by Cliff Graham
Keth ran as fast as he could, hoping that Benaiah had broken through and was going to meet him down the ridge at the designated rally point.
EIGHTEEN
Benaiah finished his climb up the shaft leading to the cave and crawled into the dark opening, the coolness of the refuge surprising him. Streams of sunlight speckled the ground and rocks around him. He panted for breath. His lungs were scorched. He realized he had forgotten to steal a water pouch in his haste.
He crawled to the rocks and stared through the small cracks out into the forest. Straining his eyes as he searched for Keth, he could hear the distant commands from the Philistine commander he had battled with his club. He and Keth would need to rush across the valley under cover of darkness. If they crossed during daylight, they would be pursued by the soldiers now encamped in the Elah or betrayed by a frightened Israelite trying to protect his wife and daughters from Philistine rape and destruction.
Benaiah could not fault such a man.
Ittai avoided the last arrow as he tried to regain control after the ambush, but one of his troops was not as lucky. The arrow sliced through the man’s leg. He looked away from the shrieking young soldier and stared into the forest to see if there were more.
Ittai touched his jaw and felt along the bumpy and torn flesh where the Hebrew’s club had struck him. It was a dull, numb ache. The jaw was not broken, though. Most of the force of the blow had been absorbed by the soft flesh under his ear. He would be able to chew again and not slowly starve to death like others who suffered broken jaws. Men preferred to die rather than be fed milk for the rest of their lives like a baby sucking on a breast.
He maintained his watch while his officers tried to regain order, but his mind was elsewhere now, years in the past. Ittai had seen the man assaulting his troops with arrows during the ambush, and it had shocked him. He had seen the garments and unmistakable profile of a Hittite darting down the mountainside. Bizarre — a Hittite fighting with a Hebrew.
And Ittai knew this particular Hittite.
Keth stumbled on through the undergrowth, stopping only when his tunic snagged on a thorn branch or when one of his braids became tangled in some brush. It was an endless source of Josheb’s teasing, but he would never drop all of the customs of his people.
He saw the pile of stones on the canyon rim that Benaiah had described to him and looked around to ensure no one was following. He dropped out of sight from the hill over the ridge and crept along the base of the rock wall, in the hope that any pursuing Philistine that had seen him would assume he had continued his flight toward the Elah.
Keth was careful to step on the stones so as not to leave a trail. He found the opening in the small cliff and scurried up the crack, leaving his gear stashed under the same boulder that he saw Benaiah had used, concealed by a bush. The crack was wide enough for him to carry his weapons only.
He hoisted his legs over the cave lip and saw Benaiah waiting for him in the corner, but his friend’s eyes were focused through an opening that faced up the hill they had just come from.
Keth lay still, feeling the heat of battle leave him quickly, replaced with crashing weariness and aching muscles. He worked his sandals off his feet to let the raw and bleeding skin under his heels cool. It had been too long since he had been on the march. Too much time wasted in the city, he thought.
“How is your wound?” he asked when he had caught his breath.
“I might have received others,” Benaiah replied, still staring out at the hillside.
“No, you usually complain about new wounds, my friend.”
Benaiah smiled. “And you?”
“Sore feet. I could use a rub from that new wife of mine.”
“She would make you bathe first.”
“I am her lord. She will do what she is told.”
“I wonder when we will stop fooling ourselves into thinking that is true.”
Grinning, Keth let his eyes shut and enjoyed the quiet darkness of the cave, full of cool stones that brought relief from the heat. Lying on his back felt wonderful. “I am slower than I should be. My body feels heavy, my movements sloppy.”
“Mine as well. Did you get any water?” Benaiah asked.
“No. You?”
“No.”
Keth ignored that dilemma and brought up another one.
“They will be wary after that. We need to be careful crossing the valley tonight.”
“We’ll wait until the third hour after dark when they usually change their shifts. They never pay attention during their shift changes.”
“How far to the cave?”
“We can be there by morning so long as no one from Adullam sees us and no Philistines chase us. We can’t lead them to it.”
Keth nodded. “Do you ever find it strange that David has a bodyguard full of Philistines, and it is Philistines that we are now facing?”
“When I suggested foreigners, Philistines weren’t my first choice. I told you when you joined us. He’s a strange man.”
“An hour watch each?”
“No, half an hour. You’re too tired and would fall asleep,” Benaiah said, his speech slurring from his own exhaustion.
The moist cool of the cave was calming, and soon Keth dozed off.
NINETEEN
Gareb walked through the nighttime streets of Hebron, having risen from his bed, unable to snatch the short hours of sleep he knew he needed. Quiet street shops and covered market benches smelling of spices and fruits stood silently as he passed them. Servants were sweeping the animal dung that collected in the market each day, the merchants trying to outdo one another to present the cleanest, most hospitable place to barter in.
He passed through dark streets, through the foreign quarter where the families of the mercenaries the king hired for his army lived. Gareb was routinely required to inspect this area. Many of the mercenaries brought their pagan gods with them into the city, and the king had issued the strictest orders to destroy any idols within the walls.
David himself would make surprise inspections, appearing on the doorstep of a suspected idolater at a late hour and demand to be allowed inside. Since he owned most of the housing in the city anyway, the families could not resist, and whenever idols were found, they were immediately destroyed in a kiln at the town square reserved for the purpose. Often the offending soldier was killed on the spot.
Gareb found Eliam sitting next to the city gate. Men of his tribe were frequently on duty there, and Eliam had taken to sitting with them on overnight watches.
When the guards saw Gareb approach, they stiffened their backs and held out their javelins. One of them did not notice him because he was sleeping. Gareb reached over and took the sleeping guard’s javelin. The guard snapped awake, startled.
“What is this for?” Gareb said.
The man stared at him stupidly.
“What is this for?” Gareb repeated.
“Throwing,” the man stuttered.
“At what?”
“The … enemy?”
“I asked you the question, why are you answering with another one?”
“I … throwing at the enemy.”
The drowsiness in the man’s face removed the last vestige of Gareb’s anger, and he fought to keep from smiling. This was a new soldier in the army, Gareb could tell, a conscripted recruit who had drawn the short lot for the nightly watch duty. He decided to harass him a little longer. Eliam watched smiling from the shadows.
“I once shoved a javelin up a man’s back when he was sleeping on the watch.”
The young man swallowed hard.
“What tribe are you from?”
“Judah, sir.”
“I thought you were going to say Simeon. I would have had to shove this javelin up your back and make you into my new battle ornament.”
The soldier was shaking with fear. Softer, Gareb said, “Hold up that weapon and show me how you would throw it at me.”
He backed away and gestured for the soldie
r to demonstrate. The young man looked at him fearfully, then picked up the javelin by the grip. Its oak handle was worn and chipped in numerous places, and the double-edged blade at the tip, thin from being sharpened so many times, would snap if it struck anything but flesh. This young man likely had been given the weapon as a gift from his father, who himself had had it for years. Sentiment had no place in the ranks, Gareb thought.
“Throw it at me,” Gareb encouraged. The soldier glanced at Eliam, terrified. Eliam chuckled and nodded at him. The soldier positioned the blunt, weighted half of the javelin over his shoulder, holding the grip next to his ear, and steadied the double-bladed tip at eye level in front of him.
“Not bad form. Make certain you don’t roll your wrist inward. Until you have trained with it for many hours, your grip will weaken, and it will fail you. You might cut your own ear off in the middle of a battle, and then I will be really angry and ram it — where did I tell you I would ram it?”
“My back, sir.”
“That’s right. I will ram it right up your back. Can you guess where the point of entry will be?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have enough rations?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop calling …” Gareb bit his lip. Actually, he was supposed to. One of the Thirty and all.
The young soldier waited nervously, trying to understand what the game was.
Gareb sighed and shook his head. Then he said, pointing to a watchman pacing the city wall, “Go relieve that man. The cold desert wind will keep you awake.”
The soldier left, nodding his head gratefully. The other sentries at the gate feigned disinterest and resumed their watch. Gareb tilted his head at Eliam, who patted the sentries on their backs before walking with him.
The two of them climbed the narrow staircase to the top of the gate, stepped over a gear beam, and walked out onto the city wall. This section of the wall near the gate rose twenty-five cubits high, providing a marvelous vantage point for watching the sloping plains that angled away toward the distant hills. The grass that normally colored the countryside deep green was absent, and the landscape was pale and grim in the moonlight. In every direction the sky was clear, the sun had been red when it went below the horizon, and the citizens of Hebron had resigned themselves to another stretch of days without rain.
Eliam leaned against the gate shaft and ran his fingers through his beard as he looked across the plains. Gareb thought back to when he had first met the boy, now a man, as he worked as a servant in the tent of Saul. “Wonder if it will ever rain again,” Gareb said.
“It’s dry,” Eliam answered.
Gareb nodded. “You ready for this?” he asked.
“I will be. Foot hurts some, but I think the new way of tying —”
“No, I meant, are you ready. For when we go out to drive away the Philistines.”
“Who says they are coming?”
“You know they will come.”
Eliam’s smile faded, and he looked away again. “Of course.”
“I made my peace. I think you should too,” Gareb said.
Eliam nodded. “I have. It has been a long time. Everything fades in time.”
Gareb scoffed. “You have made peace with him. That’s the sort of thing that he would say.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I am the new court musician. I write beautiful songs.”
They looked at the surrounding hills for a while. The breeze picked up and swirled on top of the wall. Gareb pulled his cloak tighter around his neck. He hated being cold. “I’m thinking about telling him,” he said.
“What?”
“About what happened at Gilboa. He knows I was the prince’s armor bearer.”
Eliam glanced at him. “That was long ago.”
“Yes, but he needs to know that I did not want to join him after Jonathan died.”
“I thought about joining Abner. I never cared for Ishbosheth, but Abner was a man,” Eliam said.
“I thought about it too,” Gareb admitted.
“Why didn’t you? You had more reason than anyone to hate David.”
“I still don’t like him.”
“Then why are you here?”
“It’s either him or a Philistine.”
“There are others who could rule Israel. Do you believe Joab and Abishai acted on their own?”
Gareb shrugged. “They’re capable of it.”
“Maybe. Joab and Abishai are powerful. They might take the throne from David.”
“They wouldn’t try it. They’re loyal family. Reckless, though.”
“So is David.”
“David is competent. And brilliant. Remember your rules of leadership. Competence above all. He is the only one who can lead us,” Gareb said.
“But he is also reckless.”
Gareb did not like where this was going. He turned his head and stared at Eliam. “You need to be careful. Others won’t take that so lightly.”
Eliam nodded and sighed. “Just thinking, that is all.”
“Well, don’t do that. You’re too young and aren’t paid for it. Focus on being the hero of Gilboa that you are supposed to be. Your feats on the mountain are legendary to the younger troops and are what will give you the chance to join the Giborrim eventually. You were the last one to speak to Jonathan before he died.”
Eliam did not answer.
Unable to sleep, avoiding their dreams, they watched the mountains.
The youth was paid well for his ability to run long distances with dispatches from the borders. It was a fair wage, and in the chaotic years since King Saul had died, the youth was the envy of other young men desperate to be paid for their labor.
The messages were frequently a sealed parchment and nothing more. He picked them up from the Israelite garrisons and ran them to Hebron, delivering them into the hands of the member of the royal court who employed him. He knew that the king read them, and it was a tremendous honor. His father had told the men gathered at the city gates about his son’s important royal responsibilities.
But this night, with this message, it was different.
As he sprinted down the moonlit road, perspiration streaming into his eyes, his panicked breath pounding in wild, terror-driven patterns, he saw the horrible monster coiling in his mind again. He saw the coming slaughter, the coming rape, and the flies in the heat, and he would refuse the treasure room of David himself to not have seen what he had seen that day.
He crested the last rise and saw the city walls and the watch fire of the guard at the top. He looked over his shoulder one final time and cried out in relief — he had made it.
He caught the scent of the city waste ditch as he crossed the bridge. The sheep gathered in the night pen snorted; their shepherds lying in the rocks nearby, wrapped in their cloaks, raised their heads sleepily and watched the figure dart past them.
“Philistines!” the boy screamed. “They are in the valley!”
Gareb swore and shook Eliam’s shoulder. “That fool is going to send the whole city into a panic, get down there and shut him up.”
Eliam sprang up and disappeared down the stairwell from the wall next to the gate.
Gareb called for a sentry and the soldier stumbled over to him, afraid of a reprimand.
“This might be a ruse. Watch that tree line. If you see so much as a suspicious shadow, I want you to try to avoid screaming like you were stuck by a child with a weaver’s needle and come find me. Everyone stays alert. Spread the message.”
The soldier nodded and Gareb descended the staircase. When he arrived at the gate, Eliam had pinned the messenger boy against the wall with an elbow to the throat. The boy was gagging and writhing and trying to shout. Fear had caused him to bite through his lower lip and blood was leaking down his neck and into his collar.
“Shut up,” Gareb said. “When you stop screaming like a woman you can deliver your message.”
“Philistines … in the pass!”
“There are alwa
ys Philistines in the pass. They live among us.”
“Thousands! An army!”
“Which pass?”
“From the plains leading into the Elah.”
Gareb felt his heart flip in his chest. Philistines going into the Elah? So soon? “If you are lying …” But when he looked into the boy’s eyes, he saw terror.
Gareb spoke calmly so that he would not panic the shepherds running up to the gate and the sleepy-eyed traveling merchants camped inside the walls for protection. “Eliam, wake the king. And the Three.”
TWENTY
Eleazar was in and out of sleep. He awoke for a while, listened to a bird chirping somewhere before flying away, and nodded off. It was quiet …
… running again. Always running, always escaping, always outnumbered, always fleeing. Up the tall slopes of Mount Tabor, then higher up, on the run from Saul, need to hurry! Run away! They are too powerful …
… the survivors in the towns after Gilboa. Women and children — the men are mostly dead. Defeat again, all is lost in the north, the king has been slain, Jonathan is gone, what will David do? Stay with the Philistines. Always the easy way. We will run again, Hebrews run, Hebrews flee, we always run, Yahweh must be ashamed of us …
… killing Hebrews, we are killing Hebrews, young boys, that is all they are, our own kinsmen. We are killing Hebrews! I shove the body off my sword, it falls into the muddy water of the pool. Curse this place. Corpses are in the water, defiling it, unclean to touch the corpses, unclean to touch the defiled water. Hebrew men, kinsmen, brothers, nothing but unclean corpses now. Yahweh, has it come to this? We slaughter our own tribesmen, and the other nations unite against us. Will it always be this way? I kneel, I cannot kill another Hebrew. Run, Abner, run from here. Protect those men from Joab, and from me. And Josheb. And Shammah. From all who live by the sword. Take the mothers’ sons away from here, Abner. Hebrew killing Hebrew, son of Abraham killing son of Abraham. All because we do not listen, Yahweh. Mud in my hands, and tears. Many tears. And blood. The earth bleeds, our land bleeds. We run, we will never stand together …