Day of War

by Cliff Graham

  Benaiah thought about the man in the forest that night. It seemed a lifetime ago. Had he been a messenger? A helper?

  Benaiah shook his head. He was so very tired, unable to make sense of love and hate and covering. The faces of the girls tore out at him from the darkness. He tried to shut them out, but they were screaming.

  David stood and walked away along the perimeter, continuing his inspection of each fighting position before returning to the center. Benaiah watched him go, marveling again at how he never seemed to sleep.

  He lay back. The stars were out vividly. The warrior of the stars was visible now, his mighty bow drawn. Across the galaxy, the lion roared his challenge, and the warrior met it, for all time, placed there by Yahweh for men like him to see.

  The foreigner beside him was still, watching the deserted grasslands around them, eyes flicking to the hills occasionally. He had spoken, near the house draped in red, the den of lust, just before the emerald woman had appeared, and Benaiah had heard him.

  He had spoken a prayer: Cover me in the day of war.

  Part Three

  SEVENTEEN

  The shield came in lower than his staff, thumping loudly as Eliam failed to avoid it. It knocked him sideways, and before he could recover, Gareb had swung at him again, and he had to duck so quickly he lost his balance. He collapsed in a cloud of dust. Humiliated, he was grateful that they were doing this outside the camp, where no one would see.

  “Your reflexes are good. Too slow, but still good. You have potential.”

  After Gareb had completed the army’s final preparations, he had informed Eliam that he needed something to distract him from the thoughts in his head, so he ordered the young man to appear in a small grove of trees outside the perimeter with nothing but a staff and a simple wooden training shield, and wearing only a loincloth.

  Eliam had climbed along the ridge of the Gilboa highlands and slipped into the cool trees after the midday meal, apprehensive that he was about to become the brunt of a prank, but when he arrived, he saw Gareb sitting sullenly on a log.

  They began when Gareb roused himself from his stupor and ordered Eliam to start leaping into the air, holding the shield and staff over his head. When Eliam began to sweat from the exertion, wondering what the point of it was, Gareb attacked him without warning, shoving him to the ground and giving him a hard strike with his own staff.

  “Good work, now attack me,” he said, and Eliam, temper rising, lashed out clumsily toward Gareb, who easily parried the thrust and tripped him up, sending the young man crashing to the ground once more.

  “I am not making sport of you, if that is what you are thinking. I just want to know how skilled you are so that I don’t waste time training you at a level you are beyond. Attack me again.”

  Eliam reigned in his emotions and tried to perform dispassionately, with measured effort. When he fell again, Gareb nodded his approval and grunted that it would be necessary to start him further along.

  Eliam was not prepared for compliments — he was convinced that he was performing worse than a servant girl would have. “Sir, I thought trainers of war were angrier,” he ventured to say, as they paused to drink from their water satchels and rest in the shade of the trees.

  “Bad ones are. There is a time and place for striking terror into the hearts of your troops, the soldier who left his sword out yesterday being a good example, but usually you see better results when you inspire men. Beckon them beyond what they think they can do — don’t just yell at them.”

  “Did Jonathan teach you that?” Eliam asked, a little bolder this time, believing Gareb was warming to him.

  “No. David.”

  “You knew him? I thought you hated him.”

  “I told you he was Jonathan’s friend, so of course I knew him. And yes, I hate him. I wish it was only Jonathan who could be credited for much of what I know about leading men, but David …” He paused, took a drink, and wiped his brow. “David was a genius at leading men. A true genius. I have seen battle all of my life, and I have never seen anyone inspire troops on a field like he could, even when he was just your age. He was always the first to attack, the last to eat. He only slept when his men slept and only wore what they wore. He usually refuses to ride a horse even to this day. Says that since the men don’t ride them, neither will he. Those who followed him loved him so much that they would have probably slit their own throats if he asked it of them. Of course, now he runs an army of mercenaries and bandits — not so easy to lead.” Gareb smiled slightly. “It was probably the woman who started all of it. It always is.”

  “A woman? What woman?” asked Eliam.

  “David was given Jonathan’s sister Michal as a wife after he won the battle against Goliath in the Elah Valley. They loved each other deeply. She helped him escape when Saul tried to kill him, but then betrayed him to her father afterward. I never heard why. Who knows? Women are foolish.

  “But they say he never stopped loving her, even when Saul gave her to another man as his wife. I hardly saw him after that, but he wasn’t the same. Angrier, maybe. And who can blame him? Stay away from women, Eliam. Don’t even think about marrying one. You’ll deserve whatever you get.”

  Eliam wished there were unbiased accounts of David. People seemed to either hate him or love him. How Jonathan could adore him while his armor bearer hated him was hard to understand. Everyone agreed he had been the mightiest of heroes, but his intentions were so unclear now. How could he march with the Philistines against Israel?

  “That’s enough training for today. We will likely be slaughtered by the Philistines tomorrow, so there’s no sense wearing ourselves out and making it easier for them. If you make it out, and somehow Jonathan does, you will fit him well. I meant what I said about your abilities. You have potential.”

  “Could you explain tactics and troop movements? They told me that I will be bearing water tomorrow, but I have no idea how to see the field,” Eliam said.

  Gareb rubbed his thigh as if massaging out a muscle knot. “In the old days, it was more complex. There would be more involvement from the priests, more rituals of worship for Yahweh. Sacrifices, that sort of thing. But just like in the villages, no one really follows that anymore. Who knows, maybe that’s why we are having such trouble now.

  “Philistia is made up of people who live on the plains near the Great Sea, along the Way of the Sea, the trade route to Egypt. Their armies are accustomed to fighting in open fields with chariots and horsemen. Do you know what infantry is?”

  Eliam nodded.

  “Their infantry is set up in regiments like ours,” Gareb continued. “Groups of five thousand are led by a general, who delegates commanders to lead companies of two hundred. Each company contains troops of twenty to thirty warriors, with section leaders in charge of ten men each.

  “The infantry is divided between heavy and light. Heavy infantry carries large armor and weapons; light infantry uses short swords and small shields. In our army, the light infantry is usually split up according to tribal specialty. Judah trains with the spear, Gad the heavy staff, Benjamin the bow, and on and on. Bows are either the first wave of an attack or cover the rear of the retreat.

  “There are really only three types of battle — a raid, an ambush, and an assault. Raids and ambushes are pretty simple, but the assault is the battle in the open field, or a siege of a fortress. That’s a lot trickier to understand.

  “Every general on a field of assault has one objective: to get around the enemy’s flank. Sometimes they try to accomplish that through a direct, frontal thrust, but usually it’s a matter of maneuvering. It depends on who is commanding, but the goal is the same: penetrate the lines and capture the center. An army that is split apart can’t coordinate its attacks, so the opposing army simply has to isolate the remaining troops and destroy them.

  “If the battle is being fought in mountainous terrain, the advantage rests heavily on the side holding the high ground, since troops attacking uphill are eas
ier targets and will tire quickly. On the plain, whoever is superior with chariots will almost always win. But we tend to leap through the mountains like goats instead of risking it in the open plain against chariots.

  “A siege,” Gareb continued, “is when you have a fortress or an outcropping of rock being held by a force. There are a few fortresses in our lands, like the Jebusite one in the mountains, but the Canaanites on the plains have most of them. Philistia builds them next to the trade routes on the coastal plains in order to charge merchants passing through heavy taxes. So if we were ever to control that land,” he gestured to the valley where the Way of the Sea trade route crossed, “we would become wealthy beyond measure. That’s part of the reason we’re about to fight them. They want control of the trade road, we don’t want them to get it.

  “But enough about sieges. Tomorrow will be a field assault, and since we arrived first, we hold the high ground. If we weren’t outnumbered and outmatched in every way, we might win.” Gareb chuckled at his own morbid joke.

  “The Philistines are masters of iron. It’s a new metal that is harder than bronze and easily penetrates our armor, and that’s one of the reasons they control our lands. They’ve dominated us since the days of Joshua. Our one chance to survive the next few days is to prevent them from using their chariots and war horses. We do that by staying on these mountains and not being baited out into the valley. The king needs to see that, though.”

  “You don’t mention him much,” Eliam said.

  “Who?”

  “The king.”

  “You already know about him, you live in his quarters.”

  “But I don’t know what to believe about him anymore. The past few days have confused me.”

  Gareb, who had been discussing military tactics with great intensity, became quiet. Eliam watched him stare hard at the forest for a moment, as though trying to hear someone calling for him through the woods. His face was heavily scarred from disease and battle, giving him the appearance of an old man. The scars and damaged flesh must be from protecting his master, Eliam thought. He wondered if he himself would have the courage, when it came to it, to sacrifice his own flesh for his master, especially if his master was King Saul.

  “Saul never wanted to be king,” Gareb said at last. “Even hid from the people when they called him out to rule. For a while he got by on his size and his courage, which he used to have plenty of, and they say Yahweh was with him. Perhaps. I know he started out better than he’s finishing, and if Yahweh was ever with him, he’s not with him now. Besides, his son is a better man than Saul ever was.”

  “Then why does Jonathan stay with him? I know you said he is loyal, but why?”

  “I suppose that is how fathers and sons are. A father can do much evil to his son, and his son still searches for his approval. One of the mysteries of men.”

  Eliam let his head rest against the staff and thought of his own father. He was a good man, a loving man, good to his servants and his children. They had many sheep and even cattle. He was wealthy enough to buy his son’s way into the royal court, and although Eliam had not dwelt on it previously, he wondered if he would ever be accepted as a man apart from his father. It was odd indeed, how fathers and sons were. Jonathan’s father had become a miserable wretch, and still Jonathan sought his approval, even to the point of certain death. Eliam wondered what he would have done in the prince’s place.

  Through the dense forest, he could see the plains of Esdraelon stretching below them to the far blue horizon, notched with occasional grain fields. He had heard that this was good, fertile land, abundant with life, the gateway to the northern part of the kingdom. The Philistine army was somewhere far below them at the base of the mountains, and though their numbers were great, the beauty and vastness of the mountains and the plains stretching to the distance made them seem insignificant.

  Eliam did not blame the Philistines for wanting to take this paradise from them. He was young, but he shared the love all Israelite men felt for their land. Even those who did not follow Yahweh’s covenant believed that this land was meant for them.

  Eliam had heard the stories of his people as a boy — of the great feats of Abraham and Joshua, and how Yahweh brought them his fire if they would only love and honor him. He hated the thought of bloodshed on these emerald slopes, and he wished more men in their lands would heed the law of their fathers so that peace would come again.

  “Tell me of battle,” Eliam said quietly.

  Gareb sighed. He let his head drop a little. “Every man wants to be there. No one wants to stay there. You’ll ask yourself things. Can I stick my blade into a man’s guts and feel the blood on my arm? Will I wet myself in fright?

  “I have never been in a battle I did not vomit my guts out after. My mouth gets so dry it feels like I swallowed the desert. My whole body gets tight. You can’t bring yourself to drive that blade forward one more time and kill one more man. When you impale a man on a lance, he wets himself. Every time. Every man I ever stabbed wet himself, right in front of me.

  “I was in battles before you were pulled off your mother’s breast, and it never changes. You only think three things afterward: get the men moving, recover lost equipment, then go find a rock to vomit over. And clean off the urine from your enemies. It stinks after a while.”

  “Men don’t follow speeches, Eliam. David gave terrific speeches, but his men followed him because they loved him. Speeches don’t make you stab a man in the guts or slice through his neck while his blood sprays over you. If you ever lead troops, remember that. Be there with them. Suffer with them. Bleed with them. Then they will follow you.”

  Gareb went silent. Eliam did not prod him anymore. As they sat together, each man enjoyed the gentle, dry breeze as it glided up the slope, filtered by the scent of the forest. The bright sunlight warmed the rocks around them. Eliam wondered if he had what it took to slide a blade into a man.

  The sound was imperceptible at first, neither man realizing it was beginning until its steadiness made them vaguely aware that it was not a natural noise. Eliam held his breath and strained his ears against the wind passing through leaves. It was a thumping sound, like the distant striking of a drum. A few moments passed, and Eliam became convinced it was, in fact, a drum.

  He looked at Gareb, whose eyes were closed, and Eliam was about to check to see if he was sleeping when the man suddenly sat forward, finally hearing it. He stared at the dark forest below them, then leaped to his feet.

  “They are attacking.”

  EIGHTEEN

  As he watched them come, Jonathan deduced what must have happened.

  The remainder of the Philistine army had crossed the pass near Megiddo the day after leaving Aphek and set up camp near the small town of Shunem. The men had engorged themselves on whatever was found there, livestock or women, while their commanders plotted the assault. While the bulk of the force had remained in sight, that night a regiment had snuck across the valley and waited at the base of the northern slope of Mount Gilboa. It was this regiment that was attacking first.

  Jonathan could see the bulk of the Philistine army only now making its way across the plains to provide the second wave of the attack. They looked like a wave of hot metal from the horizon all the way across the plain and around the base of Gilboa. Jonathan watched it, feeling its presence, feeling the awesome power and majesty of such a force, and closed his eyes, wondering if Gareb knew they were coming.

  He turned and looked at his men. They were frantically preparing weapons, those who had them, while archers were testing the bow lines and foot soldiers were tying fresh leather straps around the grips of spears and swords. They were stretched in a line along the middle of the mountain, their backs to a deep forest bordering the barren slope they were stationed on. They had the high ground and would be able to hold it for a while. If the Philistines overcame their lines, they could fall back over the ridge and disappear into the forest.

  Good men, all of them, Jonathan thou
ght. They did what they were ordered. Those who remained, anyway. Others had left, and he guessed they were probably with David by now.

  He shook his head, then walked down the row of his men, letting them see him, letting them feel his presence; they would draw strength and courage from it. The tide of metal in the valley grew, but he felt calm.

  Jonathan moved along the line to the north, toward the dark forest, noting that the sun was quickly approaching the last part of its journey. It was remarkable how fast the Philistines had broken camp and assembled their attack march. The advance regiment was already on the Gilboa slopes, the rest only a few hours behind.

  They must be confident, and why would they not be? He looked across the waves of so many men. He would have been just as confident.

  It was different now. Before, when he knew he was protected by the covering, numbers had not mattered. They had not mattered when he climbed the cliffs at Michmash, and they had not mattered in the years since then, when Israel walked with a proud swagger in the confidence of Yahweh’s blessing.

  But they mattered now. Deep in his soul, they mattered, and he did not want them to. He walked to the forest, trying to ignore them.

  On the farthest edge of his line, he saw a young man, a boy, he realized, with no beard on his face. He was hastily fashioning the tip of a root into a point with a skinning knife.

  “Find something metal.”

  The boy blushed and looked down. Jonathan clapped him on the back and continued walking. He’d come to the end of his line of men now, and he glanced back. There were a paltry few hundred of them. He sighed as he thought about how many hardened Philistine soldiers awaited them below, then turned back and moved into the tree line.