Covenant of War

by Cliff Graham

  The drought had killed most of the crop anyway. It wasn’t worth his life to stop it, was it?

  Eleazar looked at the barley field, then the soldier, then the platoon chasing him, then back to the field. He could not see David anywhere.

  Ittai burst into the cover of trees expecting to be struck by an arrow at any time. None came. Instead, he saw most of the Hebrew archers scrambling to flee the woods. The few who still wished to fight were out of arrows, for now they came toward him with sickle swords.

  Now Ittai made these archers a target for his rage. He slit the belly of the first archer, spun and killed the next. He knelt as another swung his bow. Ittai caught the beam of the bow, jerked it out of the man’s hand, and rammed it against his nose.

  But as he bled profusely from the blow, the third Hebrew did a strange thing. He grasped frantically at Ittai’s waist, as though searching for something. Ittai kicked him away, but the wild-animal look on the man’s face made him pause.

  What was he looking for? The man’s lips were frothing with spittle, his eyes crazed with lust for something.

  Water.

  The Hebrews were not charging them just to kill them. They were trying to get their water.

  Ittai shouted to whoever could hear him, “If you get hit, slash your water pouches! They are dying of thirst! Don’t let them take your water!” He stabbed the Hebrew archer in the belly before moving on.

  Inspired by his actions and words, his men charged faster behind him. Ittai yelled them forward to kill more Hebrews. The remaining archers fled up the hill away from them.

  It was obvious to Ittai now that the third ambush he had expected was not coming. Either the Hebrew commanders had lost their nerve or they had already thrown everything they had at the Philistines in desperation.

  Yet David himself would not have led a suicide mission. They might not have had time to organize, but surely he had thousands of soldiers in his command. Was the drought so bad? Were more Hebrews out of commission than the Philistine rulers had thought? Where was Keth of the Hittites?

  Ittai leaned against a tree to catch his breath and steady his nerves. Daylight filtered down above him. He watched the dust kicked up by the fleeing Hebrews and his pursuing men. Dust covered every leaf, every blade of grass.

  There was a renewed sound of commotion behind him back in the valley. Squinting and searching through the gaps in the trees, he saw two things. The first was the Hebrew warrior who had spared him emerging on the slope to his left in a full sprint, and the second was one of his troops from another company carrying a torch in the direction of the barley field on the other side of the valley.

  Ittai realized what was happening and laughed. If the man with the torch reached the field and set it ablaze, there would be serious harm done to the farmers of the region. What little remained of the crop during this drought would be destroyed. A last spite to the Hebrews.

  The Hebrew charged toward the barley field, holding his sword out in front of him, his tunic and armor drenched with sweat and covered in blood. Ittai wanted to race after the Hebrew and slaughter him, but he needed to rally his men.

  His nose ached, his jaw throbbed. Blood was all over his face and neck.

  How far away were his Sword troops?

  And where was the Hebrew king?

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Farther up the valley from where David and Eleazar had begun the attack, at the point where the road from Bethlehem met with the Rephaim, Benaiah elbowed his way through a bush before pausing against a tree trunk. He waited briefly, then pulled his head just high enough to see through the forest.

  It was now midmorning and the sun already raged overhead. Patches of sunlight were visible down the mountainside from his position. The valley opened into grasslands, crisp and brown from the drought, with a road cut by parallel ox-cart ruts long since dried out.

  The trees blocked most of his view, but he could make out glinting Philistine armor as the column of troops marched along the road. It looked extremely hot on the road. The troops would be suffering under their metal armor. A possible advantage.

  Benaiah let himself slide backward until he was even with Keth.

  “They’re on the road. Just like David said.”

  “Any chariots?”

  “No, looks like the garrison commander in Bethlehem has more brains than the kings from Gath. Light weapons. Mobile. Javelin throwers. Looks like more Sword of Dagon troops. It will be tough.”

  “We have the best warriors in the army with us.”

  “We’re also outnumbered. Vastly.”

  “David said Yahweh promised victory.”

  Benaiah nodded absently. Sweat dripped from his brow. He raised the edge of his tunic and wiped his forehead. He saw the scattered figures of the Thirty behind him. It was their task to be the first into a fight and the last to leave, and they met this responsibility with pride. But he had to wonder if this was going to be too much for even them.

  Josheb crawled up beside him.

  “Two hundred,” Benaiah said.

  “Less than we thought, at least. But we still can’t let them meet up with the others.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Do you think they are as good as we have heard?”

  “If they fight like the two that found us in the hideaway, yes.”

  “I thought you said there were three.”

  “There were. I killed one quickly.”

  “Then they aren’t that great.”

  “I jumped from above and landed on his neck. He wasn’t expecting me.”

  Josheb nodded, then took a short drink from his nearly empty water pouch. He swished the liquid around in his mouth, savoring it, before swallowing with a pained expression.

  “Terrible last drink for a man to have. Warm and smelly.”

  “They’re carrying water,” Benaiah said.

  “Bethlehem has wells that are still full,” said Keth.

  “And that’s the only place in the land. They know about the drought just a half day’s walk from the town. Anyone who doesn’t want to die of thirst has to walk a day to reach Bethlehem. It’s why they fortified the town. They know how valuable it is to us.”

  “How well do you think they are coordinated with the force coming up from the plains?” asked Josheb.

  “They can’t be. None of the movements we have seen the past few days tell me that they are taking our threat seriously. They’re acting like they just want to snatch as much land for themselves as possible. It’s a risk to draw troops from an important garrison like Bethlehem.”

  “Unless they have reason to believe we are not prepared to do anything about it.”

  Benaiah cursed, then looked back at the other members of the Thirty scattered in the trees. He saw Gareb a short distance away watching him. He lowered his voice. “When we are done here, I will find the jackal who is spying on us.”

  “How can we be surprised when so many members of David’s inner circle are foreigners?” Keth asked.

  “You’re a foreigner,” said Josheb.

  “No, I have a Hebrew name now. That clears me of all suspicion.”

  “I’m still keeping an eye on you.”

  Benaiah picked up a twig and chewed on the end of it, ignoring the jokes. “Might be a woman from the harem. He is susceptible to them.”

  “We’re wasting time,” Josheb said. The other two nodded.

  Josheb sketched on the dirt. “Standard ambush. I will go first. They will expect a trap, then you two go next to make them think you are it. They are used to a handful of men at a time coming just close enough to kill an officer or two and then retreating into the woods. They also know that our army is concentrated on the Rephaim right now. When they believe you are all there is and have their backs turned, the rest of the Thirty can hit them. ‘The Lord is a warrior, the Lord is his name,’ as Moses once sang.”

  “We are with you,” Keth said.

  “If you fall, Benaiah, I am picking your wife’s new
husband. I’ll give her to Shammah.”

  “Yours is nothing but trouble. I’ll give her to Shammah as well.”

  “Shammah wouldn’t know what to do with all of those women. Probably turn himself into a eunuch.”

  They hugged once more. Then Josheb crawled up and over the stump and disappeared. Benaiah made eye contact with three of the subordinate leaders and motioned them forward. He whispered the plan of attack to them and made them repeat it. Then they eased their way back to their squads.

  Now they waited.

  Josheb picked out the first officer standing at the edge of the road. He was pausing to squeeze a few drops of water out of a pouch and growling orders at his armor bearer. The column of Philistines was marching five abreast, more disciplined and orderly than the mass of troops they had seen staggering through the Rephaim over the ridges behind them.

  Every man was outfitted with light armor of leather and iron pieces and carried short swords for tight skirmishing in the thick brush crowding the mountain slopes. They also carried javelins should they be forced to fight through an ambush. They were stopping for a rest after pressing hard throughout the day, but none of the soldiers ever fully relaxed his guard.

  They have skilled commanders. Yahweh, go before us. We need your armies.

  He raised his war bow and aimed at the officer’s head.

  Benaiah reached out his hand to Keth, who took it. They clasped wrists and spoke blessings on each other’s families. Keth prayed to Yahweh for the sake of Benaiah’s family in his native Hittite. Benaiah returned the blessing by asking Yahweh to bless the womb of Keth’s new wife, who still had not conceived. It was their private ritual, shared before every battle.

  When they were finished, they waited for the sound of the first man to die.

  From a short distance away, Gareb watched Benaiah and Keth go through their battle ritual and wished he had his own comrade to share such a moment with. Eliam was more of a son to him than a comrade. They had suffered much together, but he always felt as though he were teaching the young man. What he wanted was someone to bleed with as an equal, like he had with Jonathan.

  He wiped his face. He looked around at the other men to see if any were drinking too much of their water out of nerves, then reminded himself that they were the elite warriors and he did not have to watch over them like a father.

  There were insects flitting around his face. Gareb ignored them, even as they hummed into his ear and landed in his eyes. No sudden movements, nothing to break discipline. A fly crept into the corner of his mouth and worked its way up his face. Hazy sunlight trickled into his senses from the canopy above. It was hot. Very, very hot. He hated bugs.

  He was suddenly afraid. He hated being afraid.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The gut string snapped as it released the arrow. Josheb watched it fly and then at the last second dip too low, its flight path warped by the valley breeze. The arrow hit the commander directly on his breastplate, which pinched inward before the arrow shattered on the iron. But the force was enough to knock the man over, and he collapsed against his shield bearer with a loud grunt.

  Josheb had pulled out another arrow as soon as he fired the first, and this time he accounted for the breeze. As the officer started to pull himself up, the iron-forged tip burst through the gap in his helmet next to his ear. The Philistine’s head jerked and shook with spasms several times. The shield bearer tried to help him up as the ranks of the troops began shouting and forming into battle formations. The shield bearer screamed and pulled away when he saw the shaft protruding from his commander’s ear.

  Josheb stormed out of the woods, dropping the bow and wielding a cudgel in one hand and a sickle sword in the other. The first blow caught the stunned shield bearer in the side of his head, the second was a sword stroke into the throat of a nearby squad leader who had begun to take command.

  The Philistines recovered from their shock quickly and formed into defensive positions, ignoring Josheb as he had said they would. He sprinted away, moving in and out of the range of javelins and ran up and down the ranks taunting them and calling out their best champion to face him. But they were disciplined troops, watching him restlessly and keeping their eyes trained on the wood line.

  Keth jumped at the same time as Benaiah. They rushed out of the trees and into the open. A flurry of javelins met them. They dropped to their bellies in the small dip that ran parallel to the road and heard the clatter of the weapons as they fell.

  Then they were back on their feet, each man snatching two javelins and hurling them at the ranks of Philistines. They darted back into the woods, arrows thumping against tree trunks and shredding the leaves overhead, running through the brush, ignoring the scratches it left on their legs.

  Benaiah and Keth emerged farther down the road and crossed it, drawing more shouts and javelins from the Philistine ranks. The full detachment of archers was in the rear of the formation, hastily attempting to assemble in the narrow gap of the valley roadway.

  They pulled up next to Josheb, who was still shouting taunts. Benaiah saw that still no arrows came, and then he realized that something was about to happen. Something unexpected, but he could not tell what.

  The Philistines had not faced them as they had hoped, had not placed their archers in a neat formation and exposed their backs to the forest where the Thirty were ready to tear them apart.

  As they watched, the Philistines turned away from them, surged together, and charged away from the three Israelite warriors into the trees.

  Gareb cursed but did not delay further. “They didn’t fall for it! Get into your teams!”

  There was mass confusion as hundreds of Philistine troops rushed into the forest, hacking and slashing at anything they saw, urged forward by their officers who bellowed threats and curses at them. There was shouting. Gareb saw the other two men in his fighting team and pulled them together.

  “Don’t let them retreat, we have to hold,” he said as resolutely as possible, and they nodded and understood. To the death.

  As bad as it was, Gareb knew that they now had a slight advantage. A battle in the open could have been disastrous, but in the trees, where his men were at home, they had a chance. Commands shouted in the woods were confusing. The enemy was too large and their commanders would have severe trouble keeping them fighting in unison. But they had correctly anticipated the ambush, and the mass counterattack was the right strategy. The Sword of Dagon had been trained well.

  He hid behind a rock until two Philistine soldiers stumbled past, then he cut them across the backs of their legs. They screamed as they thrashed about in the dry brush, their blood spraying the brown leaves. Gareb could hear the other members of the Thirty doing the same, trying to wound the Philistines where they could in order to terrify the others with their painful cries.

  Josheb, Benaiah, and Keth reacted quickly to the Philistine counterattack. Since they were the only targets in the open, they had to draw the fire of the archers, the only Sword platoon left in the roadway.

  Josheb gave the order, and the three Israelites rushed forward in a wedge. Benaiah thought desperately that they had no protection, no shields to block the impending fury of the arrows that would rain down on them. He heard Josheb saying something, and realized he was asking for the covering. Covering in the battle, covering in the day of war.

  The arrows came. They were so close that the archers did not even need to raise their aim to gain elevation. The deadly shafts flew directly at the running Hebrews. Benaiah winced and begged Yahweh to shield them in the last instant before the arrows struck.

  Gareb picked up a rock and smashed it against a Philistine’s face. He struck another face with his fist before sliding the sickle sword between the scales of armor in a third man. The soldier collapsed against him. Gareb strained to push him off, but he was trapped, and a flurry of weapons came at him at once. His arm was trapped, the sword too slow to block any thrusts, and he winced at the hot metal waiting to penetrat
e his neck.

  A body fell across him and stopped the blows. It was a Hebrew warrior, and Gareb thought he had tripped in front of the blades before he saw that the man was already dying, and in his last conscious act he had thrown himself over Gareb’s head. Gareb madly wanted to thank him for his sacrifice but could not recognize him. Igal? Zelek? Who was his father?

  Move!

  There was a Philistine on top of him. He shoved the body aside, then a dagger was coming toward his face. Gareb grunted and turned his face right before it struck, and he felt the blade cut through his cheek and pin his head into the dirt from the side. Searing, blinding pain. Crumpled flesh hung loose in his mouth, and he gagged and vomited.

  Without thinking, he released his grip on the sword and jammed his fingers into the eye sockets of the Philistine. He felt warm liquid as the eyes ruptured beneath his fingers, but he could not see what was going on, his face was still pinned by the dagger. The Philistine gagged.

  Gareb pulled his fingers out of the man’s eyes and found the hilt of the dagger next to his cheek. He jerked it out of the dirt and slid it through the flesh of his cheek, tears filling his eyes. He screamed. He stabbed the dagger into the foot of another Philistine soldier nearby, then realized that man was already dead. He had stabbed a corpse. He searched for another leg, another piece of human flesh to kill, but the shouting had passed him by; the battle was moving farther into the grove.

  Blood pouring from the wound in his face, Gareb shoved with as much strength as he could muster and crawled out from beneath the pile of bodies. The Philistine who had stabbed his face was still alive, shrieking. Unsteadily, Gareb knelt and pulled a sword from under the leg of the dead Hebrew who had saved him. He didn’t have time to see who it was.