Covenant of War

by Cliff Graham

  “Leave the packs, they will slow you down!” Abner shouted, but in their panic, none listened.

  Four hundred Benjamite warriors in the forward ranks ignored Abner’s command to fall back; they poured across the field into the first ranks of their enemy. Abner screamed at their officers to organize the retreat. A few hesitated, desperate to stay in the fight, then gathered their troops and followed his orders.

  Abner was distraught at his lack of control over these green troops — or any of his troops, for that matter. He wanted to stay and command the field now that the fighting had begun, but he knew that Joab’s men would prevail, and he was the only remaining capable general. If he did not organize the remnant, all would die when the Philistines attacked again. Exactly like Gilboa, he thought bitterly. We have to run away again. That is all we do now.

  He waved over an officer named Mica, a great warrior. If anyone could hold the ground, he could.

  “Take command of Hawk and Scorpion companies and hold off Joab’s men as long as possible. Retreat to the rally point if they get overrun.”

  “Retreat? We outnumber them five to one!”

  Abner pointed out the three warriors who had slain his archers with such savage efficiency.

  “Those are the Mighty Men, David’s greatest champions. You will need to throw everything you have at them, do you understand? That’s your only chance.”

  Mica nodded, understanding, the lust for battle dimming a bit.

  “I need to pull back and organize at the rally point. We can’t lose this army,” Abner said.

  They embraced, then Abner turned and sprinted to the head of the retreating troops, his aide following behind.

  Eleazar’s pike cut through the neck of a stout warrior, sending a spray of warm blood down his arm. The soldier gurgled and collapsed. Eleazar prepared himself to spin again, checked his distance from Shammah and Josheb, then lashed the iron tip low across the tendons of two men running past him. They flopped, muscles no longer supporting them, and Eleazar thought they resembled fish in a net. He shook his head furiously. Focus! He buried the tip into their chests one by one.

  The Hebrew soldiers he killed stared at him as their lives ebbed away. Something caught at the back of Eleazar’s throat, but he shook his head again and searched for the next target. They are targets, not Hebrews, they are targets …

  Shammah appeared next to him, blocking a swipe from a soldier who had run up unnoticed. The near miss startled Eleazar.

  The three of them regrouped. Blood was filling the muddy footprints left by the struggling warriors and seeping into the pool itself, splashing over the stones that lined the water. The flies swarmed in greater numbers, drawn by the exposed entrails and excrement of dead soldiers. The late afternoon light gave the scene an unearthly orange brilliance, like the depths of Sheol itself.

  Joab’s men were drawing the less orderly ranks of Abner’s green troops away from the remaining mass of their force, taking away their advantage in numbers. Eleazar knew they could fight all day in this manner.

  Dozens of corpses lined the bank. Eleazar sprinted toward the pool to assault the rear of the scattered Benjamite ranks on his right. He could see many of Abner’s troops in retreat, disappearing over the hill to his left.

  Behind him, Shammah, who had dropped his bow when the fighting started, was praying aloud to Yahweh. “Forgive us for killing your people, great God of my fathers, forgive us for killing …”

  Eleazar winced. Battle first, regret later.

  Shifting his pike to his left hand, he pulled out his sword with his right and slashed across the back of a Benjamite’s arm. The man dropped his weapon and turned in surprise, only to catch Josheb’s spear in the belly. As the man fell, Josheb threw himself close against Shammah and Eleazar.

  Eleazar and Shammah linked arms and struck another soldier in the back. The Benjamites were so intent on swarming the ranks of Joab’s regulars that they barely noticed the Three tearing through their lines from behind.

  Those who did fled in terror.

  SIX

  Abner darted to the head of the column of retreating soldiers and ordered them to drop unnecessary equipment. Even the soldiers who had been left in the forest to guard the supplies abandoned their posts and fled with the rest of the Israelites.

  After an hour of running, he directed his gasping troops toward a ravine nearby. They filed through it, grateful to be away from the noise of the battle. He ignored the pleas of some of the men to go back and help their comrades. Any who did, Abner feared, would die.

  At the first bend in the ravine, he climbed to the top of a pile of rocks to see if any of David’s men pursued.

  In the distance, a man was chasing them.

  As he was always aware, Asahel was the youngest son. Not a day went by that he did not resent the overpowering shadow cast by his older brothers, Joab and Abishai. For a while he thought he could maneuver his way into prominence by growing close to his uncle, David, but that had never happened.

  He had earned his place among the Thirty by his will alone. He had trained himself to the same degree of skill as Joab and Abishai, and was superior to them in physical stamina and speed … but he was the youngest. As the youngest, he was always last by birth. He would have to perform some great exploit to win respect.

  Which was why he had not wasted time killing Benjamites.

  He had only one objective: to win wealth and fame by capturing or killing the great general Abner. So when the twelve fighters had slaughtered one another, Asahel had followed the Three into the battle initially, but he had slipped past the fighting to get to Abner.

  When he saw Abner retreating with a section of his men, Asahel decided to chase him on foot, hoping to catch him before any of the other men from Judah — especially his brothers. Asahel was the brother who always got the last of the spoils, and he was weary of it. Never again.

  That would not matter today.

  He sprinted past the piles of corpses, avoided a slashing blade, intent on not getting caught up in the fighting with the foot soldiers from Benjamin. That was beneath him; he would not labor away on the field without notice anymore.

  He would capture Abner when no one else could, and then his brothers would be forced to respect him. He searched for them in the fighting, did not see them, but it would not matter, because when he had Abner’s head mounted on his weapon they would pay attention.

  Abner took several more steps and leaned against a tree to catch his breath.

  “The rest of you keep moving up to the hilltop!” he yelled.

  “Lord, we’ll wait with you. What if he defeats you?”

  Abner laughed. “I have a few moves left in me. I will be fine. You need every moment you can to escape.” He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath. “But if I do fall, build your positions on that hilltop and wait for the other division of our army to arrive.”

  “Who is it, sir?”

  “Asahel, Joab’s brother. I have to be the one to kill him. I don’t want that on any of you.”

  They left. He forced himself to move again, cutting through a stand of trees and climbing a small rise. He could see the pursuing soldier slow down before entering the woods, staring at the ground and looking for their sign.

  Abner waved and shouted. The soldier’s head snapped up. Even from this distance, Abner recognized him.

  Eleazar killed one more. The old man, who shouldn’t have been in the ranks, stared at him in anger as he died. Eleazar backed up and released his grip on his sword. The weapon clattered to the ground, as did the pike.

  Eleazar knelt next to the dying old man. He put his hands on the sides of his face. The man had lived many years, had seen hope come to Israel at last — only to be killed by his own kinsman.

  “Forgive me,” Eleazar mouthed. The old man’s eyes dimmed. He looked confused. Eleazar whispered again: “Forgive me.”

  The old man died.

  Nearby, Josheb and Shammah had struck down their
last opponents. The vengeance-driven courage of the Benjamites broke at last, and what remained of their army turned and fled in the direction of Abner’s retreat.

  The other two knelt in the mud near Eleazar to catch their breath. Joab trotted across the field to them and knelt as well. Abishai traversed the field, counting casualties.

  “We need to chase them,” Joab said.

  “Give them time to withdraw,” Eleazar said.

  “They will regroup.”

  “Let them escape!”

  “They are northerners!” Joab shouted.

  “Benjamites, and men of Abraham just like us,” Josheb corrected.

  “Fine. All of you stay here, and I will cut them down myself. Where is Asahel?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” said Josheb.

  They looked around for a moment. Then they all stood to see better, but after searching, they saw that he wasn’t among the corpses.

  Eleazar squinted in the direction of the fleeing Benjamites. Dusk was falling; they had about an hour of light left.

  “He must be chasing Abner.”

  Abner was not a young man anymore — not nearly young enough to outrun Asahel. But he was wise in the ways of war, and he used his knowledge of the terrain to his advantage as he listened to the young soldier chasing him through the brush.

  Abner had guessed correctly. As soon as he saw him, Asahel had ignored the pursuit of the others and come straight in his direction. So he is after glory, Abner thought as he jumped over a fallen tree.

  There was a ravine ahead in the forest, and Abner headed for it, seeking the advantage.

  Asahel readied his weapons as he ran. He would ram the javelin into Abner’s back, knocking him down, then finish him with a stroke to the neck.

  Ahead, he saw Abner glance over his shoulder. The general was losing two steps for every step Asahel took.

  “Asahel, is that you?” Abner cried out.

  “It is I!” Asahel shouted.

  The voice carried firm and strong despite the struggle of the chase and the density of the forest.

  “Turn aside! Take the spoil from one of the young warriors!”

  Asahel chuckled as he ran. Begging for his life now.

  Another look told Abner that Asahel had closed the gap further; clearly, he had no intention of turning back. Abner would have to stand and fight the foolish young man, the last thing he wanted to do. Enough blood had been spilled today.

  “Stop following me! Why should I kill you? How could I look at your brother Joab again?”

  The plea was unanswered. Abner reached the ravine and leaped to the bottom. As he crashed through the undergrowth, he heard Asahel make the leap behind him — directly into a thorny tree that Abner, knowing it was there, had avoided. Asahel screamed a curse.

  Abner scrambled up the opposite slope, holding his spear in one hand and pulling himself up with the other. He looked back — Asahel was cutting himself loose from the bramble, his body covered in scrapes. The maneuver was costing the younger man a few moments, and Abner used them.

  He turned and ran back toward where he and his men had first entered the forest. Asahel was going to catch him eventually, and if Abner had to kill him, he would do so where his brother could find him.

  He pushed his aching legs forward. Behind him, Asahel shouted as he escaped the ravine. Abner clenched his teeth and ran as fast as he could, but Asahel was closing in, his famous speed bringing him back within attack distance.

  Asahel hated Abner more with every step. He readied his javelin, his legs gliding over the terrain as though he were flying, his speed carrying him close for the kill. He would be the most famous warrior in Israel. David would give him wealth and status; Joab would finally respect him —

  Abner felt the rush of air around the body behind him and then jumped forward with a last effort, planting the head of his spear into the ground. At the same instant, Asahel slammed into the butt end of the spear. The shaft slid under the front of his armor.

  Abner rolled out of the way as Asahel, impaled on the spear, vaulted headfirst and crumpled to the ground.

  Abner knelt, staring at the dying man. Asahel was facing away from him, clutching at the head of the spear protruding out of his belly. The butt end had torn away his intestines and they hung like ropes on the shaft of the spear, sticking out of his back.

  Asahel made a gurgling noise before finally shuddering. He lay still.

  Abner’s eyes burned with tears. He crawled to Asahel’s body and pressed his face into the man’s bloody tunic. He wiped his eyes on the cloth. Another waste, another waste, another Hebrew killed needlessly by a Hebrew …

  He grabbed a handful of dirt, tossed it into his hair, and cried aloud. He tore away at the front of his tunic, reaching under his armor and ripping a seam in mourning.

  SEVEN

  After leaving a detachment of soldiers and the priest from the village to purify the corpses and give aid to the wounded, Eleazar and the others in Joab’s force took up the pursuit of Abner. Eleazar wished to allow the Benjamites to escape, but Joab was in command. They dutifully followed.

  The setting sun forced them to move urgently before nightfall. Back at the pool, Josheb had seen a promontory on the horizon that he guessed would make a good rally point for Abner’s men, and as he suspected, the tracks of the fleeing troops led into the woods in that direction.

  Eleazar pointed out where footprints led into the forest away from the main force, but they did not follow that trail, choosing instead to chase the main group. He tried to concentrate, but his mind was full of images of his dead kinsmen, fellow sons of Abraham who had wanted only to fight for their homeland and their ruler but were now descending into Sheol and its depths, killed by his own hand.

  Joab ran in front of him, alongside Abishai. Eleazar saw them crest a slight ridge on the trail and disappear from sight. Then he heard them screaming. Eleazar sprinted faster and reached the ridge.

  Below him on the trail, Joab and Abishai were crouched near the twisted body of their brother Asahel. Blood covered the rocks nearby. A spear shaft protruded from Asahel’s back, with the tip of the spear lodged in the top of his chest.

  Eleazar saw what had happened. Asahel had been chasing Abner, foolish and eager to capture him as a war prize, when Abner had planted the spear into the ground as Asahel got close. Unable to stop his momentum, Asahel had run into the shaft.

  Joab grabbed Asahel by the beard, crying out. Abishai knelt by his dead brother, weeping softly.

  Then Joab stood, a murderous scream bursting from his throat. He bolted down the trail. Abishai cursed aloud and followed him.

  “Joab!” Eleazar shouted. “He was defending himself! Let them go! Enough!”

  Abner pushed the men hard until darkness. He managed to put the death of Asahel out of his mind for now. He hoped he could make peace with Joab one day.

  At the top of the rally hill, known as Ammah, he directed the men to build fighting positions around the peak. They were too exhausted to keep running, and if they tried they would only be cut down in the open field by Joab’s troops. They would take up their positions here, and he would attempt to negotiate a truce. If Joab’s troops decided to attack up the hill, they would have to climb over a rock wall with defenders crouched behind it.

  The soldiers trembled as they stacked rocks next to trees to make fighting positions. Abner watched one soldier vomit as he bent to pick up a rock. The man coughed and spat. Then he knelt and put his head between his legs, vomiting again.

  Abner trudged over to him and sat down. He placed his hand on the man’s back.

  “Apologies, lord,” the soldier said.

  “No need. At least you didn’t wet yourself like the first time I saw battle.”

  The man glanced at him, surprised. Then he nodded.

  “You all did well today,” Abner said aloud to the group now spreading across the hilltop.

  “Lord, why did you order our retreat? Our brothers are back ther
e,” someone called from the edge.

  “We would all be dead if we had stayed. It wasn’t worth everyone dying over a well.”

  “But our brothers are back there! We left them!”

  “All of your life you will wish you had stayed on a battlefield where your brothers died. I have wanted to stay many times. But we are all that is left. Dying needlessly does not get your wife pregnant or bring your crops out of the ground.”

  “I would rather my wife be a whore to the Philistines and my crops burn than run away!”

  Abner nodded. He knew the feeling and did not have the heart to argue with the soldier.

  The breeze was dying for the night. The soil in this part of the land was a mixture of purples and reds. The moon made dull the colors that shone so vibrantly during the day, and now it looked as though someone had dipped a finger in blood and swirled the ground.

  EIGHT

  Joab and Abishai were crouched on a boulder at the base of the hill of Ammah, each one pointing to a different attack route.

  Eleazar jogged up next to them. “Joab, we need to pull back.”

  “We are attacking.”

  “We will be slaughtered if we go up that hill in the dark. Even though Abner’s men are green, if we attack now we will be cut down by swords and spears behind every bush. It’s not worth losing your men over. I grieve for your brother —”

  “You grieve nothing for my brother! We are attacking!”

  Josheb joined in as he walked up beside Eleazar. “If you order these men up that hill, I will kill you during the attack and tell David you fell at their hands.”

  His tone was calm and steady. Eleazar tensed for the fight that had been a long time coming.

  “Joab!”

  The voice boomed down the hillside through the trees. They turned and saw Abner, sword raised, silhouetted against the luminous stars at the top of the hill.

  “Will the sword destroy us forever? Don’t you know that the end will be bitter for all of us? How long before you tell your men to turn from the pursuit of their brothers?”