by Cliff Graham
“The sword is still in Eleazar’s hand,” came the quiet voice of the young soldier, who had stopped working again to look at him.
The sword was, indeed, still frozen in his hand. He looked at the shattered blade that now felt like it was part of his body. The muscles in his grip were locked into place. The physician had directed that it be heated in oil so the muscles could relax, though everyone was certain he had never treated a wound like it.
“They said that he killed so many pagans that Yahweh molded the hilt to his hand as a challenge to lesser men.”
Eleazar heard the veteran chuckle. “Stop listening to third squad.”
“Well, have you ever seen a man do that?”
The veteran arranged several pouches on the stack so that they would not fall over. “No,” he said, “I have not. But he’s one of the Three, and that’s what they do.”
Eleazar let his head roll to the side so he could see the working men. All had stopped and were staring at him in the growing dark, unaware that he was looking back at them.
“Well, I will never run again, not after seeing that. Praise to our God,” the young soldier said.
“Arrows to our enemies,” came the murmured reply of the group.
Satisfied, Eleazar allowed his eyes to close a moment, trying to ignore the thirst that gnawed away at him. The still night wrapped itself around him like a gentle blanket from his bed. He was rarely cold; his body would produce so much warmth that his wife was always complaining that he was going to burn her alive in their bed.
The pain in his chest sharpened. He inhaled slowly before holding his breath. Air leaked out of his ribs. There was nothing that could be done.
But he had held the ground. That was all that mattered.
He shook his head. His last thoughts would be of her, not war.
She was probably making a meal now. Children were crowding her while she worked, frustrating her so much that she would order them out. Then they would fight about who was not obeying her, and she would pull her hair in anxiety, sometimes tearing up in spite of herself. She cried too easily. He smiled at the scene in his head, and felt the despair, for the fourth time that hour, that he would never see them again.
He looked back down at the parchment on the rock next to him.
He had written the letter to his wife while he’d waited in the valley. He picked it up with bloody, trembling fingers. The script was shaky and hardly legible since his writing hand was still wrapped with bandages around the sword hilt, and he did not believe for a moment that the letter would make it through to her, nor was she even able to read, but he’d needed to write it:
Love,
This will come to you by David’s hand. It means I am gone, and I trusted no other to deliver it. He owes me this favor. Honor him as king. Yahweh’s spirit rests upon him.
Marry a good man. Make certain Josheb does not choose him for you, or else he will have a beak nose and refuse to bathe. Love him, wife. He will need it living with you, for you are as unruly as a mule.
Hold my children close. Tell them Yahweh will be with them even on the dark nights. Make certain my sons are warriors first and poets second. David’s influence is only so healthy for a boy. But make sure they are there when he sings. Life has few moments of happiness. A good day of fighting, a good woman’s love, good wine and food, and David’s singing.
It looks grim for us. Many will fall. My life was lost holding the ground that no other could hold. I am grateful that Yahweh let me finish well.
Never doubt how much I have adored you. I want your memory to stay with me even into Sheol. You are Yahweh’s blessing to me, and I have been only yours since we were young.
Eleazar had signed it with the secret name that only she knew. Tears were now splashed across the page. He lowered his face so the men could not see him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Philistine commander watching him.
Ittai finished working the knots loose when it looked as though Eleazar had fallen asleep. Before crawling away into the forest, he glanced one more time at the Hebrew warrior who had fought like a god and by himself had stopped the invasion.
The arm was propped up. Ittai assumed it would help with the swelling. He shook his head. There was much to ponder after what he had witnessed on this day. Never had there been courage and bravery like this Hebrew had shown. He tilted his head, acknowledging the warrior in his own way.
Then he slipped away into the night.
Eleazar watched him go through the barely open slits in his eyes. Apprehension flared up in him; it violated every principle of warfare. Never let your enemy escape to kill another day.
But the covering had spoken, and Eleazar obeyed.
He felt the deep, burning pain in his chest again. It was stronger this time than before.
There had been a blade strike that slipped through. He hadn’t noticed it until they were back at the caves, assuming it was just more enemy blood. But his head was getting lighter, and his breathing more labored.
They would wonder why he had said nothing about the wound. But nothing could have been done anyway. Better to remember him as he was. Better for the men.
So it was done, then. It was his time. Sheol awaited. His path was run.
Yahweh, hold them close.
He gazed at the sky above. Blood was filling his mouth, but he didn’t care. Only noticed the stars, and the distant storm …
… the army is out of the city now. Need to hurry, Rizpah, my love. Need to get to the Rephaim and stop the Philistines. Need to protect my home. Only a few more moments together.
“I see them,” I say.
“Who?” she asks.
“Hebrews I have killed. I see them.”
Her breathing is shallow. She listens a moment longer, but I cannot say anything else about it. I hope that she does not ask me further, that she just … knows.
“After the slaughter at Gibeon, I went to the Ammonite pleasure tents.”
She goes still. Waits for what I will say. Anguish in her spirit now.
“But I fled. Came back to you. Forgive me, love. I did not go to her, but I wanted to.”
She breathes again. Love her breathing, love her warm neck. Hope she forgives me for my wicked heart. Yahweh, forgive me.
“We have another one coming,” she says.
“Another what?”
She tilts her head back and smiles. It has been forgiven. Undeserved mercy, God of my salvation.
“But we just had one!” I say.
“It isn’t my fault!” she teases, “I am not the son of the mighty Dodai.”
I look in her eyes as she stares up at me. They are the color of dark honey. My lips press against her forehead. Another child. I must be strong for them. Yahweh help me, I must be strong for them.
“I believe in you,” she says.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know you need to hear it.” She looks up at me. “I believe in you,” she repeats.
She goes quiet again.
Praise you, Yahweh. You know what I need when I need it.
If your courage holds in the small battles, it will hold in the great ones.
For her. I pull her close …
FORTY-SIX
David was grateful to see fresh platoons streaming in throughout the night. A soldier would appear out of the gloom and report to the chief of the watch about the size and other necessary details of an incoming unit. There were fast-strike teams of twenty, special detachments of slingers and archers, platoons that were proficient with heavy pikes and axes. Men from all over the known world had come to David in the previous years, some out of loyalty to his legend, others looking for the ample wealth he was bestowing upon those who fought with him. He was happy to see them now, answering his summons as fast as they could.
Word came that Shammah was sending companies as soon as they mustered, choosing to rush warriors to their aide as they became available rather than marching a la
rge, cumbersome force fully assembled. There would be more men available for the next battle because it would likely take several days for Philistine commanders to recover and begin another orderly advance.
The arriving men had only their own water rations, not enough to be sufficient for the whole army. Josheb organized platoons of runners to go back and forth to surrounding villages to see if any extra water could be strained out of the town’s supply. David had decided that they could not abandon Adullam, since doing so would open the valley once more to the Philistines, so they had no choice but to rely on water that could be rationed or feebly gathered. Soldiers who had been injured during the day’s fighting were being treated in the corner of the clearing near the cave. The archers had been struck the hardest by the enemy, and the remorseful glances of the foot soldiers did little to ease the wounds they suffered.
The Philistine arrows were barbed and impossible to extract neatly. When the first of the army physicians had arrived, he was put to work removing these arrows. Despite the victory, dozens of men had been killed or wounded in the day’s fighting, and in the hours since the end of the battle, four had died of blood loss. With each death, a designated soldier called out an anguished cry to the camp, singing the song taught to them by their king to mourn the loss of comrades. Other men joined in the song, echoing it back and forth, singing both grief and praise to Yahweh for choosing them as his people.
The physician did his best, but by the late hours of the night, the last of the wounded archers was lost. When the herald sang the news that all of them were dead, he was greeted by silence. Many of the soldiers who had fled the day’s fighting laid on their bellies in grief. They dropped the ash on their head from the sacrificed heifer, hoping that it would cleanse them of their guilt.
David wandered among them, too tired and too wary to sleep. His feet and legs quivered with exhaustion, so he stepped carefully among the rows of encamped Israelites, occasionally pausing to kneel next to younger troops huddled together near small fires for warmth against the night chill. He searched for things to praise them for, such as the skill with which they created their cooking fire pit, or the manner in which they had maintained their weapons. Terrified eyes greeted him wherever he went, the memory of him killing the failed Hebrew commanders still vivid in everyone’s minds.
David walked into the forest and felt the cold night deepen. The bodyguard of Pelethite mercenaries, taking a shift while his Gittites slept, paused, afraid of evil spirits in the Israelite woods.
“Stay here,” he said, doing his best to look disapproving. They nodded with relief and took up positions behind trees, vanishing from sight to anyone who might have been following them. David continued walking.
His throat rasped with every breath. Dry air coursed along his tongue and through his nose, aggravating the bloody cuts formed when the flesh inside of his throat split from lack of water and the constant breathing of dust. He found that inhaling through his nose kept the agony of the throat at bay but knew eventually the same would happen to that flesh as well.
David reached the edge of the woods and stepped out onto the moonlit stone. He gazed gratefully on the dark ridges stretching to the horizon, happy that he could see the view of his land that he so loved. In the distance, to the east, large thunderheads towered toward the heavens, occasionally flashing with lightning inside the clouds.
“Yahweh, forgive me for the sin that consumes me.”
His voice cracked painfully. His eyes were too dry for the tears he yearned for, the cleansing tears of forgiveness that he knew would come when he confessed himself to his God. David hummed through broken and bloody lips the melodies of the music of praise. He knelt onto the stone near the edge of the cliff and raised his aching arms heavenward, swaying gently as he began to mouth the words of worship.
David watched the clouds and thanked God for the rain in that part of the land. Grass would grow, cattle would feed, cisterns would be filled. Far over the ridges to his right, he knew that his hometown was nestled in for the night. The people were probably terrified to be surrounded by Philistines, but they would be joyful at the coming of more rain.
“Send it to the whole kingdom, Lord of my people. To all but that cursed spot on Gilboa where Jonathan and Saul fell, send your rain of mercy. Find the wickedness in me and purge me of it. Cover my people in the day of war, Yahweh.”
Leaning against the stone, he listened to the quiet sounds of night in the forest. A heavy weight descended on his eyelids. David blinked several times to clear his sight. The landscape was pale and marvelous as it spread before him and lulled him with its beauty. His heart ached for his land.
“The Lord your God is pleased with you.”
David inhaled sharply. The skin on his neck quivered. Slowly he turned his head.
A large, powerful-looking man was standing with his arms crossed at the edge of the forest behind David. He had noble but hard features. His stare was severe, and David looked at the ground. The flicker of warmth that accompanied these messengers rose up in his heart.
“I am wicked. He should not be pleased with me.”
“He knows of your repentance.”
David let himself meet the warrior’s eyes. He had to fight the urge to kneel, but the last time he had done that, he had received a reprimand. Only kneel before Yahweh.
“You have come to me before.”
The warrior nodded. “Do you remember when?”
David said, “You were there when the bear attacked when I was young. And the lion. And the giant. You were the old man today. The one who stopped me from killing Korah.”
The warrior nodded again. “You have many years of battle ahead of you.”
David took a deep breath. “I had hoped for peace.”
“You are not a man of peace. Rest will come to this land eventually, but not until you have poured yourself out as an offering to Yahweh.”
David exhaled. His sorrow was almost overwhelming. But he nodded. It was as it should be. The warrior’s stare burned into David. The figure was a cubit taller than himself, his eyes and hair a terrifying black. His voice was not harsh, but it rumbled as deep as the roar of an ancient river. He wore a cloak and armor. Battle-worn armor, not gleaming and perfect as David might have expected. David tried his best to examine him, although he could not hold the stare. What wars had he fought since time began? What untold magnificence at the right hand of Yahweh had he seen?
“Will you be there again? When I need the covering?” he asked the warrior.
“The Lord your God never abandons you, even when you abandon him.”
David choked up and could not speak anymore. He saw the lecherous palace life he had been living. He had to close his eyes to avoid the stare.
“He knows of your repentance,” the warrior said again.
David was so overjoyed that he leaned forward and placed his face in the dirt. The taste of the earth was dry and stale, how he felt in his soul, but that was changing now. New days would come. New chances. He had a scroll of the Law to copy. He would write out the Law and carry it with him all of his days, just as Yahweh had commanded.
“Will he send the waters again? My men need water. My people need water,” David managed. “I need water.”
He heard footsteps next to his head. The warrior’s massive hand then covered David’s bent neck. The hands were calloused and felt like the sanding tools of carpenters, a hand that had held a weapon through the eons of time and fought wars that David could never grasp. Then there was a feeling of warmth and oil that streamed through his hair and into his eyes, and he thought suddenly of the old days when he was a boy, and how the old prophet had poured the oil over his head, and the fire of the covering had ripped into his body and burned ferociously throughout his chest. And he saw his father glaring at him, and his brothers would never sing songs about him, and then, through darkness, the Lion roaring.
“The Lord your God is sufficient for you,” rumbled the voice of the warrior
. “Remember this in the dark days ahead, when you will be tested. You will lose many dear to you. But the Lord your God will be sufficient.”
Then all was quiet.
David felt the chilly night air drift back over him. He was too exultant to move, too eager to stay in this place of joy and life to return. Yahweh had not abandoned him, even when he deserved it. But who else would he lose? He lost Jonathan. Was that not enough?
“Reveal my faults to me, Yahweh. Show me where I am weak, where I am vulnerable.”
His vision became dizzy. Suddenly overcome, he lay on his side and closed his eyes. Sleep overtook him …
She has been returned to me, brought by Abner, but Michal’s head is bent. Everyone leaves, we are alone. She does not look up at me. I do not know what to say. It has been long, she has been defiled by another man, there are other women in my chamber.
“You were my prize. I loved you from when we first met.”
She does not answer, looks at the ground.
“I want you back.”
Her eyes flash bitterness and anger. “My family is destroyed because of you. My father, brothers, all of them.”
“What happened? Between us? Why did you betray me to your father?”
“You left me, and then you took others.”
I could give her reasons. Alliances. Maneuvering. My heart is heavy. Those were not the reasons. You were my first love, Michal. You must know my grief.
“Is the king finished with me?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She leaves, hates me still. Go then. Go back to the harem, nothing more than a concubine to me now. Yahweh, why …
Saul and Jonathan slain on the heights. I hold his crown. My brother gone. So much death, so much sorrow in our lands. I see him now, lying in a pile of dead Philistines. I hope he killed many of them. I hope he slew hundreds upon hundreds and tasted their blood before going to Sheol …
And now I stand in a wave of corpses rising from the earth, their bodies fastened together by my blades. They are ghostly white, limbs stretching out to me, their black eyes screaming. Men I have killed, men I have known who are now slain. They all scream and reach for me, and the wave rises ever higher on the slopes of Mount Gilboa.