Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  “But you were not even aware of the oath,” David protested, “and your victory over the Philistine garrison will certainly give him reason to forgive you.”

  Jonathan barked a mirthless laugh. “It could just as well have the opposite effect. He’s become suspicious of everyone—and that includes me. When the blackness is fully upon him, he is convinced we all are conspiring to steal the throne.” He fingered the lump on his temple. “I think Michal is the only one he fully trusts.” Jonathan’s voice thickened. “You would think a father would be proud, wouldn’t you? But not him.” He let out a slow breath. “I stopped caring a long time ago about what he thought of me.”

  “I understand,” David murmured, tracing his fingertip over the design on the dagger’s handle.

  Jonathan’s gaze changed focus and turned toward David, as if he were seeing him for the first time. David looked up, and their eyes locked. Jonathan rested a hand on his shoulder. “What I did at Geba, I did for me and for the army. It had nothing to do with pleasing that frightened old man.” He let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I feel sorry for him. He seems to be in such great pain, and when it is over, he looks almost … ashamed.” The muscles along his jawline throbbed. “But at other times, I think I would like to—” He stopped, staring at his clenched fists.

  Needing to keep his hands busy, David slid the dagger into his belt and waited for the prince to continue.

  When he resumed, there was concern in Jonathan’s voice. “This talk of illness reminds me. Your friend—Jahra, isn’t it?—is not doing well. He needs a physician. We need to take him to Ahimelech. He is with the army.”

  “Is he the high priest who serves at the tabernacle?” David asked.

  “Yes.” Jonathan shook his head in disgust. “It’s gotten so bad with my father that he won’t set foot outside of Gibeah without bringing Ahimelech and his ephod along for divination.” He flicked his hands in frustration. “Regardless, the priest is adept at medicine. He will know how to treat the injury.”

  “Thank you, my prince,” David said, impetuously scrambling to his feet. Embarrassed that he’d forgotten about his friend, he began jogging toward their camp.

  Jonathan caught up to him as they came out of the woods. “Jahra will ride with me on my horse.” The friendly warmth had been replaced with a note of command. “You are a runner and can keep pace beside us.” The look on his face was that of one preparing to face a death sentence.

  David could not believe King Saul would harm his son, but something had shifted beneath him. He no longer knew what to expect from the man who’d been his childhood hero.

  14 Psalm 5:1–3

  15 Psalm 6:1–3, author’s paraphrase

  16 Psalm 5:11–12; 7:10, 17, author’s paraphrase

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jahra was sitting up when they arrived. His face was a little flushed, but his spirits seemed high. The long rest had been good for him. He had used the time alone to wrap his leg. David felt his forehead. It was still warm. “Sit there while we break camp,” David ordered.

  By the time they were ready to leave, it was no longer possible to ignore the sound of the buzzing flies. Fortunately a breeze was blowing the smell away from them.

  “It should not take long,” Jonathan assured David, who was standing next to the horse’s flank after helping Jahra find his seat behind the prince. “Without food, the army could not have gotten beyond Aijalon. We should arrive in the late afternoon.”

  They headed west, skirting the bottleneck. The dried grass beaten down by thousands of feet resembled the aftermath of an animal stampede. On low branches were long strips of cloth hanging like colorful banners. It took a few moments for David to realize they were the remains of turbans torn from the heads of fleeing mercenaries. As David and his companions passed by, Jahra pulled the strips loose and placed them in a pile between him and the prince.

  Winding back to the road leading to the Philistine cities, they heard stamping and whinnying. A small herd of horses was massed in the road ahead. Some still had wide eyes, having not yet recovered from the frenzied rout. They all trailed bridles with the characteristic brass Philistine rings. A muscled bay with jet-black mane and a black sock on her left hind leg was standing a few paces away from the others. She stared at them with quiet, intelligent eyes.

  David opened the food sack and pulled out their remaining loaf. The bay widened her nostrils, tossed her head, and began moving toward him. Walking carefully toward her, he held out his hand in front of him, his palm open. She stopped an arm’s length away, then lowered her head, stretched forward, and with dainty lips took the bread from him. When she had finished, she made no objection as he leaped onto the padded saddle on her back.

  “Excellent! You won’t be slowing down the pace any longer,” Jonathan said. “Now it should take us only a few hours.” He looked ahead, as if visualizing their route. “We will pass by Kiriath Jearim first and then, heading west, should make contact with the army soon thereafter.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go there to at least be near the ark,” David said, finding his balance on the trotting horse.

  “So have I,” Jonathan responded. “Each time I’ve asked for permission to visit, Father’s answer is always the same: ‘We are professional fighting men, not sightseers.’ And when he moved the tabernacle he would never explain why he did not order the ark to be returned to the holy place.”

  “I’m sure he had good reasons,” David said defensively.

  Jonathan merely shrugged.

  “My father certainly appreciated it when the tabernacle was moved,” David went on. “It cut our travel time in half. He hates traveling outside of Judah. For him, traveling into Benjamin to make sacrifice was almost an act of disloyalty.”

  Jahra turned sideways and gave David a broad smile.

  “For years I assumed the ark was inside,” David said. “I even went up to the high priest to ask him about it. I remember looking at his big white turban and thinking he was wearing a cloud on his head.”

  Both Jonathan and Jahra laughed.

  “I asked him whether it was possible to see the ark, and he explained that it was far away in a town near the border of Dan and Benjamin, being cared for by Eleazar, the son of a rich man named Abinadab.”

  “I have met him,” Jonathan said. “He’s been to Gibeah several times. He takes his role as keeper of the ark very seriously, certainly much more seriously than my father does.”

  “I’ve heard different stories about how the ark wound up in Kiriath,” David said. “Do you know what actually happened?”

  Before answering, Jonathan unstopped the water bottle hanging from his saddle, took a drink, then handed it to Jahra. When Jahra was finished, he passed it to David. “After the army’s defeat at the battle of Ebenezer,” Jonathan said, “the Philistines captured the ark and destroyed Shiloh. They carried it back with them to Ashdod and displayed it inside Dagon’s temple.”

  “A merchant told me Dagon was the most ridiculous idol he’d ever seen,” David added. “He said it was huge and had the face of an angry fish.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Well, those uncircumcised fools thought they had humiliated the God of Israel, but the next morning they found Dagon facedown in front of the ark.”

  David hooted with delight.

  “They set it back up,” Jonathan continued, “but when they returned the following day, their fish-god was on the ground again, this time with its head broken off.”

  “And his hands, too,” David added.

  “That’s the way I heard it. They were broken off at the wrists across the temple’s threshold,” Jonathan agreed. “Ever since, those who enter to worship are still required to step over the threshold.” He pressed his fingertips to his forehead in disbelief. “They don’t seem to have realized that Yahweh exposed Dagon as an impotent fraud.�
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  “Is it true that the capture of the ark was the reason why your father became king?” David asked.

  Jonathan took a moment to answer. “Something like that. The Philistines put it in a cart and let oxen take it out of their territory. The elders had a meeting with Samuel in Abinadab’s field, where the oxen had decided to stop. It was there that they told Samuel they did not want his sons to become judges. So I think it was their mistrust, combined with shame at their defeat, that prompted them to demand a king.”

  The prince grew quiet. Staring into the distance, he said, “If I ever become king, I will bring the ark to Nob.”

  “If you do, maybe you can give me permission to take a look at it,” David said, smiling at the thought.

  “You are aware that it is dangerous, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am,” David responded. He could not help showing off his knowledge to the older man. “But the Lord struck down those seventy men because they looked inside. I would be happy just to look from a distance.”

  David had been so intent on his conversation with the prince that he had not been paying attention to his friend. “Jahra!” he shouted, noticing that he was sliding sideways off the saddle. Kicking his mare forward, he reached out his hand to steady him.

  Jahra’s head jerked up, and he instinctively grabbed Jonathan’s waist. His face was covered in sweat. David was going to suggest another drink, but it was clear that the bag was empty.

  “How much farther to Kiriath?” David yelled, his hand on his friend’s back. Jahra’s skin was burning.

  “Not far,” Jonathan responded.

  “Let’s stop there to get some water.”

  Jonathan did not object. They urged their horses forward and soon found themselves approaching the outskirts of the town that housed the ark of the covenant. It was a collection of no more than thirty houses. Large flat fields with ripening wheat in straight rows spread out around the homes. But what caught David’s eye was the large, hide-covered tent that loomed in the field farthest away. It stood alone on a small rise like an immense square mushroom.

  As they drew closer, they saw scores of canopies and tents, with hundreds of soldiers milling about the empty field.

  “It looks like I overestimated the army’s progress,” Jonathan said. Then, looking around at the tents, he growled, “The army has also grown considerably since last I saw it. A routed enemy inspires amazing courage among those lacking the stomach for battle.” He spit in disgust. “Let’s go find the physician.”

  David thrust his heel into his horse’s flank, blocking the prince’s way. Jonathan pulled back on the reins, annoyance on his face.

  “My prince, no one need know,” David said in a low voice, looking into the indignant eyes. “Jahra and I will not say a word. You have our oath.”

  Understanding his meaning, Jonathan’s expression softened. “My thanks to you, friend. But it cannot be kept hidden. The ephod,” the prince muttered, pressing his heels into his horse’s side and brushing past the bay. “It reveals what is concealed.”

  A soldier guarding the perimeter of the camp scrambled to his feet when he saw the prince approach. He had a florid, bulbous nose and cheeks that looked as if they had been burned by the sun. David saw his foot nudge a wine bag under a Philistine shield. Saluting, he lifted his spear out of the way to let Jonathan and David proceed.

  “Is Ahimelech the priest in his tent?” Jonathan snapped as they rode past.

  “No, my prince,” the soldier answered, bleary eyes bulging. “He is taking care of the wounded over there.” He gestured toward a large willow tree about thirty paces from the tent that held the ark. Over a dozen soldiers were reclining on beds beneath it.

  “There!” Jonathan yelled, pointing at a man wearing a white tunic and the traditional rounded turban on his head. “Hold on,” he told Jahra as he and David launched into a canter.

  Ahimelech was a stooped man with a graying beard that flowed over his priestly vestment. Next to him was a slim young man with a carefully trimmed beard. He was dressed in a robe that was impossibly white. He noticed them first and drew back as the prince approached.

  The priest was hunched over, looking at a wound, and so was startled when the prince called out his name. His eyes grew large, and he nervously adjusted his turban as the prince reined in his horse and jumped down in front of him. Pushing a soldier off a cloak, Jonathan lifted Jahra from the horse and laid him on it.

  “He needs water immediately,” Jonathan told the priest. “He also has a serious wound. Treat him.”

  “Yes, my prince. It will be my pleasure,” murmured the man in oiled tones, giving the prince an odd look. His hands were rubbing the folds of his linen tunic nervously.

  David detected a hint of guilt on the priest’s face.

  “May Yahweh be praised that He kept you safe,” Ahimelech said, speaking with his eyes averted. “We all expected the worst.” Lifting his gaze a little, he gestured at the cloth around Jonathan’s head. “May I be allowed to look at your injury?”

  Jonathan waved him away, already walking toward his father’s tent. “Get someone to take care of our horses,” he ordered. “David, you come with me; I want to introduce you to my father.”

  David’s breath left him momentarily.

  The king’s guards recognized Jonathan from a distance. As he approached, they stood at rigid attention. Before he was upon them, the door flap snapped open, and General Abner burst out. David had seen him on several occasions when he’d brought his brothers food from home. He strode toward them, his stocky body rolling from side to side—a stout vessel breaking through swells.

  “My prince,” he hailed, “welcome back.” His voice was hearty, but the pleasure in it did not rise to his eyes. He grabbed Jonathan’s forearm; then he looked at David, and his expression hardened. “You stay here!” He barged ahead, pointing Jonathan toward a tent.

  Jonathan ignored him. “He is coming with me.” He waved for David to follow them, ignoring the general’s protests.

  Abner snapped something at his guards, who saluted and opened the door into what David assumed were the general’s quarters. When they were inside, Abner spun and looked pointedly at them. Jonathan cut him off. “Abner, this is David; he is the cousin of Manoah and the brother of Eliab, from Bethlehem.” He placed his hand on David’s shoulder. “If it were not for him, I would not be here.”

  David was disappointed by Abner’s response. He nodded distractedly and grunted; then, as if needing time to weigh his words, he turned and walked to a carved chair on which hung a belt and sword. He touched the worn leather meditatively and fastened it around his waist. With his back toward them, he took a wide stance, his arms crossed behind him. Something in his posture was disconcerting. David met Jonathan’s eyes. The prince merely nodded inscrutably.

  The temperature inside the tent seemed to have dipped precipitously. David saw Jonathan spread his feet a bit wider and stiffen as Abner did a sudden about-face. There was no pleasure in his countenance, and the lines along his cheeks had deepened. He had reached some decision and was ready to execute it.

  Looking directly at the prince, Abner spoke in tones drained of emotion. “My prince, the king has ordered your arrest.” He unclasped his arms and without any attempt at concealment rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword. “In the event of your return, I was instructed to place you under guard immediately.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, placing his hand on his own sword.

  “I would not recommend that, my prince,” growled the general. “My men await my signal.”

  If the prince’s eyes had been spears, Abner would have been pinned to the tent’s center post. “Is this about my father’s foolish oath?”

  Abner nodded uncomfortably. “This morning, he had the priest make sacrifice and consult the ephod. He wanted assurance abo
ut pursuing the Philistines into their territory. When there was no response, Ahimelech consulted the Urim and Thummim. The Urim fell on you.”

  Jonathan’s knuckles whitened on the sword hilt.

  “Your father was enraged. He swore in front of the army that you were doomed to die.” Abner’s nostrils flared. “I am—very sorry, Prince Jonathan.”

  At that moment, a cluster of spear points burst into the tent, followed by five guards. Jonathan did not move. Out of the corners of his eyes, David saw that the weapons were trained on Jonathan’s back.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With his eyes fixed on Abner, Jonathan spoke in measured tones to the guards behind him. “Matathiah, Uzza, Oded, lower your weapons immediately, or you and your general will not leave this tent alive.”

  David’s body went numb. He thought he was defenseless until he remembered the knife Jonathan had given him that morning. His hands twitched, and his back felt the sharp prick of iron.

  Jonathan waited, his right hand as still as death. Abner finally gave the slightest of nods, followed by the sound of wooden shafts striking packed dirt. Jonathan did not change his grip, nor the tension in his back and shoulders. Then, slowly expelling his breath, Jonathan let his hands fall to his sides. Abner did not follow suit. His eyes remained wary.

  “Do not fear, General,” Jonathan said, spreading his hands in front of him. With his right hand open and extended, Jonathan carefully reached across with his left, grasped his sword, and pulled it out. “You may have my sword,” he said, presenting it to the general, its blade flat on his open palms. “I hold no ill will. I know you are obeying orders—insane though they be.”