Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  David saw a look of shame whisk across the general’s face. “Thank you, my prince,” Abner muttered, his eyes trained on the sword. “I am only doing my duty.”

  Jonathan’s next words took them all by surprise. “Abner, you and I know that my father is not well.” The general stiffened and drew back, seeming to grow taller. “I am not asking an old soldier like you to be disloyal. But you and I know his dark moods have placed you, as well as members of my family, in difficulty. This is just one of them, though it may be the worst yet.”

  The general’s tension seemed to ease a little. “Yes, my prince,” he agreed in a voice so low that David could barely hear it. “He has not been at his best.”

  Jonathan continued. “And you and I both know that, despite what the physicians have done, his condition shows no sign of improving.”

  Abner said nothing, but there was agreement in his eyes.

  “Ahimelech told me something very interesting. He said that he had heard that music inspired by Yahweh could bring light into the bleakest darkness and could even dispel demons.”

  Abner made a noncommittal sound.

  “I have found such music,” Jonathan said, stepping over to David and placing his hand on his shoulder. “He has the gift. It is remarkable. He saved my life, and I would not be surprised if with it, he is able to save my father’s as well.”

  David felt his face grow pale with dismay.

  Jonathan went on. “If I am … well, unable to tell Mother myself, I want you to present David to her. His gift may yet bring peace to a family that has had none for a long time.”

  When Jonathan finished, the general strode past him, and Jonathan turned to follow. “You stay here!” Abner growled to his guards. Unsure what to do, David followed several steps behind the prince.

  At the entrance to Saul’s tent, Jonathan turned and gripped David’s arm. He did not say anything, but David knew he was to accompany them inside.

  “Tell Sisha we are here,” Abner ordered one of the soldiers guarding the spacious tent.

  Within moments, the soldier had returned with a man David guessed was Saul’s manservant. Though bent slightly with age, he carried himself with great dignity. He was almost as tall as the prince but was so gaunt his face resembled that of a cadaver. Sisha bowed at the waist, and as the prince stepped forward, he touched Sisha’s shoulder affectionately. The servant placed his right hand over his long gray beard, sliding it down to its tip, then gestured for them to follow him.

  David was surprised at the simplicity of the tent. There were a few benches and tables and several racks of armor along the walls. He slowed as he walked past a chest piece made of embossed leather and studded with iron and ornamental brass fittings. The chest piece was huge; it would cover him from his neck to his ankles. But the bronze sword was what caught his eye. His fingers itched to touch the polished metal.

  He turned to see Sisha push back a linen curtain on a wooden rod. Behind it lay the king reclining on a pile of ornate pillows. He was dressed in a gown of embroidered silk dyed an unusual purple that changed colors when he moved. The light from oil lamps made it glisten like the skin of an adder.

  “Welcome back—my son!” the king boomed. There was a tone of mockery in the greeting that made David’s back tingle. When Saul shifted his position, it was like the uncoiling of a viper. The hairs on David’s neck and forearms began to prickle. Saul was large and ponderous, but even lying down he exuded a raw, unsettling power.

  He waved at a chair nearby. “Sit.”

  “I prefer to receive my sentence on my feet,” Jonathan responded through tight lips.

  The king ignored his son’s insolence. “I see you managed to survive your little escapade, though I take it your armor bearer was not as fortunate. Have you brought with you his replacement?” His eyes moved to David.

  “No, this young man saved my life. His name is David.”

  “You recall that I ordered the troops not to engage the enemy?” Saul continued as if Jonathan had not spoken. He slouched back farther into his pillows, his body at rest but his eyes the dangerous slits of a predator.

  Jonathan nodded, drawing himself to attention.

  In a singsong voice, the king said, “I did not hear your response.”

  “Yes, my king, you ordered the army not to do anything.”

  Saul’s eyes narrowed even further. They seemed to glow with a reddish light. It reminded David of the bear’s when it had charged him. The prickling sensation was growing more intense, and he was beginning to feel nauseated. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.

  “You were ever the sarcastic one, angling for the army’s favor.” With difficulty, the king lifted himself from the pillows. Sisha leaped forward to help him to his seat. Saul leaned on the offered arm, then shoved it away when he dropped into the chair. He clamped his eyes shut, pressing his fingertips against the sides of his face and rubbing them in small circles.

  When Saul looked up, there was a smirk on his face, and his eyes were slightly crossed. There was something so unsettling in them, David wanted to run out of the tent.

  “You’ve been trying to turn them away from me.” Saul’s voice had changed timbre; it was higher and filled with menace. “Your ploy nearly succeeded, but I discovered your henchmen and had them executed.”

  Jonathan looked at him in shock.

  “Oh, don’t play the innocent. I know everything. I see everything—thanks to the ephod.” Saul let out a guffaw that slid into an eerie wail. Jonathan glanced at David, his eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly.

  “It disclosed that you and your men brought a curse on yourselves by disobeying my command,” Saul said after regaining his breath. “Before I had them put to death, they confessed to eating the meat of horses.” He leaned toward them secretively. “One of them—after a bit of encouragement—said you ordered them to do so.”

  The smile on Saul’s face grew more sly, the tone of his voice more confidential. “So you see, they twice deserved to die—once for violating my command, and once for disobeying God.” The king leaned back in his chair, appraising Jonathan. “As do you, my heroic son.”

  Jonathan’s face was dark with suppressed rage. “I ate only one mouthful of honey,” he protested. “I did not disobey God’s law.”

  Without hesitating, Saul responded, “Well, you disobeyed mine, which is much the same thing.” His eyes flared with crazed intelligence. “Fortunately for me, Yahweh is still on my side, and the Urim exposed your betrayal.” His face was painful to look at. “And so you, too, must die.” His smile was cut short as he winced. Massaging his temples and looking at the floor, he tossed his hand in the guards’ direction, ordering them to take Jonathan away.

  “Since he is a member of the royal family, use the rope instead,” Saul commanded.

  The prince gave no resistance as the guards grabbed his arms and pushed him out of the tent. Abner followed a few steps behind. David was behind him. The guards marched Jonathan across the length of the field to an oak tree that stood next to a large rock. It was covered with the blood of Ahimelech’s sacrifice.

  “Stand over there, away from the tree,” Abner instructed David. The general took his place next to Jonathan in front of the thick trunk.

  The men who had been scattered about leisurely were now approaching. Many were pointing and gesticulating angrily. The army’s calm had been replaced with a mounting sense of outrage.

  “Go find a rope!” Abner shouted at one of the guards. His face was a mask of anger and frustration.

  “But, General, there is the one we used last night,” the guard blustered, kicking at a pile of rope next to the trunk.

  Abner swung his sword at him, almost slashing open his throat. “Get a new one, you fool! And alert the troops about what is taking place. I want every soldier here present and accounted for.”

 
“General, what’s going on?” asked the first to arrive.

  “Shut your mouth. I’ll tell you when I’m ready,” Abner barked. He said nothing further until they were surrounded by over a thousand men muttering and growling to one another.

  Abner lifted his hand imperiously. All eyes were fixed on him. “The king has ordered the death of Jonathan.”

  There was an intake of breath, a chilling silence, and then an explosion of questions drowned out by yells of incredulity. There now was a simmering of rebellion in the air. To David’s surprise, Abner did not answer. He merely stood with his hands clasped behind his back and an inscrutable expression on his face. David was close enough to see the muscle along his jaw throbbing.

  Jonathan also stood silently, his back to the tree, staring with a cold fury across the field at the royal standard above the king’s tent. Beneath the banner, several servants were assisting Saul as he mounted his horse.

  In the roil of angry bodies, David noticed Shimeah staring at him in dismay. Eliab was nearby, listening in on a conversation between Manoah and someone David could not see. The crowd parted to make way for the general, who had left Jonathan while David’s attention was diverted.

  “Here comes the lapdog with the rope,” someone yelled. The guard jogged up to Abner, cradling a thick cord in his arms, looking around with apprehension.

  “We should string him up!” the angry voice yelled. There was a loud rumble of assent.

  Abner jerked his finger, indicating that the rope should be dropped at the base of the tree. The guard obeyed and slunk into the crowd. The general raised his hand to silence the men when he saw King Saul approaching. Silence descended as the king’s horse, with regal flicks of his hooves, broke through the crowd. Saul positioned himself between the oak and the prince.

  At that moment, a voice cut through the silence. “General Abner, what is the charge?” David recognized it as that of Commander Manoah.

  “Violating the king’s oath,” the general answered. “Jonathan disobeyed the prohibition against eating before the Philistines were driven off our land.”

  There was a menacing murmur from the crowd.

  “What did he eat?” Manoah inquired.

  “A mouthful of honey.”

  “Only a mouthful?”

  The murmur became a rumble.

  “May this never be,” several voices yelled at once. One louder than the others pierced the babble: “God forbid that Jonathan, through whom the Lord worked this great deliverance, should die for a bite of honey!”

  A thousand soldiers waved their arms, screaming support for their champion. David looked up to see the king’s reaction. Saul had undergone some kind of transformation; his eyes were much clearer than they had been moments before. He sat heavily on his nervous horse, exuding the dignified authority that had so impressed David the first time he’d seen him. For the briefest moment their eyes met, and David thought he could detect relief mingled with shame.

  The king lifted his hand. He held it aloft till the noise ceased.

  “My son is a hero!” he shouted. “Through him the Lord worked a great and momentous victory.”

  The crowd roared its approval.

  “I have decided to cancel his sentence. This day will be marked not by death but rejoicing.” Saul thrust his hand into the air to quiet the jubilant soldiers. “I forgive my son for his indiscretion and grant complete clemency. The prince acted not in rebellion but courage, loyalty, and love for our nation.”

  The soldiers rushed at Jonathan, picked him up on their shoulders, and, cheering, carried him back to their encampment. The king sat on his steed, his back bent as if he were sinking under a formidable weight.

  David felt a hand on his arm. It was his cousin Manoah. “That turned out well, don’t you think?” Smiling slyly, Manoah added, “Let it not be said that we Judites lack power of persuasion. The day will come when we will be recognized as the most powerful tribe in Israel.” He gave David a calculating look. “I have heard rumors that there is a member of our tribe who also has recently distinguished himself.”

  David shrugged. “Jahra and I stumbled on the prince in the woods. All we did was give him some food and water.”

  “Cousin, you will learn that heroism can be as much about luck as anything else. Being in the right place at the right time can make one as much a hero as can courage. And what is more, from what I see”—he leaned toward David conspiratorially—“you have made yourself an ally some would kill for.”

  David was confused. He had known Manoah only as a fighter and an affable cousin; he had not realized that he might also be adept at intrigue. He gave him a halfhearted smile. Underneath, the ground again felt very slippery. At that, he remembered his friend’s bandaged leg and pulled his arm free. “I need to find out how Jahra is doing,” he said, only too anxious to get away.

  Manoah nodded, touching two fingers to his forehead in a humorous salute and waving him on. “We shall speak more of this later.”

  When David arrived at the willow next to the large tent, he noticed the young man who’d been assisting Ahimelech. He was adjusting a wet rag on Jahra’s forehead. Beside him was a bowl filled with water the color of amber.

  “How is he?” David asked, dropping on his knees beside them. Jahra opened his eyes and gave David a wan smile.

  “His fever has lessened, thanks be to God,” said the young man. “My master told me to give him the best of care. I gave him some herbs to drink to help with the fever. I also put fresh wrappings on his leg, with a honey poultice.”

  David nodded gratefully. “His name is Jahra, by the way; mine is David.”

  “I am Adriel of Meholah.” He emphasized his place of birth as if it held some significance. It meant nothing to David. “I heard what you both did for the prince.” Adriel’s words were as precise and measured as his pointed black beard. “And that you were given an audience with the king.” His smile was wide, but there was a contradictory coolness in the words. David was surprised to notice a sharpness along the corners of Adriel’s dark, glittering eyes. He reminded David of a bantam rooster preparing to strike. “The queen mother will be very grateful,” Adriel continued, showing more of his white teeth. “It would have simply destroyed her if the prince had died. And, it goes without saying, his younger sister as well.” A possessiveness had crept into his voice. “Had the Philistines killed him, I fear what she might have done. Members of the royal family are highly sensitive, you understand.” His expression made it clear he was sure that David did not understand.

  “Do you mean Michal?” David asked sharply, riled by the young man’s condescension.

  “Why, yes,” he responded, giving David a sharp look. “I ordered a messenger to deliver the good news to Princess Michal.” He licked his lips, then continued. “I am the royal physician’s chief assistant and am responsible for the welfare of the extended family. I have treated her on not a few occasions, and she has been very grateful for my help.” He looked coolly at David, stroking his beard lightly. His attention was diverted when Jahra moaned. He took another rag from the bowl beside him, wrung it out, and replaced the one on Jahra’s forehead.

  “I only want what is best for her,” Adriel said, touching his chest lightly as though emphasizing the depth of his concern. There was hostility lurking beneath the careful words. It was becoming clear. Ahimelech’s assistant was not bragging as much as issuing a warning.

  Adriel rose to his feet and plucked pieces of grass from his tunic. “I have done all I can here,” he said. “Your friend should continue to improve, but if he does not, you are to alert me immediately. I will be staying in the tent next to the king’s.”

  “Thank you for your help. We are very grateful.” David looked down at Jahra, who was nodding in appreciation. “He looks much better already.”

  When Adriel had walked away, David felt Jahra’s forehe
ad. It was much cooler, and fever no longer glowed in his eyes. His smile was broad and genuine.

  “You had me worried,” David said. “But looks like you’re going to be just fine. Thankfully you’re as tough as an old donkey.” He lay on his back next to his friend and closed his eyes. He felt drained.

  Jahra poked him in the ribs. David looked at him. His friend was pointing toward the tree where the hanging had almost occurred.

  “So you heard the commotion?”

  Jahra nodded vigorously.

  He laid his head back and began telling Jahra what happened to the prince. At some point before completing the story, exhausted, he fell asleep.

  And at some point the nightmare came.

  The cave is familiar. It is cool and dark. The deeper he walks, the cooler it becomes. He is naked, of course. He is alone, except for the wolves that pursue him, though he cannot see them. The skin on his back crawls, the dread worse than actual sight. He keeps moving forward, compelled by an inner necessity. His feet slide on the greasy film covering the stones. The tunnel narrows; he feels his chest constrict. He can hear the padding of feet; they are at his heels.

  His pace quickens.

  The walls press in upon him. He stoops to keep his head from hitting the ceiling as his elbows scrape against the sides. His heart in his throat, he bursts into the room. It is still and dark. Gnarled talons of wet stone rise up from the uneven floor and reach down from the glistening ceiling. They are grasping for him. The thudding of his heart and the hollow echo of drops falling into shallow, dead ponds drown out the sound of the hungry predators.

  Amber eyes leer at him. Narrow faces with gray snouts smile, exposing sharp, wet fangs. The eyes are fixed on his unclothed body. The beasts amble forward silently. There is a mocking humor in their eyes that makes him feel unclean.

  That is when he sees her. The female saunters into the shaft of bluish light that transects the cavern. A thrill of horror scurries through him as she approaches. There is a coquettish sway to her body. Her eyes burn into his. In their depths is an allure that terrifies him. Unhurried, she reaches out gently to paw him. He can see the tip of her red tongue between grinning lips. The taste of acrid black smoke fills his mouth, and his whole body begins to shake.