Day of War (24 page)

There is blood on my face. I wipe it. I see Joab by the burning roof, holding something in his hand. A head. He smiles.

War, son of Jehoiada, he says. Love it. Drink it deeply.

I nod. Should be harder, killing. Especially women, children. Sherizah always asks me if I regret the bloodshed. Yes, Sherizah. No, Sherizah.

There is David. He speaks to Josheb, Shammah, Eleazar. His mighty Three. Does he not trust me? Why am I not held in the same regard? Salty, coppery taste. My blood or enemy blood? Does not matter. Warm and bitter.

Next to Joab is Abishai; an Amalekite man is kneeling before them. He is begging for mercy. None would be given. It never is. David is silent as the sword plunges into the man’s neck. Joab spits, pulls the blade out. Abishai stares at his brother’s blade. I hear screams behind me. Children are watching. I curse their fathers, because I will spend the rest of my days bringing death to Amalekites. I will make them run
in terror from me, and go to the grave with my sword in their chest, and they will regret the day they took my daughters from me.

Make it quick, Benaiah, says David. Do not drag this out. Club them first, don’t let them feel it.

I nod. But I will make them feel it. I will never relent until every one of them is dead.

My beautiful girls gone forever …

David touched Benaiah on the arm and pointed toward an olive grove at the far right side of the field. “I sent the Three to block their retreat at the mouth of that canyon. They can hide, then step out and defend that narrow gap. We need to let the Amalekites think they can escape that way.”

Benaiah nodded. Funneling so many of the Amalekites straight at such a small force would be certain death for lesser men. But that was why they were the Three.

Benaiah and David sat on the edge of a small rise overlooking an enormous wheat field. A grove of trees jutted into the field to their left in the shape of a lance, and from there Joab would lead the attack. The wheat had been trampled and destroyed by the raiding army without regard for martial discipline. The Amalekite camp sprawled across a vast area, all the way to a distant ridge scored by canyons.

Music, played by drunk musicians, wailed without any semblance of order or rhythm. Men laughed and kept the noise coming as if making it louder would solve the problem.

The scouts, men of the tribe of Issachar highly skilled at spying, had given a thorough report. The Amalekite commander had allowed his men to scatter and break ranks for the celebration, and David intended to make him pay for that mistake. Men roved about
drunkenly. The sentries posted were staring back toward the fires, envious of their comrades, unwittingly ruining their night vision.

Benaiah scanned the camp for the rest of the captives. There was a tent pitched hastily in the center, and a line of women sat outside. He could not tell if they were the Ziklag captives or others stolen earlier. Children were playing in the dirt nearby, oblivious to the pressing danger. Twilight was coming, and the soldiers in the camp were drinking even more freely, a good thing.

When David and his men had first discovered the camp, they’d all been elated that the captives were still alive. Now they were focused and ready.

Benaiah looked at his fading shadow stretching across the rocks in front of him. The insects had begun to emerge for the night. Not much light left for the slaughter. David whispered something to Joab on his left, who grunted and crawled away with Abishai behind him.

All was now ready. The Three were undoubtedly already sliding forward on their bellies through the trees to their right, outside the view of the sentries, who were not watching anyway. They would wait for Joab while he moved one hundred men through the trees to the left. Abishai would split off with his hundred-man company and post between David and Joab. The two generals would begin their assault into the field of the Amalekite camp, killing everything that moved except the captives and livestock.

When they’d successfully crushed the raiders’ left flank and made it to the middle of the wheat field, they would form a perimeter around the surviving captives, and David would lead an assault from the center to meet them. When the Amalekites retreated — running blindly in terror, most likely — David’s men would try to funnel them toward the entrance of the canyon, where the Three would be present to block them. They would all spend the rest of the night sweeping the surrounding forest for stragglers.

As they waited for the troops to get into position, David and Benaiah watched the tent around which the women sat despondently. Guards were choosing women to go into the tent so the commander could choose among them. No doubt the rest of the men would split up those remaining among themselves. Benaiah strained his eyes against the distance to see Sherizah, but the women were letting their heads sag in defeat, and he could not spot his wife.

Then he did, at the front of the line near the entrance of the tent.

He seized David’s arm, and David patted his hand, as if he’d noticed her already. David was probably searching for his own wives.

Sherizah was barely visible between the celebrating soldiers. Benaiah fought the urge to rush forward as he stared at her, feeling something wrench in his spirit. He felt the weight of all the years he’d neglected her. The times he had abandoned her for the company of his men, the times he had left her alone for months after the births of the girls.
Do not think of that now. Kill Amalekites first.

Joab crawled forward on his chest, feeling the scratching undergrowth across his face. His men were disciplined and followed him without complaint through the roughest terrain he could have chosen. Their sentries weren’t even watching, but Joab led his men with caution anyway.

Joab finally stopped, and Abishai, crawling behind him, halted as well. The older brother pointed to his right, toward the field of the encampment and a hedge of thick brush. Using hand gestures, he indicated that Abishai should line up his men in that hedge. Abishai nodded and gave the signal for “I understand.” He then repeated the orders back to Joab, who dismissed him with a pat on
the shoulder when he’d finished. Abishai turned to his adjutant and relayed the commands, repeating the process.

When both of them had turned to go, Joab continued leading his men along the dry creek bottom he had found on his scout. It disguised their movements perfectly. Bramble undergrowth and thorns snagged his tunic. Rocks scraped his bare legs, but he did not notice, his mind intent on preparation for the first assault. Sweat dripped down the side of his face and stained the collar of his tunic. He wiped it from his face, smudging the dirt into his eyes. Sounds poured through the woods, awful wailings of strange instruments. Joab ignored it and focused on the movement of his men.

One hundred men. A full company. They needed to hurry to the grove of trees David pointed out earlier, sticking out into the field like a peninsula. They needed to attack before light was fully gone. Once the ambush had been ignited, darkness would be their ally, but maneuvering was critical in the opening moments, and for that, all David’s troops would have to be able to see.

From those trees, Joab would launch his men forward in a lightning strike, cutting the camp in half and preventing them from regrouping. He would be at the command tent before the Amalekites even knew what was happening. Joab thought of his iron blade gliding through the rib cage of the barbarian leader, and the pleasure of it made him pull himself even harder through the undergrowth.

David would be impressed with that. Joab would become commander of the army that would set David on the throne. If David let him, Joab would control Judah with ease and then set out to subjugate the northern tribes. Benjamite men upset with Saul would join them. They would need Benjamin’s skill with bows and slings.

There were good soldiers in those parts. Joab had fought with them. They could be ruthlessly effective if properly led. He would unite them under David eventually, but first he would teach them a lesson. Saul had made many friends early in his reign, and many
would remain loyal. Abner, Saul’s general, would need to be won over. He would make a dangerous enemy if not.

Jonathan frightened Joab. Of all the problems that might stand between Joab and his ambitions, Saul’s son was chief among them. David would want to give him mercy because they were old friends, and David would appoint Jonathan commander of the army. Joab was sure of it.

Jonathan will need to be dealt with, Joab thought as he crawled forward. An accident could be arranged, perhaps a hunting or a training accident. Asahel, Joab’s younger brother, was eager to prove himself. Joab would put him in charge of coming up with a plan. Female assassin? They used them in Egypt.

Joab wiped sweat from his brow.
No, Jonathan is not susceptible to women like David is.
In fact, Jonathan had no vices that Joab was aware of. Loyalty? He was blindly loyal. That could be used. Joab let it go, deciding he needed more time to think about it. The battle came first.

He reached the edge of the grove. The deepening dusk had covered their approach. No one among the Amalekites looked even remotely alert. From this point, he could at last see the entire field. They were spread out to the right of the forest peninsula, in the direction of David and across the center of the field where the command tent was. Now he saw that the Amalekite camp extended to the left farther than they originally guessed.

The anxious eyes of his men watched him. Many had families in that camp. The light was almost gone. Amalekite sentries nearby guzzled wine from skins, arguing over female prisoners, playing the peculiar game with sticks and rolled hide he had seen them play before in their towns. They were woefully unprepared. No defensive strike teams, no preparation of any kind.

He mentally walked himself one more time through the plan. Archers would fire first. A ram’s horn would blow, signaling the
charge, and they would sprint into the camp, heavy weapons in the front ranks, closely followed by light infantry who would kill any enemies who had survived the charge. Then they would form a perimeter around the tent, shielding the women and children from the battle, so that David’s company could fight with more abandon. Wait for David. Then flank outward and clean up.

He made each of his officers repeat the plan in a whisper since it was getting too dark to see hand signals. Satisfied that they had it, he let them relay it down the line.

Moments passed. Noises and music continued.

Blood was about to be spilled. Blood for Judah. For a new Israel. Blood for his beloved land.

Benaiah hated the waiting before a fight, that intolerable time after the orders had been given and all they could do was sit until all of the pieces of the attack were ready. It left him alone with his thoughts. Something he did not want.

He tried to think through the plan again to distract himself and kill time. Touch nothing unclean. Take no plunder — yet. Don’t stop moving, at any time or for any reason, no matter who dies and no matter what you hear. Cut off heads when possible; Amalekites are terrified of going into the afterlife headless. Word needs to reach their homeland that an attack on David and his God is certain violent death, carrying on into eternity.

Benaiah was confident that each man knew his duty. The Gadites were particularly enthusiastic about the urge to remove heads. Benaiah liked them, truly hard men who had crossed the Jordan in full flood.

Don’t think of Sherizah. Focus.

The teams were in place. They were well trained and motivated,
driven far beyond what they had ever experienced, since it was their loved ones in the valley below. David’s orders had been clear: finish the battle before finding your wives. Any man caught lingering with his family while the fight was going would be speared.

Would she still want him? After all?

He shook his head.
Focus on something else.

The Hittite regiment was kneeling in a line to his right. They had the inglorious but necessary job of weapon resupply, and Keth had them ready. They would run weapons to the front as needed, replacing those that would dull or break from cracks and defects. This was a new, untested tactic of David’s invention, and this would be the first chance to deploy it, to determine if it would be used in the future.

The Hittites were an unexpected provision in the race to master ironworks. Bronze was out for good; no more bronze spearheads bending against shields. They needed iron. Now they had hope that the rumors of a new method of forging were true and that they would be able to eventually battle Philistines with iron of their own rather than beg them for it.

David was sitting still as stone next to him. The waiting never seemed to bother him.

A strange man, Benaiah thought as he studied David in the growing darkness. Even now he was humming. Probably another song of praise.

“Does Yahweh … forgive a man if he fails?” Benaiah had asked it aloud without thinking. Thankfully, he saw that none of the other men had heard him because they were too busy preparing themselves, closing their eyes against all distractions and emotions that would dull their weapon strikes.

David did not avert his gaze from the impending battlefield but nodded. “He does. None more so than myself.”

It was an odd and unexpected response. Benaiah waited.

“Many black things hide in my own heart, brother,” David said. “Perhaps that is why I am so grateful for his mercy.”

Benaiah watched the lines of Amalekite troops pitching tents for the night, those who were already drunk with wine, unaware of the death about to befall them. Sherizah had disappeared into the command tent not long after his glimpse of her—at least he believed it was Sherizah, but he could have been wrong.

The slope was open ground and flat; they would be charging onto the flats, leaving behind the high ground against a numerically superior force. Not a good battle plan.

Perhaps that is why I am so grateful for his mercy.