Warrior Poet (25 page)

David punched the prince in the side as he walked past him, his other arm around Michal’s waist.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It had been about two weeks since King Saul made official the offer of Michal’s hand, conditioned on bringing back trophies proving the deaths of one hundred Philistines. During a heated conversation over breakfast, the king had waved off Jonathan’s protests that killing Goliath was sufficient and had in fact been the only requirement prior to David’s legendary victory. David was reclining on the king’s left, listening quietly but expecting at any moment for the king to erupt and fling something sharp in his son’s direction.

“I’m sure that a champion such as David will have no difficulty in meeting this challenge,” the king had said, his voice booming around the courtyard. “If he can defeat their best warrior with one little stone, certainly he can kill one hundred with proper weapons and the help of his men.” With a certain smugness, the king had leaned forward so close that his face was nearly touching David’s. “What say you, mighty man of valor?”

He, of course, had to agree that killing a squadron of Philistines would not pose an insurmountable difficulty. “My king, your will is my command,” David murmured, wondering if he had been maneuvered into assenting to his death sentence.

Saul smiled and gave him an encouraging blow between the shoulder blades. “That’s the spirit!” he roared. “And for love of my daughter, it will be even lighter work.” This had been followed by another thump that would have knocked David over had he not been resting on his elbow.

With the promotion to captain had come the command of a small squad. The first thing David had done after leaving the king was to take his twelve men to spy out the nearest Philistine strongholds. What he found was not encouraging. It was obvious that Goliath’s death had put the enemy on high alert. Their defenses had been solidified, guards had been doubled, and vulnerable positions had been reinforced.

David returned to Gibeah convinced that even with the help of his men, he would be incapable of filling the king’s quota. He was as dispirited as he had been when Goliath had threatened to feed him to the buzzards. When he reached the palace, he was told that Jonathan was on the training grounds, practicing with his bow.

From a distance, he could see that Jonathan was competing with a group of his men. Their laughter and uproarious insults carried over the wide field. When the prince caught sight of David, he spoke to his men and strode to another range farther away. At the far end was a bundle of straw bound tightly so as to resemble a person. By the time David joined him, Jonathan was taking aim with his last arrow at the target fifty paces way. He overshot the bale and waved for a young boy collecting the arrows to find it.

“That was my last one. He will be back shortly, but we’ll be alone for a bit.” The prince set one point of the bow on the ground and rested his forearm on the other. “So what did you find?” he asked. “Not good news, I take it, judging from your mournful expression. You look as if you came back from a funeral.”

“Maybe mine,” David murmured, kicking a stone in the direction of the target. He reported what he and his men had seen and their pessimistic assessment.

After casting a look around, Jonathan spoke. “I’m not surprised at your findings. Father definitely had an ulterior motive in demanding that dowry.”

“What do you mean?” asked David, bristling at Jonathan’s implication. “Michal is the apple of his eye. He just wants to make sure I deserve her.”

Jonathan said nothing. He merely gave David a doubtful look.

“Before I left to scout out the garrisons, the king and I had a private talk,” David explained. “I don’t know why; maybe he was thinking I was going to back out. Anyway, he told me that it would be the ideal way to prove I was worthy to be Michal’s husband.”

What David did not tell Jonathan was that during the conversation, the king had apologized profusely for losing his head. “You are to me as one of my very own children,” Saul had assured David, following it with a solemn vow. “I swear by the gold on the wings of the cherubim that I will never do anything like that again.” There were tears in Saul’s eyes when he spoke. David had never felt closer to the king.

But he could tell Jonathan none of this. He knew what the prince would say. Jonathan would dismiss it as cunning manipulation. David had relived the conversation scores of times, and he was certain that the king had been sincere.

Still Jonathan said nothing. His condescending silence was maddening.

“Your father believes that this would prove to her that I am every bit the warrior the women sing about in their songs.” In his frustration, David could not help bragging just a little.

Jonathan nodded, but his expression did not change. David was about to continue, but Jonathan interrupted him. “David, don’t you see? Before you arrived, Father was Israel’s hero; now every time the army marches out to battle, the women start chanting, ‘Saul has killed his thousands, but David his tens of thousands.’ It is becoming our national anthem. That is a humiliating insult for a king.”

David shrugged. “I know. Do you think me stupid? I’ve told my men that whenever they hear it, they are to start singing one of our victory songs. There is not a shred of disloyalty among us.”

“Unfortunately, David, the damage has been done. There is no longer anything you or I can do to convince Father that you are not conniving with his enemies to steal his crown.” Jonathan lowered his voice and began speaking more quickly as the young boy approached with a quiver full of arrows. “Now that you’re betrothed, he cannot be directly linked to any plots against you. But that does not mean he has stopped scheming.”

The words cut deeply. David bit his tongue, waiting as the boy handed Jonathan the quiver. The prince pulled out an arrow and sent it flying high over the target. He gestured for the boy to run and bring it back. With a questioning look at the remaining arrows, the boy raced off.

“Practicing with you seems to be affecting my accuracy,” Jonathan said, trying to relieve the tension. David ignored the joke.

“Maybe I’m learning bad habits from my father,” Jonathan continued. “He seems to be incapable of hitting a target from ten paces, much less fifty.” Still fuming, David responded with a tight smile, though he hated remembering the incident in the king’s chamber. “Anyway, with your marriage on the horizon, Father has smelled an opportunity. I’m afraid that he intends to use your desire to impress your betrothed against you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He expects you to be too proud to request support, and to go off on your own to prove yourself to Michal.” Jonathan looked at David from the corners of his eyes. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully. “He wants to exploit what some might call a weakness.”

The statement was not an accusation, yet it stung.

“I know you want to earn the dowry price on your own, but we both know that can never happen. So this is what I propose—and this is not an offer: it is an order from your senior commander.” The prince spoke gently, but his words were as weighty and unyielding as iron. There was an angry spark in his eyes. “I will accompany you with thirty of my best men. Father must not find out. If he does, he will use it to call off the wedding.”

Though David was tempted to do so, he couldn’t refuse. Not only because it was a command from the prince but also because the prince was right. There was no way for him to fulfill the quota without Jonathan’s help. He swallowed his resentment and assented as gracefully as possible. “Thank you, Prince,” he began stiffly. “I will admit that I was worried. A giant Philistine is one thing, but taking on one hundred warriors, even with twelve men, is quite another.”

The tightness around Jonathan’s eyes softened. “Yes, I understand completely,” he said, his face expressionless. “Rare is the man capable of facing odds of ten to one—as Asa and I did on Geba.” He gave David’s shoulder a squeeze, unable to hide his grin.

“They were drunk!” David protested. “And you surprised them from behind! Half were dead before they realized they were under attack.” He knew Jonathan was needling him, but he was still indignant. “This is completely different.”

Jonathan raised both hands as if fending off blows. “Keep it down, Captain. I was only making a joke. Don’t let your temper get us both in trouble.” Putting his arm around David’s shoulder, he drew their heads together. “Are you calmed down yet?” He did not wait for a response. “Good. My advice to you is not to take yourself so seriously. Anyway, Abner will have men reporting back to Father, so we will have to be careful. In three days, you will leave Gibeah with your squad. Two days earlier, I will have headed out with my best men in the opposite direction on a scouting mission. We will meet up in the valley near Aijalon. That is the closest concentration of Philistines and the easiest for us to attack.”

The boy ran up and handed Jonathan the arrow. “Koniah, we are done for the day. You may report back to Sisha.” When the boy had left, Jonathan motioned for David to walk with him back to the palace. On the way, he gave David a detailed explanation of his strategy.

“But how will we gain access to the gate?” David asked.

Jonathan winked slyly. “You will have help.” He refused to say anything more.

When he awoke the next morning, David found that a detailed map of Aijalon had been slipped under his door. David took his men away from the palace to practice the assault and memorize the interior of the Philistine city.

In the late afternoon of the third day, David and Jonathan and their forty-two comrades were in the wooded valley bordering Aijalon. Jonathan repeated the instructions one more time, then pulled David aside. Holding David’s forearm, he drew him close. “Let it not be said that I failed to give my brother-in-law help in his time of need.” David smiled up at him gratefully. Jonathan gave his arm a hard squeeze. “Now we shall see what champions are made of.”

“It will be the stuff of legends,” David responded, trying to keep the trembling excitement out of his voice.

“The stuff of legends,” Jonathan concurred. “And the breastplate and sword look good on you.” David smiled and saluted as the prince waved for six men to follow him toward the summit on which the Philistine stronghold sat. The remainder split and headed off in opposite directions, remaining hidden behind the trees. The plan was for Jonathan to position his party so that they were facing the setting sun, making it easier for the soldiers posted on the walls to see them. Success depended on using the enemy’s shame and hunger for revenge against them.

Once they were spotted and the alarm had sounded, David watched as around three dozen Philistines waving swords rushed out to wreak havoc on the poorly armed Israelites lurking nearby. They pursued them into the woods, where twenty of Jonathan’s men lay in wait. After dispatching their pursuers, Jonathan’s squad would enter the town to assist in collecting trophies until they met up with David’s band.

When the Philistines were in the woods, David led his band of sixteen toward Aijalon, hoping that there would be no surprises. Before leaving Gibeah the prince had explained that he had two men inside the stronghold. They would kill the guards and allow them access into the walled city. The spies must have been successful, for as the Israelites were sixty paces away, the tall gates were already creaking open.

David and his men raced through the opening, swords at the ready. They were met by a wiry man with a face like wrinkled leather. He looked about Jonathan’s age. Like David’s brother Nethanel, he had a braid that almost reached his waist. He made an abrupt motion indicating that they should follow; lifting a finger he issued an unnecessary order to move with speed and quiet. They followed him along a narrow alley with doorways on either side. It was cool and dark. There were no torches on the wall, and the only light was what shone down from the nighttime sky.

Up ahead, they saw a stocky man with a bushy beard turning a sharp corner. His hand held a short knife. Calming them with an emphatic gesture, the wiry man assured the warriors there was no need to worry. He pointed at himself and then at the distant figure. It was Jonathan’s second spy.

David followed closely behind the braided warrior, his men strung out behind him. The spy raised his hand when they came to the center of town. It was a broad, cobblestoned square with larger buildings on each side. Across from them a long, whitewashed two-story structure flanked the western side of the square. From the interior came the sounds of boisterous and profane men eating.

“This is the barracks,” the spy muttered. “Wait for me here.”

He left them without any further explanation, striding confidently across the town center without a trace of worry. He entered the front doorway and a few moments later ambled back out.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered to David. “The dogs are eating their swill. There is another door on the opposite end of the building. No guard is posted there either. Take half your men and enter there; the others will follow me through the front. When you hear me whistle, that will be the signal to enter. Do your work as quietly as possible.”

“How many Philistines are there?” David asked, needing to assert command.

“Forty-six. But they are defenseless. When they eat, they stack their weapons in the corners.” He threw a wary look at the entrance. “We must make haste. They may soon become suspicious.”

“First, tell me your name,” David snapped, keeping his voice quiet.

The spy slung back his braid with an annoyed jerk of his shoulder. “Josheb Bashebeth.”

“Josheb, I am glad to make your acquaintance. I will not forget your help.”

David drew his men around him, dividing them into eight-man squads. “Wait for me,” he whispered. They all nodded.

The nine warriors trotted around to the back, bent over so as not to be seen through the open windows. When they reached the rear entrance, David did not wait for Josheb’s signal but was the first one to race into the room. Eight Israelites followed with their swords aimed low. Josheb and the other men entered from the opposite end of the hall. The Philistines, caught completely by surprise, were quickly overwhelmed. Most died sitting down. David was astonished at the rapidity and savagery of Josheb’s attack. He had grabbed two swords when he ran into the building, and like a lethal cyclone spun his twin blades, cutting down the enemy with an implacable fury.