Covenant of War

by Cliff Graham

  Eleazar watched him curiously, but then let his head fall against the earth, beyond exhausted.

  The broken, blood-covered sword was still firm in his hand. He wondered if it would always be there, wondered if he would have to take it to bed with his wife when he returned, wondered whether it would frighten his daughters.

  He laughed, wiping away sweat. Dust gathered in the corners of his eyes was burning. Or was it blood? And who was this Philistine that Yahweh wanted to be spared? He did not know.

  All he knew was that his courage had held.

  Ittai couldn’t stop himself from searching the sky overhead, where the demon warrior had disappeared after defending the Hebrew.

  Then he stood back up and readied himself for the first few Hebrews. They were charging madly, unskilled. Ittai avoided all of their strikes and managed to stab one of them while tripping the other. He buried the blade between the shoulders of the man who fell. Another Hebrew came at him and died by another strike.

  He yelled and jerked his weapon free. He challenged them, hating their sorcery, confused and despairing that he had been abandoned by his patron god. He killed another Hebrew, then another, a young one. He smashed the boy’s face and felt teeth breaking beneath his fist. It felt so good that he tackled the boy to the ground and kept pounding his teeth and jaw into mush. Blood sprayed and spurted, and he punched and punched again with all of his remaining strength, wanting to butcher the boy.

  Then Ittai’s vision was shot through with white streaks as something solid struck his skull from behind, and all was black, and he was swimming in the sea again, the figure of Dagon lurking below him in the darkness, circling him like a predator. He heard the throbbing waves overhead and the raging storm. He beseeched the god with every incantation he knew. He was losing sight of the scales in the water as the black and green colors of the raging sea swirled.

  He reached out to the god for help, but none came. He saw the sneer on the hideous face. His heart lurched in despair as he watched the god slowly sink farther beneath the murky waves; then it all faded.

  When David reached him, Eleazar was crumpled in a heap in the center of the field. He feared that Eleazar was dead, killed by the Philistine. Hebrew soldiers were about to impale the Philistine with a spear when Eleazar raised his arm and shouted, “Stop! He is their commander!”

  They were going to ignore him and kill the Philistine anyway when David shouted, “Don’t kill him! I want information from him.”

  “Lord, he just killed our men —”

  David raised his sling up. Terrified, they relented.

  David collapsed next to his friend in relief. “Thought you were gone,” he said, panting.

  “Should be.”

  “Who was that with you?”

  Eleazar looked at him questioningly. “There was someone with me?”

  David looked at the sky. “Bless you for your covering, Lord.” Then he grinned at Eleazar. “Yahweh protects us this day, my friend.”

  Eleazar closed his eyes.

  Praise your name. You held the ground.

  David turned to two of the Hebrew soldiers. “Bring the Philistine back to the cave. If anything happens to him, you will greet the two commanders I killed earlier in Sheol.”

  FORTY-ONE

  David pulled Eleazar along the side of the mountain. Men stepped forward to give assistance, but he shook them off. He would personally carry this warrior all the way back to Hebron if he had to, but he first wanted to get farther down the valley to be ready to engage the Philistines again. They would need to be chased out of the valley entirely and their idols destroyed.

  “Where is the runner?” he called out to no one in particular.

  “He was sent half an hour ago, lord king,” said one of the bodyguards who had just arrived from the caves.

  “Keep sending them. I need to know what is happening on the Bethlehem road.”

  Eleazar buckled next to him. Despite his own weariness, David caught him, but they fell together. He saw that Eleazar was in no condition to reengage anything at all; the last of his strength had been used in the field.

  “My friend, these men will help you back to the cave.”

  “I will kill any man who drags me there,” Eleazar rasped.

  David shook his head, torn between frustration and gratitude for the courage of his warriors. He whispered thanks to Yahweh for these stubborn fools. “What if I ordered you?”

  “I will go if you take a drink of water.”

  “Yahweh spare me from this.” David tried to stand up straight. Exhaustion suddenly struck him like the midday sun and he could not do it. His bodyguards reached for him but he slapped them away. “Help Eleazar; I am fine. Take him back to the cave.”

  The Gittite mercenary pulled back and eyed Eleazar warily.

  Eleazar held up the broken sword clenched in his wrist. “Touch me, and I will cut off both your hands and hang them around my neck.”

  The Gittite glanced back at David.

  “He is not your king. I am. Obey my word,” David said.

  “Drink water and I will go back to Adullam,” Eleazar muttered.

  As if on cue, three mercenaries of the bodyguard ripped open their own paltry water bags and thrust them toward him, offering the last of their rations. David stared at them. Even the Philistine mercenaries were willing to sacrifice their last ration for him. For what? What had he done to deserve any of this? Besides cowering behind palace walls and filling his bed with women? He spat, disgusted with himself. He shook his head.

  “You slept after we did, you ate after we did, and you drank after we did,” Eleazar said, discerning his thoughts.

  “Not in many years, my friend.”

  Eleazar shrugged. “That does not matter. We will never forget it.”

  “Lord king, please!” the Gittites urged.

  David shook his head again. He wanted to weep; he was so unworthy of such an offer.

  Someone called out and they looked up. Around the bend in the valley, the remnants of the Thirty appeared. The Hebrew soldiers cheered when they saw them. David picked out Benaiah, Josheb, and the other familiar faces that were so dear to him.

  Somehow, his brave and loyal soldiers had held off the Sword of Dagon, and he gave thanks to Yahweh for it.

  But when they got closer, there was no triumph on their faces. Josheb, Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb were the first to reach him.

  “How many lost?” David asked.

  “Four.”

  Josheb quietly gave the report of the battle. When he was finished, David walked to a tree and leaned against it, his back to the other warriors. Lord God, thank you for the victory. The cost is great, but so is the victory.

  He let his head sag for a while. Then he turned and looked at his men. “We will mourn them later. The day is not over yet.”

  No one moved.

  “I promise, I won’t stand in the back of any battle, and I will never send men to their deaths without reason.”

  “What reason was there to attack that force on the road?” The question came from one of the quiet warriors of the Thirty, a man named Zalmon the Ahohite. David knew him to be a brave fighter. David had just learned that his friend, Eliphelet, was one of the Thirty who had died in the forest.

  “They cannot take Jebus from us,” David answered gently.

  Zalmon kept his tone respectful, but there was deep hurt in his eyes. “There are other cities, lord.”

  “There are. But we need to stop them from taking that one.”

  Zalmon bowed his head in acquiescence, but he did not look at David.

  David walked over to and lifted his head up. “Did he have a wife and children?”

  Zalmon nodded.

  “Then I will take care of them myself. Any who falls among the Thirty will have his family provided for until they are dead. My vow.” David raised his sword over his head. “This place will be called Baal-perazim, because Yahweh has burst through our enemies like a flood!”
/>
  Then, to everyone’s shock, he collapsed.

  Eleazar shrugged off the assistance and stumbled to where Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb were standing over David. Pain stabbed under his arm. Must have been a stray blade swipe, he thought. Would need to get it treated.

  The king was limp — flecks of white saliva covering his beard — but conscious.

  “Don’t frighten us like that,” Benaiah said.

  David squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Oh, what I would give for a drink of the cool Bethlehem water.”

  Benaiah placed the tip of a water satchel into the king’s mouth, and David almost took it before realizing what it was and spitting it out. The soldiers gathered around gasped.

  “You have to drink this!” Benaiah said, exasperated.

  “How … many water pouches … were recovered?” David said between gasps.

  “A few dozen. The Philistines slit most of their bags open when they were dying to make sure we didn’t get any. Only enough for one or two sips for each man until we can find water.”

  “Then give it to the injured,” David said, gesturing toward the rows of wounded soldiers who were screaming ever louder.

  “You are one of those injured, lord,” Gareb said.

  David waved his hand to end further discussion. Benaiah tossed the water pouch to a soldier who then carried it to the rows of wounded.

  “Why has Yahweh cursed us with no water anywhere?” Benaiah complained loudly.

  “Yahweh has given us a mighty victory today! Be grateful!” The strength in David’s voice surprised everyone. “You four help get everyone moving back to the cave. We need to prepare for their next attack. It could come any day. There are still other regiments on the plains and more soldiers at the garrison in Bethlehem. That might not have been all of the Sword of Dagon soldiers.”

  When David said the word “Bethlehem,” his voice cracked with longing, and Eleazar imagined that if he could have produced it, a tear would have fallen. Such was the power of the memory of his hometown.

  The four of them bowed, and Benaiah, Gareb, and Keth helped Eleazar toward the center of the field as several troops obeyed David’s orders to help him up. They watched as the king staggered to where Josheb and other members of the Thirty were discussing their withdrawal.

  “I know what the men need to see to rally them,” Eleazar said.

  “What?” asked Benaiah.

  Eleazar looked at David again.

  Then he told them.

  FORTY-TWO

  Benaiah, Gareb, and Keth crept through the forest, following old game trails and secret evasion routes that their ancestors had forged centuries before. Gareb knew this land better than Benaiah, who was from the south, so he led. Generations of Israelite men knew these hills and woods, the central hill country bordering the Forest of Hereth, their knowledge passed down from father to son.

  Only Eleazar had known of their departure, and since it had been his own idea, he had vowed not to mention it to the king.

  After hours of jogging, they reached the ridge overlooking the town of Bethlehem, and as they arrived they noticed the deep blue wall of a storm in the east. They had heard about storms popping up on the borderlands, only to rain themselves out before reaching Israelite country. Still, the sight of it filled them with hope.

  Benaiah held up his arm. Exhausted, the men all leaned against trees to rest. Leagues of running after a full day of fighting had put them at their limit.

  “We can hold here until we figure out our plan. There is a cave just over there,” Gareb said.

  Benaiah knelt, then rolled to his side. He inspected the wrapping on his chest that covered the arrow wound, his tunic damp from the oil soaking the entry point. The cut had reopened an old scar.

  “Always seem to start these missions hurt,” Benaiah mumbled. Keth, lying next to him, chuckled.

  “You should have been injured by a lion; it makes a better story,” Gareb said, probing at the dagger wound in his own mouth.

  “He got a Philistine arrow before we arrived at the cave, and it has not slowed him. He should not be complaining as much as he is,” said Keth.

  “Avoid arrows, Benaiah, unless you are shooting them.”

  “We need to make a plan,” Benaiah said. He cleared away some of the leafy soil and sketched a map. For the next few minutes, they discussed the best strategy.

  They reached an agreement, then crept into the cave Gareb had mentioned. It faced the town. As they waited for darkness to fall, Benaiah asked Gareb how he knew about it.

  “We used it when we were hunting David years ago,” he answered simply.

  They huddled together in the entrance as the last rays of the sun behind them dimmed. They would wait inside the cave until nightfall.

  Gareb picked up his sword and scraped the blade across a stone. “I wonder why David did not drink that water today,” Gareb said.

  “You know why,” said Benaiah.

  Gareb nodded. He drew a breath. “I was Jonathan’s armor bearer.”

  They stared at him.

  “We know,” Benaiah said after a few seconds. “David told us not long after you arrived in our camp after Gilboa. He recognized you. He told us not to bother you about it, and that you would tell us in time.”

  “I thought he had abandoned us years ago,” Gareb continued. “I was there, on Gilboa, when Jonathan fell. He sent me to David. Hardest moment of my life. I hated David. Thought he should have died on Gilboa and not Jonathan.”

  Gareb looked away from them and outside the cave. The breeze picked up, suddenly chilly. Benaiah pulled his cloak over his knees.

  “Yahweh uses broken men. I don’t know why he uses David, why he uses any of us.” Benaiah said quietly.

  They listened as the wind increased.

  FORTY-THREE

  Ittai did his best to lift his face off the ground. His vision cleared, and he could smell the wood smoke from campfires nearby. A deep cut on his lip throbbed. Wincing, he let his face rest on the sharp pebbles once more.

  It was still light out, but evening was closing in. He lay on his chest with his hands tied behind his back. Every area of his body was wracked with pounding, driving pain. His smashed jaw throbbed, his broken nose was swollen and tender. The Hebrews had beaten him mercilessly, and he was surprised to still be alive. Not only that, but he realized that his wounds had been treated with oil and bandages.

  He tried to lift his head again, but a voice spoke out of his line of sight.

  “You ought to rest.”

  Ittai turned his stiff neck until he could see the form of a man sitting next to him, leaning against a boulder. He recognized him as the Hebrew demon warrior.

  Ittai hesitated, unsure how to respond. Had this man spared his life again?

  “I expected to be dead,” he mumbled at last. The movement of his lips forced the cut on his lip to reopen, and he tasted blood as it trickled into his mouth.

  “You fought well,” the Hebrew replied in the Philistine tongue. His breath was labored.

  Ittai watched him. The Hebrew looked equally bad. His face was covered in cuts, and his clothing hung in tatters. His exposed thigh displayed a wicked-looking gash that had been closed up with bronze clamps to staunch the bleeding. They protruded through the bandage wrapped around the leg, dark stains seeping through the wool.

  More interesting, though, was the bandage wrapped around his right hand. It bulged to a girth much larger than a fist, and out of the top of it jutted a broken sword blade. The Hebrew was resting his hand in a bowl of heated oil. Ittai could see slight wisps of steam rising from the bowl.

  Noticing his gaze, the Hebrew said, “Physician says it will loosen the hand by heating it.”

  “I thought your people hated physicians.”

  “Hmm.”

  Ittai moved his head to see where he was. He lay at the edge of a large clearing at the top of a hill, with several ravines and rocky draws breaking away from the summit. On one end of t
he clearing was a large stone pile that looked as though it guarded a cave entrance leading into the depths of the mountain. The forest surrounded the clearing and stretched beyond the cave until it ended abruptly at the foot of a bluff, the highest point on the mountain. As a commander, he could not help but admire the tactical genius of such a spot and was amazed that the place had not been discovered by his own people.

  “You would need water access if you were here a long time,” he thought aloud.

  “Normally not a problem, but the springs have dried up. Yahweh has not provided rain.”

  “I saw storm clouds over the eastern sky today.”

  “It goes no farther than Bethlehem. The rest of the kingdom is dry until the plains. Yahweh has withheld the rain,” the Hebrew repeated.

  “Your god is powerful.”

  “He is the only God.”

  Ittai said nothing. Before this day, he would have answered quickly and defended his patron until death. “Tell me about him.”

  The Hebrew shook his head. “Perhaps later.”

  “Why did you spare me?”

  “Yahweh wanted you to live. I felt it in the covering.”

  “The covering?”

  “Perhaps later,” the Hebrew said again. He coughed, hard. Then he leaned his head back against the stone and closed his eyes.

  Ittai asked the question that had been nagging at him all day. “Why is Keth of the Hittites in your ranks?”

  If the Hebrew was surprised at this knowledge, he did not let on. “He came several years ago when many others did. You would have to ask Benaiah.”

  “So the rumors of Benaiah are true?”

  “They are. Many of your countrymen probably fell by his club today.”

  Ittai nodded. “It must have been him I saw earlier. He and Keth.”

  “He has a Hebrew name now as well. Uriah.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Yahweh is fire.”

  Ittai had to agree. On this day, in these fields, their god had shown that he was fire. If a man like Keth had thrown in his lot with these Hebrews and their god, perhaps …