Covenant of War (22 page)

Eleazar was no longer afraid, did not care how much his arm was beginning to hurt. He knew only that there were more enemies, and he would slaughter them until there were no more, until this field and sacred valley was free of the pagan filth that trespassed here. He saw fire everywhere. Fire consumed his eyes and arms. Fire burned in his nostrils, blood sprayed his face, his arm blocked and thrust, parried and sliced, blocked again, sliced again.

Bodies piled up around him. There were many left to kill, so he stabbed his blade into a man’s guts and pulled the soldier close to his left side to use as a shield. A Philistine pointed a pike at him and Eleazar cut his fingers off when the pike got close.

His sword arm burned with fatigue, but the fire burned brighter and hotter, and men died.

At the top of the slope, despite his fury at the deserting troops, David paused and turned, afraid that he would see victorious Philistines
carrying the headless body of his friend over their heads as a war trophy. Instead, he saw the scuffling of massed bodies kicking up dust.

The fight went on, and somehow, Eleazar was holding the ground.

Eleazar’s own sword snapped in half when it struck someone’s armor, so he caught the hilt of an incoming sword, guided it with its own force back toward the Philistine’s eye. It missed and hit the helmet. He smashed it again, this time crushing the ear and forcing the man to his knees. He ripped the helmet off the Philistine with his left arm and swung it into the face of another charging soldier. Still they came, and he fought them.

He had mad thoughts, thoughts of songs in the camp, of his son’s rapid growth, his wife’s oddly shaped feet. He slapped the broken blade’s side across an arm that reached in too far, then kicked out and tripped two charging warriors. Against all common sense, the Philistines were still charging him in ones and twos and dying by the dozen.

His right hand was tightening. He’d squeezed the sword hilt so hard that his fingernails had snapped off, exposing raw and painful flesh.

Eleazar winced as an enemy sword slipped through his block and nicked him on the forehead. The Philistine withdrew his weapon quickly to strike again. Eleazar brought his broken sword up to deflect the blow, but not in time — the hot metal burned into his chest.

The Philistine shouted hoarsely in triumph, believing he had made a killing blow. Eleazar lurched backward, landing on his back on a trampled patch of barley, wrenching the Philistine’s sword away from his grip with his foot.

He shook his hand to free his broken sword from his grip. It did not release. He pounded his fist on the ground, and still it did not release.

There were shouts, shadows blocked the sun in the dusty air. He bit at his rigidly frozen fingers, still not releasing their grip on the sword hilt.

More men coming!

David rushed into the forest following the tracks of the fleeing men, anger powering his steps. Branches slapped across his face. Hundreds of men stampeding like cattle through the forest left a distinct trail.

As he crossed another dry creek bed, he saw motion ahead of him in the forest.
A cloak, a tunic?
It came from the direction of an old rally point, a gnarled tree with a dead top that jutted out from the edge of a cliff. They were not far from the caves. He heard shouting through the trees.

David pulled his sling out again and withdrew three stones from his pouch. He entered the clearing to see his troops bent over with their hands on their knees, crowding next to the old tree like it was a mighty sentinel that would shield them from their enemies.

“Korah, Ribai, and Hurai!” David shouted the names of the three northern commanders so loudly that everyone snapped their heads up.

Ribai, standing on a rock near the tree, raised his arm. “My lord, you are safe! There were so many of them, we were going to come back —”

David dropped one of the stones into the sling notch, never breaking his stride. He whirled it three times, and before the man
had finished speaking his skull had been splattered, showering the men around him with bright crimson blood and bone fragments.

Men gasped in horror and fell away from the carcass.

“Majesty! We were —”

David sent the next stone at a man who had emerged from the front ranks of panting troops, and it struck him in the lower jaw, tearing it away and exposing his upper teeth grotesquely. It was Hurai. He clawed at the wound in shock, unable to find the lower half of his face. A burbling sound erupted from his throat, and he raised his hands toward the heavens.

“Mercy, sire!” one of the other soldiers howled.

David reached the group and grabbed a javelin from a cowering man nearby, his eyes cold and murderous. He showed the weapon to the dying man struck by the stone.

“Your orders were to throw volleys of these into the Philistine ranks to finish the attack,” he said, his teeth clenching together and his voice quaking with fury.

The commander, Hurai, tried to speak but could not with his ruined mouth.

An aide stepped forward. “Lord, we —”

“Cowardice on the battlefield cannot be tolerated.”

“Forgive us —”

David rammed the javelin into Hurai’s open throat. The man twitched and convulsed.

Men wailed at the sight. They threw themselves on the ground and tossed handfuls of dirt into the air.

“Mercy on us, Majesty, mercy on us!”

David walked past the second corpse and searched the crowd. “Where is Korah?”

Fingers pointed to the tree, where the third commander stood shaking. David walked toward him.

Korah fled.

Watching him scramble up the slope, David dropped a stone into the sling and held it silently, letting the man run for a moment. He was especially angry at Korah’s cowardice; all of his bluster in the council at Hebron had meant nothing.

As the terrified officer reached the crest of the slope, David whirled his sling once through the air in a slow arc, sped it up, and whirled again.

A hand caught his elbow, and the stone and sling jerked to a halt. “In the name of Yahweh, have mercy!”

David turned angrily. It was an old man. His eyes held David’s gaze, firm. It gave David pause. David did not recognize him, yet he seemed familiar.

Then the old man crumpled to the earth. He grabbed the king’s feet. “Kill your servant, lord, but let that man live.”

David’s face twisted in hatred. The old man kissed his feet and begged him again.

“Mercy, great king, mercy.”

The soldiers around David also threw themselves onto their faces in the dirt, reaching their hands toward him in complete subservience. Voices howled, songs of death were hummed through fear-tightened lips, dried and cracked from lack of water.

David turned back toward the ridgetop just as Korah disappeared over it. He yelled. He kicked the old man in the ribs in frustration. “Never, ever abandon the attack! You should all die for this cowardice!”

“We should, great king, we should! Mercy on us!” the old man rasped, holding his side.

David wondered briefly why such an aged man was in his army. But he pushed it out of his head. “I want an immediate rally back to the valley. Eleazar is caught there, alone, defending you and your
families. If you fall back against my orders again, Sheol will be a relief after what I do to you!”

The men shouted their approval, still calling for mercy as they gathered themselves off the ground. David pointed at three different men and promoted them on the spot. Still terrified, the three urged their men back through the forest, trying to regain a semblance of order.

David, panting and furious, wiped the sweat from his forehead on the edge of his tunic. He squeezed his eyes shut to calm his rage. After a few quiet seconds, the stillness of the woods and the sound of birds told him that all was well, and he opened his eyes once more.

Mercy, God of my salvation. I hear you
.

“Where did you come from?” he asked the old man he expected to see still cowering at his feet.

But he was gone.

Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb staggered after Josheb through the forest. Benaiah thought of water. He saw it everywhere in his imagination. It poured from treetops, out of rocks, washed over his feet. He found himself swimming in the Nile again, taking gulps of water with each stroke.

But there was only dust and stone in front of him.

The rest of the Thirty were fanned out around them on the hillside, attempting to sweep out the remaining Sword of Dagon troops as they made their way back to the place where David and Eleazar were likely battling for their lives.

“How is your face?” Josheb asked Gareb.

“Ugly before the dagger wound, so I can’t imagine what it looks like now.”

Benaiah grinned. He loved Gareb’s wit.

“Does anyone have any water left?” Josheb asked.

They looked at one another. Benaiah swallowed painfully, his throat filled with dust. Heads shook.

“Stay alert,” said Josheb. “They’ll hit us again.”

“They lost many when our helper came,” said Keth.

The hillside rippled with small gullies. They rushed through them one at a time, up and down each hump in the earth, and it was just when Benaiah was realizing that they should probably slow down that the Sword of Dagon counterattack began.

Benaiah ducked away from a javelin, but before he did, he saw that each gully on the hillside had a squad of Philistines defending it, and with steep rock on their left and open valley on their right, the Thirty would have to battle through the ambush.

Josheb ordered all of them down. The men split into their battle teams and then took turns charging forward. A team of three would assault through the brush and into the next gully under a hail of javelins and blades, and when they engaged the enemy, another team rushed forward.

Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb immediately formed their own battle team and made ready to rush when it was their turn. They heard the shouts, and then they were running. Benaiah charged forward with his shield and sword out. Keth covered his left side, Gareb his right, and the Sword troops reacted perfectly, deflecting the attack.

Shammah was in the busy streets of Hebron when he felt the call in his spirit. He put down the fruit he was examining in the market while waiting for Joab to reappear and looked heavenward. All sounds of the busy market ceased in his mind.

His eyes closed, and he mouthed the words of prayer that were so frequently on his lips. His frustration at being left behind while his brothers marched to war was gone.

They needed him now.

In the open, in front of all who were watching, he raised his arms
and cried out loudly to Yahweh. Many stared at him as though he was mad, but he did not care.

Josheb glimpsed Benaiah struggling through the gully and saw that his men were losing ground. The Sword troops, entrenched, were not budging from their positions. It was going to be costly trying to force them out through the usual strategy.

Josheb pulled out his spear. He had no equal with it. It was his burden and his blessing.

Then he ran to the lines and attacked.

Benaiah was able to kill one soldier, but lack of water was slowing him, and his arm was tiring, and he failed to raise his shield in time to prevent another Philistine’s blade from striking his shoulder. His sideways roll saved his life, and as he was about to move back into a braced attack posture, a spear impaled the Philistine and was withdrawn faster than he could blink.

After spearing him, Josheb spun the man around and used him to block the next few blows, and then he ran toward the next gully. Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb followed him.

Josheb plowed through the next rank, moving too quickly to be hit by the weapons aimed at him, and then he penetrated the next, and the next, and Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb had to summon all of their remaining effort just to keep up with him.

The rest of the Thirty saw that Josheb had penetrated all of the Philistine lines by himself and surged after him to divide the enemy.

Benaiah was hit from behind — he whirled, caught a sword with
his club before it could slice through his neck. He smashed the club into the Philistine’s face.

Another man dove at his knees and wrestled him to the ground. Benaiah elbowed the man’s neck, then tried punching him in the ear but only caught the helmet. The Philistine shoved a dagger near his face. Benaiah blocked it, but the Philistine was strong and thrust it again.

Benaiah released his grip on the Philistine’s wrist and jerked his head back, letting the dagger swipe near his face, then caught his thumb on the hilt. He shoved the tip back into the Philistine’s eye.

Someone else bumped into him. Keth, fighting off two Philistines.

Benaiah picked up his club and struck the Philistines down from behind.

“They’re breaking off into wedges, just like how we fight,” Benaiah panted.

A wedge of Sword troops appeared just as he said it and made him leap over a ledge into a bush down the hill to avoid them. Gareb and Keth leapt after him, and as they landed they scrambled together to make their own wedge.

Up the hill they could see the rest of the Thirty trying to fight their way out of the counterattack. Then the Sword wedge that had chased them down the hill hit them.

Benaiah ducked out of the way when the huge man leading the Sword wedge swung a cudgel like it was a piece of straw.

“Why don’t any of our tribes have giants?” Gareb grunted.

It was the first time that Benaiah, Keth, and Gareb had fought together in a wedge, but they knew it instinctively. Keeping their space from one another, they protected each other’s flanks and took turns attacking to keep the wedge tight.

A wedge of Sword troops charged them. Benaiah waited for
them to break apart at the last moment, but their discipline held, and Keth had to yield a few cubits of ground to set his attack.

That was when Josheb, appearing out of nowhere, assaulted the rear of the Philistine wedge. He killed all three Sword troops with three perfectly timed strikes.

Benaiah whirled around, looking for more. He saw Philistines pulling back into the bushes and scrambling through the nearby wadi.

“They’re withdrawing,” he said.

“They need to retreat, not withdraw,” Josheb said.

“We need to get back to David before they organize again,” Gareb said.

The four of them slipped through the trees to find the rest of the Thirty.