Day of War

by Cliff Graham

  In his tent, the chieftain was pacing. “But there was only one. The Hebrews fight in teams of three or four.”

  The deputy placed his hand down on the table, looking at the map of the region sketched on parchment by his spies. “He may not have been sent for us. But you’re right; they would not have sent one alone. Their best men are with Saul in the north.”

  Both men remained silent for a moment, each trying to piece it together.

  “He may have been on another errand and stumbled across them,” said the chieftain.

  “Possible.” The deputy shifted his weight and looked up hesitantly. “What if it was a demon?”

  The chieftain shrugged. “The priests would have warned us. I am no fool; I know there are demons in those hills, but I also know not every shadow is a demon.”

  “The priests were against this campaign. Maybe they asked the gods to send the demon.”

  Someone scratched gently on the tent flap.

  “What is it?” demanded the chieftain, irritated.

  “Master Karak, the officers want to know what to tell the men to calm them down,” came the voice of his armor bearer.

  Karak looked at his deputy. “Well?”

  “Tell them it was an ambush and there was only one survivor. It is the truth, and it will let them know what we are up against in these hills. Not demons, but dangerous fighters.”

  Karak liked it. “It will help prepare the men for what is ahead.” He said to the armor bearer, “Tell the officers to tell the men that he was ambushed with his squad, there was a fight, and he alone escaped. Tell them to be ready and alert at all times.”

  The armor bearer left. Karak walked to a cushion in the corner of the room and gestured wearily for the deputy to join him. It had been a long day. They had been jubilant at the early successes, but both men, seasoned warriors who held no illusions of war, knew it was bound to end. This was unwelcome news.

  They settled onto the cushions and lay their heads back. The wineskins abandoned earlier were replaced. The chieftain held the wineskin against his forehead, lost in thought. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “He said the unknown warrior used both sword and spear. The only Hebrews I have heard of who do so are Saul and his son. Most Hebrews learn a single weapon in their tribes like our people do. They would not have time to learn more if they are plowing for crops and fixing oxbows.”

  “But some elite fighters might learn them. You have learned three, master,” the deputy replied.

  The chieftain sat up and stared forward. “It must have been one of the men with that warlord called ‘the Lion.’”

  The deputy frowned. “Is he real?”

  “You remember those tales about a Hebrew boy who killed one of the giants from Gath.”

  The deputy nodded. “David. Hebrews on the borders would try to scare our people with tales of him. Do you think he is real?”

  “All of our spies say they encounter talk of him in Hebrew lands. And someone highly competent has been leading raids against us. David might be the Lion.”

  “He would surely be marching with Saul. A Philistine invasion of that size into the land of his people would draw him out.”

  Karak scowled. The stories of David made him a terrifying figure to the Amalekites. One hundred boys under the age of ten had been sacrificed a few years previously by the priests in order to beseech the gods to strike David down. The kings and tribal chiefs had tried to appease their people by claiming he was a myth spread by Hebrews.

  As Karak thought about it, it began to make sense. The stories about David claimed he was leading a band of criminals and foreigners and had trained them into elite fighting units. He might have sent one of his best fighters to the village on an errand, who then encountered the raiding party and dispatched them. A group of regular soldiers properly ambushed by a highly trained warrior under the cover of darkness could be defeated. It was not unthinkable.

  “Master, David’s exploits really might be myth, something spread among our ranks by foreigners to deter us,” the deputy said.

  Karak shook his head. “No, there is too much on him. The Philistines even speak of him.” He settled back into his rough lambskin cushions. “They are going to be vulnerable in the south. One man may have stopped a raid, but he won’t stop an army.” He paused a moment, thinking. “Bring the commanders back in. I want to move out as soon as the other advance parties return. We will hit that Philistine town the scouts reported earlier. Ziklag.”

  The deputy stood up and walked to the opening.

  “Also send in my share of the prize today.”

  The deputy nodded, opened the flap, and stepped into the darkness. Karak rubbed his eyes, piecing it together. Of course, the man could have been lying. The raiders may have simply been defeated by old men with sticks. Either way, Hebrew warlord or not, the nearest army was days or weeks of travel away. If they moved fast enough, the gold and women of the southern regions of two kingdoms would be theirs to choose from.

  The tent flap opened again and the group of men who had left earlier ducked inside. They were all large, with thick, dusty beards, and wore dull-colored clothing like their chieftain. His orders had been to dress in subdued garments to blend with the rocks and bushes. Behind them, panting in humiliation and terror, were three young Hebrew women captured during the day’s pillaging. They wore nothing to protect them from the freezing night and tried vainly to cover themselves in front of the group of men. There were loud laughs and comments.

  Karak stood up from the ground to his full height, towering over the other men and causing the women to close their eyes in fright. He grabbed them by the hair and dragged all three across the room, while the officers laughed and made animal noises. He threw them onto the pile of animal skins that made up his bed. They shrieked in pain and clung to one another.

  The Egyptian watched quietly from the corner next to the other commanders.

  He despised these filthy Amalekites. They paid well, but most were lazy and undisciplined compared to his old regiment. When he was in Pharaoh’s armies, his warriors would have crushed them in an open war and laughed at their womanly ambush tactics.

  Many important preparations for campaign were omitted in favor of needless luxuries, such as this large and cumbersome command tent. Only a fat ruler wishing to look powerful by touring the front lines would make his men carry such an unnecessary burden.

  The chieftain appeared to be a skilled fighter; the Egyptian had sparred with him in workouts. But not all effective fighters made good generals. Karak seemed to be here not out of duty to his kings but rather out of a desire to grab as much plunder as he could after years of obeying the bidding of others.

  The Egyptian didn’t begrudge the chieftain such a motive. It was what he himself was doing, after all. There were mercenaries from many lands in this army. Most were here as spies, of course — as was the Egyptian himself. They would offer services for hire to the Amalekites, claiming they had abandoned their homelands, and then promptly return and offer information to their own kings. It was dangerous but highly profitable.

  The Egyptian turned away from the scene on the animal skins and stepped out into the night. His white linen robe glowed in the moonlight. He did not care what the chieftain had ordered about subdued garments; he would not stoop to wearing barbaric clothing. The colder he became, the more linen he would drape around his shoulders. Only shepherds and other wretches wore raw animal skins as cloaks.

  An Amalekite soldier walked past him, his head coming no higher than the Egyptian’s elbow. The man’s eyes darted toward him quickly, and he picked up his pace. The Egyptian’s great size had been the subject of whispers in the ranks; his elegant grooming, the use of kohl and galena to paint his eyes, and his fine white clothing would have been openly mocked were he not the largest, most intimidating man in the raiding force. He had gleaming bronze skin, bulging oiled muscles that rippled with veins, and a clean-shaven head; there was no hair on his body
of any kind.

  The Egyptian had overheard the conversation about the Hebrew warrior. It reminded him of the only time he had fought a Hebrew, on the coast of the sea when he was among the pharaoh’s bodyguard. There was a Hebrew mercenary in the bodyguard as well, and on a whim one day while hunting with his falcons along the coast of the sea near Aqaba, the pharaoh had ordered them to fight for his amusement.

  And they had fought. Across the sand, under the sun, into the sea. The Hebrew had talent, but he was untrained and rough, wielding his weapons heavily like an infantryman instead of nimbly like a master of arms, and the Egyptian had defeated him. Disgraced, the Hebrew had departed.

  The Egyptian walked back to his own small tent, enjoying how he towered over the other soldiers as he passed them. Once inside, he laid down, resting his head on the wooden pedestal that served as his pillow, and listened to the light breeze moving through the camp.

  It would be an interesting report to make to Pharaoh when he returned. The god-king would want to know about Hebrew warlords and skilled fighters before any invasion commenced.

  SEVEN

  Far to the north, deep in the mountains of Gilboa along the southern side of the Jezreel Valley, a campfire burned. The night was bright and clear and brought an occasional chilly breeze, causing the fire to flicker lazily. A good night for a fire, the soldiers all agreed, and they had been given permission to make one, despite being on the march.

  Another, smaller fire burned just inside a small stand of trees on top of the highest ridge, with the commanding view of the Jezreel and of Mount Tabor. The two men who warmed themselves by this fire were dressed in the typical clothing of a soldier in the Israelite standing army on campaign: light wool tunics cinched up for when they put on armor before battle, covered with cloaks to ward off the surprise spring chill. They each had neatly trimmed beards. One of them was of noble birth and the other was a commoner, but they were talking and laughing like old friends.

  A young man named Eliam sat in the forest nearby, trying to listen to their conversation as he quietly stitched his tunic, damaged during the day’s training. In his twenty-fifth year, Eliam was keenly aware that he was serving Yahweh’s anointed king only through the good graces of his well-connected father. It was an opportunity purchased by a great many head of cattle and not through any merit of Eliam’s. He had narrow shoulders, felt like he plodded awkwardly when he walked, and had not noticed any servant girls looking at him. In all, Eliam was unsure of his place both in the court and in society, but he had determined to make the most of any opportunity he was given.

  Eliam had been in the court of King Saul since childhood. He was not a slave or typical tent servant, spending his hours in menial labor. He was, more or less, an understudy to the various soldiers coming and going from the court. Eliam’s father wished him to become a great war leader, like the legendary prince Jonathan, in order to attain the highest positions of respect and influence in the kingdom.

  Eliam had been privileged several times to sit under Jonathan for instruction. Tall and strong, looking every bit the great hero he was renowned to be, Jonathan taught Eliam about the foreign alliances their nation faced—the tension with the Moabites, the tribal bickering between the north and the south, the bloodthirsty Amalekite frontier, the ever-looming shadow of the Philistine colossus.

  The lessons were grand and Eliam soaked them in, but they were remarkable for what they did not contain: any descriptions of the man David and the bond of brotherhood that most of the kingdom knew David and Jonathan shared. Whenever Jonathan began to describe a particular battle or encounter that Eliam knew involved David, the prince would catch himself and go silent or change the subject.

  It was David who dominated all comings and goings of Saul’s court, held at the tamarisk tree on a hilltop in Benjamite country, as it had been for forty years. Even though David had not set foot under the tamarisk tree in a long time, everything about him seemed to be on Saul’s mind. Where was he? Who was sheltering him? How large was his army? The questions were tossed around war councils night after night. The generals, led by Jonathan and a brilliant commander named Abner, pleaded with Saul to leave David alone. There were far graver threats, they said. Philistia would eventually come at them with everything in its power, and the Israelites still had not learned how to forge iron to compete with them.

  At first, Eliam was not bothered by the king’s erratic behavior. He wrote it off as the stress of leadership and believed that Saul would eventually forget about David and come around. But as time passed, Eliam saw the king lash out unprovoked and ever more violently. Eliam heard things beyond simple screaming and shouting. He could swear that he’d seen strange images in the darkness of the royal house, heard voices and utterances from unknown and terrifying depths. He had sometimes seen the king stumble along the hallways, staring vacantly, talking with someone who was not there.

  David was in hiding, but that didn’t stop the people of the kingdom, many of them fed up with Saul’s irrational behavior, from choosing sides between Saul and David. Eliam had noticed that even the ever-cheery Jonathan had become morose. The presence of his own son sent Saul into rages. Eliam would often wake up late at night and hear the sounds of the king thrashing about his palace, screaming and shouting at his heir, accusing him of aiding their enemy and denying himself his own throne. Jonathan did his best to calm him but was frequently rewarded with a hurled jar.

  Now, sitting near Jonathan himself, Eliam hoped to learn more about what troubled the king. Instead, he found that he was listening to old war stories. The man with Jonathan was Gareb. He had arrived just before they set out from Saul’s court, saying that he’d heard Prince Jonathan was going to battle and that he’d be a lesion on a leper if he would stay behind pushing a plow when he did.

  Eliam had been watching them laugh together for hours, like brothers. He continued mending the tunic and tried not to show that he was listening.

  “That was Michmash, not Jabesh-gilead,” said Jonathan.

  “No, it was Jabesh-gilead. I remember the fool who thought he could make the shot with the arrow at four hundred paces.”

  “I forgot about that. Then which one was Michmash?”

  “As you killed that man with the rock and he screamed for his mother.” Both men erupted in laughter once more. Eliam was wondering what was so funny about that when Jamaliel walked up. He was the chief cook and oversaw the foreign laborers in the camp.

  “What are they talking about?” Jamaliel whispered.

  “Battles. Michmash. What really happened there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know we won, but I always thought Jonathan was behind the front, overseeing the equipment and cleaning up.”

  Jamaliel put down the bowl of stew he had been carrying and peered at the men around the campfire. “Did you hear that from the king?”

  Eliam nodded. “Jonathan has never spoken of it. I know about most of his other campaigns, but that one seems to be forbidden.”

  Jamaliel sat down next to Eliam, rubbing his legs as if they were tired or sore. “The first time Jonathan fought was against the Ammonites in Jabesh-gilead, in the lands of Gad. He was very brave. Saul knew that he needed a standing army, so he rewarded Jonathan with the leadership of a division.”

  “How many men were in the army?” asked Eliam.

  “About three thousand. Jonathan led a division of a thousand in a campaign against Geba and Gibeah, held by the Philistines. This didn’t sit well with the Philistine rulers, so they ordered chariots and men to establish a garrison at Michmash after traveling up the Beth-horon pass.”

  “Why there? There’s nothing out there.”

  “It’s where our people have always mustered for battle. The Philistines knew if they could establish a stronghold there, it would demoralize our troops. It’s also right near the center of the lands of Benjamin—”

  “—where Saul is from,” finished Eliam.

  Jamaliel nodded.
“It was embarrassing for Saul to have his hated enemy camped out in his homeland, openly challenging his authority. He began to lose many of his conscripts to desertion. No man wanted to die in a hopeless cause. I think he only had about six hundred men left in that force when he took his position opposite the Philistine fortress at Michmash.

  “Jonathan had secured Gibea with the regulars, so that was where Saul decided to encamp. The Philistines have good spies. One of them must have reported the fighting between Saul and Samuel.”

  Eliam nodded. He had seen the old prophet and the king bickering many times. Samuel had even told Saul that he would lose his throne one day because he had angered Yahweh. Saul had in fact angered the Lord on many occasions, but the one most frequently mentioned was when he failed to destroy the Amalekites after being commanded to do so.

  Jamaliel dropped some herbs into the bowl, then continued. “Knowing there was trouble in our leadership, the Philistines decided to press the advantage and sent several invasion forces into the land. This left Michmash with only a handful of defenders, but Saul was afraid to attack it even then. He could only move his army a little closer, to a hilltop called Migron.

  “The Philistines taunted them across the ridge. Jonathan got tired of listening to it and came up with a plan. He and Gareb, the man sitting next to him over there who used to be his armor bearer, decided to sneak out of the camp to the south, alone. Neither Saul nor anyone else knew what they were doing. I suspect the Philistines noticed them but must have assumed they were just deserters from the main force, so the two of them slipped into the gorge behind the camp, forgotten. There are cliffs in that area so steep that one could assume they could not be climbed.

  “They made their way to the base of the cliffs beneath the Philistine outpost, then climbed up. It must have been scary, weapons weighing them down like that. When they reached the top, they ambushed the outpost.”