by Cliff Graham
They looked at one another. Joab was about to shout a reply when Eleazar pulled at his elbow.
“Joab, listen to him. These are Hebrews. How many more need to die tonight?”
Joab was about to lash out at Eleazar again when Abishai stepped between them. He took his brother Joab’s face between his hands and cupped his ears.
“Let’s go bury our brother. The sun has set.”
“But Abner!”
Abishai nodded. “Abner will suffer for this. But Eleazar is right. Enough mother’s sons have died today. Let’s go bury our brother.”
Joab winced. He lowered his face into Abishai’s chest. The two men held each other a moment. Abishai whispered a few words the others could not hear. Joab finally nodded with resignation.
Wiping his eyes with his wrist, Joab turned back toward the hill. The anger in his eyes had diminished, and now Eleazar saw a tired, grieving brother.
Joab called to Abner, “As Yahweh lives, if you had not spoken, the men would have not given up the pursuit of their brothers until morning.”
His voice trailed off as he reached for the ram’s horn at his side. Taking a deep breath, he blew the battle signal long and loud, the mournful noise resonating through the deep woods. The sound of the pursuing fighters of Judah making their way up the trail ceased. It was the signal to stop what they were doing and await orders.
Josheb shouted for the troops to return to the pool and then disappeared into the night. The sound of complaints rose, but Josheb could be heard angrily quieting them. Some of the soldiers were upset that they would not be able to plunder their enemies. Eleazar watched as Joab and Abishai staggered away together.
When they were all gone, Eleazar leaned against Shammah for support. The big man put his arm around his shoulders and they stood in the quiet darkness, weary with grief.
“When will Yahweh just kill us all and be done with it?” Eleazar whispered.
There was no moon, only starlight, as Joab’s force filtered out of sight in the direction of Gibeon, but Abner sensed that they were gone, returning to the site of the battle to collect their dead and assist their wounded. Now he had to find a way to break it to his own troops that they would not be able to do the same.
“Gather your things. We are leaving.”
“Lord, the bodies need to be purified. We need —”
“Our kinsmen will bury them and perform the ceremonies,” Abner said.
“The same kinsmen who slaughtered us today?”
“Our men were treacherous as well.”
“Will we have the chance to fight them again one day?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Abner replied. He wished he could tell the young troops around him that this would never happen again, that all of Israel would be reconciled one day soon. But he knew otherwise. The heaviness in his words brought silence to the group. He heard weeping in the darkness. His own eyes burned.
They moved sluggishly, muscles cramped and sore from the exertions of the day. Abner felt the bones in his knees grinding against each other. This was common, but the pain was always worse when he had to run. He was old, far too old to be a warrior.
One by one, the troops filed off the hill into the valley, heading east. His plan was to cross the Jordan that night and reach Mahanaim, the capital city of the north, by midmorning.
“Lord, will there be anyone sent to retrieve our dead?”
Abner looked at the young soldier standing next to him. The man was holding his tears back bravely. Abner touched his ear and leaned forward, kissing the soldier on the forehead. He seemed to understand and nodded, then walked back to his unit.
Abner waited until the last soldier had moved from the hilltop, then trotted to the front to lead the way.
They marched all night. The river had ebbed from its high and the crossing was not difficult. Abner moved among them as they marched and made it a point to hug and kiss each of them on the cheek. He did not know how many hundreds of their troops had fallen. They would all receive mourning rites in the villages. All of the women would wail; the men would wear sackcloth and carry ashes to dust their heads with. Even their miserable king would mourn. Of that, Abner would make sure.
When they reached the city, it did not take long for the wailing to begin. Wives rushed out of the gates, looking for their husbands. Abner always hated this moment. Some of the women were ecstatic that their men had survived and wept with joy, while a hand’s breadth away another wife was finding out she was a widow and was now the property of the village elders until they decided what to do with her, usually giving her to the fallen soldier’s brother.
His own wife did not come to the gates anymore. That was for the young and the foolish. She was prepared for his death at any time, and to wait for him eagerly would only serve to increase her sorrow needlessly when the end came.
Instead of going home, Abner walked down the street lining the city walls. He would wait for the full report at the barracks. His men used to laugh behind his back at how he still kept a room in their barracks. His wife had kicked him out again, they would say. Mighty general Abner, able to spear enemies by the dozen, unable to keep a woman happy. But he knew they loved him for it. They loved that he loved them and wanted to spend time with them. He treated them as his own sons. He was stern but loyal. Willing to face the teeth of battle with them, willing to stay in front of them at all times.
Until Gilboa — and now again yesterday — when he had been forced to flee.
He would eventually have to go into the throne room and stare at the soft, sniveling boy in his extended family to whom he had sworn allegiance. Ishbosheth would demand to know what Abner had done, and Abner would give the report. He could see it all now, in detail, as though it were a stage play like the ones the foreigners brought to the markets. The king would shriek hysterically, Abner would calm him — and then go across the countryside finding more sons to be butchered by Philistines in the east and David in the south.
Abner entered his room and sat on the limestone floor near the blankets. The cold stones felt good on the backs of his knees. He stretched his legs out.
Somewhere in the distance he heard women screaming.
Somewhere in the distance he heard weeping.
Twenty of Joab’s men had fallen. He and Abishai oversaw the purification of their brother’s body by a priest, and they watched silently as the ashes of the red heifer were sprinkled over the corpse and the prayers spoken. No one really cared about the ceremonies in the Law anymore, but today, with their kinsmen, it seemed appropriate. Only Shammah knew what to do to purify oneself after battles, when a man was considered unclean, and he was patiently instructing the troops.
Eleazar agreed to supervise the rest of the cleanup while Joab and Abishai slipped away to Bethlehem in the night to bury Asahel in their father’s tomb. The Philistine garrison that held the city would ask too many questions if they went during the day. David and his troops were still thought to be vassals of the Philistine rulers who held the lands of Judah, something David had been careful to keep them believing.
Eleazar found the elderly Benjamite who had died in his arms earlier. His face was frozen in the terror mask of death. His body had expelled the urine inside him and the front of his tunic was damp and smelled musky. Eleazar had smelled the blood and urine of the battlefield many times, but this time it nauseated him. He sat next to the old man and watched as Shammah paced around ensuring that the rituals were completed correctly. The priests from Gibeon had never presided over a scene of mass death before, and they lacked enough red heifer ashes to purify this many corpses. Some of the men would be ceremonially unclean for days. Most of them did not care.
They have not cared for centuries, Eleazar thought. Yahweh should have destroyed them long before now.
Eleazar motioned for a priest, who doused the old Benjamite’s body with the ash. Some of it splattered across the wrinkled face and gray beard.
Eleazar sighed. A man this old should n
ot be fighting. He should be sitting next to a fire and giving council to stupid young fools trying to kill each other.
In another hour, the men were ready to leave. They carried the purified bodies of their brothers between them. The bodies of the Benjamites — over three hundred of them — were left for the people of the town to bury.
The troops marched hard all night, barely slowed by the burdens they carried, anxious to get home. As they reached the point near Bethlehem where the trade road bends before descending into the lower hill country near Hebron, Joab and Abishai appeared silently out of the night. Eleazar did not exchange a word with them, and they continued marching.
Eleazar did not go into Hebron with the rest of the men. In the forest, he pulled out of the column unnoticed and made his way to the merchant camps. These were the foreigners from the caravans traveling the King’s Highway and other trading routes between Egypt in the south and the nations of the north. They brought many wares with them, including the unclean pleasures.
The city walls of Hebron loomed against the starry sky. Careful to avoid the sentries, he stumbled through the dark forest on the outside of the wall, shoving aside branches, his head aching from the tears he had shed that day.
He dropped his weapons next to a large tree whose roots had been undermined by a flash flood, leaving a deep cleft. He ran his finger along the edge of the sickle-sword blade. It was still dark with blood. Hebrew blood. He stuffed the sword under the cleft. He would never use the sword again. Surely it was cursed by Yahweh.
Eleazar continued his trek through the forest, intent on his destination but feeling his heart resist him. Thoughts of his nearby home came, and he hated himself. He was only a Sabbath day’s walk away, but he could not do it, could not go into the city where his home and his bed were. His wife, his children. Their faces were dark to him, wrapped in mist.
He kept moving, drawn by the call that so many men heeded. He wanted to release the violence of the day. He paused for a drink at a still pool. The warm water was foul to his taste, but he managed several gulps before he spat out the remnant. Images. The old man dying.
Eleazar glimpsed the camp of the Syrian nomads ahead in the clearing. For a moment, the tents and laughter repelled him, and he trotted away, shaking his head. He made his way back to the Hebron city wall. The night was cool and dark, and Eleazar felt his strength deserting him. He pressed his hand against the stone wall, then his face. He rubbed his face against the cold stone.
Eleazar stared down the city wall, his heart racing, his mind screaming black hatred at himself. Inside the city, he could hear shouts of reunion and of grief. Men had been lost, but others had returned. All would be looking to him for leadership and comfort — to him and Josheb and Shammah, the Mighty Three.
He turned his head toward the Syrian camp. They were the enemies of his people — one of a thousand enemies. He was too far away to hear the sounds of their camp now, and the forest was thick and dark. But it was there.
Go home, Eleazar.
He heard it in the covering. His spirit melted. I want to.
Then go.
He began to run, then ran faster, the branches cutting his arms and face. His chafed thighs burned, dirty and slick with sweat. He clawed at his eyes to clean the grime, but it was not good enough. Though he had cleaned away the dust and grit, they felt rancid and foul, and they were dry from the loss of tears.
Men of Abraham killing men of Abraham. Sons of Isaac and Jacob butchering one another.
He burst out of the woods into the Syrian camp. There was a large fire, and an unclean animal roasted over it. A split-hoofed animal. A pig. David had forbidden such animals within the city; the foreign traders kept them outside in their camps. Three men prodded the meat with roasting sticks. The fat boiled and drizzled out of the flesh. A circle of tents surrounded the roasting animal, and in front of each tent were a rug and cushions where the women lay waiting for men such as him and times such as this. Like desert vipers.
The three men roasting the animal leered at him through the night, obscured by drafts of smoke, the flicker of the fire dancing across their features and making them look like fetid creatures from Sheol. One of them had a soiled bandage over his eye, caked with yellow pus from an infected wound. He had missing teeth and a twisted smile. He held out his hand.
Eleazar withdrew his money pouch and fumbled for several coins. He threw them at the ugly man, who laughed and pointed at the circle of tents.
Eleazar had never been here before; he had only heard of these places. Camps of pleasure. He caught the scent of cooking and olive oil. The smell of the roasting meat and the oil made his stomach growl and his heart pump faster in his chest. There was a tent in the back, away from the rest of the tents. He could not be seen there.
No one must know.
He staggered toward the tent opening. From inside came the gentle glow of a lamp. The woman would be in there, waiting. Other men would come after him. Soldiers always did after battles; wives could not meet the needs that these women could.
He tried to say something to stop himself, to at least think something, but there was only heartache, and the sound of men laughing as the animal roasted, and the smell of the oil.
Four Years Later
Part Two
NINE
The snake warmed itself in the sunlight, basking in the heat of the stones next to the watering hole. It slithered out each day at the same time, always regular in its habits, always sensing a new lair that would provide the best chance of surprising a desert mouse or one of the larger animals that were frequently herded near the water.
It glided through the cool shadows and hot gaps in the stones. Reaching a clearing, it raised its head and froze. Sensing something new, it flicked its tongue rapidly. It retreated back into the rocks to wait.
A boy was standing next to the pool. He was short for his age, with a dusty tunic and sleeping garment of dull cloth wrapped around his torso. A small flint dagger hung on a belt around his waist, and a sling was tucked into the belt behind his back. A leather water pouch was draped over his shoulders. He held a gnarled, splintered wooden staff that had been passed down to him from an older brother. He leaned on the staff casually, his mind wandering.
On this day the flies were swarming. The heat of midday allowed clouds of them to thicken along the bank and cover the mud along the water’s edge. With the south still in the grip of drought, the muddy water hole was the only water source for livestock within a two day’s walk, and with each passing month of drought it seemed the number of flies increased tenfold. Normally sheep were not watered in the heat of the day — they were herded into the shadow of a tree canopy or overhanging cliff. But the boy preferred coming at this time because he knew he would be alone, with no one to harass him.
It was the time of year when many shepherds led their flocks out of the rough terrain of the desert mountains into this basin for this pool’s water. The flies were the only real trouble for the shepherds under normal circumstances, far as it was from the contested areas of the kingdom. The flies were annoying to the boy, but they were less annoying than listening to his mother lecture him about how poorly he did in everything. He did not spend much time with his father; as the youngest, he was shooed away often.
This season had been especially tough. While the war between the northern and southern tribes had strung out for years, here on the northern frontier people were mostly concerned with which ruler would be able to help prevent raids and encroachment from the Philistines or other foreigners or bandit warlords. The elders had a difficult time deciding who to support. Some said Ishbosheth and his general Abner were the future of their land; others claimed it was David, the king in the south.
The boy knew the argument for David well because his father had influenced many in the community not to oppose him outright. True, David was from Judah, and their size and power were intimidating, but at least they were Hebrews, and if David was the best chance at preventing r
ape and pillage from unclean outsiders, making him king might be the will of Yahweh.
Yet those meetings of the elders were endless and usually went nowhere. They preferred to sit in the shade of their gates and eat figs and dates and wait for events to unfold. The centuries had turned his people into survivors, not blindly stepping out for any one side until they were certain the other would not rise up. The boy’s brothers told him that they had been a proud race once. That Yahweh had singled them out as his people and that this land was theirs, but that they had turned their backs on their loving God and his ways, only to suffer great punishment for their rebellion.
They were divided, they bickered, they turned and ran from fights. The men were soft and the women resented them for it, afraid that their rolls of fat and docile attitudes would not stop a lustful, battle-mad Philistine soldier. Their enemies mocked them. Perhaps it was time to bring the sword back into their land, his father argued, and the sword most worthy of it was David’s.
David’s actions and his motives were shadowy. No one ever seemed to know where he fully stood. They had heard terrifying rumors about his alliances with Philistines, but here and there they had also heard about inexplicably courageous acts for the sake of his kinsmen.
The boy’s father made it a point to tell his family about political events, even the girls. He wanted them to know about their lands, but he was careful to remind his daughters that their opinion only really mattered if their future husbands asked for it.
When news came that Abner was going to turn over the northern kingdom to David after four long years of tribal war, his father had been thrilled and had rushed into the family home to tell them. At last, it was time for unification!
The news had ignited the debate anew in his village. Would David remain under the thumb of the Philistines? Would he be able to broker peace within the tribes? Would he take blood vengeance against those who had been loyal to Saul’s son Ishbosheth?
