by Cliff Graham
Josheb had rolled away with renewed vigor, then leaped into the air and slashed across the Egyptian’s back. It struck a leather strap instead of flesh but was enough to slow the assault.
Benaiah’s eyes wouldn’t work — the Egyptian had thrown sand into them. He tried to shake off his surprise at how fast the giant moved, knew he should have remembered from before. Benaiah ran from the battle, hating himself for it but desperate to clear his eyes. He stumbled, heard the sounds of weapon on shield as Josheb fought the mercenary, tried to find the water skin lying on the ground. There were cries and grunts behind him, but he could not see. He groped maddeningly for the water pouch.
There!
He fumbled with the skin, found the opening, then poured the water across his eyes. The burn made him cry out, but after the second time enough dust had washed out for him to see.
Josheb, running in a circle, was trying to strike at the man’s legs, but the long night of fighting and the dagger wound had slowed him. Benaiah staggered back toward the fight — and watched in terror as Josheb’s spear was too slow in a thrust. The mercenary caught it with his shield and wrenched it away. Josheb tried to leap backward, but the Egyptian raised his spear high to deliver a killing blow; there was no way for Josheb, weakened and slow, to avoid it.
Benaiah threw his club. It flew low and hit the giant’s waist, an ineffective blow but enough to force the man’s spear to veer to the right, missing Josheb’s neck but landing on his outstretched leg.
Benaiah threw himself toward his friend, tackling him out of the way of another strike just in time. When they stopped their tumble, Benaiah sprang up, but the Egyptian was bearing down on them again with incredible speed, spear raised. Without his club, Benaiah groped around for anything, found a rock the size of a melon, and hurled it with all his strength.
The stone thudded against the Egyptian’s face. He staggered to the side, dropping the spear. He coughed and gagged, sounding like a burbling river. He knelt, clutching his neck.
Benaiah too knelt for a moment and focused on his breathing, his vision swimming. Stay down, pagan. I need a moment.
Lying in the sand several steps away was the great spear. Benaiah’s club was next to it.
Josheb was not moving.
Benaiah pulled his friend’s face close. He was still breathing — he must have passed out from loss of blood. He looked quickly at the Egyptian, still coughing up blood, his head hanging. Then he looked up at Benaiah across the sand, smirking through the blood on his bronze face. Benaiah rolled to his feet. He would end this now.
The Egyptian pushed himself up and stood. The spear was back in his hand — when had he reacquired it? Benaiah could not help but marvel at the spear. The giants of Gath also used them, but they were slow. This man was fast.
Benaiah pointed to the war club lying on the ground near him. “This is from my tribe, Egyptian. I have killed many with it. Including many of your own countrymen. Your civil problems are even worse than ours.”
The mercenary’s dark eyes flickered toward the club. Then he wiped perspiration and blood from his face and smiled a misshapen smile. Enormous muscles twitched beneath his skin. He made no reply. The sun pounded the sand around them. The fading screams of dying men echoed against the cliffs.
Then the Egyptian rushed, faster than before. But this time, when he kicked the sand to distract him again, Benaiah was ready for it. He rolled to his side and snatched the war club in a single motion. The spiked hardwood tip of the club swung low and caught the Egyptian as he passed. The huge man yelped and buried the head of his spear in the sand to stop his momentum. Benaiah reached back with the club and swung it again, missing this time but forcing the Egyptian to pivot off balance to avoid the strike.
More sand in his eyes; he blinked it out. Watch the weight shift, the spear is so large he will need to—down now!
The spearhead whistled next to Benaiah’s ear, slicing deeply into his scalp in the same spot as the lion had wounded him. Not serious, he judged quickly, though he felt blood pour from the wound. Keep moving!
They broke apart to reset their attacks and circled. Benaiah was running now, running in a circle, finding strength from somewhere, rotating the war club in his hand. He should have wrapped the grip tighter — sweat was making his hand slip.
The Egyptian, losing patience, lunged with the spear, terribly fast, forcing Benaiah to leap back. But when he did, he finally saw his opening.
As the shaft of the spear reached its full length, instead of using the pause to dart away, as he normally would have, Benaiah jumped forward and, before the Egyptian could recover the enormous shaft, Benaiah had pushed it to the ground with the bottom of his foot. In the same instant, he yelled and smashed the war club with all his strength across the Egyptian’s face.
The Egyptian thrashed and released his grip on the spear shaft. It had been a solid blow. The man’s face was crushed. He would die from the strike.
Benaiah reached down and grasped the fallen spear.
He would help the man along.
As the Egyptian thrust his hands away from his face to see his attacker, Benaiah drove the spearhead deep into the man’s chest. The huge man lurched, toppled, and crashed to the sand.
Benaiah, his vision red with his own blood, shouted and pushed the spearhead further. The man pounded at the shaft and struggled against it, but Benaiah held strong. The Egyptian gasped and sputtered curses. He wrenched against the wound—then, seeing it was futile, he lay still. He glared up at Benaiah and tried to speak, but there was too much blood in his throat.
Benaiah twisted the spear and plunged it again. And again. An Amalekite sword was nearby, so he gripped its blood-splattered hilt and swung it down on the Egyptian’s neck, severing his head.
Benaiah strode up the slope with the head, stamping through the sand to the nearest fallen Amalekite soldier—still alive, struggling for his own breath. Benaiah saw the faces of his children through the darkness and blood.
He thrust the head into the wounded man’s face. “I have beheaded your Egyptian champion, and now I will cut off your head as well! You will fight no battles in the afterlife!” he shouted, then impaled him with the sword, cursing into his ears as the dying man struggled.
When the Amalekite lay still, Benaiah ran to the next one, working his way up the slope, finding some dead but others alive. Each time, he screamed and spat curses into their ears, then finished them. He would kill every one of them.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled, ready for battle.
It was Eleazar. Behind him were the three wives. Rizpah was next to Eleazar, but Deborah was kneeling next to Josheb, trying to fix his wound. Sherizah was staring in horror at her husband.
Until now, she had never looked at him with fear.
He glared at her, still filled with rage — but not rage at her. Women should not see this. He wanted to strike Eleazar in the face with his club for bringing the women back.
Eleazar held both of his shoulders. “Benaiah! It is over! Let them be!”
His blood was pounding. Sweat poured; his breath was heated and savage. He felt rage, so much rage. He wanted to kill them all. Kill them and kill them and kill them.
“Stop it! Listen to my voice! Stop! They are all dead!” Eleazar had a strong grip. He was not letting go. The power in his friend’s grip was enough to force Benaiah to stop. Slowly, he began to fight the vengeance and rage in his heart.
He tried to breathe normally, but his arm was still shaking — so hard that he dropped the club. He looked at Sherizah again, her face awash with fear, and he gripped his elbow with the other hand, desperately trying to stop the shaking. Cover me in the day of war, Yahweh, cover me in the day of war, cover me in the day …
He pinched his eyes shut and fell to his knees, letting the head of the Egyptian mercenary drop next to his sword. He rolled onto his side, panting, eyes closed. The sand stirred and swarmed against him; his hands still trembled with hate. He turned
onto his belly and crawled, tasting the sand in despair, then brought his knees up to his chest.
Benaiah opened his eyes and squinted across the blood-soaked sand.
There were children running toward him.
They were screaming, laughing as if they knew he was about to chase them. His beautiful daughters, giggling with delight as they climbed the sandy slope to him.
He sat up and cried out to them. Reached for them. But now they were gone.
Benaiah lowered his head, his eyes closed.
Eleazar sat next to him and put his arm around his neck. The two of them remained still for a while, staring at the horizon. Deborah and Rizpah were working on Josheb’s wound. Benaiah could feel Sherizah standing nearby, then felt it as she walked away.
Slowly at first, Benaiah began to weep. He felt it growing within him, moving inexorably to the surface, and he didn’t have the strength of will to stop it. Soon great heaving sobs were bursting from his chest. For his daughters. For his failures. For all the things he wanted to say to Sherizah but never had.
Eleazar said nothing. Benaiah felt his arm around him, squeezing tight. Willing comfort to his friend.
Evening came. Wind blew the sand in swirls across the battlefield, stinging the faces of the living, gathering on the silent forms of the dead.
THIRTY-ONE
Keth stepped among bedrolls in the growing dark of the forest. Camp had been made alongside the road under the protective canopy of trees. The Hebrews had found a stash of stolen Philistine campaign tents among the recaptured loot and were pitching them all throughout the forest.
A red sun had risen that morning, meaning storms were on the way tonight. He had even spotted a flare of lightning in the distance toward the Great Sea as he walked the perimeter. David had ordered everyone to rest for the night under shelter, since the Sabbath was the next day — even though many of the foreigners did not observe the Sabbath. Ziklag was, anyway, too far a march for people so exhausted. No one seemed to mind, since nothing awaited them there but silence and ash.
Some men, too tired even to eat their evening meal, had fallen asleep where they sat. Wives and children reclined with them, families sleeping together in oddly huddled masses, and Keth considered the happy confusion a sign of hope and renewal.
Not all slept. Some fathers were extolling their exploits to their children, becoming the hero all over again. It had been a stunning victory. Not a man lost or even seriously wounded — except, of course, Josheb.
And he was expected to recover from his wound.
When Benaiah, Eleazar, Josheb, and the wives had arrived back in camp after a long day’s march, Keth had reveled in the pure joy of reunion. There had been cheers all across the camp. Even now, strolling through the camp, Keth heard the legend beginning to grow about the exploits of the Three and the mighty Benaiah. He shook his head and smiled.
The men on the perimeter were alert and ready. They were the men who had stayed at the Besor brook—now rested, fresh, and eager to prove their manhood to their fellow troops.
Picking a route through the people, Keth spotted the campfire he was looking for. He would make another round on watch this night, but first, a fire. A warm fire that would feel so wonderful he would be afraid of sitting in front of it because he might never get up again. The night would be cold, and he had no woman; the fire would be his companion.
Benaiah looked up from the fallen log as Keth sat down. Next to him were Josheb, Shammah, and Eleazar. All of them wore their exhaustion on their faces. David himself would no doubt have enjoyed sharing the company of these men this evening, but Keth had seen him walking toward the perimeter. No war leader he had ever known checked the perimeter watchmen as much as David did.
“Thought you would be asleep by now,” Benaiah said to Keth, who reached over and tore off a chunk of meat from the edge of the fire. The smell of herbs and spices watered his mouth heavily.
Keth settled onto a rock, grateful to discover that it had been warmed by the flames. Evening had softened and darkened the trees above them. Warmth was finally coming, and would bring the storms Keth had seen gathering in the distance. “The men who stayed at the brook yesterday are on the perimeter,” he said. “I needed to check on them. David goes out there now.”
“Good. They will need checking,” said Josheb.
Keth let the warm flames lull him. He felt at home among these four. They shared something. He was not sure what. “How are you, Josheb?” he asked.
“He lost blood, but he will make it. Passed out like a woman. I plan on never letting him hear the end of it,” said Eleazar.
“A dagger. I have defeated twenty men at once, and a dagger takes me out of the fight. I almost couldn’t save Benaiah in time,” Josheb said.
“Good fight today,” said Eleazar. “Good work on that Egyptian, Benaiah. Largest man I have ever seen. Bet it felt good to finally get him.”
“Not nearly as impressive as what I heard about Shammah,” replied Benaiah from across the fire.
“Yahweh was with me, but there will be more of them. Word will spread that Philistia is going to war against Israel. They will be like vultures,” Shammah said.
Josheb nodded. “Amalek will try again. They won’t be content just to lose an entire army to phantoms. If Amalek moves, so will Ammon. Then Moab. All of them will have their eyes on the trade routes to the north and south. If that Egyptian was spying for the king of Egypt, then the Nile kingdom might be coming at us as well. We’ll need more than three companies of thieves to stop them.”
“Will he be their vassal? David? If Saul is defeated, will he be the Philistine vassal in Israel?” asked Keth.
“He might.” Josheb paused, poked at a wound on his wrist. “But if we can forge iron weapons, he will not be their vassal for long.”
“The time of battle has passed, for now. It is no longer unclean to lie with a woman. Why are you all still here? Growing fond of me?” Shammah said.
“I should ask the same of you. No warm flesh among the captives?” Josheb answered.
“Even if he knew how to be with a woman, Shammah would probably fall asleep before he got going,” said Eleazar. They chuckled. Shammah scowled.
Across the camp, there was occasional laughter. Many were asleep by then, but there was always another campfire going. They would go as late into the night as men wanted to avoid their dreams.
Lightning flashed again, far away. Soon Josheb and Eleazar were sound asleep, leaning against one another. Shammah hunched forward, head hanging. Keth smiled at them. Benaiah, though, was still awake, staring into the flames. His face was unreadable.
A round of laughter from a fire nearby startled Josheb awake. He thumped Eleazar on the head, and the man sleepily stared at him, uncomprehending. “A sight we are,” said Josheb.
Shammah had awoken as well but was pretending he had not been sleeping. He rubbed his eyes to look more alert. The group of them sat together, enjoying each other’s company. Keth felt privileged that they allowed him to sit among them. Brothers closer than kin — the hardest circle to penetrate.
“For the life of me, I cannot understand why you all are still sitting here. Your women are nearby,” Shammah said.
“Good point. Eleazar is beautiful, but ultimately unfulfilling. In the morning, brothers.” Josheb rose and left.
“I’m too tired to sleep. I will go stand watch on the perimeter.” Shammah stood and walked away, his gentle stride disappearing into the woods.
Eleazar rose to do the same, but before he did, he said to Keth, “Excellent work today, Hittite. Selfless, brave, all of it. We are glad to have you. I overheard David speaking about you this evening. Wants to give you another name while you live among us. It is a custom of our tribes.”
“What name?”
“Uriah. It means ‘Flame of Yahweh.’ A good, fierce name. Uriah the Hittite.”
Keth nodded. “Uriah. I like it. I suppose I will have to learn more about Yahweh if I am to be na
med for him.”
Eleazar walked into the night after the others.
Keth looked again at Benaiah across the fire. It was just the two of them now. Benaiah’s countenance had been impossible to read since they arrived back in camp that evening. Keth let the quiet darkness around them settle a bit longer before he spoke up again. “If Israel’s army is defeated by Philistia, the entire northern portion of the kingdom will be cut off. What do you think David will do?”
Benaiah shifted his position, probably trying to rouse himself. “I’ve stopped trying to guess. He is a strange man. Probably write a song about it, then attack Gaza by himself,” Benaiah said.
“Perhaps he will move to take the throne. If he was anointed for it, maybe now is the time. Your god Yahweh might be clearing a path for us.”
“Our time among the Philistines will be finished soon. That is certain. My guess is that we will go to Judah and establish a city there. We will need a base to operate from in our own lands and among our own people, and David is popular in Judah. Then, if David truly wants to unite the kingdom, once Saul dies he will need to remove any surviving heirs. David will resist that — he is close to Saul’s son Jonathan, but he knows it has to be done. Then there is Ammon, and Moab, and now Amalek. They have their eyes on the trading routes, as Josheb said. Many days of battle lie ahead of us.”
Keth nodded. This was good. It was why he had come here, why he was here now. He was a man of war, like these men. They wanted peace desperately and resisted it hopelessly. There was nothing left for him in the north. He thought about his own clan for a moment, then pushed it away. He had a new name, now, given to him by his new brothers. Uriah of the Hittites.
“You should go to her, brother. The sun has set.”
Benaiah said nothing for a moment. His face was covered in a shadow. “I mistreated her before we parted the last time,” he said. “And she saw the battle today. No woman should see her man do such things.”
