his other brother all night but knew he would have been told if anything had happened to him. Joab and his troops
continued their sweep of the boundaries of the Amalekite camp. They had skirmished all that night with various pockets of resistance, some of them putting up strong fights, but as Abishai had said, David’s army had not lost a man. Joab knew that was remarkable, but he was too tired and angry to care. He wanted only to finish this and be done with it.

He tried to focus on ordering his troops but could not forget what had happened with Benaiah the night before. Benaiah would need to go. He had thought so for some time, but their fight during the night had been the final affront. Once this was over, he would tell David. If David did not let Joab do something about it, then he would simply kill Benaiah during their next battle.

Teams were dispatched into the forest to press the search for any who’d thus far survived. Word reached him that a group of several hundred servants had escaped on camels, leaving in the direction of the Negev. Apart from that, most of those who’d tried to escape had headed for the canyon where the Three were waiting for them.

David loves his Three, Joab thought as he watched his troops poking among the undergrowth. As long as they stayed away from the management of the army, they would be useful. But he hated Benaiah bitterly. The fact that he could not explain why he hated the man made him even more furious.

When he was satisfied that the camp and the forest immediately around it was empty of men, he urged his men on toward the canyon gap where the Three had been positioned, clearly visible in the distance now even through the smoke.

From the top of a small rise, Joab could see the area where the Three were to have been fighting. He nodded when he saw the field scattered with bodies and a man still fighting the enemy alone among them.

But there was only one? He couldn’t tell who it was from that
distance, but he knew that he only saw one man. Had the other two fallen? And where was Benaiah? David had taken command of Benaiah’s men and now the warrior was missing.

Jealous, afraid that the others were involved in something he was missing out on, he shouted a change of orders and rushed with his men toward the canyon entrance.

The Hittites had kept up with the surge all night, lugging weapons back and forth across the field. Keth had never seen such a strategy. In most armies, men carried what they wanted to use and would not see an armorer until after the battle. If a weapon broke, a warrior would snatch one from the death grip of a fallen enemy.

Not every man with a weapon needed a replacement, so the armorers had also carried water. That was never the most glorious position on the field. Songs of war would never be written about those who carried water. But without them, there would be no victory. It was a job given to those who did not seek glory, but only wanted to serve. He wished he were able to gain David’s favor with a daring assault, instead, or a magnificent stand in the face of many enemies, but he gritted his teeth and told himself to let go of it and trust that David saw his contribution. He believed David to be a good general, and a good general recognized what the quieter elements did.

The first assault needed to be light, so Keth and his men had waited in the forest until ordered to start the resupply. Now that it had been such a total success, the army was simply cleaning up the remaining holdouts, as they had throughout the night. The Amalekite force had been enormous, much larger than they’d thought, but to Keth’s amazement, as well as everyone else’s, there had been no reports of a single loss in David’s army.

He shook his head. It was not for him to understand. He had never worked in such precise units before. These men were experts at what they did, so he would do his job, ensuring that they got what they needed: ten men taking equipment to Abishai, ten to Joab, ten to Asahel, and the rest in reserve.

From his spot on a small mound of rocks overlooking the mouth of the canyon, he could see the entire scene. This was so much different than fighting in the ranks, where there was nothing but confusion and disorder, where you couldn’t hear orders even when they were screamed over the din of battle. In the ranks, there was blood spraying at all times as limbs were severed, and a man would be so exhausted and frightened that he could do nothing except plunge his blade forward and hope that the enemy did not do the same.

And the stench. Men’s bowels were emptied. The spilling of blood mixed with body fluids was the worst of all stenches. He shuddered.

Here, away from it all, he felt detached, as though he were a god watching the play toys of a child. It made perfect sense from where he was: the lines of Abishai and Joab sweeping the far side of the field, the company led by David moving along the other side, slowly pressing toward the canyon gap in a pincer movement that would concentrate the fleeing Amalekites toward where the three warriors had been placed as a block.

Keth did not know if any man
wanted
to be in the ranks. There was glory, yes, but after a while a man begins to forget about glory and simply wants to live, plant his crops, and make love to his woman.

Too much thinking.
He shook his head and focused on directing weapon supply.

Shammah sang only in his heart now, too tired to sing aloud, for every breath was needed to keep his arms moving. The ranks of Amalekites never seemed to end. He fought, dove, slashed, retreated, counterattacked. He had fought them all night, and now dawn had broken. Earlier, he had noticed a herd of camels with riders going past, but since he was busy fighting foot soldiers, he had let them pass. They carried no weapons and looked like servants anyway.

Shammah dropped the last soldier in a group and fell to the ground in exhaustion, groping the earth beneath him, praying and singing. I need it now, I can do it no more, he thought. Find me worthy of the fire.

And yet again, Shammah felt the surge of warmth and heat course through his muscles, as if a spirit had entered and possessed him. He shouted aloud in gratitude. David said the covering came when a man humbled himself and asked for it. It came now, and Shammah praised the one who had sent it. It always left after a time, but it was here now again, sent because Shammah asked for it, as he asked continuously day and night. When no one else obeyed the Law or heard the stories, Shammah was faithful. He knew the covering well.

His palms were raw with blisters, but it did not matter. Under the covering, he felt no pain. The coming of morning light illuminated the vastness of the encampment. Thousands of enemy troops had been there. There was no way to know how many he had fought, and he was not done yet. Hold a little longer, and they will be here, he thought frantically.

Shammah had no idea how many hours had passed, only that the fire had returned as it always did, and he jumped up and charged forward into the gray dawn, striking men until his weapon snapped. He reached around for a sword and, finding none, attacked the next man with his hands.

Shammah punched him in the face as hard as he could, and did
the same to his partner. Both soldiers tumbled backward from the blow. Shammah stepped on them, then put his sandal against the chest of the next man and kicked him to the side. The next two he killed quickly, breaking their necks.

Two spears flew through the air toward his chest. He leaped backward, flipped himself upside down, and avoided them. Another spear arced past him, but this time he caught it. The fire was consuming him again, moving his arms and legs with perfect precision. He flung the spear back toward the man who’d thrown it. The iron head struck him, thick armor and all, with such impact that the Amalekite behind him slouched too, impaled on the same spear. Both went down.

The next attack came from the side. Shammah kneed the man in the groin, then drove his fist forward into the man’s neck, crushing his throat. The soldier went to his knees gagging, unable to breathe. Shammah spotted a broken shield nearby, its edge jagged and sharp along the break line, and with one swift, hard swing cut the man’s head off to end his agony.

He looked up to prepare for the next soldier — and saw no one except the first ranks of David’s army.

“Thank you,” he said, intending it as a prayer. He searched the ground around him for any kind of weapon. His pike had long since broken and so had his sword. He picked up the blade of a dead Amalekite and waited for the first troops of David’s army to reach him.

Joab, out of breath, appeared in front, and Shammah quietly prayed that he would find the strength to be patient with him. “Where are the others?” the younger man said, skidding to a halt.

“Good to see that you’re okay, Joab. Lost any men?”

“No. Where are the others?”

“They went after their women. I remained,” Shammah said.

“Alone?”

“Not alone.”

Joab had stopped listening. He shouted for the other men to stay in their formation. They were covered with dirt and blood, Shammah noticed, but each of them wore a triumphant expression. It had been a total victory. They still had not lost a man.

“David wants you back with the captives while we round up the last of them,” Joab told Shammah.

“You’ll be chasing them all night,” Shammah said. “Many fled to the canyon and we killed them, but the ones who scattered into the forest will take time to find.”

Without another word, Joab walked back to the section leaders to give them the update. Not a man lost, Shammah thought. Remarkable. This had never happened before. Someone always fell. But tonight, apart from flesh wounds, there would be no grief. The devastation of their discovery at Ziklag was past. Yahweh had kept his promise.

Shammah was aware that the men were watching him. Word would be spread about the Three and their stand at the canyon. Their legend would grow, and he knew that they would face the sin of pride.

Eyes closed, he opened his mouth to breathe the frigid air and cleanse his lungs of the battle. He prayed for his brothers, prayed for these men watching him now, in awe of his exploits, that they would remember where the victory had come from. And he prayed for the others, on their way now to find their loved ones.

Benaiah.

His eyes snapped open.

Covering for Benaiah in the day of war.

The words etched themselves into his mind so clearly that he knew it was immediately necessary to do it. The man from Kabzeel needed covering.

Physical harm? No.

Something else.

The Egyptian knew that the group would not last.

All night they pushed through the Judean forests and canyons, heading southwest as much as possible. The Egyptian had led them in and out of narrow canyons and wadis to throw off anyone following. The trade routes were to the southwest, and he would need to reach them to have any hope of escape. Morning had come and etched the sky above them with gray streaks among the stars before revealing enough light to see the canyon path.

By dawn, they had reached the end of the canyon lands and were able to see the deserts of the south, which they would need to cross before he would feel safe and free. He hurried them along.

Now that the sun was out, he knew that the farther they pressed into the desert, fatigued to the point of hallucination, the less likely he would be able to maintain discipline. He threatened death to the captured women if they resisted, then ordered the group to stop for a water break, since there were still many hours to go until the next settlement of Amalekites. But now he faced a dilemma. He did not
want to take refuge in an Amalekite village; the people might start asking questions. But if he did not, then all of them would die in the Negev, either by the hand of that Hebrew warlord or from lack of water.

Their escape had been inglorious; the gods had cruelly spared them the fate of death by combat and driven them out into the wilderness with only a couple of whores and no dignity. He was no longer a well-paid mercenary spy in Amalek, but he had many options. He could earn as much if he went to Moab or even back to Philistia before making his first report to Pharaoh.

The woman he had taken earlier was watching him. He spoke to her in her tongue. “Your men are mighty fighters, I will give them that.”

She lowered her eyes and waited for the skin of water to come to her. He was not a man who raped; he considered it barbaric. But he was a man like any other. He desired her. She had been compliant in everything until then. Perhaps she would be compliant further.

Sherizah examined her bloody feet and then drank deeply of the water skin when Deborah passed it to her. Sand and grit burned in her throat, and it hurt when the hot water washed over it. The frightening warrior was watching her again. His looks had been growing hungrier, and her silent prayers increased whenever he was near.

One of the ten soldiers began to argue with his companion. Sherizah did not understand their language but knew it had to do with water, since the man was waving his gut skin around and pointing at the offending soldier. The Egyptian ordered them to be silent, but they ignored him and continued arguing until one of them punched the other in the neck.

The struck man fell but pulled out a dagger and lunged for the kill. The others ran to break up the fight, but someone threw a blow that hit the wrong man, and it quickly escalated into a battle of every man against the other. They fought like a herd of wild animals, clawing and biting, savage and undisciplined.

One soldier stayed out of the scuffle. Sherizah watched him slowly move to where the bag of captured gold was lying near a rock, exposed and unguarded. The Egyptian was now in the middle of the fight, trying to break it up, his massive arms knocking men left and right.

The soldier sprang forward, grabbed the bag, and rushed toward the canyons in the distance. But it was heavy, and he was forced to drop his weapons to carry it. If he could get enough of a head start on the group, Sherizah realized, he could disappear into the maze of hollowed gullies and ridges before they caught him. She looked back at the fighting men, still lunging at each other despite the massive Egyptian’s efforts. She leaned closer to Deborah and said, “If they run after the man and leave us, we need to escape.”

“What if they leave a guard?” Deborah replied.

“We will run as soon as they notice him missing. That will force them to choose which to pursue,” Sherizah said. She looked over at Rizpah, who nodded. Deborah seemed uncertain but nodded her head also. They waited.

The first man to notice the missing soldier was the Egyptian. He looked up from the fight and saw the figure racing across the desert with the bag over his shoulders.

The Egyptian bellowed as loud as he could. “He has your war prize!”

The men stopped fighting at the mention of the gold and began
to claw at each other to regain their footing. The Egyptian ran to where he had laid his weapons and realized suddenly that the women too were gone. He shouted again at his men, who looked back toward him, saw his pointing arm — and then the fleeing Hebrew women.

The Egyptian had to make a decision: chase the thief first or capture the women. He had no intention of letting either get away. The man would be slow with his bundle and could be caught later, but the women, if they escaped, might give away their location to David’s men.

And he wanted that Hebrew woman with the dark eyes.

“Up the hill after them, now!”

The men hesitated.

The Egyptian shouted again. “If you go after the women, you can have them immediately, but hold the one with her hair tied up for me. Just be quick about it. I will get the gold back.”

Their faces lit up. Some of them had not had a woman in many months, and these were the chief’s women, choice among the captives. They turned and ran up the sandy slope. The Egyptian, carrying only his spear, ran after the fleeing robber, his great strides flying.

He saw the thief in the distance look over his shoulder and panic. The fleeing soldier snagged his foot in a patch of brush and shouted as he hit the ground. The gold pieces crashed across the desert around him. The Egyptian did not slacken his pace. He closed on the hapless soldier struggling to free his leg.

The man shouted for mercy, but the Egyptian buried his spear in the thief’s chest, withdrew it, and circled past the man’s quivering body without breaking stride. He left the gold where it was, to be picked up after the women were caught.

He ran steadily in the direction of the women’s escape. He could see them now; they had already reached the cleft in the rock at
the source of the canyon. One of the soldiers had caught hold of the slower Hebrew woman and was tearing at her garments. It was not the woman the Egyptian desired. The woman he wanted was almost to the cliff. She would be his, and he would not share her.

As the man who had reached the first one clawed at her body, the Egyptian saw something fly through the air and strike the soldier. The man jerked backward, and the woman, struggling to gather her clothing, screamed and resumed running up the hillside toward the gap.

The Egyptian looked up. Three Hebrew warriors were charging over the ridge.