Day of War (7 page)

Benaiah thanked Jairas once more, then turned and began to walk down the road out of town. “Tell Haratha I hope he finds a woman,” he said over his shoulder.

The people called shouts of encouragement after him as he left, and he nodded to each in turn. From the edge of the forest, he waved a final time, then slipped into the trees.

The snow on the mountains above him was gone now, exposing the grass struggling to emerge with spring. The rolling terrain of the Judean high country all looked the same and made it difficult to navigate. He followed a path that was occasionally lost when the grass gave way to pebbles and dirt. Benaiah had to make careful note of the creek bed. Following the stream’s route to the Great Sea would eventually bring him out of the hills and into the area around Ziklag, his current home.

She would be there now, rising with the sun and meeting with the other women at the community well. They would carry on and chat, the other women unaware of what she carried in her heart. No one knew but the two of them; there were wounds better left buried.

Benaiah pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated
on forming a plan. In his rush to get moving, he had not thought beyond leaving the village. His original instructions had been to meet the rest of the men in the Philistine capital city of Gath, where they would be passing through en route to the north. Benaiah had been delayed several days; it was possible that they had already made their way to Aphek in the north, nearly four days’ journey from where he was, even if he ran almost continuously. Benaiah kicked a rock in frustration. By the time he got there, they might already be in the fight.

He searched for an alternative. The Amalekites must have already been in the land for some time if they were sending out smaller parties like the one he had met. There was a chance they were moving toward Gaza, Ashkelon, and Ashdod, all cities on the coast. Those Philistine cities were larger, much more of a prize to the barbarians from the south. David’s small town of Ziklag might be ignored if a more appealing option existed.

The Amalekite chieftain must have good spies if he knew that the entire Philistine army, summoned from every city, was moving toward Aphek. The Philistines hoped that would be their last campaign against the disorganized Israelites, enabling them finally to destroy Saul and subjugate the people who had conquered Canaanite land so many years before. It was an ambitious military campaign, but like any other it had its drawbacks: it left the entire southern portion of Philistia exposed. The Philistines had to be relying on the hope that their rivals in the south would be too war-weary to invade before they could return.

That left Benaiah only one option. As much as he wanted to rush immediately to Ziklag and protect his home, he did not know for sure that was where the Amalekites were going. It was possible they would simply raid the coastal cities. Benaiah had no love for the Philistines; the more of their cities that burned to the ground the better.

Hopefully the Amalekites would see the incredible opportunity given to them by the Philistine army’s foolishly mobilizing every soldier and abandoning their large cities to fate. And once Philistia had been sacked by Amalek, perhaps David could be persuaded to launch an open war with the Amalekites, something that would give Benaiah unending pleasure.

He would have to travel as fast as possible to reach the army. All he could do was warn David; the rest would be up to him. If he did not think it was necessary to speed back to Ziklag, then so be it.

Except for his injuries, Benaiah was in extraordinary physical condition. But he needed to stop for breath every hour. His head and shoulders burned as sweat seeped into the cuts. He sat when he became light-headed, annoyed at the effects of blood loss.

By the time evening fell, the stream he’d been following had merged with several other waterways from other valleys and become a river. The terrain had changed, telling him that the plains were not far. He made up his mind to be out of the hill country before dawn.

In the open fields of the coastal plain, he would be better able to take a more direct path to Aphek, bypassing the Philistine cities of Gath and Ekron where lone Israelites were harassed. David had been insistent that his men never travel alone through those cities.

Sitting around the campfires while on campaigns, David had confided in some of his select men bits of what he was planning. He had been anointed with oil as a boy, he told them, symbolizing that he was to become Yahweh’s chosen king. Samuel, the old prophet who had recently died and was buried in Ramah, had chosen him when he was a boy. Samuel told David that he would rule over Israel someday, and in the years since then, Saul had hunted him in every corner of the kingdom. David was looking ahead, trying to subdue the enemies he would face as the ruling king over Israel one day, and his wars in the south were part of that plan.

Benaiah was among those who argued that David should kill Saul and be done with it. David had had many chances to do so and had refused each time, claiming that Yahweh did not want him to. Benaiah had long since lost patience with that way of thinking. He knew about Yahweh, had studied him in his youth, but after that day years ago, he wanted nothing to do with him.

All through the night, Benaiah was grateful to be alone with his thoughts as he ran, crawled, leaped, and jogged along the rocks next to the river, which he had guessed by then was the Zephathah. It was the main source of runoff in the spring season from this part of the hill country, but it was still too early in the season for the river to be at full flow. Later, when the rains hit their peak, the route that Benaiah was now taking would be impassable.

His wounds were finally loosening up and caused him less pain as he ran. He pushed himself hard, faster as the hours went by. The cool night gave him energy, and by the time the sun peeked over the mountains behind him, he had broken into the foothills known as Shephelah.

The forest was now full of sycamore trees. The early morning sparkle was reflecting in the dew. Moisture from the sea always gathered on the ground overnight in this part of the land, forcing him to pause once to wring out the water from his sandal straps. He ran past fields of sheep, the shepherds giving him a curious glance as he passed them. The open areas provided a great deal of freedom in choosing his path, and by the time the sun rose in front of him, he had left the rolling forests of Shephelah and passed into the fertile farmland of the plain of Philistia.

Benaiah had been running almost a full day. His body demanded that he stop for rest, and he eased himself slowly to the ground against a sycamore. He closed his eyes. Birds chirped. He felt something crawl across his ankle but was too tired to swat it. Being alone in the woods reminded him of the two warriors he had encountered
high in the pass. Or had they been spirits? So many strange things to consider. He could scarcely wait to ask David about them.

Gradually he realized that he was looking at chariot tracks in the soft earth nearby. A Philistine road. Centuries before, when the great warlord Joshua was leading the Israelites into the land, they had been forced to withdraw from the coastal plain. The Canaanite nations who had been there before Philistia had chariots and easily defeated any attempt at subduing them. But in the hill country of Judea, the Israelites were able to win many battles, since the chariots were rendered useless. There had been an uneasy coexistence since that time, with neither army able to fully overcome the other.

Benaiah rose slowly from his comfortable nook before his muscles stiffened. He started trotting again, keeping his focus away from his wounds and on the ground in front of him. He resisted the temptation to look toward the south in the direction of Ziklag. Her dark hair would be tied up under her shawl with a leather strap, but it was so thick that she would need to tie it again throughout the day. He loved her hair, loved the way it spilled uncontrollably out of its wrappings.

He let his mind stay on her for a while, on the years of their youth when they had found solitude and happiness on the banks of the river, in better days. He watched her as she went about her day by the river, bundling branches and gathering provisions for meals. She would visit her sister, chatting endlessly about the goings-on in the city as only women do.

They were very young when they were joined. They would go on long walks—ignoring the work of the lazy afternoons of summer— and swim in the waters of the river ambling toward the Great Sea.

The sun had risen high enough to allow him to strip away the rest of his clothing except the cloth wrapped around his waist. This was a great relief, since the wool of his clothing had been fastening itself to his wounds and reopening them continuously. The bundle
on his back grew heavier, and he stopped again to tie it down correctly. If the balance of the equipment on his back was off, his joints and muscles would overcompensate, leaving him in crippling pain each morning. He conceded that he would need to rest after dark; despite his urgency, it would do no one any good if he wore himself out and died before reaching Aphek.

That night he slept under a cleft of rock in a field, after searching for any better shelter. There were few other people in that part of the plain because it became exceedingly marshy during the spring season and swarmed with bugs. Only lepers wandered this land, cast out and shunned by their tribes.

The fluke spring snowstorm in the hill country had caused a major washout of the rivers and streams, forcing the shepherds and cattle herders to move their animals to drier ground. It would be slow going, picking his way through the mud, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being bothered by anyone. He wasn’t concerned about defeating bandits in an open fight, but he could scarcely afford another injury before reaching his men.

In the morning, Benaiah tied his equipment on properly for the day’s journey and set off north, leaping from dry spot to dry spot as best he could, occasionally snagging his foot in a mud pit. Small streams of runoff crisscrossed his path, and he jumped over them frequently. He saw no one else the rest of the day, and by midafternoon, he found a path of dry ground that ran parallel to the foothills on his right side.

He ran past the Philistine city of Gath, following a path between the foothills to avoid the city where the giant Goliath had come from. He relished the irony of David wandering freely in their streets, deceiving their own king. Benaiah wondered how annoying it must be to the people to see the conqueror of their greatest champion coming and going through their gates as he pleased.

Benaiah remembered that there was some sort of pagan festival
the Philistines were celebrating over the next few days. David’s men had been given strict orders not to go near there.
Because of the prostitutes. Unclean.

He spent another night near the city of Gezer. Benaiah was making good time despite his injuries and detours to avoid populated areas. One more day of traveling and he would reach Aphek, where he would demand a full meal of roasted meat. Although Benaiah had the supplies sent with him by Jairas’s wife, he craved more nourishment.

The plains were getting drier the further north he traveled. He was now close enough to his own men that travel on the trade road was possible. He ran, desperation growing in his spirit as he thought about the helpless families in Ziklag.

Around noon he crossed paths with a caravan of merchants, who told him that the army had passed them, traveling north.

Benaiah was grateful to be arriving
behind
the army. David and his men marched at the rear of the Philistine ranks because many of the kings from Philistia did not trust them, believing that when they reached a narrow gorge David would order his men to turn and ambush them. It was David, after all, who had destroyed many thousands of their best soldiers when he served under Saul. King Achish was David’s only ally among the Philistines, and only because he thought David was destroying towns in Judah.

Marching at the rear of the column also meant that they were forced to inhale the dust and feces left by the war horses of the regiments. It was intended to humiliate David and his men.

As the last rays of daylight fell over the Great Sea to his left, Benaiah finally reached the plains surrounding the city of Aphek. Exhausted and in pain, his wounds leaking a yellow fluid, Benaiah stumbled toward the tents and campfires of the army. He made his way carefully around the outskirts, looking for the distinctive tents that the Philistines had given the Israelites while they stayed
in their camp—simple coverings, much less elaborate than the Philistine battle tents.

At the southern edge of the encampment, he found them. He stumbled toward the nearest fire in the middle of them and collapsed next to a man sitting bare chested and eating bread, who called out for help. Benaiah heard voices, commotion, and then nothing more.

The terrified man, muttering in fright, was escorted toward a small cluster of tents tucked deep in the forest behind the lines. When they reached the command area, the escort pulled the flap of the center tent aside and announced the man, then darted back to his post.

The questioning went on for an hour. Eventually the chieftain decided that the tent was too full, so he ordered everyone out except his senior counselor and the bedraggled figure sitting in front of him. There were complaints and grumbles, but the men slowly filed out the flap of the tent and huddled together for warmth a short distance away.

The chieftain rubbed his eyes and cracked the knuckles on his hand. “You say that he used both sword and spear, and that he gave orders in their tongue. Was there anything else about him that you noticed? Clothing, armor?”

The man replied, “No, master. He moved in the darkness, and moved too fast … though, as I said, he had a shield, an armored one, unlike what they normally use.”

The chieftain was a head taller than any of his men, with thick black markings dyed everywhere into his skin. Scars covered his face, many obscured by the black beard tied in braids. Thick arms strained against his leather armor studded with bits of copper. Gold bracelets dangled around his wrists.

He pulled the armor off and set it against a tent pole. The tent was a luxury, one that he knew had no place on this mission. But he didn’t care. The troops would do all the dirty work. He had earned his keep, put in his time in the mud-soaked troops. He was the chieftain now, and he wanted to sleep in a tent; he wanted female slaves, and he wanted gold. That was why he was here. Anything that got in the way of those things annoyed him.

The chieftain looked at his deputy, who thrust his head outside the tent and called for a servant to remove the man. The lamp was down to a flicker. The chieftain ambled toward it, lost in thought, and readjusted its wick. The flame sparked anew. He turned to watch the servants hauling the lone survivor out.

“Do you believe him?” the chieftain asked his deputy.

“I don’t know, master. No reason for him to lie. I have heard the Hebrews have such men.”

The chieftain nodded. Regardless of what the foolish kings told the troops, the Hebrews were not cowering women. The raid had gone too easily up to this point. The gods would not let them have it without a challenge.

Other than the troubling news of this messenger, though, the chieftain and his large force of Amalekite warriors had much to be pleased with. The weather, which had been plaguing them for over a week with cold rain and high winds, had finally cleared out and left behind a brilliant night sky. Food was steady, disease had not crept among the ranks yet, and the land in front of them was full of so many women, they were told, that a man would have to tie them up just to be able to control them all.

The Amalekites were encamped for the night, spread out along a defensive front atop a ridge, each man’s position oriented to cover what the others could not see. Troops were crouched behind stones and fallen trees, eyes alert to any movement in the pale light. It was rumored to be a haunted land, this Judea, and superstitions were flying among the ranks. Everyone hated the Hebrews and thought them cowards, but the Amalekites were also aware of the many tales of their god destroying his enemies.

Each unit of one hundred men, under its senior commander, was strategically placed to better ambush any approaching forces. They had left their desert clothing behind and wore stolen armor in an attempt to mimic the military success of other nations. All carried an iron weapon and had been drilling day and night with them, aided by mercenaries who sold the expertise they’d gained in foreign armies.

The Amalekites had always been a nomadic people, wandering through the deserts of Sinai and the Negev, raiding trade routes and hoarding gold. Now they looked to the north and the fertile lands of their enemies, desiring revenge for the defeats inflicted by the Hebrew king Saul.

This force had been rapidly mustered from any remaining towns not already plundered by the Lion, the Hebrew warlord who had been inflicting terrible destruction on them, given that name by the troops out of admiration of his ruthlessness. When a spy reported that the Philistines and Hebrews were marching to war, and that the Lion himself was likely with them, the Amalekite kings had put aside the arduous task of butchering each other and stealing livestock and sent men to be united under the only chieftain remaining who had not been killed by the Lion. This advance force was to burn towns and steal, supplying them with the gold and goods they would need to organize a larger army.

The atmosphere in camp had been excited earlier in the day,
when reports were coming in about the success of raids into southern Philistia and the border of Hebrew territory. They found little resistance anywhere they went; they moved with great speed into small villages whose men were on campaign with the Hebrew king. Since the Philistines were absent from their territory as well, the entire coastal plain was open to them. With every good report, the men became more confident and gave thanks to their gods for easy victory.

Then it all changed earlier that evening.

Instead of a feast of dates and meat captured from the Hebrews, each man in the raiding army now had his weapon in his hand, tensely waiting for word from the command position at the rear of the lines about the lone soldier who had stumbled in just before dark, shaken up and unwilling to tell his story until he saw the chieftain. No, a deputy would not do, he had told the watchmen. There were demons in the hills north of them, he kept repeating, demon warriors from the land of the dead.

The watchman who had first spotted the messenger spread the news that the man appeared exhausted and disoriented, that he had been running continuously for several days, never stopping to eat or drink. There was blood on his clothing. He said that all of the men in his party had been slaughtered by a demon and would say nothing more until he saw the chieftain.

The rumors had passed up and down the line, growing to become a fantastic tale of demon armies leaping out of the ground and bearing down on them during the night. The section leaders did their best to calm the men, but even the leaders felt an extra chill in the night air.

The sorcerers had warned of this, the troops whispered to one another. There were not enough lights visible on the horizon to give them permission to invade. The gods never allowed armies to prosper
if the lights of the war gods’ targets in the stars were not visible. They had not even brought priests to appease the gods.

In his tent, the chieftain was pacing. “But there was only one. The Hebrews fight in teams of three or four.”

The deputy placed his hand down on the table, looking at the map of the region sketched on parchment by his spies. “He may not have been sent for us. But you’re right; they would not have sent one alone. Their best men are with Saul in the north.”

Both men remained silent for a moment, each trying to piece it together.

“He may have been on another errand and stumbled across them,” said the chieftain.

“Possible.” The deputy shifted his weight and looked up hesitantly. “What if it
was
a demon?”

The chieftain shrugged. “The priests would have warned us. I am no fool; I know there are demons in those hills, but I also know not every shadow is a demon.”

“The priests were against this campaign. Maybe they asked the gods to send the demon.”

Someone scratched gently on the tent flap.

“What is it?” demanded the chieftain, irritated.

“Master Karak, the officers want to know what to tell the men to calm them down,” came the voice of his armor bearer.

Karak looked at his deputy. “Well?”

“Tell them it was an ambush and there was only one survivor. It is the truth, and it will let them know what we are up against in these hills. Not demons, but dangerous fighters.”

Karak liked it. “It will help prepare the men for what is ahead.” He said to the armor bearer, “Tell the officers to tell the men that he was ambushed with his squad, there was a fight, and he alone escaped. Tell them to be ready and alert at all times.”

The armor bearer left. Karak walked to a cushion in the corner of the room and gestured wearily for the deputy to join him. It had been a long day. They had been jubilant at the early successes, but both men, seasoned warriors who held no illusions of war, knew it was bound to end. This was unwelcome news.

They settled onto the cushions and lay their heads back. The wineskins abandoned earlier were replaced. The chieftain held the wineskin against his forehead, lost in thought. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“He said the unknown warrior used both sword and spear. The only Hebrews I have heard of who do so are Saul and his son. Most Hebrews learn a single weapon in their tribes like our people do. They would not have time to learn more if they are plowing for crops and fixing oxbows.”

“But some elite fighters might learn them. You have learned three, master,” the deputy replied.

The chieftain sat up and stared forward. “It must have been one of the men with that warlord called ‘the Lion.’”

The deputy frowned. “Is he real?”

“You remember those tales about a Hebrew boy who killed one of the giants from Gath.”

The deputy nodded. “David. Hebrews on the borders would try to scare our people with tales of him. Do you think he is real?”

“All of our spies say they encounter talk of him in Hebrew lands. And someone highly competent has been leading raids against us. David might be the Lion.”

“He would surely be marching with Saul. A Philistine invasion of that size into the land of his people would draw him out.”

Karak scowled. The stories of David made him a terrifying figure to the Amalekites. One hundred boys under the age of ten had been sacrificed a few years previously by the priests in order to beseech the gods to strike David down. The kings and tribal chiefs
had tried to appease their people by claiming he was a myth spread by Hebrews.

As Karak thought about it, it began to make sense. The stories about David claimed he was leading a band of criminals and foreigners and had trained them into elite fighting units. He might have sent one of his best fighters to the village on an errand, who then encountered the raiding party and dispatched them. A group of regular soldiers properly ambushed by a highly trained warrior under the cover of darkness could be defeated. It was not unthinkable.

“Master, David’s exploits really might be myth, something spread among our ranks by foreigners to deter us,” the deputy said.

Karak shook his head. “No, there is too much on him. The Philistines even speak of him.” He settled back into his rough lambskin cushions. “They are going to be vulnerable in the south. One man may have stopped a raid, but he won’t stop an army.” He paused a moment, thinking. “Bring the commanders back in. I want to move out as soon as the other advance parties return. We will hit that Philistine town the scouts reported earlier. Ziklag.”

The deputy stood up and walked to the opening.

“Also send in my share of the prize today.”

The deputy nodded, opened the flap, and stepped into the darkness. Karak rubbed his eyes, piecing it together. Of course, the man could have been lying. The raiders may have simply been defeated by old men with sticks. Either way, Hebrew warlord or not, the nearest army was days or weeks of travel away. If they moved fast enough, the gold and women of the southern regions of two kingdoms would be theirs to choose from.

The tent flap opened again and the group of men who had left earlier ducked inside. They were all large, with thick, dusty beards, and wore dull-colored clothing like their chieftain. His orders had been to dress in subdued garments to blend with the rocks and bushes. Behind them, panting in humiliation and terror, were three
young Hebrew women captured during the day’s pillaging. They wore nothing to protect them from the freezing night and tried vainly to cover themselves in front of the group of men. There were loud laughs and comments.

Karak stood up from the ground to his full height, towering over the other men and causing the women to close their eyes in fright. He grabbed them by the hair and dragged all three across the room, while the officers laughed and made animal noises. He threw them onto the pile of animal skins that made up his bed. They shrieked in pain and clung to one another.

The Egyptian watched quietly from the corner next to the other commanders.

He despised these filthy Amalekites. They paid well, but most were lazy and undisciplined compared to his old regiment. When he was in Pharaoh’s armies, his warriors would have crushed them in an open war and laughed at their womanly ambush tactics.

Many important preparations for campaign were omitted in favor of needless luxuries, such as this large and cumbersome command tent. Only a fat ruler wishing to look powerful by touring the front lines would make his men carry such an unnecessary burden.

The chieftain appeared to be a skilled fighter; the Egyptian had sparred with him in workouts. But not all effective fighters made good generals. Karak seemed to be here not out of duty to his kings but rather out of a desire to grab as much plunder as he could after years of obeying the bidding of others.

The Egyptian didn’t begrudge the chieftain such a motive. It was what he himself was doing, after all. There were mercenaries from many lands in this army. Most were here as spies, of course — as was the Egyptian himself. They would offer services for hire to
the Amalekites, claiming they had abandoned their homelands, and then promptly return and offer information to their own kings. It was dangerous but highly profitable.

The Egyptian turned away from the scene on the animal skins and stepped out into the night. His white linen robe glowed in the moonlight. He did not care what the chieftain had ordered about subdued garments; he would not stoop to wearing barbaric clothing. The colder he became, the more linen he would drape around his shoulders. Only shepherds and other wretches wore raw animal skins as cloaks.