Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  “He does not speak, my prince,” David told him, choking a little on the water he’d not quite been able to swallow. “His name is Jahra, and mine is David. My prince—”

  “Jonathan,” the prince interrupted, waving his hand. “My name is Jonathan. While we share this solitary refuge, you may use my given name. It will make conversation much easier.”

  David murmured his agreement.

  Jonathan continued, “If you are not deserters, what brings you here into the middle of this battle? You would not be spying for our enemies, would you?” Before David could answer, Jonathan laughed. “Take a breath, young man, and tell me your story.”

  David let the panic subside and related their mission.

  “Yes, I know the three sons of Jesse,” Jonathan said. “They are under the command of Manoah. The oldest is Eliab, is he not?”

  David nodded, growing tense.

  “He has a certain reputation,” the prince added.

  David felt his face flush.

  “Do you favor him?” the prince asked, but he interrupted before David could respond. “Don’t answer. A temper is neither good nor bad. It is a necessary tool for a warrior, but one must know when and how to use it to advantage.”

  David swallowed the defensive words he’d been about to utter.

  “I know a thing or two about hot tempers,” the prince said, his voice sounding distant. He grew quiet and stared pensively at the fire.

  David could not think of a way to break the uncomfortable silence. His thoughts were as jumbled as an overturned beehive.

  Finally the prince spoke again. “And that brings to mind the song I heard you singing. It was beautiful.” He lifted himself up on one elbow. “Where did it come from?”

  “It just came to me, my prin—ah, Jonathan.”

  “You never sang it before?” He looked at David curiously.

  David nodded, his cheeks hot.

  “So I take it that you are a minstrel. Have you many other songs?” Jonathan was looking at him with strange intensity. It made the skin of David’s neck itch.

  “No, I have no other songs. I am simply a shepherd.”

  “A mere sheep herder? The last thing I remember thinking before exiting my horse was that you were one of our expert Benjamite slingers.”

  Jahra’s muffled chortle startled the prince, who looked at him in surprise. David shot Jahra a warning glance, but on seeing the amusement in the boy’s face, the prince threw back his head and joined him in laughter. He stopped with a grunt, running a hand over his temple. He slowly laid his head back on the cloaks.

  “You have me at your mercy. You may ask me anything, even up to half my kingdom, for your promise that you will not mention that unprofessional descent. If the men found out, I would have to live with it till my dying day.”

  David and Jahra nodded solemnly. “You can trust us; we will say nothing,” David said, unsure whether to treat the remark as a joke.

  They sat in awkward silence.

  Jonathan looked at the boys. “What? No request from your prince?” He leaned back with a groan. “Good. In any event, I extorted your promise on false pretenses, not having any kingdom at my disposal.” He winked at them. “It is all my father’s until such time as he has passed.”

  He sat up, looking around. “Where is that wine bag? We need something more substantial than water to formalize our agreement.” David handed it over, and they each took drinks from the bag. Jonathan passed it around several times. David was accustomed to drinking wine mixed with water; drinking it straight was making his head spin.

  The prince slid back down on his mat, letting out a contented sigh. “I hate to say it—and I will deny it if you ever repeat it—but those uncircumcised Philistines know what to do with grapes.”

  While they were passing the bag around, David had thought of a reasonably intelligent question. “Prince Jonathan,” he began, “what caused the Philistine army to panic? It was as if they had lost their minds.”

  “You saw this yourselves?”

  David nodded, then turned to point behind him. “Over there, at the bend in the road.” He described the carnage they had witnessed. He was growing more confident the more he spoke and was about to relate what the Israelites had done but decided against it. The words of a Galilean fisherman came to mind: “The fish is caught because he opened his mouth one time too many.” David closed his.

  “That is unusual,” Jonathan muttered, staring into the sky. Reaching for the wine bag, he took a thoughtful drink. “I wonder.” He stopped himself. “Come to think of it, there was that one Philistine who managed to avoid Asa’s arrow.”

  The hairs on David’s arms bristled. There was a war story coming. David’s fingers were drumming on the ground excitedly by the time Jonathan was ready to continue.

  “This is a three-stick story,” Jonathan said, and David hurried to throw more wood on the fire.

  Jonathan leaned back against the ledge and gingerly kneaded his bandaged head as he recounted how he and his shield bearer, Asa, had attacked the Philistine outpost.

  “How many troops were stationed there?” David asked.

  “I was not sure at the time. But as it turned out, there must have been nearly two dozen.”

  “And you decided to attack it alone?”

  “Not quite,” Jonathan said, laughing. He explained how they had baited the hook to see whether Yahweh would support their assault. “When they told us to climb up to fight them, I knew that the Lord Sabaoth had given them over to us.”

  David’s eyes stung with pride.

  Jonathan’s voice grew soft. “Sadly, one of them got to Asa. There was not a better archer in all the land. He would not have been killed had he not emptied his quiver.”

  “But what routed their army?”

  Jonathan did not respond. He only looked at David with his eyebrows raised.

  David recalled his own almost uncontrollable impulse to throw himself into the frenzy. “You mean? Oh, that’s what I … what caused …”

  “Of course. Don’t you remember what Moses told the armies as they prepared to enter Canaan?” The timbre of Jonathan’s voice changed as he recited the incident. “‘The Lord shall send hornets in front of you to drive the Hivite and Canaanite and Hittite from your presence. He shall spread panic ahead of you and throw all your enemies into confusion.’”

  Jonathan glanced at the young men and spread out his hands. “How do you think the Lord managed that in Joshua’s day? By sending buzzing insects to frighten trained warriors?” He sniffed dismissively. “The God who sent His wind to part the Red Sea and drown the Egyptians can send a nameless terror to drive men out of their minds.”

  David and Jahra nodded, encouraging the prince to continue.

  “Which reminds me,” Jonathan said, looking at David again with that strange expression. “I think my father could benefit from your music.” He yawned, pushing himself carefully away from the ledge and lying down on the cloaks. “I am a good judge of such things, and there is something in your music that could do him a great service. The God who can drive men mad can also heal from madness.”

  Jonathan seemed to sense David’s bewilderment. “God gave you that victory song. And let me tell you, I’ve heard some of the best at Gibeah. Musicians are drawn there like flies to carrion. Your song was unlike any of theirs. He who inspired those words of triumph can just as easily give you words to comfort—even to heal.”

  He turned on his side, facing the boys as they huddled by the fire. “Where are your cloaks?” he asked. He looked around, then patted the material underneath his head. “No. No,” he said, pulling at them so he could hand them back. “I appreciate it very much, my young friends, but I shall not allow you to freeze on my account. My own cloak will suffice.”

  The boys were about to lie down when Jonathan spoke again. �
��I’m sorry to disturb you, but with all this talking, I forgot how little I’ve had to eat. The honey I ate this afternoon after I came down from the Philistine stronghold gave me just enough strength to make it to your camp. And as you saw, it was barely enough for that.”

  David reached over, grabbed the food bag lying next to him, and handed it to the prince. Jahra made a loud coughing sound, and David looked at him. He was shaking his head and jabbing his finger at the road.

  David was confused. “What?” he asked, but then the words of the Hebrew captain came to him. “Stop, my prince!” David exclaimed, making a grab for the bag the prince was opening. Jonathan looked up, annoyed.

  “Your father made the troops swear that death would come to any soldier who ate food today.”

  Jonathan stared at him in surprise. “Are you saying that he forbade the army from taking sustenance this entire day? How did he expect them to be able to drive our enemy into the ocean?” He dropped his head into his hands.

  “Oh no,” he moaned. “Today my father has stirred up trouble for the land. How much better it would have been had he allowed the men to refresh themselves; then they would have been able to make a complete end of these rabid dogs.” He took the bag from David. “Well, I have already eaten once this day, so what worse evil could come to me by eating again? If Father wishes to kill me for some honey and a piece of bread and cheese, then so be it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  David awoke early to a slightly nauseating odor and the words of a song floating through his mind. He wrinkled his nose, thinking an animal had died near their camp. Then he recalled the bodies lying a stone’s throw away. He did not want to think about what it would be like at midday. They would have to leave before the worst of it.

  While he could ignore the smell, he could not disregard an overwhelming impulse. He glanced at his companions; a whistling sound was coming from the prince’s direction. David got quietly to his feet, draping his cloak, damp with dew, around his shoulders.

  He walked around Jahra’s bed and saw the strap from the leather pouch underneath his feet. When he pulled at it, he heard a muffled groan. Before straightening up, he lifted the corner of the cloak, and his heart dropped into his stomach. The swelling had moved past Jahra’s ankle, and an angry purplish welt extended up his leg. It did not seem possible that it had been caused by the mauling weeks ago, but whatever the cause, Jahra needed immediate help. David decided to let them both rest one more hour before he returned to pack up.

  Carrying the harp in his hand, David made his way into the woods. He followed the path the prince’s horse had taken a day earlier. It took him to a small glen with several moss-covered rocks in the center. He sat down on the largest, running his fingers through the green carpet beneath him. He took out the harp and held it in his lap. His left forefinger plucked awkwardly at a string. He was catching hints of a tune and needed to find where it was hiding inside this unfamiliar instrument. His fingers had yet to catch up to the music that, since Samuel’s anointing, had begun bubbling up inside him. Despite his ineptness, he felt an odd excitement, like the buzzing of insects under his fingertips.

  He struggled for a while, searching for the right union of notes and rhythm and finally found one combination that he wanted, then another. His excitement was building into a tentative joy. The song began to fit together, awkwardly at first, then more smoothly. It was simple, childish even, but it was lovely and pure and fit perfectly with the words of supplication with which he’d awakened.

  Yahweh, let my words come to Your ears,

  spare a thought for my sighs.

  Listen to my cry for help,

  my King and my God!

  I sing this prayer to You, Yahweh,

  For at daybreak You listen for my voice

  and at dawn I hold myself in readiness for You.

  I watch for You.14

  The horizon was now streaked with red and gold and slivers of purple. David’s eyes glistened, and his throat tightened as it brought to mind his friend’s painful injury. The words of supplication rose on their own:

  Yahweh, do not punish us in Your rage

  or reprove us in the heat of anger.

  Take pity on us, Yahweh, on those who have no strength left.

  Bring healing to the bones that are in torment.

  Yahweh, how long will You be?15

  Swallowing hard, he grew still and allowed the song’s ending to take shape, like a figure emerging from the fog.

  There is joy for all who take shelter in You,

  endless shouts of joy!

  Since You protect the weak, they exult in You,

  those who love Your name.

  Yahweh, it is You who bless the virtuous;

  Your favor is like a shield covering them.

  You are a shield that protects the upright of heart.

  God the righteous judge,

  slow to show His anger.

  A God who is always enraged by those who refuse to repent.

  I give thanks to Yahweh for His righteousness,

  I sing praise to the name of the Most High.16

  There was a moment of silence as David caught his breath, flexing his left hand, unused to the strange exertions on the harp. He pulled up the cloak that had slid off his shoulders, and as he did, he saw Jonathan leaning against a tree trunk behind him. David felt his face grow warm.

  “I see it did not take long,” the prince said, walking toward him.

  David looked at him inquisitively.

  “To weave another song out of nothing.”

  The harp felt suddenly heavy and awkward in his hands. He shrugged. “It was not much.” He was afraid to meet the prince’s eyes. “It was so … simple, a child’s song. Jahra could have done much better.”

  “Maybe so,” Jonathan said, sitting next to him. “But to me it was perfect.” He reached down to his belt and pulled out a dagger.

  David stiffened. Word of the king’s erratic behavior and cruelty had filtered throughout Judah. Perhaps Jonathan was as unstable as his father.

  “Relax,” Jonathan said, laughing. “I don’t know what you have heard about the royal family, but we are not given to cold-blooded murder—not all of us, at least. And we have not killed a musician yet, that I know of. Though perhaps we should have.”

  He held the hilt out to David. “Let me be the first to present you with a gift for your gift,” he said, his face growing serious. “If I am any judge, this will not be the last.”

  David took the knife, feeling foolish. It was obvious that he had little skill with the harp. He stared at the elegant weapon with its ebony handle and thin, dangerous blade. Resting on his palm, it made his calloused fingers look thick and ugly. The prince was merely being kind. Despite this, a warm glow spread through him. He felt stupid and naive but could not help also feeling a little proud.

  “How old are you?” Jonathan asked.

  “Nineteen,” David said, straightening his back. He could tell, taking a quick glance, that his head barely reached Jonathan’s shoulder.

  “I guessed you to be about the same age as my little sister.”

  “What is her name?”

  “Michal.” Jonathan seemed to be examining David’s reaction as he said the word.

  David tried to meet his eye and show only polite interest.

  “Like you, she is quite spirited,” Jonathan said. “Father favors her over Merab, who is several years her senior.” He laughed ruefully. “We all agree that Michal is a bit spoiled. She can get Father to do anything she wants.”

  David wanted to find out more but could not think of the right questions to ask. He racked his mind for an oblique inquiry, then blurted out in a flash of inspiration, “Do you resemble each other?”

  Jonathan turned his head, his eyebrows arched. He smiled slightly.


  David groaned inside and kept his eyes fixed on the dagger in his hand.

  “As it happens,” the prince responded, “she is much prettier and considerably shorter.” He pushed up the bandage on his head, which was slipping down over one eye. “Let me put it this way: she is what is known in our area as a head turner.” He looked David over appraisingly. “I would guess that she is just a bit taller than you, though. That is the burden my sisters carry, which of course they blame—and rightfully so—on our father. Merab is convinced that it is the sole reason for her lack of suitors.” His voice grew thoughtful. “I know better.”

  David could not hold back the question. “If I may ask, what is the problem?”

  Jonathan looked around the glen, as if searching for lurking spies. “They are terrified of my father, afraid that at any moment he might go into a frenzy, and that they will feel the sharp end of his spear.”

  David felt a wave of defensiveness. “Certainly they are not put off by King Saul’s temper?” he said. “I would think anyone would be honored to be near him.” He hesitated, then pressed forward. “I certainly would be.”

  “Bravo!” Jonathan exclaimed, clapping David on the back. “A faithful subject. I salute you.” There was a trace of sarcasm in the prince’s voice and a hardness in his eyes. “My father will love you.”

  David’s eyes narrowed.

  Jonathan said, “What is it? Does the idea shock you?”

  David decided to ask about something else that had been troubling him. “What will happen to you when you see him?”

  Jonathan nodded. “You mean about the curse? I have no idea. It depends on the mood of the moment. If he is in full battle cry, then I imagine I will lose my head. Or he may impale me instead.”

  Hearing these words made David’s head spin. His world seemed to be shifting sideways. He was in the middle of something much bigger than he was, something that in dark, mysterious ways might be extremely hazardous.

  “But you are his son. You don’t really think he would carry out the oath against you?”

  Jonathan only gave him a sidelong glance. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see. You may still get to witness the most violent mood swings in the kingdom.” Turning toward David, he lowered his voice. “I am afraid my father is very sick. His rages are so terrible, he has become a danger to himself as well as to his family, and to the entire—” Jonathan stopped himself, swearing under his breath.