Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  The cart was standing empty in front of his father’s house. David again felt a pang of guilt, remembering his father’s haggard face the last time he’d seen him. He dismounted, tied the bay to a wheel of the cart, and entered Jesse’s home. Peering into the dim interior through a doorway in the back, he could see his father lying on a woven mattress on the floor. A servant was bent over him, giving him water to drink.

  “How are you, Father?” David asked awkwardly, standing in the entryway of the bedroom, feeling like a little child.

  Jesse grimaced, pain lining the corners of his eyes and disappearing into his beard, which had gone completely white since David had last seen him. “I fell at Onan’s house,” he answered, his voice taut with discomfort. “I broke my hip.”

  There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence as David waited for further explanation. Finally David asked, “How is he?”

  Jesse shrugged, and even that seemed to be too much movement. “He somehow manages to keep prospering, despite himself. In any event, I want you to care for the sheep.” He winced and let out a shaky breath. Something David could not interpret passed over his father’s face. “No one can look after them like you.”

  David was dumbstruck. It was the kindest thing he could recall his father ever saying to him. A whisper of pride and hope blew through him. Before he could stop himself, he was speaking, his words coming quickly, tumbling over themselves. “Father, King Saul made me one of his armor bearers. Prince Jonathan and I have become friends. He also made me his shield bearer.” He was about to tell him about Michal but held back.

  Jesse coughed, and his eyes grew distant. David thought he detected resentment or jealousy. He stiffened, taking a step back from the bed.

  “I will take the flock out, Father,” he said, his voice sounding to him as thin and sharp as a mending needle. Without looking back, he strode to the front door. He heard a sound that might have been his father calling his name, but he did not stop.

  He was out with the flocks every day for the next week. He left early in the morning, bringing the food Lydea had prepared for him, and did not return till evening. The work of a shepherd had to be done on foot, so he left the bay behind. Though he missed the exciting and busy life of the palace, it felt good to be on his own, walking up and down the rugged terrain he knew so well.

  On the tenth morning, as he was preparing to take the flocks out, he was surprised to see his sister Zeruiah approaching. They rarely spoke to each other. Whenever she needed to communicate with him, she used her children as messengers. She was a serious, angular woman who was devoted to her family and, not having any daughters of her own, busied herself sewing clothes for her nieces. She usually moved slowly, favoring knees that were a source of constant pain. He was shocked to see her nearly running.

  “Father wishes to see you,” she said, gasping for breath. Her cheeks were blotchy, and her eyes were red.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She put her fist over her mouth and blinked several times. “Just come,” was all she could say. David hurried after her. When he entered the house, he was shocked to see how gaunt and pale his father looked. He was on his sleeping mat, his back propped up with pillows. The side of his mouth drooped strangely. Zeruiah bent down, took a cloth from a servant, and wiped drool away with the cloth.

  His father tried to turn his head to look at him but could not. “Go … to … my … boys.” His words were slurred. “Bring … me … word.” His head lolled to the side. Zeruiah tried to lay him down, but Jesse grunted at her impatiently.

  “I will, Father,” David said.

  Before closing the door, he heard his father wheeze, “Zeruiah will give … food.”

  David saddled his mare, made sure his water bottle was secure, and tightened his belt so that his cudgel and sling would not slip out. When he rode past his father’s house, he was surprised to see Jesse outside, sitting on a chair. David slowed, waiting for Zeruiah, who was walking toward him, holding out a large bag.

  “The food is in here,” she explained, then glanced back over her shoulder. “He wanted to watch you leave.” A coolness had crept into her voice. He took the bag and was surprised by its weight. “There is roasted grain, bread, and nine of your father’s cheeses,” Zeruiah said. “Three are for cousin Manoah.”

  “I will deliver them,” David said, trying to avoid looking in Jesse’s direction. “Tell Father I will bring back word as soon as I can. Azekah is only a half-day’s ride. I will be there by midday.”

  David slapped the reins and began trotting away. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement, as though his father had attempted a wave. He spurred his horse into a canter.

  Over the years, David would wonder what he would have done differently had his childish boasting not been cut off by a dry cough. Whether voluntary or not, it had robbed him of the only chance he would ever have to reconcile with his father. And, much later, he would have occasion to concede that his pride was also to blame. Had he stepped through that opening, that possibility offered by the sound of his name, he would have freed himself of the guilt that would plague him the remainder of his life.

  48 Psalm 61:1–3

  49 Psalm 61:4–5

  50 Psalm 61:6–8, author’s paraphrase

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The army was stationed on the northern hills overlooking the Valley of Elah in the plains of Judah. When David rode into camp at midday, he was struck by the quiet. It was unnerving. There was tension in the air, and none of the soldiers, even the ones he knew from the palace, met his eye. They acted as if they had suffered a humiliating defeat, but David could tell they had not yet engaged the enemy. And why not? he wondered. What have you been doing all this time?

  He could make no sense of it. Months earlier, after crushing the Edomites in their latest campaign, following resounding victories over Moab and Ammon, his brothers had come home bragging that Yahweh their God had made the Israelite army invincible. Yet here they were, cowering like a pack of whipped dogs. How can this be? David raged silently. Are you not descendants of Joshua’s army, the one that laid waste to the seven Canaanite nations?

  It made him furious.

  Shimeah was the first of his brothers to spot him. David tethered his horse and handed over the food bag. Shimeah immediately opened it.

  “Three are for cousin Manoah,” David explained when his brother pulled out one of the bricks of cheese. “The remainder you can divide among yourselves.”

  “It tastes like home,” Shimeah said, speaking around a mouthful. He ripped off a corner of flat bread and put that into his mouth along with another bite of cheese.

  David was waiting impatiently for his brother to swallow so he could ask about the army’s behavior when a bellow interrupted him, rising from the valley below. It was the sound of a powerful man and brought to mind King Saul’s voice during one of his attacks—but it was much louder.

  “Am I not a Philistine, and are you not the servants of Saul?” it boomed. There was no need for the man to identify himself. His harsh gutturals betrayed his nationality. “Choose a man and have him come down to me. If he is able to fight and kill me, we will submit to you, but if I overcome and kill him, you will serve us.”

  David shook his head as if to break a spell. The insolence of the challenge was unmistakable. Certainly, this could not be the reason why Saul’s mighty army had dissolved into a mass of trembling women. Where were the champions rushing to defend Israel’s honor? It was only one Philistine, after all; had they forgotten how Jonathan dispatched twenty?

  David pushed himself in front of the line of soldiers standing stiffly on the edge of the northern summit. Shimeah followed him more slowly. About two hundred paces away was a strutting Philistine warrior, and behind him, his squat but sturdy armor bearer. David squinted to see more clearly. The sun was blazing
off the warrior’s bronze armor. David had heard about giants before but had never seen one. There was no doubt that he was looking at one of those formidable creatures now. The warrior appeared to be several heads taller than King Saul, the tallest man in Israel, and must have been twice as heavy. But from this vantage point, it was difficult to make an accurate assessment.

  Shimeah pulled David’s tunic to get his attention. David bent toward him, still looking at the Philistine. “His name is Goliath,” Shimeah said in a whisper, as if afraid of his own voice. “He is one of the giants from Gath. His brothers are underneath those terebinths.” He indicated the bushy oak trees that ran the length of the valley. With their leafy, horizontal branches, they made ideal shade trees. “He has been coming out every day since we arrived. And every day he says the same thing.” Shimeah lowered his voice even further. “Hundreds of men have fled.”

  David looked incredulously at his brother. Was he implying that it was an act of heroism simply to have remained to listen to the Philistine’s shouts? He was going to ask why no hero had stepped forward when Goliath made a sudden movement. With a dramatic flourish, the giant unsheathed his sword and brandished it overhead. He thrust out his massive chest and thundered, “This day, I defy the ranks of Israel and your God! Give me a man, and let us fight each other.”

  At that, something snapped inside David. It was one thing to ridicule the army, but mocking Yahweh was intolerable. He stared in amazement at the pallid faces and haunted eyes surrounding him. Shimeah seemed to have shrunk into himself.

  David was ashamed for these soldiers. They were the ones meant to instill fear; they weren’t meant to shudder in urine-soaked tunics, paralyzed by pig-eating Philistines. As he opened his mouth to berate his brother, he was stopped short by an audacious idea.

  It came in the form of a question: Is this not both a challenge to the God of Israel and a perfect opportunity? Is this not the moment I’ve been dreaming of? He closed his mouth and pulled his brother aside. “Tell me, what will King Saul do for the man who takes up the challenge of this uncircumcised Philistine?”

  Shimeah stared at him as though seeing him for the first time. He adjusted his tunic over his broad belly, then looked David directly in the eyes, as if issuing his own challenge. “The king will bestow on him great wealth, will give him one of his daughters in marriage, and will grant him and his family exemption from royal taxes.”

  David’s pulse began to race. “Did he say which daughter?”

  Shimeah’s eyes narrowed, but he did not answer. He merely shook his head.

  Wanting confirmation from a higher source, David found Manoah and asked him. The gray-bearded commander confirmed what Shimeah had said. “The king has given his vow to make the victor rich and a member of the royal family.”

  As he spoke, David noticed Eliab sauntering toward them, listening in. Raising his voice to make sure his words would carry, David asked Manoah to take him to see King Saul. If arrogant Eliab wanted to behave like a helpless baby, then let the courage of a young man not yet twenty be a rebuke to his spinelessness.

  Eliab was as predictable as a ram staking claim to a ewe. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, striding toward David. He grabbed David’s tunic and yanked it tight around his throat. “Who’s taking care of Father’s sheep while you’re here prancing about, trying to get the king’s attention?”

  “Let me go,” David said, struggling to escape his brother’s grasp.

  Eliab turned to look at Manoah. “Since King Saul asked David to play for him, this runt struts about like”—he stopped, hunting for the right term—“like a peacock. He acts like he’s one of the royals himself. Now he thinks he’s too good to take care of our father’s flocks.” He jerked David, lifting him momentarily off the ground. “What he needs is to be taught his place.”

  His thick-browed eyes searing David, Eliab raised his hand to deliver a slap, but Manoah held him back. “Enough.” The command was short but cracked like a whip. “Calm yourself. David meant no harm. He has won the king’s favor. You would do well to remember that.” He gave his irate cousin a pointed glance. Eliab blustered, oblivious to the implication.

  “The music has done wonders for our king,” Manoah continued, breaking Eliab’s hold on David. “Your little brother has pleased all who live in Gibeah. They tell me that his songs have the power to chase the thunder and lightning away.”

  Eliab shook his head in disgust, his lips puckered as if he’d been forced to lick a spoiled lemon. Placing a hand on his thick shoulder, Manoah gave Eliab another sharp look. Yet his words were soothing. “Go easy on him; he’s just a boy.”

  Eliab pulled back, his cheeks a mottled red. “Don’t be fooled by the innocent face. You do not know how conceited and devious his heart is. He thinks that by batting his eyes and using the king’s name, he can get whatever he wants.”

  “What did I say?” David protested. “Can’t I even speak for myself now? Father sent me, and I was only asking—”

  At that moment a tall, lean runner arrived. He stooped to deliver a message to Manoah in hushed tones. The commander’s mouth tightened, and then he spun on his heels and followed, motioning for Eliab to come with him. David gave his irate brother a contemptuous glance before he left to find an officer to take him to the king.

  As he was looking, the messenger strode toward him with long, lithe strides. He placed an authoritative hand on David’s upper arm. The fingers tightened sufficiently to cause alarm. Staring through David, the messenger said in flat tones, “Come with me. The king wishes to speak with you.”

  Not waiting for a response, he trotted toward a large tent, pulling David with him. When they approached, without a word the king’s guards uncrossed their spears and granted them entrance into the royal shelter.

  King Saul was in the middle of the cool, spacious tent, sitting on a polished wooden bench with curved sides and no back. General Abner was standing next to him, his legs as bowed as the arms of the king’s bench. They made him seem more squat than he really was. Saul looked as though he had not slept in days. His troubled eyes were red, with purplish pouches underneath. They seemed to be filled with fear and indecision. Saul glanced at David without any recognition. David’s stomach tightened into a cold knot.

  “Who is this youth, and who is his father?” Saul asked Abner, his words soft and slurred around the edges.

  Abner bowed his head slightly and shot David a warning glance. It was not uncommon for the king to forget names and faces following a severe fit. “This is David, the son of Jesse,” the general answered. “The family is from Bethlehem, and three of his brothers serve under Commander Manoah. He comes from good stock.”

  Saul nodded distractedly. “Tell me why you’ve come,” he ordered David.

  David had been rehearsing the words since the idea struck him. But he had crafted them within the context of his relationship as the favored singer whose music could drive the demons away. Now, like a thief, the king’s illness had stolen this from him. He was a total stranger—a teenager who, as far as the confused king knew, did not know the difference between a carving knife and a sword.

  There was nothing to do but push forward. The words he’d so carefully prepared poured out of him in a nervous rush. “O king, do not let the hearts of your soldiers fail at the blasphemous words of this Philistine. Your servant will go and confront this uncircumcised dog who has defied the army of the living God and of his great king. I”—he corrected himself quickly—“I mean, your servant will take up his challenge and fight him. Your servant will—”

  Saul raised his hand to stop the stream of words. There was a flicker of impatience, or possibly humor, in the recesses of his eyes. David was unsure which. “You are not able to go against this Philistine. You are only a boy, and the Philistine champion has been a man of war since before you were born.”

  David felt it the instant
the king began to speak: the awareness of a presence around him, and then a tingling warmth as it flowed over and into him. He had first felt it after Samuel’s anointing. It had returned inside the holy place, and now he could feel it again, the warmth of oil on his head, followed by that strange, frightening, exhilarating feeling of being filled up—like warm honey was pouring into him.

  The unrehearsed words flowed out of him. “Though your servant is young, I have kept my father’s flocks since I was a child. I have not had to face men, but I have done battle against lions and bears. Whenever these beasts attacked, I would go after them and strike them down, plucking my father’s sheep from their open jaws.”

  David raced on, knowing that one more wave would seal the king’s refusal. “And when lions came after your servant, I grabbed them by the beard and struck them to the ground.” He was exaggerating the encounter with the lions, but not by much. David raised his staff to illustrate the blow he’d delivered. At this, the guards leaped forward, spears aimed at his chest.

  Abner restrained them with a harsh command.

  Another surge of that strange power carried David forward. “I have killed these wild animals, and I shall do the same to this uncircumcised Philistine.” The warm prickling was now a fire racing over the surface of his skin. His voice was thick and resonant with conviction. “O king, the Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will surely deliver me from the hand of this Philistine!”

  As David was speaking, Saul’s back had stiffened, and he began to lean forward as if pulled in by the force of David’s fervor. By the time he finished, the king’s breathing was coming faster and his eyes had cleared. His hands, gripping the arms of his chair, and his upper body were taut. He looked as though he were getting ready to fling himself at David.