by Cliff Graham
Keth shook his head. What Benaiah said was true: No woman should see that. “Is she still angry with you for mistreating her?”
“I have not asked.”
“Why not?” Keth asked.
“I told her I wanted another wife, before I left. To give me sons. We only had daughters.”
Keth shrugged. “That is not so bad. You should be able to make peace with her. You will have more chances for sons now.”
Benaiah paused long before he continued. “Two years ago, just before I came to David, I was in Egypt, a mercenary for the pharaoh. While I was gone, my daughters were slaughtered and my wife was raped by Amalekites.”
Keth closed his eyes, then opened them slowly. The lightning emerged as a white flash through the orange glow of the campfire against the trees. He waited.
“The soldiers forced themselves onto my daughters and then cut their necks, right in front of my wife. They spared her life so that she would suffer by reliving the images of her children being dishonored and slain, but they took turns with her as well,” Benaiah said softly.
“Does anyone else know?”
Benaiah shook his head. “No one but Sherizah and I. We came here to escape it. David knew something had happened, but he did not know what until last night.”
Keth had seen the altercation between Joab and Benaiah the night before. He had also seen David pull Benaiah aside during the pause in fighting.
Benaiah continued: “I tell you this because … I feel like I am supposed to.”
“I am honored.”
Keth watched the trees above, wishing he could somehow comfort his new friend. Only a father, he supposed, would understand that type of grief. He had no family of his own. Keth had seen Benaiah’s wife enter a tent before sunset. A happy family reunited, he had thought at the time.
Benaiah said, “After it happened, I heard about David and his army. We came to David, but all I wanted was vengeance. I had neglected my family, sought my own glory, and now I am suffering for it, as they did. Sherizah is lost to me. I never was a good father. Now Yahweh is against me.”
“I am sorry, brother.” Keth knew it was a senseless comment that did no one any good, but he hoped that Benaiah heard his heart behind it.
Benaiah nodded. “I never told you what my own name meant.”
“I asked Josheb. It means ‘Yahweh has built.’”
Benaiah closed his eyes. “I don’t know what he has built. I only know what has been destroyed.”
Keth glanced away from him, up into the night. He decided there was nothing more to say and waited. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Benaiah looked up from the fire and turned toward the west. Lightning flashed again and again.
They listened to the slowly dying noises across the camp: the crackling of logs, the whisper of warm air rolling in from the distant mountains to collide with the storms over the Great Sea, bringing rain and life to the earth around them. Benaiah studied it. Keth watched him and imagined that he was looking past the forest, past the lowland hills and pasture lands, past the deserts of sand to the Great Sea, seeking to swim across it, away from the violence and bloodshed of battle, away from predators who stole in the darkness. He wondered what this god Yahweh was building in Benaiah. Keth’s own gods had abandoned him long ago.
He let it go. There would be time to grieve tomorrow. Too tired now. He felt at home here, as he had never felt at home in any other place. He closed his eyes and let his dreams come: mountains of the north, a beautiful woman among the captives, the scarlet and purple house where he had uttered the strange prayer that had stopped him from entering.
Need to speak with David soon, he thought. Need to find out what the covering is …
My hammer strikes the final nail. Cheering, my brothers clap me on the back. There are shouts through the streets. The house is complete at last. My labors have borne fruit. A new home worthy of my new bride, Sherizah. Must go to her now. Light the torch, walk down the dark street to my beloved. The time has come. Our wedding ceremony, finally. She smiles at me, so very shy, so very nervous, always so quiet. The shawl is across her shoulders. I take it, drape it over my own shoulder, assuming the mantle. She is mine now. Mine to protect, mine to cherish. To hold in the sunlight and to hold in the dark nights when the stars are gone and the land is cold …
It is a spring day soon after, and she is laughing. She sounds like a bird when she laughs. Good day today. Finally alone. Beautiful valley, trees, the river. Her skin is close to my chest. She will have good sons. Does it matter? Not really. Sherizah. Lovely one. How do others take more than one? I do not want this day to end. Our last day together for a long time. There is much to do, much to enjoy, much to savor. I love her. She comes closer to me, and her smooth skin is warm.
“Will you send me a message from Egypt?” she asks.
“You cannot read anyway.”
“I want to see your handwriting.”
“Then yes, I can send you a message. On a papyrus scroll as a special treat.”
“You do not need to go. There is other work. Other men have trades and work their land and have their wives.”
She is right. But I must go. I must test myself away from my father’s house, must prove myself apart from him and his laws and Yahweh. I love her dearly, but I must go.
She sighs. “Just through winter? And then you will come back?”
“And then I will come back.”
“I think you will. You will want this again.”
“Confident, are you?”
Her skin is so soft. We lie together under the shade of a terebinth. We delight in each other …
I return, but leave again. There are many opportunities, many dreams to chase to build myself in the world. We have two children, daughters. Beautiful, but I would rather have sons. She keeps my home, runs my affairs, and I must continue to go away. Back to Egypt.
Years pass. I stay gone, desperate to prove myself, but for what purpose? The Egyptian defeats me in battle; I lose my way, wandering the deserts to find wells I do not own, wandering without my home, my beloved. Her memory starts to fade. I must return …
Benaiah stayed up late by the fire. He drifted in and out of sleep. But as the night wore on, he could avoid it no longer.
He slipped under the flap of his tent just as the rains finally arrived that night. They were strong, good, springtime rains, not the smattering of snowy moisture that did little to bring the crops out of the earth and remove the winter’s grip. The storm was fierce and unknowable and would purge Yahweh’s promised land all through the night.
He was careful not to disturb her as she slept. He listened to her breathing a moment, then crawled under the blankets, his body wracked with aches and exhaustion, grateful for the warmth radiating from her. Her breathing was steady and slow. He searched for words but found none. He wanted her to hear words that came from his heart, but he did not wish to wake her.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
Her breath went on as steadily as before. Benaiah moved a hand through the blankets and touched her neck. She did not respond.
Benaiah turned over onto his back. The quiet darkness of the tent comforted him. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound of her breathing, wondering if she would awaken during the coming storm.
If she did, he would be there.
He listened to the rain. The wind began to pick up, bringing warm air to clear away the cold so unusual for that time of year.
The Sabbath, day of rest, was tomorrow.
EPILOGUE
The people of David reached Ziklag the next day, but the joy of being reunited was diminished by the reminder of what had happened to their homes — and their lives. David held a council that night, and it was decided that they would move elsewhere. David decided to wait until they had received word of the Philistine attack against Saul before plotting their course.
The defeat of the Amalekites had retrieved a tremendous amount of plunder, and David directed t
hat some of it be sent to the elders of towns in Judah as tribute, since many were still convinced he meant them harm. Benaiah chose men out of the bodyguard to deliver the precious spices and metals.
Two days later, a messenger arrived with news of the defeat of Israel’s army, and the worst news of all — that Saul and Jonathan were dead. In his rage, David ordered Joab to kill the messenger. His grief was so great that David withdrew and composed a song, and then sang it long into the night, his men listening and mourning with him.
Many had lost brothers and tribesmen. Now that the kingdom was almost destroyed, they were unsure where to go or what to expect. Israel no longer had a king. David was the natural choice, but Philistia now ruled their lands with an iron grasp.
The following morning, two men arrived in town. One was powerfully built and carried himself sternly; the other was a youth who walked with a limp because of an arrow that had been lodged in his foot. No one knew who they were. Nor did anyone particularly care. They were veterans of the battle and blended in easily with the other refugees streaming in from the north, where the Philistines were capturing villages and overrunning the former kingdom.
Rumors flew that Saul’s general Abner was rallying support, but no one could confirm them.
David gave the orders to prepare for another campaign. Many assumed that they would be securing the borderlands from the coming invasions. Those close to the inner circle of the warlord knew otherwise—his objective was the throne of Judah.
Several days after the arrival of news about Saul, the voice still echoed against walls and houses and through the dusty corridors of the ruined city, as it had each night since then.
When it reached the place where men were forging new iron blades, Keth looked up from supervising the work of the Hittites. He paused awhile to listen as the voice mingled with the nightly creaking of the locusts. A man coughed, and his comrades glanced scornfully at him, irritated that he would disrupt the beauty of the music.
It was a lyre, strummed by hands moving so skillfully that at first some of the foreigners believed a captured goddess of the Sea People was in their midst, but those who knew what it was just nodded and closed their eyes.
Keth wondered where Benaiah was. Hopefully with his wife. Everyone had been busy trying to rebuild what they could of the city; interactions among the men had been limited while they pounded nails all day. The work had given them all many blisters, and there would be many more, but for now, everyone was content to listen.
David was playing it again, a song he was calling “The Lament of the Bow.”
The voice moaned in melodies too mournful to be understood. Everyone had been forced to learn the song out of respect for the dead, but few truly grasped the words. It did not matter. It was a song of war and loss, of friendships and grief, and of other things men know of but refuse to dwell upon.
NOTE ON HISTORICAL RESEARCH
Anyone interested in further research regarding the places and events in the Lion of War series ought to consider the following materials, which I consulted extensively during the preparation of the novels.
Many of the specific details on movement and weaponry are my own invention, serving the necessities of storytelling and the supernatural elements that can’t necessarily be determined by research. Many of the larger battle descriptions, however, are largely faithful to scholarly research. For battlefield tactics, strategies, weaponry, and chronology, the primary source was Battles of the Bible by Chaim Herzog and Mordechai Gichon. The Military History of Ancient Israel by Richard A. Gabriel provided insight into military tactics as well. For archaeological and anthropological research, I relied primarily upon the classical volumes A History of Israel by John Bright and Bible History: Old Testament by Alfred Edersheim. Modern sources consulted include New Illustrated Bible Manners and Customs by Howard F. Vos and The New Manners and Customs of Bible Times by Ralph Gower. For those looking for a well-researched, biblically faithful account of the whole of David’s life, I recommend Eleanor Gustafson’s The Stones.
Other sources consulted that I encourage readers to examine are David: A Man of Passion and Destiny by Charles R. Swindoll, David: Shepherd, Psalmist, King by F. B. Meyer, The Life of David by Arthur W. Pink, and The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Frank E. Gæbelein, General Editor.
Many of these books come from a Christian perspective, since I am a Christian. However, I did spend considerable time consulting Jewish sources both ancient (Josephus, Antiquities) and modern (materials provided by the Jewish History Resource Center of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem).
The best research, however, is found on site in Israel. I’ve had a wonderful time getting to know experts on the land, reading books by scholars of all the Abrahamic faiths, and sorting through many known facts on David’s life, but none of it fully came alive to me as a storyteller until I spent time in the land itself. Sites that a curious reader must make it a point to visit are Ein Gedi, the Valley of Elah, Tel Gath, the Gilboa highlands, the Negev region, Masada (a possible location for one of David’s strongholds), and, of course, the City of David.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Most new novelists seem to thank everyone they have ever met. I wanted to avoid that temptation. But this particular project is vast and varied, and I need a couple of pages to give credit to those who are making it happen:
Bryan Yost, design partner and friend, who leapt out with me in faith. Todd Hillard, ace writer, true friend, and mentor who has proven invaluable to this endeavor time and again. Nic Ewing, Mike Altstiel, and Jesse Ewing, for helping me shape the concept. The rest of the team at Men of War, including Lee Rempel, Jeremy Banik, Adam Haggerty, and Jerry Smith, who have all contributed more than they know. Col. (ret.) James O’Neal and the other warriors I interviewed, for giving such poignant insight into the mind of the combat soldier during the hell of battle. Julie Mecca, for seeing something in this story at its earliest stage and patiently giving advice. Jim Miller, who believed in it, worked tirelessly on its behalf, and will always be a part of it.
The Army chaplains who have given me invaluable instruction about the spiritual and psychological effects of battle on both warriors and their loved ones, and who demonstrate loving care of the souls of warriors on a daily basis: Gordon Groseclose, Mike Dugal, Bob Hart, David Bowlus, Rabbi Henry Soussan, Leon Kircher, and Eddie Barnett.
My agent, Joel Kneedler, who took on this highly unorthodox project at the right time, guided it skillfully, and proved himself to be the missing link in the chain. The rest of the team at Alive Communications, including Donna Lewis, Sarah Ring, Lee Hough, and Rick Christian.
David L. Cunningham, Grant Curtis, John Fusco, Nicole Nietz, Jeremy Wheeler, and the rest of the highly talented folks at Giant-Killer Pictures and Global Virtual Studio who are bringing David and his Mighty Men to the big screen, for your tremendous efforts and personal enthusiasm for the project. Also to Alden Dobbins for being willing to sweat in the Negev Desert in August while figuring out ways to make me interesting on camera.
The team at Zondervan: Cindy Lambert for breaking land-speed records in acquiring it; Dave Lambert for omitting needless words in the manuscript; Alicia Mey, Don Gates, and Jessica Secord for promoting it. Especially to Bob Hudson for his careful editorial eye and enthusiasm for the material.
Michael Hedrick, for letting us spend time with you and your team in the Holy Land. For anyone looking to take a tour of Israel and the places where David and his men bled and sweated, please consider CJF Ministries.
A few people who don’t know me but had a tremendous hand in shaping this book regardless, including Matt Chandler, Ravi Zacharias, and Charles Swindoll. Also to Michael Shaara, Stephen Pressfield, and Bernard Cornwell, authors of the golden standards in combat novels and the inspiration for my own efforts.
My family, including my parents, grandmothers, in-laws, and sister, for being supportive fans regardless of what I actually wrote.
Most of all my wife, Cassandra, for st
ubborn faith and naive optimism, which always kept me going during the trying hours.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cliff Graham lives in the mountains of Utah with his wife and children. He is a military veteran and currently serves in the Army National Guard Chaplain Corps. He travels around the country, speaking and writing about David and his Mighty Men.
You can follow him on Twitter @cliffgraham or on Facebook.
For the author’s blog, updates about the Lion of War books and upcoming movie series, author speaking requests, and other general information, please visit http://www.lionofwar.com.
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The Lion of War Series
by Cliff Graham
Book 1: Day of War
Book 2: Covenant of War
Book 3: Song of War
Book 4: Fires of War
Book 5: Twilight of War
In Day of War, Cliff Graham issues a call to battle. Based on the life of King David and his mighty men, this isn’t just a story about swords and shields. It’s about real men who struggle with more than the enemy soldier before them. You will enjoy this book on many levels. I strongly recommend it.
—Robert Whitlow, bestselling author of
The List and The Trial
If you’ve never read the Bible or studied Judaic history, this is a fast-paced means of exploring that time period. If you’ve read the tales of David and his Mighty Men, then you are in for a treat. Graham fleshes out these stories, turning them into pulse-pounding battle scenes and excursions through ancient Israel…. Day of War leaves us wanting more stories about these engaging characters. The Bible comes alive through these pages, while never sugarcoating violence or the struggle of the male gender.