Covenant of War (3 page)

Eleazar followed Joab back toward David’s men. It took all of his patience not to lose his temper. He did his best to show Joab respect in front of the other soldiers, since it was important for the troops to respect their leader.

But when the two of them had been discussing Abner’s proposal for the twelve-on-twelve match, Eleazar had spoken bluntly. Joab had not wanted to agree to the contest, preferring to seize the initiative and force the attack, but Eleazar had convinced him otherwise. It was necessary, Eleazar had argued, to keep good relations with as many of the Israelites as possible, since they did not want to be fighting rebellions year after year when David became king over the entire country. The match would be a good way to win the field, spare Hebrew blood, and encourage many of the young Benjamite troops across the pool to join them later.

When he reached Josheb and Shammah at the water’s edge, he said to Josheb, “You should have been with him. You’re our leader.”

“I don’t trust my mouth around Joab. Might say something that
would make him attack me, and then I’d have to kill him in front of the northerners. And Shammah doesn’t know how to talk.”

Shammah scowled as he leaned on his longbow. He opened his mouth to reply, then exhaled and scowled again.

Eleazar had not noticed the bow before. Shammah had a way of producing weapons out of nowhere, but this one looked Assyrian, built by a master from a blend of wood and horn. Most bows in the ranks of the Hebrews were simply a spry piece of wood with sheep’s gut strung from end to end. The Thirty, David’s elite company of fighters, had Philistine bows, but none as beautiful as this one.

Josheb noticed him gazing. “I was just telling Shammah that it must be nice not having a wife. You can get expensive weapons. What did Abner say?”

“Single contest, twelve against twelve. Sparring. Joab doesn’t want us involved because their men need to feel they have a chance.”

“Sparring?” said Josheb, surprised. “How did Joab allow that?”

“Joab doesn’t want the ritual killing of his brethren any more than we do,” said Shammah.

“In any event,” Eleazar said, “I don’t trust him.”

“Agreed,” Josheb said. “I want the three of us down there to make sure it doesn’t turn into something more serious.”

Shammah tugged at his beard. “It would be bad for those troops in battle,” he said.

Eleazar nodded. “Abner didn’t say it, but I think he recognized my name. They don’t wish to fight.”

They stood quietly, watching Abner and Joab confer with their troops. The Benjamites across the pool were talking and pointing again. Eleazar realized they were pointing at them.

“Must have figured out who we were.”

“We’re the only three standing apart from the others. We need to think of a better name. Something more terrifying than ‘the Three,’ ” Josheb said.

“I like our name,” Shammah said.

Eleazar rubbed the back of his stiff neck. During the night his head had slipped off the bedroll and he’d slept with it bent at an awkward angle. “I would love to know Benaiah’s thoughts about all this.”

“As would I,” Josheb said. “But if he were here, Joab would be even more irrational than he already is.”

“Where is Benaiah?” asked Eleazar.

“In Philistia with Keth. Making the kings feel comfortable.”

“Do you think he gets tired of the traveling? Hard to be David’s bodyguard when he’s always gone.”

“No choice. He and Keth are the best with foreigners. Benaiah spent time with the Egyptians, and Keth was a Philistine mercenary.”

Shammah turned. “I never knew Keth was with the Philistines.”

“I didn’t either until Benaiah mentioned it not long ago. Easy to understand why he kept it a secret. Walking into David’s camp with tales of being paid in Philistine gold to kill Hebrews would tend to make one unpopular.”

“Good man. Beautiful wife. Did her father ever make his peace with her marrying a foreigner?”

“It’s hard not to like Keth. Although I think her father would prefer that he go by Uriah rather than his pagan Hittite name.”

“I think he feels as though he is still unworthy to have a Hebrew name,” Shammah said.

“Hopefully we’ll see them soon.” Eleazar said. It was understood by all of David’s elite troops that the less they knew about one another’s movements the better. Each would be sent here or there for purposes known only to their leader. If one of them was captured, he would be unable to give the complete overview of David’s movements. The Thirty were rarely ever in one place together; their appearances all over the kingdom kept the population uneasy.

Across the pool, twelve Benjamite fighters had been selected and were standing in the clearing awaiting their opponents. They had stripped to the waist and wrapped their tunics around their hips. These were obviously the choice warriors among the Israelite ranks, their bodies shaped by well-defined muscles and marked by scars from previous battles. They stretched their arms and legs, jumping up and down.

“Joab is untrustworthy,” Shammah said, cracking his knuckles.

“Nevertheless, we have to wet-nurse him for David’s sake,” Josheb said.

Joab had been conferring with his brothers, but now he walked through their troops, his head sweeping back and forth, searching for the fighters who would represent them. One by one, he pointed, calling them out.

“He’s picking the new men. Do you know them?” Eleazar asked Josheb.

“Just what I’ve gathered since we have been out on patrol. They keep to themselves. They paid close attention to their
abir
instruction, though, so this should be easy for them.”

The
abir
was the ancient fighting method of the Hebrew tribes that the Thirty had mastered, instructed by the Three. Josheb had studied it as a boy from the old scrolls his father had kept; then he taught it to the other two. It was based on the movements of the animals in their lands: the lion, the bear, the eagle, and others.

Joab had appointed twelve men, and now they were assembling at the front of their lines and preparing themselves.

Joab strode toward the Three’s position. He spoke under his breath so the troops could not hear him.

“You three need to be available in case something goes wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong unless your troops stir up trouble,” Eleazar said.

“You trust Abner to keep his word?” Joab asked.

“Tell me the real reason you don’t want us in there, Joab,” Josheb said calmly. Their troops were watching this conversation. Things were tense enough as they were, with multiple tribes of Hebrews, foreigners, and mercenaries patched together in their ranks.

Joab said, “Trust me.”

Eleazar studied Joab. But his face betrayed nothing.

“Fine, Joab,” Josheb said. “Use your men. But don’t change the arrangement again without telling me.”

Joab left.

Eleazar walked to his pack, exasperated. He pulled out a lump of hard bread and ate it, then began to rub handfuls of dust onto the handle of his pike. It had been wrapped tight with strips of wool to prevent slippage from perspiration, but like other warriors, he frequently powdered his weapons with dust, an extra precaution.

Shammah, watching him quietly, said, “You don’t expect this to go as planned.”

“No, I don’t.”

Abner held his weapon, a sickle sword with a long, hooked curve, against his chest. He could never watch a battle unfold without something to grip. The iron sword was old and had needed multiple forgings just to remain intact — not ideal for any soldier, especially those of his rank, but necessary in these times of iron scarcity. The sword was the only weapon he had used since the Gilboa battle, and he liked it, wise or not. Now that he was getting older, he was more content to let Yahweh determine if he were to die on the field of battle and less inclined to fret over weapons.

The warriors he’d chosen for the contest were good men, some of his few remaining battle veterans. Seeing Eleazar among David’s men had caused Abner to conclude that the pool, although it was an important strategic water point, was not worth the risk of a great many more deaths. His troops would not prevail in open battle against David’s men. And he did not want to risk a debilitating decline in morale if his men should lose confidence in him as their leader.

A circle had been carved into the dirt by the edge of the pool bank. The troops who would be fighting were gathered inside its perimeter, stretching arms and torsos. Each man from either side had stripped off his tunic and wrapped it around his waist, muscles gleaming with sweat in the hot midday sun. They spat nervously. Flies swarmed their exposed flesh.

Crowding the outside of the circle were the designated twenty troops from each army who would serve as encouragers and sparring guides. A foul move from any warrior would be shouted aloud by a sparring guide for the benefit of his side, warning of treachery and giving a warning of any group mass maneuvers that might be coming. Farther out from the circle were the hundreds of Benjamite soldiers from Abner’s force.

Abner had seen many such displays. Kingdoms had been won and lost in many lands on the outcomes of these competitions. Traders from Greece told stories of games played by warriors that also included hurling rocks for distance or the two fastest warriors sprinting head-to-head for a predetermined distance. Such contests seemed odd to Abner — the fate of nations decided through athletics? Better to fight as men and let Yahweh determine it.

But watching his countrymen prepare for their match, Hebrew tribesman against Hebrew tribesman, he wondered if athletics would not have spared the grief of countless mothers the past few years. Well — he shook his head. There was no way to know what would unite them all against the Philistine threat. Until then, he would lead as best he could.

He noticed, to his surprise, that the sun had slipped in the sky. He had not realized how much time had passed since they’d all arrived at the pool.

Each man in the circle lined up directly across from a warrior from the opposing army. They glared at one another, each of them veterans of many desperate fights, issuing taunts and yelling
curses. The Benjamites shouted how despicable it was that some of their own tribesmen had become traitors and joined the rebel from Judah. Those loyal to David demanded that the Benjamites quit resisting and accept that Yahweh had willed David to take the throne. Benjamites retorted that the rebels should not presume to speak for Yahweh, and David’s fighters shouted that at least they were fighting for a man as king.

Abner glanced at his troops in the ranks farthest back. These were the greenest soldiers, those too nervous to taunt the Lion’s warriors. They stared wide-eyed.

He squeezed the sickle sword tighter.

Eleazar saw a foot lashed out and withdrawn, then a hand, then the first pair started fighting. Joab’s warrior pivoted his hips, using the force from his charging attacker to hurl the man head over heels. As soon as Abner’s man landed, the other eleven pairs tore into one another.

Billowing clouds of sand and dust obscured them after only a few moments. As the shouting of the spectators rose to a roar, Eleazar strained his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse inside the fray. But dust rose with every kick. He could not discern what was going on.

Then, through a break in the dust cloud, one of Abner’s fighters leaped outside the circle and snatched the short sword handed to him. It happened so quickly that none of Joab’s sparring guides had the chance to shout a warning. The man with the sword then wrapped his arm around the neck of his nearest opponent and plunged the tip of the sword through his back until it burst out of the front of the ribcage in a crimson spray. Joab’s fighter slumped forward, shock on his face.

Eleazar was so angry that he charged down the rocky slope to kill
the man himself, but he found himself watching events unfold too quickly. Every sparring guide from each side of the circle suddenly produced a blade from under their tunics and tossed them to the fighters in the middle. The warriors caught them, as though previously rehearsed, and yelled angry war cries as they rushed toward their nearest opponent.

“Stop!” Eleazar yelled. It was Abner’s man who had started it, but he was sure that Joab had prepared his fighters beforehand to do the same. Before he could reach the circle, the duel erupted in blood. Each of the remaining fighters attacked his opponent with such hate that none controlled his aim. Men seized the hair of their opponent in one hand and stabbed with the other.

All twelve pairs slumped against each other on the sand, writhing in pain. Some vomited blood and bile; others pawed agonizingly at the hot metal buried in their midsection. Screams, gagging, spattering of urine and blood, all of it reached Eleazar’s senses as he arrived at the edge of the dueling circle.

Shammah and Josheb arrived next to him. Around them rose the shouts of soldiers grieving the loss of their brothers.

There was but a moment of hesitation, and then Eleazar saw the first ranks of sparring guides from Abner’s army run forward, driven by vengeance. Behind them up the slope came the line of soldiers from the main force.

It was impossible to stop it now. Josheb shouted at Eleazar and Shammah to fall into their wedge. Open war had begun, and as distraught as he was at the treachery and needless death, they could spare lives by taking some.

Abner was moving as soon as his soldier struck the first blow to begin the slaughter. Furious, desperate to save his men from the
coming massacre, he ordered his archers forward to provide defensive fire, then directed the aide to “get the guides out of there!”

The ranks of Joab’s men charged, and Abner yelled, “Archers! Hit them now!”

The Benjamite bowmen and slingers planted their front feet on a line of small boulders and prepared to shoot.

Before they could release their weapons, however, Eleazar and the two fighters with him broke through Abner’s lines with a yell and a crash of metal. They each had pikes, which they swung with such accuracy and speed that, before Abner could shout orders, all thirteen of his bowmen and slingers lay dead.

Abner’s young army panicked. Screaming, “The Lion’s men, the Lion’s men!” they clambered over one another trying to escape — all but a few of the brave ones, who yelled their own war cries and charged out to meet Joab’s onrushing troops.

Abner bellowed, “Fall back to the rally point!” Before the battle, he had chosen a distant hilltop as the place to set up a defensive position, if the battle went against them.

The Benjamites who had been holding back came out of their shocked stupor and began snatching up weapons and packs.

“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.