Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  Slowly, as if a storm were building, the noise of routed troops was joined by an unusual sensation. The ground began to tremble. David had only experienced one earthquake; it was the most horrifying thing he had ever been through. It was like being caught in a thunderstorm erupting from the earth. This was similar, except that there was more of a rhythm to it.

  Jahra’s tender ankle made it impossible for them to race to safety. The thunder beneath them was intensifying. Whatever was coming, it was not a horde of Israelite soldiers. David looked around desperately, then noticed dead palm branches at their feet. They hastily gathered them into a large pile and wormed themselves underneath. By now they could make out the thudding of hooves and the creaking of wood and metal, along with the cracking of whips and cries of terror. For some reason, Philistine chariots were racing toward them. They would soon be roaring down on top of them.

  Chapter Ten

  Earlier that day, about the time David and Jahra were launching their ineffective attack on the Jebusite stronghold, Jonathan’s shield bearer was watching the prince stamp around his tent, his eyes darting about like those of a captive falcon.

  “I don’t know what the king is thinking, but I have had enough of waiting. He may keep doing nothing as those foreigners go on stealing our crops and using our women, but I cannot.”

  Jonathan’s sunburned face was lean and hard. His brows were bunched over hazel eyes that were bright with anger. He had dark brown hair tied back in a tail that came down to the middle of his back. Although Jonathan was not as tall as his father, he was still one of the tallest men in Israel.

  “Bring me my sword,” he commanded. “If Father had fortified Michmash like I told him,” Jonathan said, turning so Asa could strap on his weapon, “those dogs would never have been able to retake it and turn Geba into a launching point for their raiders.” He gestured upward with his arm, nearly striking Asa’s forehead.

  As Asa was adjusting the leather belt around Jonathan’s waist, he asked, “My prince, did not the king make it clear that your division was to stay in Gibeah until he ordered an attack?” Asa spoke boldly, as he’d been commanded. The prince had made it clear: “Yours is not the role of a courtier, bending the truth to flatter royal ears. I have enough of those double tongues. When they are done speaking, I have no idea what they have said.”

  “That order was given almost two weeks ago,” Jonathan fumed. He started pacing around the tent again, sliding his sword up and down in its scabbard as he spoke, the ringing of metal against metal underscoring his frustration. He and his father were among the few in the army who had iron swords.

  Asa walked over to the sleeping area and began rolling up the mats and folding the prince’s clothes.

  “The longer he waits, the stronger their position becomes, and the bolder and more aggressive their assaults.” The ringing grew louder as Jonathan’s voice became more emphatic. “Soon nothing will be able to keep them from taking Gibeah.”

  “Maybe that’s his plan,” Asa muttered, placing the folded clothes in a basket.

  Jonathan stared at his servant. “To be left without an army?” he asked incredulously.

  “No. To provoke an attack on Gibeah. That would convince those who fled to defend the king’s city.”

  “My father is devious, but not that devious. Nor would he take that big a risk.” Jonathan slammed the sword back into the scabbard. “If he would have left my division on Michmash, this would not have been necessary.”

  “But if King Saul learns that you did not obey him, he will become so angry that—”

  Jonathan cut him off. “Yes, he will undoubtedly become furious. But what of it? He is mad with rage most days, and when he is not, he is as passive as an old woman.”

  Asa put his finger to his lips, warning the prince to watch his words.

  Jonathan ignored him. “At least I will have acted instead of sitting in my tent like a cowed pup as foreigners run rampant throughout Benjamin.”

  Asa sighed. “Very well. I will do as you say, my prince.”

  Jonathan smiled grimly. “We will wait a few hours. When the heat is beginning to rise, it will be perfect.”

  A few hours later, Jonathan pushed himself off his mat. “It’s time.” He gestured toward the corner. “And bring an extra bow. Leave the large shield behind; it will only get in your way. The mageen will do.”

  Asa was puzzled but did as ordered. He was accustomed to the weight of the leather shield that protected the prince’s chest and groin area. The small round shield Jonathan wanted was only for close quarters combat. Before Asa slipped the extra bow across his back, he squeezed four more arrows into his quiver. It now held sixteen. He hung the mageen from his belt.

  The small band of soldiers who remained with Jonathan were dozing in the shade of several large trees about fifteen paces away. Asa understood the prince’s frustration; the army’s inactivity had made them lax in their discipline. Only one guard was on lookout, but even he was half asleep, resting his weight on the butt of his spear.

  “Stand at attention, soldier!” Jonathan said, keeping his voice low so as not to draw too much attention.

  The guard’s head jerked up, his bleary eyes blinking rapidly.

  “Do not let me catch you sleeping on guard duty again.” Jonathan strode past him, taking advantage of the soldier’s embarrassment.

  “But … the king commanded—” the guard protested.

  “He ordered me out on a special mission to spy out the enemy garrison,” Jonathan said with a freezing look. “You are not to speak of this to anyone. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, my prince,” came the reply.

  As the guard saluted them, his eyes sprung open in alarm. “Oh, my prince,” he began, his voice trembling, “King Saul also ordered that—”

  Jonathan swung around to face him, slashing his finger in a silent but imperious command. “That is enough!” The guard bit down on his words, but his eyes were pleading.

  Jonathan marched off, Asa several paces behind. The armor bearer had hesitated, wondering if he should have the guard relay the king’s command to him. He decided not to invite trouble.

  The sun was high overhead. And there was only the barest breeze to soften the unrelenting heat. The two raiders took pains to keep in the shadows of the boulders and dart behind the tree trunks that dotted the slope heading down into the ravine. This was the dividing line that separated the troops of Israel from the Philistine outpost. Two rocky promontories stood next to each other. One looked like a thorn and was called Seneh. The other had slabs of shale that reflected the sun; its name was Bozez, “the Shining One.” Geba sat atop this latter elevation. At the base of the hills was a dense forest that stretched to the sacred city of Bethel less than half a day’s walk to the north.

  Jonathan pointed at the leather bottle around Asa’s neck. “Drink some water,” he told him. “Pour some on your head, too. When we start the climb, we are only bringing our weapons. Everything else stays here.”

  Asa took several swallows and retied his damp headband around his head. Jonathan did the same, then grasped Asa’s forearm. “We are going to cross over to the camp of these uncircumcised Philistines. Perhaps the Lord will act for us, for nothing holds Him back from deliverance. It matters not whether by many or by few.” He was staring directly into Asa’s eyes.

  The shield bearer looked up at the prince. Something in the prince’s face made Asa’s pulse race. His eyes gleamed with a wild exultation that made Asa want to throw himself at the enemy fortifications.

  “Do whatever your heart inclines, my prince,” he managed to say. “Here I am with you. My heart is as yours.”

  Jonathan gripped his arm more tightly. “When we reach the top, we’ll reveal ourselves to these dogs. If they say, ‘Stand still until we get to you,’ we’ll wait and not go any higher. But if they tell us to come up to them, that wil
l be the sign that the Lord has given them into our hand.”

  Asa nodded, adjusted his quiver, and tied his belt so that the ends of the two bows fit snugly underneath and would not interfere with his climb. It turned out to be unnecessary, for the slope was not as demanding as it appeared from below, and the trees provided strategic cover. Nevertheless, due to the heat, their tunics were drenched when they made it to a flat open space. Emerging from behind the trees, they were in full view of the Philistine garrison perched a sling’s throw above them. They shouted, Jonathan’s sword glinting in the sun as he waved it over his head.

  A Philistine guard looked their way, then turned to call over his shoulder. “Wake up! You won’t believe what I’m seeing,” the man shouted, his words slurred.

  Soon there were about twenty soldiers jeering and laughing at the sweaty Hebrews from the summit of Bozez. Jonathan nudged Asa. “Because of the heat, they have removed their armor.”

  “Thanks be to God,” responded his servant.

  “Yes, but let us hear what they say first.”

  One of the Philistines cried out, “Did you filthy Israelites slither out of the holes you were hiding in?” His only piece of armor was a bronze helmet pushed back on his head.

  “Are you soldiers or rats?” another hollered.

  “They are dirty cockroaches,” shouted a rotund soldier. He was holding a leather bottle. The Philistines sounded as if they had all been wakened from a drunken sleep.

  “Come on up!” yelled a bald Philistine with a great black beard down to his waist. “We will be happy to teach you a lesson.” He had his own bottle, which he lifted above his head, allowing a dark stream to pour into his mouth.

  Asa looked at Jonathan, and they both nodded.

  “Follow me,” Jonathan said, grabbing Asa’s arm to stop him from climbing ahead of him.

  “Not so, my prince. It is my place to protect you.”

  “The Lord will protect me,” Jonathan said. “Today He has given the Philistines over to the army of Israel.”

  Asa let Jonathan pass.

  The foliage hid them from the Philistines, who could be heard laughing and yelling. At times they grew quiet; Asa assumed they were passing around bags of wine. Despite the thick trees, the climb up the craggy tooth was more difficult than the one Asa and Jonathan had just completed. The shale made the footing treacherous, forcing them to grab at branches and trunks, but with great caution lest a sound alert their enemies. By inching carefully from tree to tree, the two were able to work their way around to the camp’s eastern flank without being noticed.

  “Cowards! Are you too afraid to show yourselves?” one of the Philistines cried out.

  “Maybe they’ve run back to their holes,” came the retort.

  “Here, give me that,” one of them yelled.

  “Let’s see what they make of this,” another shouted, laughing. This was followed by the sound of a boulder crashing through bushes, striking tree trunks on its way to the ravine.

  Jonathan turned and smiled at Asa. The rock was slamming into obstacles far from where they were crouched. Moments later they had reached the top. They were now at the top of Geba’s eastern lip. They kept their heads lowered but could easily hear the sound of the rocks the Philistines were tossing down the opposite slope.

  Asa undid his belt, pulled the bows over his head, and gave one to Jonathan. He withdrew five arrows before handing the quiver to the prince. The two slowly raised their heads, staring through a stand of thistles behind the jeering soldiers about sixty paces away. The entire squad was bunched along the western rim. No more than twenty paces away, weapons were stacked in piles, along with helmets, breastplates, and shields.

  The two warriors pulled themselves over the ridge. It was flat and had virtually no vegetation except for a few squat thorn bushes scattered on the narrow plateau. Jonathan stood up slowly and prepared his bow while Asa crouched and drove four of his arrows into the ground in front of him.

  Jonathan felt a tingling of excitement and joy. Waves of heat were cascading through his body. Then the heat dissipated, and he felt a sudden calm. Letting out a slow breath, he looked at Asa’s upturned face, gave a quick nod, and the two released their arrows.

  The raucous yelling of the drunken Philistines hid the gasps of two soldiers whose backs had been pierced. Two more bodies followed them over the edge before the dazed soldiers turned to face their attackers. Their bellows of anger and shock did not drown out the scream of another whose neck was pierced. Then the bald Philistine sank to his knees and fell on his face, with Jonathan’s third arrow through his chest.

  “Don’t stop until they are all dead,” said Jonathan, readying his bow. “El Shaddai is fighting for us.”

  “Yahweh is great and greatly to be praised,” Asa responded.

  Another soldier dropped with a groan as Jonathan’s arrow pierced his stomach. The Philistine with the helmet was thrown backward as Asa’s arrow pierced an eye socket.

  By this point, the remaining Philistines had managed to overcome their confusion and were rushing at their assailants. They still greatly outnumbered the two Hebrews.

  “Give me cover,” the prince yelled, throwing the quiver at his shield bearer. Jonathan dropped the bow and ran toward the weapons, intent on reaching them before the Philistines did. One of them stumbled and fell, an arrow protruding from his chest. Another dropped before Jonathan reached the pile. He grabbed a spear that was standing like a lonely sentinel and threw it at the soldier in the lead. Still too fogged with wine, the Philistine was unable to sidestep quickly enough and dropped as if he’d run into a wall.

  Jonathan picked up another spear and the helmet lying next to it. He jammed the helmet over his head. A smooth-skinned soldier with a narrow, feminine face raced toward him, swinging a mace. The prince parried the blow with the spear’s shaft and struck him in the face with its bronze-covered end. He heard a groan but did not wait to see the damage he had caused.

  Running toward a javelin stuck in the ground, he grabbed it and flung it with such force that it went completely through a Philistine who was swinging a wide sword. Remembering his own sword, Jonathan yanked it out of his belt. Around him were shrieks of pain and angry roars as Asa’s arrows kept finding their marks, then all grew silent as Jonathan’s sword began tracing looping arcs overhead.

  A surge of power raced up his back and through his chest and arms. He knew his mouth was open and that he was in full warrior cry, but he did not hear a sound. One swing, and a bald head was nearly sliced off a body; another, and a thick arm was severed. One more, but this time a shock of pain raced up his arm. His hand felt as if it had been broken. The blade had bounced back in his hands, having struck a bronze helmet on the head of a mercenary with a braided beard. An arrow from Asa’s bow took that soldier down as he was readying to launch his axe.

  Hearing Asa’s cry and sensing an attack from behind, Jonathan spun to his right, ducked as a mace sliced past him, and twisted to drive his sword into the chest of a tall warrior swinging a sword. Another arrow found its mark in the shoulder of a Philistine aiming a bow at him. A second arrow brought that soldier to his knees. The last two soldiers had seen enough and were running toward the crevice that led to the main encampment at Michmash.

  Jonathan pulled a javelin out of the hand of a dead Philistine and launched it into the air. It flew in a deadly arc, penetrating the lower back of the farthest runner. No arrow struck the second Philistine, who threw himself down, tumbling out of sight. Jonathan turned to see why Asa had failed to bring down the last soldier.

  Several things registered at once: Asa on his knees, his head and body bowed, a javelin through his chest keeping him from falling on his face; his empty quiver; and the Philistine with the girl’s face coming toward him, swinging a war club, blood streaming from his nose, an arrow in his neck. Jonathan did not have time even to raise his arm,
nor did he feel the blow that plunged him into the dark.

  Chapter Eleven

  When the fleeing soldier reported the decimation of the outpost, an uproar ensued. It was shameful to hear about two Israelites defeating a squad of soldiers, but what struck widespread terror was Jonathan’s war cry. The Canaanites were accustomed to the traditional “Rak Chazak!” which the Hebrews had used for generations. That was an exhortation to bravery, but Jonathan had been screaming something terrible: “Yahweh Sabaoth Immanuel! The Lord of heavenly hosts is with us!” And it turned their bowels to water.

  The mercenaries from Egypt and Amalek were the first to panic. The significance of the phrase struck them with the ferocity of a sandstorm. Their eyes grew large, and they began to shriek as if stung by scorpions. In their haste, most forgot to grab their gear. Their terror quickly spread to the Philistine troops. Screaming, they threw themselves onto their chariots, most without buckling themselves in, and raced down the southern road toward Aijalon and the Philistine territory.

  The unmistakable sounds of a routed army could easily be heard by the Israelites camped nearby. Saul immediately ordered General Abner, Saul’s second-in-command, to order a pursuit of the fleeing enemy. There were to be no captives; all stragglers were to be put to the sword. Ecstatic at the chance to finally join combat, the six hundred Hebrew soldiers raced to engage their dispirited opponents.

  It was the thunder of a thousand chariots rushing to escape the wrath of Israel’s God, with ten times that number of soldiers on foot, that drove David and Jahra into the thickets.

  David lost count of the number of two-wheeled vehicles that raced past him and Jahra. The horses’ sides ran with bloody sweat as the terrified drivers flayed them. Many chariots flipped over on the curve heading west toward Philistia. The soldiers who were not strapped in were flung into the air and lay moaning on the rocks that had shattered their bodies. Those who had fastened their harnesses were crushed under the weight of the rolling chariots.