by Cliff Graham
From those trees, Joab would launch his men forward in a lightning strike, cutting the camp in half and preventing them from regrouping. He would be at the command tent before the Amalekites even knew what was happening. Joab thought of his iron blade gliding through the rib cage of the barbarian leader, and the pleasure of it made him pull himself even harder through the undergrowth.
David would be impressed with that. Joab would become commander of the army that would set David on the throne. If David let him, Joab would control Judah with ease and then set out to subjugate the northern tribes. Benjamite men upset with Saul would join them. They would need Benjamin’s skill with bows and slings.
There were good soldiers in those parts. Joab had fought with them. They could be ruthlessly effective if properly led. He would unite them under David eventually, but first he would teach them a lesson. Saul had made many friends early in his reign, and many would remain loyal. Abner, Saul’s general, would need to be won over. He would make a dangerous enemy if not.
Jonathan frightened Joab. Of all the problems that might stand between Joab and his ambitions, Saul’s son was chief among them. David would want to give him mercy because they were old friends, and David would appoint Jonathan commander of the army. Joab was sure of it.
Jonathan will need to be dealt with, Joab thought as he crawled forward. An accident could be arranged, perhaps a hunting or a training accident. Asahel, Joab’s younger brother, was eager to prove himself. Joab would put him in charge of coming up with a plan. Female assassin? They used them in Egypt.
Joab wiped sweat from his brow. No, Jonathan is not susceptible to women like David is. In fact, Jonathan had no vices that Joab was aware of. Loyalty? He was blindly loyal. That could be used. Joab let it go, deciding he needed more time to think about it. The battle came first.
He reached the edge of the grove. The deepening dusk had covered their approach. No one among the Amalekites looked even remotely alert. From this point, he could at last see the entire field. They were spread out to the right of the forest peninsula, in the direction of David and across the center of the field where the command tent was. Now he saw that the Amalekite camp extended to the left farther than they originally guessed.
The anxious eyes of his men watched him. Many had families in that camp. The light was almost gone. Amalekite sentries nearby guzzled wine from skins, arguing over female prisoners, playing the peculiar game with sticks and rolled hide he had seen them play before in their towns. They were woefully unprepared. No defensive strike teams, no preparation of any kind.
He mentally walked himself one more time through the plan. Archers would fire first. A ram’s horn would blow, signaling the charge, and they would sprint into the camp, heavy weapons in the front ranks, closely followed by light infantry who would kill any enemies who had survived the charge. Then they would form a perimeter around the tent, shielding the women and children from the battle, so that David’s company could fight with more abandon. Wait for David. Then flank outward and clean up.
He made each of his officers repeat the plan in a whisper since it was getting too dark to see hand signals. Satisfied that they had it, he let them relay it down the line.
Moments passed. Noises and music continued.
Blood was about to be spilled. Blood for Judah. For a new Israel. Blood for his beloved land.
Benaiah hated the waiting before a fight, that intolerable time after the orders had been given and all they could do was sit until all of the pieces of the attack were ready. It left him alone with his thoughts. Something he did not want.
He tried to think through the plan again to distract himself and kill time. Touch nothing unclean. Take no plunder — yet. Don’t stop moving, at any time or for any reason, no matter who dies and no matter what you hear. Cut off heads when possible; Amalekites are terrified of going into the afterlife headless. Word needs to reach their homeland that an attack on David and his God is certain violent death, carrying on into eternity.
Benaiah was confident that each man knew his duty. The Gadites were particularly enthusiastic about the urge to remove heads. Benaiah liked them, truly hard men who had crossed the Jordan in full flood.
Don’t think of Sherizah. Focus.
The teams were in place. They were well trained and motivated, driven far beyond what they had ever experienced, since it was their loved ones in the valley below. David’s orders had been clear: finish the battle before finding your wives. Any man caught lingering with his family while the fight was going would be speared.
Would she still want him? After all?
He shook his head. Focus on something else.
The Hittite regiment was kneeling in a line to his right. They had the inglorious but necessary job of weapon resupply, and Keth had them ready. They would run weapons to the front as needed, replacing those that would dull or break from cracks and defects. This was a new, untested tactic of David’s invention, and this would be the first chance to deploy it, to determine if it would be used in the future.
The Hittites were an unexpected provision in the race to master ironworks. Bronze was out for good; no more bronze spearheads bending against shields. They needed iron. Now they had hope that the rumors of a new method of forging were true and that they would be able to eventually battle Philistines with iron of their own rather than beg them for it.
David was sitting still as stone next to him. The waiting never seemed to bother him.
A strange man, Benaiah thought as he studied David in the growing darkness. Even now he was humming. Probably another song of praise.
“Does Yahweh … forgive a man if he fails?” Benaiah had asked it aloud without thinking. Thankfully, he saw that none of the other men had heard him because they were too busy preparing themselves, closing their eyes against all distractions and emotions that would dull their weapon strikes.
David did not avert his gaze from the impending battlefield but nodded. “He does. None more so than myself.”
It was an odd and unexpected response. Benaiah waited.
“Many black things hide in my own heart, brother,” David said. “Perhaps that is why I am so grateful for his mercy.”
Benaiah watched the lines of Amalekite troops pitching tents for the night, those who were already drunk with wine, unaware of the death about to befall them. Sherizah had disappeared into the command tent not long after his glimpse of her—at least he believed it was Sherizah, but he could have been wrong.
The slope was open ground and flat; they would be charging onto the flats, leaving behind the high ground against a numerically superior force. Not a good battle plan.
Perhaps that is why I am so grateful for his mercy.
“How do you know when he is speaking to you?” Benaiah asked.
David searched the grove for Joab’s men before responding. “Sometimes he tells me my path as clearly as I am talking to you now. Other times, I have to decide the best course of action and then pray for him to stop me if it is not of him. I learned that from Jonathan. Consider it carefully, pray for mercy, attack violently.”
Benaiah raised the subject no one ever wanted to with David. “Do you miss him?”
“I do.” David answered quickly, as though it had slipped out before he could filter and measure it.
“And Michal?”
“And Michal.”
“When did you first know the covering?”
At first he thought David had simply chosen to ignore the question, since several moments went by before the chief even acknowledged him again. David seemed to have forgotten their conversation and was staring intently at Joab and Abishai’s position, as if he did not trust them to follow his orders.
“When I was a shepherd,” David said at last, “in my youth, I saw my brothers dealing with problem sheep. I thought it was harsh, what they did, but later I saw why it was necessary.
“The ones that are particularly rebellious need special attention. If the sheep wanders away or
walks toward a cliff, the shepherd normally strikes it on the nose gently with his staff and warns it not to continue. This works for many of them.
“Other sheep need to be punished more strictly. Some need to be whipped. I used to take a branch of sycamore and strip it bare, then whip the legs of the sheep until it stopped running. Most of the time that worked.
“Every few years, though, a sheep would need more drastic punishment. During the year I left my father’s house to join Saul’s army, one in particular would not stop going into the forest. I would strike it, hold it, never let it out of my sight, but it kept fleeing to the darkest part of the woods.
“It wandered out into a storm one night. I was huddled over my fire in the cave, stranded when the wadi overflowed, blocking the path home. I pulled all of the sheep into the cave with me to wait it out. That sheep was not among them, of course.
“So I went after it. Left the others in the cave and stumbled through the lightning and the heavy rain. I finally saw it huddled under a tree. Any predator could have killed it. I picked it up and sang to it to calm it down as I walked back to the cave.
“When I arrived, the first thing I did was snap its leg over a rock. The sheep was bleating and terrified, but I just let it flounder for a moment.
“When I was sure the leg was truly broken, I sang to it again. A silly little song I had composed for them one night after a bear attack in order to calm them. And as I sang, I wrapped the leg tightly with a cloth.
“That sheep couldn’t walk for days. I had to carry it. But I carried that sheep until the leg healed, and for the rest of that sheep’s life, it never left my side. It went where I went and did what I did. It grew quite old and produced a large amount of wool for us.
“That night was the first time I understood the covering. The covering is the fire. It is the strength, courage, and power Yahweh equips us with. It girds a man’s loins when he needs it and lets a man know that Yahweh forgives him when he fails. It snaps our legs when we need it. It speaks Yahweh’s wise counsel, like the woman in Gath that we saw that night. It comes only from Yahweh, who alone is the shepherd that we need.”
Benaiah shifted his weight against the rock and shivered at the unexpected chill. He wondered at how strange the weather had been recently, wondered what the story of the sheep had meant.
“Something happened several days ago before I returned to the ranks,” Benaiah said. “When I fought the lion in that village. There was a figure, a huge man, black as night, and I was frightened by him.
“But then another warrior came, and the dark figure left. The warrior spoke to me and encouraged me, gave me orders to rescue that village, then disappeared. Do you know who they might have been?”
David replied, “I have seen dark figures as well. And I have seen men who helped me. I do not know who they are, but I know that they come from someplace outside of us, from the presence of Yahweh himself. There are good and bad among them, and I have been helped by some, as you have described. We will see them again.
“I think that the warriors who have aided me are sent to us much like the covering is. Yahweh determines what we need and sends it in the day of war, sometimes even without our asking, though I have found that asking is what he wants from us.”
Benaiah was confused by the answer. “But why the day of war? Why do we only ask for it then? Why not when a man is in his field plowing? Why not when he is with his family, or when he has left them and wants them to be safe and protected? Why not every day?”
“Every day is the day of war.”
Benaiah lowered his face into his hands. The wasted years of his life crept over him in the quiet darkness of the trees and the ridge. His neglected wife. His children. The arms of his mistress. War. Death. Vengeance. They had been his mistress, and their embrace had been warm.
He was glad that the wetness around his eyes was hidden from view. Joab would be attacking at any time, and he needed to prepare.
David checked the line of men behind them and counted them once more, eyes searching for any of the stragglers as if, Benaiah noticed, he was looking for one of his sheep.
TWENTY-SIX
Josheb strained to hear over the noise of the camp. It had sounded like a ram’s horn, but he wasn’t sure. He looked at his two companions and gave a slight shrug. If it was the shofar, then — there it was.
A volley of stones and arrows poured out of the woods, piercing and pummeling the surprised Amalekites. Darkness was close, and the smoke from the celebration fires obscured his vision, but Josheb could see the far side of the encampment just well enough to sense the confusion and panic. The attack had come as a complete surprise to the Amalekites. Joab’s men were pouring arrows into the camp, and the men close to the trees were dying noisily.
Josheb saw the soldiers nearest to them look up from their fires, as if they heard something across the camp but were unsure if it was just a rowdier celebration by their comrades. Those who had been drinking stared dumbly at each other, but the sober ones were instantly alert.
There were shouts; men began pointing. A few of them finally started looking for their weapons. But all evening they had been dropping them in irresponsible places, and the drunken soldiers would never find their weapons now that darkness had fallen.
Josheb relished it. This was the least-prepared army they had yet faced. Surely Yahweh was going before them into battle, and it would be a slaughter. He closed his eyes, listened to his spirit, told himself not to be overconfident, but to focus. Focus on the speed. Speed is everything. His arms and legs were ready from the fiery proving ground of David’s army. They would not fail him if his mind was right. Eleazar was on his left, Shammah was on his right, Shammah praying aloud. Wait for it.
Eleazar said something. Josheb did not hear it. “What?”
“When they reach the tent?”
“Yes. Or if they start retreating this way.”
The spear was steady enough in his hand, and it felt good to him. The spear had a point on both ends. Better for sticking and removing quickly. Better for engaging multiple enemies. That is what we do: we engage multiple enemies and show the men that Yahweh is in the battle and that numbers do not matter. Drive the spike through the armor. Hit, withdraw, check the man, engage again, move faster next time.
When it began for the three of them, it would be about instinct and speed. His conditioning would hold all night if necessary; many hours of training runs up the mountains with the two beside him had assured that. The arrows abruptly stopped, and then came the cry of a hundred angry warriors charging out of the woods and smashing against the left flank of the perimeter. Don’t move yet, just listen. It will come.
Joab was attacking.
Joab flung his shield forward and struck the first man’s skull. As the man fell, Joab planted his foot on his chest and swung the sword across the man’s throat. He kept moving. “Stay in the line! Stay in your line!”
The men were already through the perimeter, but darkness was making it difficult to stay in a line as they charged. They couldn’t see obstacles until they were on top of them, and some of the men tripped over discarded satchels and weapons.
Another man appeared. Joab stabbed at him quickly but missed, and he was forced to duck the return swipe. There was a shout, and the man swung again, but Joab was ready. He dove to his left side and crouched. The fighter was skilled. A lance flashed by out of the blackness, glancing across Joab’s hip.
Joab clutched the wound, forced to retreat momentarily from the fight. There were screams and sounds of men dying everywhere around him. Smoke blew across from a campfire, clouding his vision. There was the Amalekite — charging him through the night again. Joab parried and brought his small shield up to the man’s face, but his opponent saw it coming. With a grunt, he dove low himself and plunged the tip of a sword into Joab’s thigh.
The Hebrew yelled in frustration at his inability to kill the man. His fighters were pressing hard toward the command tent, encoun
tering little resistance—but lacking leadership from Joab, they were beginning to slow down. Joab tried to shout commands to them but was forced to stagger backward from the Amalekite’s attacks.
Rage flooded his mind. He threw his shield forward in a feint and aimed low with the sword—but missed. The small man moved impossibly fast and never let Joab slip a cut through. Feint, catch the blade with the shield, retreat a step.
Joab too was fast but found himself feeling strangely weaker. Only a few moments into the battle, he was tiring. It made him furious. The man was too quick and too skilled. Joab spun to his right and ran toward a small tent, hoping to get a barrier between them.
Joab’s troops called for him, and he could see their confusion through the flaming light of the camp. They were losing the advantage of surprise! They had to keep moving! He reached the small tent, searched for the relentless soldier, and spotted him appearing out of the darkness. Joab had a good angle this time, but again the man disappeared. Joab shouted and spun, searching for him.
Behind him! The lance struck Joab’s side, an indirect hit, just a cut in the flesh, but he felt warm blood erupt through his war tunic. He finally landed a blow with his own blade against the man’s face. It was with the blunt side, not lethal, but enough to buy him a moment to regroup as the man clutched his shattered nose.
The Amalekites wore heavy armor, stolen; that should have given the Hebrews a speed advantage, but Joab couldn’t get his body to respond as quickly as he needed. This warrior was halting the entire flank charge almost by himself, and Joab felt angry and embarrassed.
He checked his wounds while the man spluttered. Surface only, nothing serious, but the blood was dripping down his thighs. His wounds burned, and he was annoyed at the unexpected pain. Thick dirt kicked up from the fighting caked around his wounds.