by Cliff Graham
“Don’t speak like that.”
“He will have a face like a pig if Josheb chooses him. Ask Benaiah to do it. Remind his wife.”
“Enough.”
They watched the orange flicker of the watchtower fires in the distance. Eleazar pulled her closer, stroking her back lightly with his fingers.
“I have loved you every day. Even when I have failed you.”
Rizpah was quiet. Then he felt a small tremor in her chest. The tears dripped down her face until they touched his.
TWENTY-FIVE
At midmorning the next day, the army took another break in the march. Josheb found the nearest rock his body would fit on and laid his pack down beside it before stretching out. He covered his face from the midday sun with a water pouch. It was still cool inside, and he resisted the desire to take another small sip. Only one per third hour, he reminded himself. Needs to last until … just needs to last.
David walked past him to the front of the ranks where the Thirty waited for the march to continue. Josheb knew that these breaks tried their patience; being forced to wait for the new recruits to keep up on a forced march was a different experience for them. The Thirty traveled alone and fast and usually left the tedious nature of organized marching to the regulars.
They were crossing the hills and forests on a route parallel to the King’s Highway trade road in order to remain unseen by any Philistine scouts who might be traveling on it. The highway was used by merchants and soldiers alike, as well as pilgrims seeking the Ark of the Lord.
Josheb peeked out from under the water pouch at the sky. Despite the delays, they were making good time. Regulars were always inspired by marching with elite troops and were able to march and fight above their abilities. Wisely led, men could do remarkable things, he remembered David saying once.
But the men were drinking water too fast. He heard section leaders growling reprimands at their troops for guzzling too much of the precious liquid in the heat of the day. He sighed and prayed that they would find the well at the caves filled with water, or a pond that had not grown bitter.
They would be at Adullam by evening.
Benaiah awoke to the sound of men talking outside the rock hollow he and Keth were hiding in. It was daylight. He had no idea what time it was or how much time had passed. He heard Keth’s steady breathing, but very gently his friend’s hand raised, and Benaiah knew he was awake as well.
He held still and tried to listen to the quiet voices. Philistines. Two of them. He translated their tongue in his head as he emerged from the groggy realm of sleep.
“… leading along the back side of the cliff.”
“He saw it there?”
“Yes, going up to the cliff. Their tracks. Somewhere here.”
Benaiah realized in an instant what was happening. These men, stragglers possibly, knew the approximate location of their hiding place and were trying to trap them. He and Keth would make great prizes for the Philistine kings down in the valley if David’s army was now their enemy.
He rolled onto his belly and eased himself across the dirt to the entrance of the tunnel. Below, against the sunlight now streaming onto the bottom from the outside access, he saw a soldier’s head appear. Keth was next to him.
“He won’t crawl up here, will he?” Keth whispered.
Benaiah tried to think. The weariness of his journey and their battles left both of them so exhausted that they must have slept through the entire night.
“We have to break through, or they’ll just wait for us with arrows,” he whispered back. Keth nodded. Benaiah was grateful that their pouches had not been discovered yet. The hideaway cave was a good spot, but the shaft to crawl up into it was too narrow to carry any gear besides weapons. If they had been able to spot a track, it meant they were skilled woodsmen, possibly an elite team sent from the army below. He had to get down the shaft before they were able to come up.
He held his breath and strained his ears to hear them. More whispered voices, grass bending as it was pressed down by feet.
Below, down the shaft, he thought he could hear a man moving. Crawling.
He had to make a decision. Go now? Wait? He looked at Keth, who raised his fist and moved it up and down slightly with a hand signal.
Go now.
Benaiah rolled over the entrance of the shaft, feeling himself dropping. The soldier beneath him heard the movement and tried to pull his head out, but Benaiah landed on the man’s neck. He felt the spine snap beneath his foot, killing the man instantly, but not before the soldier was able to yelp.
Benaiah heard scuffling on the cliff top above him as he crawled out of the space. He looked up and saw the archer on the cliff. The soldier pulled the arrow back and released it very fast. Benaiah slammed his back against the cliff to avoid it. A lance dropped down from above.
Keth appeared behind him holding their weapons. Benaiah took the club and the sword and slid the shield onto his forearm. No more arrows or lances flew at them because they were hidden from the warriors above by the lip of the cliff.
They waited a moment, then Benaiah darted along the base of the cliff and climbed up the steep ravine disguised from above, grateful that they were fighting on their home soil and knew the terrain. They emerged in some bramble scattered along the top of the ravine. Benaiah could see the two remaining soldiers, one with a bow and one with a lance, staring down the cliff at the spot they had just left.
Benaiah clapped Keth on the shoulder and charged. The man with the bow turned and sent his arrow flying. Benaiah rushed forward to close the gap between the two. The Philistine calmly and methodically pulled another arrow out of his quiver and fixed it to the string. Benaiah heard Keth next to him panting. He saw the second soldier throw his lance. Keth caught the weapon in midflight and tossed it aside as he ran, and then they were on top of the Philistines.
The archer managed to loose the second arrow, but Benaiah saw it coming and ducked out of the way, swinging his club. The archer rolled. The club struck the ground and clattered away. He tossed the sword from his left hand into his right and cut at the archer rolling away from him. Knocked off his feet by a powerful swing of the archer’s heavy bow, Benaiah collapsed on the edge of the cliff. The archer, instead of charging him like Benaiah had assumed he would, pulled another arrow out of his quiver and fixed it to the string, brought it up to aim, and tilted it sideways from only an arm’s length away.
Benaiah kicked out in desperation and his foot caught a rock. The rock flew into the air, not hitting the archer but forcing him to pause in his aiming, allowing Benaiah to lurch forward and grab him by the ankles, yanking him to the ground. The warrior’s arrow flew up into the canopy of trees.
Benaiah reached for his fallen sword and stabbed it toward the man’s chest, but the man twisted and it slid into his thigh instead. Benaiah pushed the blade in deep, deep enough that his fingers dug into the wound. He tore away at the exposed skin, trying to withdraw the sword and strike again, only to be blocked by the Philistine’s shield.
Keth was having similar trouble with his man, who had produced a sword and was slashing skillfully. Keth blocked a blow so that the man’s weapon was pinned away from him, preventing him from blocking. Keth brought down his sword. It clanged off the man’s helmet. The man rolled away and swung a rock that smashed Keth’s face, causing blood to pour out of his nose.
Keth rubbed blood out of his eyes and avoided the next blow. He jerked a dagger out of his waist belt and plunged it forward as his opponent tried to swing the rock again. The dagger ripped off the man’s ear. The man screamed. Keth grabbed the soldier’s hair to brace himself and turned the dagger’s tip inward, shoving it through the Philistine’s jaw into his skull.
Keth dropped the dying man and turned to where Benaiah was struggling a few paces away. He rushed across the clearing and drove his knee into the arm of the mercenary as he was about to swing his sword at Benaiah’s head. The man yelped.
“Kill me and I —”
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Keth shoved his fingers into the man’s mouth before he could finish and thrust his dagger as hard as he could, cutting all the way to the spine. The mercenary jerked several times, air hissing out of his lungs. Keth felt the death tremors ease and then fall still.
He rolled away from the unclean corpse and pulled Benaiah with him. The two lay gasping for breath in the bright morning light of the clearing next to the cliff.
“Those … weren’t ordinary …”
Benaiah coughed. “No …”
“They must have heard about the fight yesterday and tracked us down for the bounty.”
“Get their water.”
They tore into the Philistines’ water pouches and took long, deep drinks. Both fought the urge to fill their bellies too quickly. When their breath had calmed somewhat, and Keth had checked to make sure his nose was not shattered, they examined the dead soldiers. Each had an armor breastplate with a black engraving of a serpent, a sword, and the snarling figure of a half-man, half-fish demon.
Keth knew the symbol. He cursed.
Josheb found David at the head of the march.
“The men are already fighting and bickering. Some want to rebel. Just like that day after Ziklag.”
“What’s the matter with them?”
“They’re undisciplined, afraid, and drinking too much of their water. They’re going to run out soon.”
“Tell their leaders to force them to abstain. Designate carriers.”
“We have done that. They still don’t listen and are refusing to relinquish their rations.”
David ran his fingers through his hair. He wiped his face on his sleeve and exhaled. Josheb heard him whisper something.
“What?”
David shook his head. “Nothing. I will speak to them.”
He walked to the front of the ranks and stood on a small rise so that all could see him. The Thirty and a few of his Gittite bodyguards took up their positions nearby and waited to hear what he would say.
David stood with his arms crossed a moment, staring out at them. The murmuring died as they waited. Then he pulled his untouched water pouch off of his shoulder and tossed it to the nearest rank of soldiers.
“You are thirsty. I know this. As I told your commanders last night, before Yahweh, the God of my father Jesse and my forefathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, I will not take another drink of water until we have defeated our enemies and you have enough.”
There was murmuring again. A few soldiers gasped. “Lord, you must drink!”
David shook his head. “Yahweh is sufficient. He will provide in his good time.”
Josheb beamed with pride. The old David. He stepped forward and was about to offer to do the same, but David caught his arm and whispered, “No, my friend. This is my burden alone.”
Gareb was standing in the ranks of the Thirty when he heard David’s vow. Afterward, he went back to inspecting the ranks, but his mind was elsewhere — on a hilltop at Micmash when Jonathan had looked him in the eyes and told him we can do this.
“Does he mean that?” one of the troops asked.
Gareb looked at the soldier, back at David, then at the soldier again. “I’ve watched him many years. Yes, he means it.”
The troops began talking about it among themselves. Gareb moved on.
David had been a coward for abandoning Jonathan. He’d even fought for the Philistines!
But the water vow was something Jonathan would have done, and the thought made Gareb’s eyes burn.
Do not let these men down, king, he thought. Because your blood brother never did.
TWENTY-SIX
Eliam wandered aimlessly through the streets of Hebron, angry that he had been forced to remain behind and frustrated that Gareb had not fought harder to keep him in the ranks. As the hours passed and his frustration mounted, he found that he had made his way up to the city wall. His limp was improving, but the pain of the old arrow wound in his foot still bothered him when he climbed.
There were only a few sentries left, and most of the city guard were old men, but soldiers had begun to arrive late that morning, conscripts from the countryside and regulars returning from their interrupted liberty.
Eliam watched as groups of threes and fours appeared on the roads. It was a stunning day, with blue skies and no clouds anywhere but the far west near the Great Sea and the far east over the Jordan Valley, where the rains would reach and then stop, as though Yahweh had built a mighty wall keeping them away from the central lands.
Just as he was considering returning to the royal residence and finding the girl again, he sensed someone standing near him.
“You should be marching with them.”
Eliam recognized Joab’s smooth voice and turned. He inclined his head slightly to acknowledge his superior. “I would, lord, but I was told to remain here.”
“Frustrating, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
“What reason did they give you?”
“Shammah needed assistance organizing the army.”
“I believed that to be my task.”
“The king thought you might need assistance.”
Joab nodded and smiled. “I am still not trusted.”
Eliam remained quiet.
“What did Jonathan say to you on that mountainside? Have you ever told anyone?” Joab asked gently.
Eliam closed his eyes, saw the prince’s noble face, the courage and fire in his eyes, the scene of valor where he had attacked the Philistines by himself, right before Eliam had …
I will look for you when this is over.
Eliam shook his head. “No.”
Shammah watched Joab and Eliam from inside the house of a friend with a view of the city wall. The darkened interior shielded him from their view. Shammah watched the younger man depart and make his way, limping slightly, toward the stairs that led to the street below. It had not been a planned meeting, he guessed, or else they would have chosen a less conspicuous place. Perhaps Eliam was simply bitter about not going with the army.
Perhaps, he thought, Joab knew this as well.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Eleazar crawled to the top of a boulder hidden among the branches of a sycamore and held still. His breathing went shallow. Beads of sweat formed around his eyes, but he did not wipe them because he knew he was being watched.
The sentry was young but alert. He had refrained from snapping his head forward too eagerly when Eleazar had first crept into his field of vision, instead slowly rotating his head so that he could watch out of the corner of his eyes. Any further movements would confirm the threat, and the commander would be alerted with a shrill blast from the small trumpet curled between his fingers.
Eleazar clung to the boulder. He watched the sentry ease his gaze toward the edge of the forest casually, his eyes flickering to the very spot Eleazar clung to, his fingers slipping. Eleazar glared at the sentry, calling on all of his discipline to keep his fingers tight on the stone. Heartbeats passed.
Something clanged nearby and the sentry jerked his gaze away for a moment. Eleazar used the distraction to leap the rest of the way onto the boulder and flatten his torso against it. He let out several quiet gasps of relief and finally wiped the sweat from his eyes.
He counted to ten, then slid his face along the coarse surface of the boulder until the edge of it slipped away and he could see the head of the sentry. The Philistine was still looking at the boulder, but his eyes were trained on the side Eleazar had just leapt from. After a few moments, the sentry shook his head as if to clear his vision and turned his face toward his section leader, who was giving out commands.
Satisfied, Eleazar began the task he had been sent here for: scouting the enemy armies now swarming at the mouth of the Elah Valley.
The ranks nearest his position consisted of heavy infantry, carrying long pikes and heavy cudgels forged with iron. Eleazar shook his head, marveling at their arrogance. Clumsy, heavy weapons that could not be wielded in the rugged hill-count
ry terrain. They did not feel the need to be cautious, which meant that they were underestimating their ragged enemy. Not that we have given them any reason to be cautious, always running, he thought.
There were units of archers and slingers and men with skirmishing weapons in a line stretching back down the valley. Sunlight glinted and sparkled like the waves of the sea on shields and lances, spearheads and swords. Slaves scurried about with water skins. Orders were shouted. Laughter.
Eleazar was finally able to pick out the supporting companies. These were the most important numbers for his particular task. Inexperienced scouts merely counted the number of men at arms, but Eleazar took careful note of the supply carts and wagons, armorers, and craftsmen who accompanied the army. No force of fighting men could last long away from its supply, and if commanders had brought along a multitude of support and supply companies, it could be assumed that a full campaign was underway.
Looking up and down the valley, Eleazar saw a large force of fighting men, but a minimal amount of supply. This had been a hasty mobilization. Few of the usual groups accompanying an army on campaign were here. No merchant caravans following the army hoping to capitalize on the new plunder that the soldiers would be acquiring, no treasure carts to pay the soldiers while on campaign, no prostitutes and wives and squalling children bringing up the rear.
Their sluggish movement and lack of motivation was obvious to his trained eye. Smart commanders never let troops lie around waiting for action; they kept them busy to keep their minds off home and meals and women.
Even so, there was a multitude of soldiers in this Philistine army, and more would come every day. If the right king or general were to lead them, their devastating weaponry and sheer size would be overpowering. Eleazar counted ten divisions on the approach to the mountains, plus the scouts and archers that he either could not see or was not able to count because of their fragmented traveling formations. Three divisions were moving through the entrance of the valley. It appeared that at least thirty thousand soldiers would soon be moving through that valley in the direction of the objective Eleazar had feared — the Jebusite city.