Warrior Poet (12 page)

David reached over, grabbed the food bag lying next to him, and handed it to the prince. Jahra made a loud coughing sound, and David looked at him. He was shaking his head and jabbing his finger at the road.

David was confused. “What?” he asked, but then the words of the Hebrew captain came to him. “Stop, my prince!” David exclaimed, making a grab for the bag the prince was opening. Jonathan looked up, annoyed.

“Your father made the troops swear that death would come to any soldier who ate food today.”

Jonathan stared at him in surprise. “Are you saying that he forbade the army from taking sustenance this entire day? How did he expect them to be able to drive our enemy into the ocean?” He dropped his head into his hands.

“Oh no,” he moaned. “Today my father has stirred up trouble for the land. How much better it would have been had he allowed the men to refresh themselves; then they would have been able to make a complete end of these rabid dogs.” He took the bag from David. “Well, I have already eaten once this day, so what worse evil could come to me by eating again? If Father wishes to kill me for some honey and a piece of bread and cheese, then so be it.”

Chapter Thirteen

David awoke early to a slightly nauseating odor and the words of a song floating through his mind. He wrinkled his nose, thinking an animal had died near their camp. Then he recalled the bodies lying a stone’s throw away. He did not want to think about what it would be like at midday. They would have to leave before the worst of it.

While he could ignore the smell, he could not disregard an overwhelming impulse. He glanced at his companions; a whistling sound was coming from the prince’s direction. David got quietly to his feet, draping his cloak, damp with dew, around his shoulders.

He walked around Jahra’s bed and saw the strap from the leather pouch underneath his feet. When he pulled at it, he heard a muffled groan. Before straightening up, he lifted the corner of the cloak, and his heart dropped into his stomach. The swelling had moved past Jahra’s ankle, and an angry purplish welt extended up his leg. It did not seem possible that it had been caused by the mauling weeks ago, but whatever the cause, Jahra needed immediate help. David decided to let them both rest one more hour before he returned to pack up.

Carrying the harp in his hand, David made his way into the woods. He followed the path the prince’s horse had taken a day earlier. It took him to a small glen with several moss-covered rocks in the center. He sat down on the largest, running his fingers through the green carpet beneath him. He took out the harp and held it in his lap. His left forefinger plucked awkwardly at a string. He was catching hints of a tune and needed to find where it was hiding inside this unfamiliar instrument. His fingers had yet to catch up to the music that, since Samuel’s anointing, had begun bubbling up inside him. Despite his ineptness, he felt an odd excitement, like the buzzing of insects under his fingertips.

He struggled for a while, searching for the right union of notes and rhythm and finally found one combination that he wanted, then another. His excitement was building into a tentative joy. The song began to fit together, awkwardly at first, then more smoothly. It was simple, childish even, but it was lovely and pure and fit perfectly with the words of supplication with which he’d awakened.

Yahweh, let my words come to Your ears,

spare a thought for my sighs.

Listen to my cry for help,

my King and my God!

I sing this prayer to You, Yahweh,

For at daybreak You listen for my voice

and at dawn I hold myself in readiness for You.

I watch for You.
14

The horizon was now streaked with red and gold and slivers of purple. David’s eyes glistened, and his throat tightened as it brought to mind his friend’s painful injury. The words of supplication rose on their own:

Yahweh, do not punish us in Your rage

or reprove us in the heat of anger.

Take pity on us, Yahweh, on those who have no strength left.

Bring healing to the bones that are in torment.

Yahweh, how long will You be?
15

Swallowing hard, he grew still and allowed the song’s ending to take shape, like a figure emerging from the fog.

There is joy for all who take shelter in You,

endless shouts of joy!

Since You protect the weak, they exult in You,

those who love Your name.

Yahweh, it is You who bless the virtuous;

Your favor is like a shield covering them.

You are a shield that protects the upright of heart.

God the righteous judge,

slow to show His anger.

A God who is always enraged by those who refuse to repent.

I give thanks to Yahweh for His righteousness,

I sing praise to the name of the Most High.
16

There was a moment of silence as David caught his breath, flexing his left hand, unused to the strange exertions on the harp. He pulled up the cloak that had slid off his shoulders, and as he did, he saw Jonathan leaning against a tree trunk behind him. David felt his face grow warm.

“I see it did not take long,” the prince said, walking toward him.

David looked at him inquisitively.

“To weave another song out of nothing.”

The harp felt suddenly heavy and awkward in his hands. He shrugged. “It was not much.” He was afraid to meet the prince’s eyes. “It was so … simple, a child’s song. Jahra could have done much better.”

“Maybe so,” Jonathan said, sitting next to him. “But to me it was perfect.” He reached down to his belt and pulled out a dagger.

David stiffened. Word of the king’s erratic behavior and cruelty had filtered throughout Judah. Perhaps Jonathan was as unstable as his father.

“Relax,” Jonathan said, laughing. “I don’t know what you have heard about the royal family, but we are not given to cold-blooded murder—not all of us, at least. And we have not killed a musician yet, that I know of. Though perhaps we should have.”

He held the hilt out to David. “Let me be the first to present you with a gift for your gift,” he said, his face growing serious. “If I am any judge, this will not be the last.”

David took the knife, feeling foolish. It was obvious that he had little skill with the harp. He stared at the elegant weapon with its ebony handle and thin, dangerous blade. Resting on his palm, it made his calloused fingers look thick and ugly. The prince was merely being kind. Despite this, a warm glow spread through him. He felt stupid and naive but could not help also feeling a little proud.

“How old are you?” Jonathan asked.

“Nineteen,” David said, straightening his back. He could tell, taking a quick glance, that his head barely reached Jonathan’s shoulder.

“I guessed you to be about the same age as my little sister.”

“What is her name?”

“Michal.” Jonathan seemed to be examining David’s reaction as he said the word.

David tried to meet his eye and show only polite interest.

“Like you, she is quite spirited,” Jonathan said. “Father favors her over Merab, who is several years her senior.” He laughed ruefully. “We all agree that Michal is a bit spoiled. She can get Father to do anything she wants.”

David wanted to find out more but could not think of the right questions to ask. He racked his mind for an oblique inquiry, then blurted out in a flash of inspiration, “Do you resemble each other?”

Jonathan turned his head, his eyebrows arched. He smiled slightly.

David groaned inside and kept his eyes fixed on the dagger in his hand.

“As it happens,” the prince responded, “she is much prettier and considerably shorter.” He pushed up the bandage on his head, which was slipping down over one eye. “Let me put it this way: she is what is known in our area as a head turner.” He looked David over appraisingly. “I would guess that she is just a bit taller than you, though. That is the burden my sisters carry, which of course they blame—and rightfully so—on our father. Merab is convinced that it is the sole reason for her lack of suitors.” His voice grew thoughtful. “I know better.”

David could not hold back the question. “If I may ask, what
is
the problem?”

Jonathan looked around the glen, as if searching for lurking spies. “They are terrified of my father, afraid that at any moment he might go into a frenzy, and that they will feel the sharp end of his spear.”

David felt a wave of defensiveness. “Certainly they are not put off by King Saul’s temper?” he said. “I would think anyone would be honored to be near him.” He hesitated, then pressed forward. “I certainly would be.”

“Bravo!” Jonathan exclaimed, clapping David on the back. “A faithful subject. I salute you.” There was a trace of sarcasm in the prince’s voice and a hardness in his eyes. “My father will love you.”

David’s eyes narrowed.

Jonathan said, “What is it? Does the idea shock you?”

David decided to ask about something else that had been troubling him. “What will happen to you when you see him?”

Jonathan nodded. “You mean about the curse? I have no idea. It depends on the mood of the moment. If he is in full battle cry, then I imagine I will lose my head. Or he may impale me instead.”

Hearing these words made David’s head spin. His world seemed to be shifting sideways. He was in the middle of something much bigger than he was, something that in dark, mysterious ways might be extremely hazardous.

“But you are his son. You don’t really think he would carry out the oath against you?”

Jonathan only gave him a sidelong glance. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see. You may still get to witness the most violent mood swings in the kingdom.” Turning toward David, he lowered his voice. “I am afraid my father is very sick. His rages are so terrible, he has become a danger to himself as well as to his family, and to the entire—” Jonathan stopped himself, swearing under his breath.

“But you were not even aware of the oath,” David protested, “and your victory over the Philistine garrison will certainly give him reason to forgive you.”

Jonathan barked a mirthless laugh. “It could just as well have the opposite effect. He’s become suspicious of everyone—and that includes me. When the blackness is fully upon him, he is convinced we all are conspiring to steal the throne.” He fingered the lump on his temple. “I think Michal is the only one he fully trusts.” Jonathan’s voice thickened. “You would think a father would be proud, wouldn’t you? But not him.” He let out a slow breath. “I stopped caring a long time ago about what he thought of me.”

“I understand,” David murmured, tracing his fingertip over the design on the dagger’s handle.

Jonathan’s gaze changed focus and turned toward David, as if he were seeing him for the first time. David looked up, and their eyes locked. Jonathan rested a hand on his shoulder. “What I did at Geba, I did for me and for the army. It had nothing to do with pleasing that frightened old man.” He let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I feel sorry for him. He seems to be in such great pain, and when it is over, he looks almost … ashamed.” The muscles along his jawline throbbed. “But at other times, I think I would like to—” He stopped, staring at his clenched fists.

Needing to keep his hands busy, David slid the dagger into his belt and waited for the prince to continue.

When he resumed, there was concern in Jonathan’s voice. “This talk of illness reminds me. Your friend—Jahra, isn’t it?—is not doing well. He needs a physician. We need to take him to Ahimelech. He is with the army.”

“Is he the high priest who serves at the tabernacle?” David asked.

“Yes.” Jonathan shook his head in disgust. “It’s gotten so bad with my father that he won’t set foot outside of Gibeah without bringing Ahimelech and his ephod along for divination.” He flicked his hands in frustration. “Regardless, the priest is adept at medicine. He will know how to treat the injury.”

“Thank you, my prince,” David said, impetuously scrambling to his feet. Embarrassed that he’d forgotten about his friend, he began jogging toward their camp.

Jonathan caught up to him as they came out of the woods. “Jahra will ride with me on my horse.” The friendly warmth had been replaced with a note of command. “You are a runner and can keep pace beside us.” The look on his face was that of one preparing to face a death sentence.

David could not believe King Saul would harm his son, but something had shifted beneath him. He no longer knew what to expect from the man who’d been his childhood hero.

Chapter Fourteen

Jahra was sitting up when they arrived. His face was a little flushed, but his spirits seemed high. The long rest had been good for him. He had used the time alone to wrap his leg. David felt his forehead. It was still warm. “Sit there while we break camp,” David ordered.

By the time they were ready to leave, it was no longer possible to ignore the sound of the buzzing flies. Fortunately a breeze was blowing the smell away from them.

“It should not take long,” Jonathan assured David, who was standing next to the horse’s flank after helping Jahra find his seat behind the prince. “Without food, the army could not have gotten beyond Aijalon. We should arrive in the late afternoon.”

They headed west, skirting the bottleneck. The dried grass beaten down by thousands of feet resembled the aftermath of an animal stampede. On low branches were long strips of cloth hanging like colorful banners. It took a few moments for David to realize they were the remains of turbans torn from the heads of fleeing mercenaries. As David and his companions passed by, Jahra pulled the strips loose and placed them in a pile between him and the prince.

Winding back to the road leading to the Philistine cities, they heard stamping and whinnying. A small herd of horses was massed in the road ahead. Some still had wide eyes, having not yet recovered from the frenzied rout. They all trailed bridles with the characteristic brass Philistine rings. A muscled bay with jet-black mane and a black sock on her left hind leg was standing a few paces away from the others. She stared at them with quiet, intelligent eyes.

David opened the food sack and pulled out their remaining loaf. The bay widened her nostrils, tossed her head, and began moving toward him. Walking carefully toward her, he held out his hand in front of him, his palm open. She stopped an arm’s length away, then lowered her head, stretched forward, and with dainty lips took the bread from him. When she had finished, she made no objection as he leaped onto the padded saddle on her back.

“Excellent! You won’t be slowing down the pace any longer,” Jonathan said. “Now it should take us only a few hours.” He looked ahead, as if visualizing their route. “We will pass by Kiriath Jearim first and then, heading west, should make contact with the army soon thereafter.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there to at least be near the ark,” David said, finding his balance on the trotting horse.

“So have I,” Jonathan responded. “Each time I’ve asked for permission to visit, Father’s answer is always the same: ‘We are professional fighting men, not sightseers.’ And when he moved the tabernacle he would never explain why he did not order the ark to be returned to the holy place.”

“I’m sure he had good reasons,” David said defensively.

Jonathan merely shrugged.

“My father certainly appreciated it when the tabernacle was moved,” David went on. “It cut our travel time in half. He hates traveling outside of Judah. For him, traveling into Benjamin to make sacrifice was almost an act of disloyalty.”

Jahra turned sideways and gave David a broad smile.

“For years I assumed the ark was inside,” David said. “I even went up to the high priest to ask him about it. I remember looking at his big white turban and thinking he was wearing a cloud on his head.”

Both Jonathan and Jahra laughed.

“I asked him whether it was possible to see the ark, and he explained that it was far away in a town near the border of Dan and Benjamin, being cared for by Eleazar, the son of a rich man named Abinadab.”

“I have met him,” Jonathan said. “He’s been to Gibeah several times. He takes his role as keeper of the ark very seriously, certainly much more seriously than my father does.”

“I’ve heard different stories about how the ark wound up in Kiriath,” David said. “Do you know what actually happened?”

Before answering, Jonathan unstopped the water bottle hanging from his saddle, took a drink, then handed it to Jahra. When Jahra was finished, he passed it to David. “After the army’s defeat at the battle of Ebenezer,” Jonathan said, “the Philistines captured the ark and destroyed Shiloh. They carried it back with them to Ashdod and displayed it inside Dagon’s temple.”

“A merchant told me Dagon was the most ridiculous idol he’d ever seen,” David added. “He said it was huge and had the face of an angry fish.”

Jonathan nodded. “Well, those uncircumcised fools thought they had humiliated the God of Israel, but the next morning they found Dagon facedown in front of the ark.”

David hooted with delight.

“They set it back up,” Jonathan continued, “but when they returned the following day, their fish-god was on the ground again, this time with its head broken off.”

“And his hands, too,” David added.

“That’s the way I heard it. They were broken off at the wrists across the temple’s threshold,” Jonathan agreed. “Ever since, those who enter to worship are still required to step over the threshold.” He pressed his fingertips to his forehead in disbelief. “They don’t seem to have realized that Yahweh exposed Dagon as an impotent fraud.”

“Is it true that the capture of the ark was the reason why your father became king?” David asked.

Jonathan took a moment to answer. “Something like that. The Philistines put it in a cart and let oxen take it out of their territory. The elders had a meeting with Samuel in Abinadab’s field, where the oxen had decided to stop. It was there that they told Samuel they did not want his sons to become judges. So I think it was their mistrust, combined with shame at their defeat, that prompted them to demand a king.”

The prince grew quiet. Staring into the distance, he said, “If I ever become king, I will bring the ark to Nob.”

“If you do, maybe you can give me permission to take a look at it,” David said, smiling at the thought.

“You are aware that it is dangerous, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” David responded. He could not help showing off his knowledge to the older man. “But the Lord struck down those seventy men because they looked inside. I would be happy just to look from a distance.”

David had been so intent on his conversation with the prince that he had not been paying attention to his friend. “Jahra!” he shouted, noticing that he was sliding sideways off the saddle. Kicking his mare forward, he reached out his hand to steady him.

Jahra’s head jerked up, and he instinctively grabbed Jonathan’s waist. His face was covered in sweat. David was going to suggest another drink, but it was clear that the bag was empty.

“How much farther to Kiriath?” David yelled, his hand on his friend’s back. Jahra’s skin was burning.

“Not far,” Jonathan responded.

“Let’s stop there to get some water.”

Jonathan did not object. They urged their horses forward and soon found themselves approaching the outskirts of the town that housed the ark of the covenant. It was a collection of no more than thirty houses. Large flat fields with ripening wheat in straight rows spread out around the homes. But what caught David’s eye was the large, hide-covered tent that loomed in the field farthest away. It stood alone on a small rise like an immense square mushroom.

As they drew closer, they saw scores of canopies and tents, with hundreds of soldiers milling about the empty field.

“It looks like I overestimated the army’s progress,” Jonathan said. Then, looking around at the tents, he growled, “The army has also grown considerably since last I saw it. A routed enemy inspires amazing courage among those lacking the stomach for battle.” He spit in disgust. “Let’s go find the physician.”

David thrust his heel into his horse’s flank, blocking the prince’s way. Jonathan pulled back on the reins, annoyance on his face.

“My prince, no one need know,” David said in a low voice, looking into the indignant eyes. “Jahra and I will not say a word. You have our oath.”

Understanding his meaning, Jonathan’s expression softened. “My thanks to you, friend. But it cannot be kept hidden. The ephod,” the prince muttered, pressing his heels into his horse’s side and brushing past the bay. “It reveals what is concealed.”

A soldier guarding the perimeter of the camp scrambled to his feet when he saw the prince approach. He had a florid, bulbous nose and cheeks that looked as if they had been burned by the sun. David saw his foot nudge a wine bag under a Philistine shield. Saluting, he lifted his spear out of the way to let Jonathan and David proceed.

“Is Ahimelech the priest in his tent?” Jonathan snapped as they rode past.

“No, my prince,” the soldier answered, bleary eyes bulging. “He is taking care of the wounded over there.” He gestured toward a large willow tree about thirty paces from the tent that held the ark. Over a dozen soldiers were reclining on beds beneath it.

“There!” Jonathan yelled, pointing at a man wearing a white tunic and the traditional rounded turban on his head. “Hold on,” he told Jahra as he and David launched into a canter.

Ahimelech was a stooped man with a graying beard that flowed over his priestly vestment. Next to him was a slim young man with a carefully trimmed beard. He was dressed in a robe that was impossibly white. He noticed them first and drew back as the prince approached.

The priest was hunched over, looking at a wound, and so was startled when the prince called out his name. His eyes grew large, and he nervously adjusted his turban as the prince reined in his horse and jumped down in front of him. Pushing a soldier off a cloak, Jonathan lifted Jahra from the horse and laid him on it.

“He needs water immediately,” Jonathan told the priest. “He also has a serious wound. Treat him.”

“Yes, my prince. It will be my pleasure,” murmured the man in oiled tones, giving the prince an odd look. His hands were rubbing the folds of his linen tunic nervously.

David detected a hint of guilt on the priest’s face.

“May Yahweh be praised that He kept you safe,” Ahimelech said, speaking with his eyes averted. “We all expected the worst.” Lifting his gaze a little, he gestured at the cloth around Jonathan’s head. “May I be allowed to look at your injury?”

Jonathan waved him away, already walking toward his father’s tent. “Get someone to take care of our horses,” he ordered. “David, you come with me; I want to introduce you to my father.”

David’s breath left him momentarily.

The king’s guards recognized Jonathan from a distance. As he approached, they stood at rigid attention. Before he was upon them, the door flap snapped open, and General Abner burst out. David had seen him on several occasions when he’d brought his brothers food from home. He strode toward them, his stocky body rolling from side to side—a stout vessel breaking through swells.

“My prince,” he hailed, “welcome back.” His voice was hearty, but the pleasure in it did not rise to his eyes. He grabbed Jonathan’s forearm; then he looked at David, and his expression hardened. “You stay here!” He barged ahead, pointing Jonathan toward a tent.

Jonathan ignored him. “He is coming with me.” He waved for David to follow them, ignoring the general’s protests.

Abner snapped something at his guards, who saluted and opened the door into what David assumed were the general’s quarters. When they were inside, Abner spun and looked pointedly at them. Jonathan cut him off. “Abner, this is David; he is the cousin of Manoah and the brother of Eliab, from Bethlehem.” He placed his hand on David’s shoulder. “If it were not for him, I would not be here.”

David was disappointed by Abner’s response. He nodded distractedly and grunted; then, as if needing time to weigh his words, he turned and walked to a carved chair on which hung a belt and sword. He touched the worn leather meditatively and fastened it around his waist. With his back toward them, he took a wide stance, his arms crossed behind him. Something in his posture was disconcerting. David met Jonathan’s eyes. The prince merely nodded inscrutably.

The temperature inside the tent seemed to have dipped precipitously. David saw Jonathan spread his feet a bit wider and stiffen as Abner did a sudden about-face. There was no pleasure in his countenance, and the lines along his cheeks had deepened. He had reached some decision and was ready to execute it.

Looking directly at the prince, Abner spoke in tones drained of emotion. “My prince, the king has ordered your arrest.” He unclasped his arms and without any attempt at concealment rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword. “In the event of your return, I was instructed to place you under guard immediately.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, placing his hand on his own sword.

“I would not recommend that, my prince,” growled the general. “My men await my signal.”

If the prince’s eyes had been spears, Abner would have been pinned to the tent’s center post. “Is this about my father’s foolish oath?”

Abner nodded uncomfortably. “This morning, he had the priest make sacrifice and consult the ephod. He wanted assurance about pursuing the Philistines into their territory. When there was no response, Ahimelech consulted the Urim and Thummim. The Urim fell on you.”

Jonathan’s knuckles whitened on the sword hilt.

“Your father was enraged. He swore in front of the army that you were doomed to die.” Abner’s nostrils flared. “I am—very sorry, Prince Jonathan.”

At that moment, a cluster of spear points burst into the tent, followed by five guards. Jonathan did not move. Out of the corners of his eyes, David saw that the weapons were trained on Jonathan’s back.