Goliath
Alistair Forrest
What others have said about Goliath:
Comments from Harper Collins’ site authonomy.com and the UK Arts Council funded youwriteon.com
“A pacy story with a strong narrative flow and vivid characters”
“Wonderfully told, exciting and imaginative and a thundering good read”
“The deft period setting and dextrous weaving of significant moments without losing any contemporary tension have parallels in Wolf Hall”
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Alistair Forrest, 2010
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Also by Alistair Forrest: Libertas (available in paperback and at Smashwords)
For my son, Sebastian
Israelite tribal territory of Judah, three thousand years ago
PART ONE – BETH LECHEM
Scorn has broken my heart
And has left me helpless;
I looked for sympathy, but there was none,
For comforters, but I found none – Psalm 69:20
1
The most unusual thing about the youth’s last night as a shepherd was an intense display of shooting stars. If he had not been asleep, he would probably have entertained thoughts of signs in the heavens or a message from the gods. He might even have been inspired to play a tune on his reed pipes.
But he did not see the silver needles of light because he was exhausted after three days in the hills behind Beth Lechem where he sought the last of spring’s sweet grass for his sheep and goats.
Apart from his pipes, stored in his pouch with some stale flatbread and the last of the onions, he had a knife and a sling. He travelled light. He always slept with the sling looped around his wrist and the knife stabbed into the ground next to the glowing embers of his campfire. The flock was valuable, signifying his master’s wealth, and losing any lambs to a wolf or a wild cat would put his own wellbeing at risk when he returned to Beth Lechem.
Which was why, when the wildcat coughed and his dog gave a warning growl, he came alert instantly. He scooped up three stones from his stockpile and peered into the darkness, listening beyond the nervous shuffling of his flock.
His body was still as a mantis. A brighter moon would have helped.
The terrified scream of a lamb being clawed brought him to his feet, running now, barefoot on the hard ground. In one movement he armed and swirled the sling but he could not see the target. The flock heaved restlessly around him. The dog ran back towards the dying fire, but he wasn’t relying on the lazy animal.
He saw movement. He thought he could make out the lamb, still struggling, and a darker shape dragging it. He let the stone fly and was loading a second as he heard the muffled yowl of the cat, a sound that told him its jaws had not loosed its prey. The second stone must have flown truer because this time there was more of a screech than a throaty protest as the lynx released the lamb. He briefly saw moonlight reflected in the cat’s eyes as it looked back with indignation, and then it was gone. He fired his last stone into the night and ran to the stricken lamb.
One look at the bloodied neck and torn flank was enough: he took his knife and swiftly finished the job the predator had begun.
The dawn was shy and hesitant like a scolded maidservant. David shouldered the dead lamb and led his flock further up the valley, seeking any remnants of the last rains, hopefully enough pooled water to wash in before the sheep drank it dry. He thought he must smell worse than an old ram.
He kindled a new fire beside the still waters that had collected behind a rocky dam he had made a year ago, fed by a brook. The smoke thinned as the flames caught the dry acacia branches, a signal to Raddai and Elihu with their flocks. Of David’s seven older half-brothers, Raddai was the cruellest but Elihu the more dangerous. Raddai would spit and snarl, call David a turd and thump him as hard as he could. Elihu would give a twisted smile and pretend to be everyone’s friend but behind those cold eyes was a conniving malice that time and again left David desolate and wounded just when he was least expecting it. The bear and the snake. His other half-brothers had long tired of beating him, but for Raddai and Elihu, brutality was their meat and cruelty their drink.
He stripped naked and lay in the shallow water, looking up at the clear sky. Its vastness made him feel dizzy. The chatter of birds and the contented murmurings of the flock dispelled all thoughts of his brothers’ inhumanity.
Still naked, he fed the fire with thicker branches and went in search of nature’s bounty, carrying his trusty knife. Near the brook he found hawkweed and sow thistle for a broth to cleanse the bowels but none of the goat weed that enlivens the mind and drives away evil spirits. Perhaps the goats had been there first. But there were several small lovers’ bushes with their aromatic grey-green needles and tiny pale blue flowers to give the meat flavour.
Watched by his ravenous dog, he skinned the lamb and pegged the fleece to dry in the sun. Insistent horseflies and the first of the day’s languorous hornets began to settle on the bloody carcass so he removed the head and placed it on a rock some distance away to distract them. The dog trotted over and began to lick at severed flesh. David fished in his shepherd’s bag for a stale crust which he tossed to the dog. He could not allow it to acquire a taste for raw meat – the stupid animal would soon equate the taste with the hapless sheep in their care.
He secured the carcass to his fire-hardened staff and, mounting each end on piles of flat stones, watched eagerly as the sacrifice to his hunger began its slow roasting. Darting lizards ran from the fire’s heat and a small asp slithered away in search of a cooler shelter from the coming day’s intensity. David closed his eyes and hummed the simple tune he had been working on during the long nights of vigil.
The meat was almost ready when he sensed a new presence intruding on his secluded oasis. Without moving his body, he half opened his eyes and scanned the surrounding hills. Raddai stood on a slope above with his donkey, his flax halug tied at the waist by an ornate leather and bronze belt, his red hair a beacon of arrogance. If Raddai had come, Elihu would not be far behind.
David’s spirit sank. He knew there was no more sanctuary even in his temple of peace. Especially not from Raddai and Elihu.
He knew better than to speak while Raddai and Elihu used their knives to tear strips from the roasted lamb. They chewed noisily, wiping grease from their mouths on grubby sleeves, and showed no appreciation of the feast. They watched him with dispassionate eyes while they ate, as if daring him to ask the question that burned inside him.
Where was their flock?
He took in the torn robes, the livid scratches on their ankles and forearms and their flattened water skins. It was obvious to David they had both been running, perhaps from bandits and thieves. The animals had been stolen. Raddai’s hot temper would be lurking just beneath his detached demeanour, and David knew better than to open that volcano of malevolent spite. Elihu looked around casually as if admiring the view.
David took his full water skin from the branch of the acacia tree and offered it to Raddai who snatched it with a grunt. While Raddai gulped, David looked at Elihu, searching for signs that his nearest sibling might be in the mood to talk with a measure of respect. For a moment their eyes met, then Elihu shrugged and looked away. Raddai passed the skin to him, and wiped his greasy mouth with his sleeve.
‘They’re moving north.’ Raddai reached for another morsel of meat. In the silence, disturbed only by Raddai’s open-mouthed chewing, David was left to guess what that meant.
‘Who?’ he asked softly.
Raddai stopped eating and looked at him with cold eyes. He spat a glob of fatty gristle onto the fire where it sizzled and hissed.
‘Who knows?’ Raddai shrugged his shoulders. ‘Ammonites, Moabites. Maybe even our so-called brethren from Gad or Benjamin…’
Elihu interrupted. ‘There were hundreds of them—’ but a glare from the older brother silenced him.
‘Our father will want to know who has stolen his sheep,’ said Raddai.
David’s heart sank. He knew what was coming next. Today he was to have returned with his half-brothers and their combined flocks to Jesse’s sprawling estates outside the walls of Beth Lechem, and though his home was a rat-infested corner of the grain store, it was his private place where he kept his few meagre belongings – especially his harp and pipes. But now he suspected he would be sent on a fruitless spying mission.
Raddai was looking at him with one eyebrow raised in mock expectation.
‘I’ll go,’ David sighed. ‘I can see you’ve been faced with hardship and you must be tired.’
‘Good,’ said Raddai with a vague hint of a smile. ‘We’ll wait here for you. They’re about half a day in that direction.’ A lazy wave of his arm indicated north, towards Gilgal and Jericho. ‘Talk to the locals, look for signs in the earth, and make sure you come back with information so that the old man knows exactly who is to suffer at the hand of his wrath.’
All three knew that it was they who faced Jesse’s wrath. Three days ago he had reminded them of their solemn duty to protect the flocks, but now Raddai and Elihu had failed in that duty and none of them could expect to escape his anger. He would fly into a rage, hurl threats and abuse at them, scream that they were piles of dung and worse than a stinking Edomite, but he wouldn’t lay a finger on any of them.
No, that would be left to whichever elder brothers were not away with King Saul’s army. And even Raddai would shrink from them, especially Eliab and Abinadab.
David filled his skin from the brook and picked up his sling and knife, securing them in the twisted hemp cord that served as a belt. He strapped and tied the goatskin sandals and took his food bag to the fire. He stood for a moment looking at Raddai and Elihu where they continued to eat, sprawled lazily in the acacia tree’s shade.
‘How many are they? Truthfully.’
Raddai looked at Elihu, then back to David. ‘At least thirty,’ he said eventually.
‘They killed the dogs with arrows, then rode us down with their camels,’ whined Elihu.
Raddai held up a hand to silence him, keeping his gaze on David. ‘Look, stay out of sight and just find out who they are. We’ll wait for you here, then we’ll report to the old man. He’ll raise a war party in no time, and you can ride with them.’
David’s eyes lit up. Never before had he been included in anything more than shepherding the flocks and backbreaking work in the vineyards and olive groves. Now he was being treated almost as an equal.
He cut some strips of meat and stuffed them into his food bag. He looked around for his dog but it was nowhere to be seen, so he set off at a brisk walk towards the red hills in the north.
2
Samuel, prophet and judge of the tribes of Israel, stood tall in the ornate cart. His silver hair was tied at the nape of his neck with a regal scarf of purple decorated with tiny silver pomegranates and bells. His beard, coloured with henna and luxuriously oiled, had been carefully shaped to square his jaw and enhance the aura of power and strength that had been bestowed on him by his God. A heavy robe hung loose over a blue tunic of fine Egyptian linen and in his hand he held the Staff of Moshe.
He needed no weapon to emphasise his authority – that was provided by the ten youths who rode beside the ox-drawn cart. The people of Beth Lechem had never seen such fine mounts, and neither had Samuel when he had demanded them as a tithe after a brutal skirmish with Aramite raiders. He had selected the strongest youths from his School of the Prophets, armed them, given them the horses and told them that from now on the sword carried as much persuasion as the Word of Yahweh. ‘You are no longer children,’ he told them. ‘You are my anointed warriors and the people are stubborn mules. You will help them to hear the Truth of El Shaddai.’ What he meant, and what the young men understood perfectly, was that nobody, especially not their warlike king, Saul, should ever think twice about obeying their prophet in these changing times when a new god was making his mark among the older gods of Canaan. At first the young riders called themselves The Fist of El Shaddai but this was soon shortened to simply The Fist.
As the driver coaxed the two oxen up the snaking track towards Beth Lechem, Samuel surveyed the small crowd that was gathering at the gates to greet him. He hoped the elders would have observed that this was no trading mission and that refreshments befitting his importance would be provided: it had been a tiring journey from Gibeon and he craved the delicate wine from Beth Lechem’s famed vineyards. As he neared, he observed how poorly dressed the townsfolk were, the men sullen and suspicious, the women ululating their praise, the children wildly enthused by the rarity of armed horsemen and such a large chariot bearing a colourful dignitary.
Samuel held up his hand to halt the procession and the riders of The Fist eased their horses to stand in line facing the gathering crowd, five either side of their master’s cart. The women fell silent and at last the children stood still, expectant. One of the oxen defecated noisily, prompting giggles from some of the children who were instantly hushed by their parents.
‘Send forth Jesse.’ Samuel’s deep resonant voice called for the only Beth Lechemite he had heard of, the farmer and landowner who had provided three well-provisioned sons for King Saul’s last campaign to halt a Philistine advance.
‘I am Jesse.’ A rotund, red-faced man pushed through the crowd and stood looking at Samuel.
‘You are an elder of this town?’
‘Yes.’
Samuel raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘I think you meant to say “Yes Lord” did you not?’
‘Yes Lord,’ said Jesse meekly, and bowed, then looked around at the quizzical faces of those nearest him. He turned back to Samuel. ‘I… we…,’ he stammered, ‘we can all see that you are a great man…’
‘But you don’t know who I am, is that it?’ Samuel permitted himself a half smile as Jesse nodded. He turned to nearest rider and addressed him with a weary tone: ‘Nathan, announce me to these people.’
The youth grinned. His dark hair was cut short in defiance of the accepted custom and his chin showed the first wisps of manhood. But he sat easily in the saddle, suggesting an experience of horsemanship beyond his years.
‘Men of Beth Lechem,’ he began in a scratchy voice, then coughed and deliberately deepened his speech, ‘the Prophet of the Most High has come among you, Samuel the Seer, the Mouth of Elohim, the Voice of El Shaddai, the great…’
‘Enough, enough,’ laughed Samuel. ‘I think they understand now.’
Jesse knelt and put his nose to the dusty ground, the hems of his embroidered robes dragging in the dirt. The nearest men copied him. Those further behind who had not heard Nathan’s rhetoric just looked puzzled.
Jesse lifted his head and spoke to the prophet. ‘Lord Samuel, we are honoured that you have come among us. We beg you to call down God’s mercy upon us and grant us peace and prosperity…’
‘Yes, yes,’ cut in Samuel impatiently. ‘I am sure He will smile upon you. It is, after all is said, the Feast of Shavuoth, and I am sure you and I will celebrate in the customary way.’
Jesse kept his head bowed as he confirmed the people’s enthusiasm for the last day of the Spring celebration. ‘Indeed, the people rejoice in the fat of the land.’
‘Good,’ beamed Samuel. ‘But do you always keep your visitors standing in the sun?’
Jesse leapt to his feet. ‘Our humblest apologies, Lord. I would be honoured if you would stay at my house for as long as you grace us with your presence. Your men, too, can rest in the servant halls.’
Samuel nodded his assent and immediately laughter and chatter filled the air as it began to dawn on the people of Beth Lechem that the man of God might have come in peace and friendship rather than judgement. Relieved, Jesse called for his servants and sent them running to prepare his house for guests, and a calf for a sacrifice to Yahweh.
Only when everyone else had gone did the woman relax her grip on the black linen cloth that had covered her head and face while Jesse and Samuel had been speaking. She had remained in the shadow of Beth Lechem’s wall, hearing everything. She did not share the optimism of the simple townsfolk – they heard only what they wanted to hear – and she did not doubt that the prophet would call down his God’s wrath upon her and Beth Lechem if Jesse drank too much wine and told him who she was. Taking care to avoid contact with anyone, the woman everyone reviled and spat upon, the adulteress, walked slowly towards the hovel that she called home.
Samuel was enjoying the last day of Shavuoth. Jesse wasn’t. It seemed to him that more people than usual had converged on his land for the feast, each family bringing the customary loaf, while Jesse’s household servants served pitchers of fresh milk, huge wooden plates of curds flavoured with herbs, and cakes made with honey and figs. Of course, Samuel and his young warriors expected more than this simple fare and more was grudgingly provided – three of Jesse’s plumpest lambs would not bear wool for his spinners and weavers this year and the prophet had become very partial to his finest wines.
But this was not the only reason Jesse was depressed – his sons Raddai and Elihu had returned with their sheep but so far there was no sign of the lad David with his half of the flock. He was now at least a day late. Jesse cursed himself for entrusting the boy with too much responsibility especially in these dangerous times when the desert tribes were encroaching further into Judah. Beth Lechem’s young soldiers, including his eldest sons Eliab, Abinadab and Shimea, had returned home with tales of enemies on all sides; not only were the heathen warlords learning to band together to raid Hebrew farms in the north, but the Philistines with their iron weapons and superior chariots were pushing inland from their coastal cities. He suspected the prophet had come to summon more of his sons and his farmhands to war.
He ducked into the large tent where his family and guests were feasting and saw Samuel laughing with Eliab while Abinadab and Shimea stood nearby, evidently backing up their elder brother’s ribald tale. A skin was being passed between them, each taking it in turns to hold it high and, with practiced skill, send a looping stream of dark wine into open mouths. Jesse’s younger sons watched with undisguised adoration. He forced a smile to his face and went to play the genial host.
‘Jesse!’ Samuel slapped Jesse on the back. ‘Your table is everything I had expected and more. And this wine… wonderful!’
Jesse inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment – the prophet’s approval could lead to improved trade with neighbouring cities. ‘I’m honoured, Lord. You are most welcome among my people.’
Samuel tossed an almond into his mouth and moved closer to Jesse, crunching noisily on the nut. He put a powerful arm around his host’s shoulders. ‘I have heard good reports of your sons,’ he said conspiratorially, even though they could all hear. ‘They have acquitted themselves well in battle and many men follow them gladly. Saul has noticed this–’
A look of surprise and concern crossed Jesse’s face. It was well known that Israel’s first king was prone to fits of insane jealousy. He had been chosen by popular acclaim mainly because he was a tall, powerful brute. If his sons shone too brightly their light could be suddenly and cruelly extinguished, and they wouldn’t be the first.
‘The world is changing and we have need of such men,’ Samuel was saying, too drunk to notice Jesse’s alarm. ‘There are plentiful opportunities for men such as these.’ He gave Jesse’s shoulder a squeeze and added: ‘Who knows how far they might go, eh?’
Suddenly Jesse saw the possibilities. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, my friend, I do not think that even I know what I mean,’ Samuel laughed, but Jesse noticed that the prophet’s audience had suddenly gone quiet, expectant. ‘These are difficult times and we need leaders, not just men of power and strength, but men who think faster than our enemies.’
‘But surely, Lord, Israel has you to guide them? Also, did not El Shaddai give us Saul?’ Jesse cast a baited hook into the prophet’s murky waters.
‘No, it wasn’t quite like that.’ For a moment, Samuel looked abashed. ‘The people demanded a king. They wanted Israel to be like Edom, or Amalek, or Gath. Saul seemed to me to be just the sort of man they wanted, so I anointed him king. They certainly didn’t want an old man like me leading them into battle!’
There had been many stories about Saul’s rise to power. Some said he was the obvious choice because he was so tall and muscular, while others insisted that God had spoken through the prophet. But it was Saul himself who had ridden on a surge of popularity to remove any doubts that he was the man to subdue Israel’s enemies. The Amonites had besieged an insignificant town near their disputed borders and when the starving residents surrendered, their cruel leader Nahash demanded the right to gouge out the right eye of every male over the age of ten as an example to other Hebrew communities nearby. Saul’s reaction was stunning and effective. He butchered two of his oxen and sent runners with the bloody, stinking pieces to all parts of Israel and threatened to do the same to their cattle if they didn’t send their best men to join his campaign. The result was that a massive army turned up within a week and drove off the Amonites with a brutality equal to their threats against their intended victims.
‘What of Saul now?’ Jesse asked. ‘We have heard that his host is stronger than ever.’
‘Oh yes, but a powerful army doesn’t make a good king.’ Samuel was pensive, looking at Eliab with admiration. ‘Saul is fearless, and his men feed on his courage. That’s all very well when our enemies expect nothing more than a rabble of Hebrew farmers opposing them with sickles and mattocks. Bravery alone is not enough. A king needs cunning.’
Jesse followed Samuel’s gaze as the prophet looked at his eldest son. ‘And you are already looking for alternatives?’
Samuel frowned. ‘Absolutely not. I anointed Saul as king, and I will not tear down a building that doesn’t yet have a roof on it!’ He paused, and winked at Jesse. ‘But who knows what God will do about it…?’
Jesse laughed nervously. ‘Well,’ he said, trying to show a confidence that he did not feel, ‘perhaps we can give God a little help. I have seven sons you might like to introduce to Him…’
The woman pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders as the last of the sun slid away leaving a crimson stain behind the western hills. She listened to the laughter swelling from Jesse’s huge black tent, the pipes and hand drums inflaming the harvest celebrations in gratitude to Ba’al, Ashtoreth, Yahweh, Dagon, the sun, the moon and above all Jesse’s wine.
She closed her eyes and thought achingly of the days when she had sat at Jesse’s right hand at such feasts, the servants eager to do her bidding, her young children as boisterous and playful as puppies. The days before Jesse had put her away, choosing instead his maidservant Kerith. Beautiful, elegant Kerith. The will of God, and of the Law. So he had said, and she had accepted his word. How much worse would it have been had not Kerith been as much a reluctant victim as she.
‘Nitsevet,’ Kerith had whispered in the shadows where nobody could guess at their conspiracies, ‘Nitsevet, you will always be in my heart. I am still sworn to you, and always will be.’
And now, after all those years of pain, she felt a familiar disturbance in her spirit. As if war between the petty gods of Canaan was right now being fought within her own body, bringing with it a strange sickness and a throbbing pain in her temple. She had borne eight sons and all of them had wrenched her frail body with a brutal force that made her old before her time and crushed her gentle spirit like the grain beneath Beth Lechem’s millstones. But now the pain was a blade through her heart, and though she did not know what it was, she could not dismiss the feeling that her youngest child was in danger.
Nitsevet forced herself to her feet and pulled the tattered drape aside so she could watch the road one last time in the dying light. The road that led from the valley pastures where David always took his flock. She could make out the shadowy shapes of the town’s guards preparing their night fire at the ford, and the unmistakable bulk of Raddai who had no doubt been sent by Jesse to keep watch for the last of his returning sheep. The sound of their chatter floated across the still evening air as Raddai handed the soldiers a wineskin and squatted beside them. Nitsevet had tried to like Raddai, with his big brown eyes and unruly red hair, but he was no different from his older brothers, always fighting and talking of joining Saul’s army where only the toughest and cruellest survived.
The god of pain twisted the knife in her heart and her shoulders slumped under the weight of failure.
3
The hermit saw everything. His eyes were sharp and his mind alert to every nuance of nature, every movement of men on the plains below his cave, and every whisper of Yahweh. Elhanan sensed David’s approach even before he saw him, and smiled to himself. He was not an old man like the frenzied prophets of Naioth, though many travellers mistook his dirty ragged clothes and wild greying hair as the uniform of either a holy one or a madman. Either way, the eyes that sparkled now at the youth’s approach always won him respect and usually a small amount of food.
Wrapping his stained woollen cloak around him and raising the hem above his knees, Elhanan picked his way among the stones and boulders into the dim recesses of the cave to prepare what little food he had to share with his guest. By the time David had begun his climb to the hermit’s home he had spread a feast of three dried figs, half a round of flat bread, stale to the point of being brittle, and a chipped flagon of sour wine, less than half full. All gifts from passing traders in exchange for news of bandits and armies, and a word from whichever god they believed was speaking through him. He clasped his hands together in a brief gesture of thanksgiving and went back to the mouth of the cave where he sat on a smooth rock to wait for the lad.
David knelt before Elhanan and clutched at the cloak’s dirty hem. Breathing heavily with the climb’s exertions, he said nothing for a few moments but his bowed head and the tremor of Elhanan’s hand on his hair did not need the abrasion of words. David loved the hermit. He found his company peaceful and at the same time entertaining: though the pastures nearby were sparse and inadequate, he often led his flocks to this parched, rocky place where he could drink from Elhanan’s refreshing madness. Although he knew his name, David always called him Barak out of respect, using the term for worship, even when Elhanan chided him for overdoing it.
But this time David’s visit served a purpose other than learning or entertainment, so when Elhanan asked him where were his sheep and goats he frowned and looked up into those mysterious eyes.
‘My brothers are looking after them, Barak.’
Elhanan shifted his position on his hard seat. ‘Why?’
‘Theirs have been stolen, and they sent me to find out who did this so we can win them back.’
Elhanan studied the ruddy youth’s face as if seeing beyond the unlined skin and doleful eyes to the soul beneath. David could not hold such a gaze and he blinked, then looked away, so the sage playfully roughed the boy’s hair.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘help me up and we’ll eat at my bounteous table.’
David grinned, and reached for the food bag that was attracting the attention of several large flies. ‘This will make it even more bounteous, Barak, roasted only this morning.’
Elhanan opened the bag and breathed in the herbal aroma of the sweet lamb. ‘Truly a feast fit for a king,’ he laughed.
While they ate, David probed Elhanan with questions about Raddai’s sheep and drew a blank. No flocks had passed in many days and no marauding bandits. Just the occasional caravan of camel-mounted traders with no more than a dozen goats to provide meat on their long journey to Egypt or the great cities in the North.
But no stolen sheep.
As David began to realise he had been sent in the wrong direction by Raddai and Elihu, Elhanan asked questions about Beth Lechem and Jesse’s riches – his trade was information and travellers paid good morsels of food for gossip told with a flourish and not a little embellishment. Then he asked about David’s seven half-brothers. What news of the army? How many of them were enlisted? Were they respected in Beth Lechem?
And then, with a tug of his earlobe: ‘Why do you call them brothers?’
David was surprised at the question. He hesitated, then said thoughtfully: ‘Because they are my mother’s issue.’
‘Do they treat you like a brother?’ Elhanan let the question float like specks of dust in a shaft of sunlight. When David shook his head and looked down, he continued: ‘How is your mother treated? By Jesse, and your brothers?’
‘Jesse lets her live in peace with his servant women,’ replied David, ‘but she is scorned by her sons and just about everyone in Beth Lechem, so she hides herself away. She never speaks of what happened, not even to me. She will not even discuss it.’
‘Do you know what happened?’ Elhanan’s tone was gentle, compassionate.
‘If the gossip is true, she took a lover and then I was born. But she had been set aside by Jesse, so I cannot understand why she is so reviled.’
‘And they revile you too? That’s not uncommon.’
‘Yes,’ David said quietly. ‘But I don’t care. It’s when they are cruel to her that I become angry.’
‘What are you thinking when you are angry?’
David thought for a moment, then admitted: ‘I think I would like very much to kill them.’
‘And …?’
‘What can I do? They beat me and they spit at my mother.’ David’s eyes misted.
With a sigh, Elhanan swatted at a pestering fly and reached for the wine flagon. He filled both cups, handing one to David. ‘What else?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What else do you think?’
‘That I will leave Beth Lechem with its spiteful people, then I won’t be beaten by my brothers and given the worst jobs by Jesse.’
Elhanan nodded slowly, as if at last the boy was beginning to see his destiny.
‘Why don’t you?’ he asked.
David shrugged. He had often thought of running away. There was nothing to keep him at Beth Lechem. Nothing, apart from his mother.
‘For her,’ he said quietly. ‘For Nitsevet.’
David picked up the tracks of a large flock to the south of the brook where Raddai and Elihu had sent him on a false trail. He had slept uneasily on the cave floor and had left before dawn, leaving Elhanan to sleep off the effects of his churlish wine. He easily found Raddai’s camp at the pastures he knew his half-brother preferred, saw where the broken ground and droppings moved away south, then the telltale spoor of several camels, their hoof marks deep enough to indicate armed riders moving at speed. David knew he had been sent in the wrong direction, but why? The raiders would be long gone, with Jesse’s sheep.
He set out for his camp at a trot, the sun strengthening in a cloudless sky to send rivers of sweat running down his back and chest, the dust clinging to his ankles, his lungs aching with each burning breath. Eventually, panting for air, he reached the hill where two days earlier Raddai and Elihu had stood to look down on his makeshift camp. Near the burnt out fire, three vultures picked over the carcass of the lamb he had roasted.
But there were no sheep.
It wasn’t difficult to creep into Beth Lechem before dawn. Every one of the guards snored heavily with the effects of Shavuoth’s revelry. There were no women at the well and barely anyone about their business inside the walls.
He scratched at his mother’s door and called softly. ‘Mother, it’s me, David.’
Nitsevet eased the wooden latch and embraced her son. She held his face with long, bony fingers that had once been young and strong, and kissed him again and again until he drew back, embarrassed and annoyed at her attentions. She looked over his grimy tunic then back to his dirty face and was about to speak when he put his fingers to his lips.
‘They mustn’t know I’m here,’ he whispered.
‘Who…? Why?’ A look of concern crossed her face.
‘Raddai and Elihu. Maybe all of them. They’ve tricked me. Their flock was taken by bandits or maybe desert raiders and they sent me to look for them and now…’
‘Sshhh,’ said Nitsevet quietly, ‘slow down. Come, sit with me and have some food, what little I have. I doubt they will look for you here.’
She led him to an old couch that served as her only place to sit or sleep, then fetched a pitcher of water and the last of a small barley loaf from a wooden box she kept in the corner of her gloomy room.
‘Now then, tell me everything that happened.’
David recounted the events of the last few days. Then he asked: ‘Have you heard anything here about half of Jesse’s flocks being stolen?’
‘No,’ replied Nitsevet softly, ‘but that doesn’t mean anything. You know I keep myself away from the family as much as possible.’
‘But if the feast continued as if nothing untoward has happened, that must mean that Raddai and Elihu have returned with my sheep. They’ve pretended they were theirs, and are just waiting for me to walk into their trap. Jesse will be furious and he won’t listen to me. He always believes his sons, whatever they say or do.’
Nitsevet looked at him, her eyes damp with new tears. His long unkempt hair was dark with a reddish glow, his skin suntanned and pure apart from a small scar that ran past the corner of his right eye. He was smaller than her other sons though wiry and athletic, an asset that she knew had saved him from trouble on numerous occasions. Despite his energy and his enthusiasm for life, there was something dark and brooding behind those unusual blue eyes – David had never enjoyed the innocence of childhood and for that Nitsevet blamed herself. He had been conceived in deception and his life was her lie. It was tearing her apart.
‘You are old enough now,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t want to lose you, but sometimes—’
‘No! I will not run.’ His tone was sharper than he had intended as he pulled away from her.
‘I’m not suggesting you run like a fleeing slave,’ Nitsevet said firmly. ‘I think it’s best that you find your happiness away from here, away from all this… this unpleasantness.’
‘To do that I would have to sneak away like a thief in the night…’
‘Yes, perhaps. But you can return a man. El Shaddai will look after you, like he did with Abram and Moshe…’
David snorted. ‘God hasn’t done very well for us thus far, has he? Look what he’s given you, once the noble wife of a great man who now treats you no better than one of his goats. Why? Because he preferred the company of his Canaanite maidservant…’
The slap across David’s face stung bitterly, silencing him. ‘Don’t you dare…’ she began, but then stopped herself. In a crude way, he had spoken the truth – Jesse had used the Law to put aside his spent and tired wife and elevate a servant girl from his bed to a place of honour at his table. But she had always loved Jesse and so did the people of Beth Lechem, so she would never do anything to embarrass him – like reveal the truth about what had happened between herself and Kerith, her only friend.
David looked away so that Nitsevet wouldn’t see the pain of her slap. He studied his hands, roughed and calloused from his outdoor life. A shepherd’s hands. No rings like the gaudy jewellery his brothers wore, no gifts from a wealthy father, no bracelets and no oil for his hair. He picked absently at the black dirt under his fingernails and wrestled with the burden that first Elhanan and now his mother had placed upon him. But would it be so bad to start again, to leave Beth Lechem and discover the freedom that had always been denied him?
‘It’s your time now,’ Nitsevet whispered, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘There’s nothing for you here.’
‘Only you…’
‘Then do this for me.’
‘But who will look after you?’
Nitsevet smiled. ‘Oh I’ve managed so far. It’ll be all right, you’ll see. After all, Jesse swore to protect me after—’
‘I don’t know how you can trust him or his evil sons! They’d sooner see you cast out like a witch. Or worse.’
‘No David, not Jesse. My sons don’t know any better, but Jesse is a man of his word.’
David scoffed. ‘He’s just a fat old man who drinks far too much wine. Who did he take to his bed last night when he was too drunk to know whether it was a girl or a boy?’
Nitsevet looked away, ashamed that her son was right. Then she turned to him, suddenly alarmed. ‘David? He hasn’t… not you—?’
‘Oh he tried once. Not so long ago. But as I have said, he drinks too much and it was easy to slip away. He probably didn’t remember anything about it in the morning.’
Horrified, Nitsevet put her hands to her face and stared through her fingers at him. She blinked rapidly, disbelieving, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint. ‘That’s another reason why you must leave,’ she pleaded.
‘But there are men like Jesse everywhere,’ he protested. ‘Besides, I can look after myself.’
‘I don’t doubt that.’
‘Why don’t you come with me?’
Nitsevet managed a smile. ‘The last thing you need is your frail old mother hanging onto your cloak like lumpy baggage. No, you must go alone and find your own way. Take care choosing your friends, find work, and come back your own man. I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘If you will not come with me, then tell me you will keep away from Jesse’s sons. You know what they are like, and what the priests are like. It only takes one idle accusation and—’
‘And what?’ Nitsevet interrupted. ‘There hasn’t been a stoning for years and I have committed no offence before God.’
‘I know that but there seem to be a lot of people who think they can pass judgement on you. I don’t trust Raddai or Elihu, especially not Elihu, and I don’t trust the idle gossipers.’
‘I trust in God, and my desire is that you will too.’
David turned away so that she wouldn’t see the doubt in him.
Nitsevet took his silence as acquiescence and busied herself with wrapping the remaining food in a cloth. When he turned to her both wept as they embraced. He allowed her kisses but then pushed her to arm’s length. He looked into her eyes as if seeking more understanding of her – their – plight but she would say no more.
‘Tell Jesse about his sheep, if he’ll listen,’ he said and stepped into the uneasy light of dawn.
4
It was a foolish mistake, but he needed the two silver bracelets hidden in his corner of the grain store to buy food or even his freedom should he fall into the hands of Israel’s enemies. He felt his way in the musty shadows of the storehouse and, groping with his fingertips, pulled away loose stones from a widened crack to retrieve the bracelets. He slipped them into the large pocket of his goat-hair halug mantle and reached for his sling and his favourite reed pipe. Now he had music, a weapon and money. He turned to leave, hesitating for a moment to bid farewell to the cramped hovel that he called home, to listen one last time to the scratching and scurrying of rats and mice… but there was something else, something different that made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck.
He realised his mistake.
David retraced his steps out into the cool dawn and ducked behind a broken cart that was propped against the storehouse wall. He waited, calming his pounding heart with slow deep breaths, pulling the hood of his mantle over his head. An emaciated cat limped past, ignoring him, looking for easy prey in the storehouse. Suddenly it tensed before the open doorway, tail thrashing angrily, before darting away. The grey light revealed a cloaked figure nervously looking along the street where David crouched. He held his breath, not daring to move, as the watery dawn played on the face of the most untrustworthy of his half-brothers.
Elihu.
Sneaking, two-faced, skulking Elihu.
He froze as Elihu seemed to look directly at him, and for a moment he considered confronting him. He could take on Elihu with words and if it came to fight, he thought he could overcome the bigger youth with wit and speed. But what then? He would have to kill him to silence him and David didn’t think he could do that, if only for his mother’s sake.
But Elihu didn’t see him in the shadows and scurried off. Within a short time his brothers would be looking for him, watching the town gates and all other possible exits, their sole purpose to see him carry the blame for the loss of half of Jesse’s flock. Could he beat them to the open countryside? Possibly. But soon the sun would brighten the fields around Beth Lechem and they would follow. Best to hide inside the town, he thought, wait until they assumed he had escaped, and then choose his moment to run.
He toyed with the idea of hiding in the grain store, the place where he had just been spotted and therefore probably the last place they would look. No, they were just as likely to start there. Nitsevet’s room? They would look there too, in time. The town’s communal stables? Plenty of people coming and going, but also some comfortable haylofts to conceal him. The stables. Not too far away, either.
The streets were still uncommonly quiet. Grateful that most of the townsfolk were sleeping off their Shavuoth celebrations, David picked his way along dank side streets and across the main Hebron Way. He passed an old woman who muttered a courtesy without looking at him, and two scavenging dogs that ran off as he approached.
He smelled the stables before he turned into the courtyard. The building was the biggest in Beth Lechem, as if the town’s elders had considered the stabling of mules, horses and donkeys for visiting traders and dignitaries more important than housing for its humble residents. The smell was worse than he remembered, indicating that either the grooms had neglected their work or that there were more animals than usual. He stood in the shadows and watched for signs of guards or grooms.
There were none.
Kerith, wife of Beth Lechem’s richest landowner and elder, Jesse, embraced her secret friend. Nitsevet smiled warmly at her. The morning sun sent its shafts of golden light into Kerith’s private room, adorning the rich colours of the polished cedarwood couch and an ornate Phoenician table that Jesse had bought for her. She poured two cups from a jug of pomegranate juice.
‘It’s been too long,’ she said, handing a cup to Nitsevet and waving her to the couch. She was still wearing her sleeping kesut but the shimmering silk robe was uncrumpled and seemed to reflect the dark chestnut of her long hair. Nitsevet ignored the feeling that she must look like an old pauper next to this luxuriant woman.
‘Did you enjoy the celebrations last night? I heard the clamour long into the night.’
‘Oh, no, not me,’ replied Kerith brightly. ‘I saw to the kitchens and then left everything in the hands of the servants. I slept like a fallen tree.’
Nitsevet suppressed the brief feeling of envy. ‘Have you seen Jesse since?’
‘No, he did not come to me last night,’ Kerith replied. ‘You know him, he’s probably still talking to the dregs in a jug of wine. Why do you ask?’
Nitsevet frowned and studied her hands. She hesitated, then looked into Kerith’s dark brown eyes and said quietly: ‘Because, well, he may be angry at David.’
At the mention of David’s name, Kerith reached out and clasped Nitsevet’s hands in hers. ‘Our boy. Our special boy. Why? What has the rascal done now?’
‘Oh, nothing. It’s what he hasn’t done that’s worrying me.’
‘You speaking in riddles, dear Svet. Come on, what is it?’
Haltingly, Nitsevet told Kerith about the conspiracy between her sons to discredit David. About his visit to her room. And about his decision to leave Beth Lechem. Kerith got up and refilled their cups while she listened, her bare feet moving gracefully on the stone floor, silver ankle bracelets tinkling musically.
‘He’s gone, Kerith, and I’m desperately worried for him…’
‘Don’t be,’ retorted Kerith, a little too sharply. She softened her voice when Nitsevet looked up at her inquisitively. ‘Remember the seer’s words. “The least shall be made great”…’
‘…“With oil he is anointed”…’ Nitsevet picked up the words that were ingrained on her heart like Moshe’s law on stone tablets, and together they finished the prophecy: “The breath of Yahweh is upon him, let Israel’s enemies quake.”
Both women fell silent, savouring the words.
‘Do you still believe that?’ asked Kerith, knowing that her friend clung to the thin thread between her and a distant god who had made such demands on both of them.
‘How could I not?’ Nitsevet blinked back tears. The seer, who had appeared unbidden and unquestioned with the midwife had been terrifyingly real. He was ro’eh, a feverish zealot who moved like a mountain goat, all energy and assurance, whose voice spoke only commanding words that came straight from Yahweh, his flashing eyes and deranged grey hair giving him authority in the eyes of two fearful women.
‘How could I not?’ she repeated looking at Kerith’s calm, dignified face. Kerith had been there at David’s birth and had shared in the unearthly moment when the sweaty air had crackled with energy and the birthing chamber had seemed to vibrate with blinding supernatural power.
The two women were silent, remembering the strangeness of the moment when Nitsevet lay panting, bloodied and racked with pain, looking from her newborn son to the peculiar man that strangely none had thought of dismissing from the birthing chamber. In that delirious, eccentric moment, there had been more. The seer had pressed close to the quivering mother, his eyes like glowing embers, and had said in a surprisingly quiet voice for Yahweh’s spokesman:
From your shame will come the shame of Israel’s enemies
From your dishonour, great praise
From his rejection he will be raised up
This is your covenant with Yahweh
In silence will come great joy
In patience, reward
And then he had suddenly left, leaving a faint unwashed smell to mingle with Nitsevet’s blood and sweat. As if saying, ‘I’ve nothing more to add so I’m leaving you to your human problems’. Leaving motherhood and the world to its mundane, earthy normality. Only then had the baby yelled his indignation at the departing seer. Nitsevet almost moaned out loud at the memory – she wasn’t sure if she had felt joy or terror at David’s birth.
‘It’s the silence part that’s torturing me,’ she said. ‘I almost told David last night.’
Kerith looked shocked. ‘But Svet, you know you mustn’t tell him. He’s barely a man, and he wouldn’t be able to cope with knowing this. Neither would Jesse, or your other sons.’
‘I know, but…’
‘There can be no buts. At least not for you. On the other hand, nobody ever swore me to secrecy, except you of course, and you only have to say…’
Hope and intrigue restored the life to Nitsevet’s careworn face. ‘What do you mean? Who would you tell? And what would you tell them – who David’s father is or the prophecy, or both?’
‘Be calm, Svet. The truth is I don’t know, because this is first our secret, so it is for both of us to decide how long the silence and the patience should continue. Perhaps if Yahweh gave us this burden, then Yahweh should deal with it…’ It had taken an ardent seer to sway Kerith, a Canaanite, from the rituals of Ba’al to the merits of the Hebrew god. In her mind, they were probably the same thing anyway.
‘If he hasn’t forgotten,’ said Nitsevet mischievously. ‘After all, it was seventeen years ago, and the deed nearly eighteen!’
‘And maybe we wouldn’t be believed. Who cares after all these years? Except us, of course. And Yahweh...’ A look of sudden understanding crossed Kerith’s face like a cloud passing from the sun. ‘You said David had left Beth Lechem. Perhaps now would be a good time, the right time, to break our silence?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Nitsevet, shaking her head. ‘The holy man said I should keep silent although I admit he did not say for how long.’
Kerith brightened. ‘You should keep silent. As I said, I have not been sworn to secrecy. But now that our boy is not here, perhaps…’
Nitsevet picked up on the revelation. ‘The priests, maybe?’
Kerith shrugged. ‘Possibly. But I don’t trust those old men who want gold and silver for everything, even just for listening. How about a prophet?’
Nitsevet recalled the recent arrival of Samuel with his cavalry and laughed. ‘Of course. Right under our noses. A prophet.’ She sniggered. ‘But he’s as much a man of god as… as that jug there!’
‘Ah, but a jug can hold water or wine. Who are we to judge when apparently the whole of Israel believes he is our spiritual leader?’
Nitsevet nodded her acquiescence.
‘And tell him everything?’ Kerith asked.
‘Everything,’ agreed Nitsevet, and the two women embraced again, already relieved of a heavy burden.
After two days of hiding, David’s skin was raw from his scratching at a thousand insect bites and the irritation caused by the dusty mixture of hay and straw. His eyes streamed and he found it hard not to cough. His muscles felt cramped and his body yearned for sunlight. He would have to move soon.
The horses and the young strangers who groomed them intrigued David. He had been bold enough to walk among the fine animals as soon as he had entered the stables, running his hands down their muscular flanks to calm their skittishness at his presence, and blowing gently into the nostrils of a grey that looked at him with wild eyes. These were horses of rare quality, especially as they stamped and whinnied next to petulant mules and docile donkeys. Horses were rare in Israel and Judah; those David had seen before, and only from a distance, were ridden by the mysterious traders from the north who occasionally camped near Beth Lechem on their journey to Egypt. But they were skin and bone, lethargic creatures compared to the ten fine animals with which David now shared temporary living space.
The grooms had come early on both days. They were all young and energetic, laughing and teasing each other, often with ribald comments and more than a little roughhousing. It was obvious that some of them had enjoyed a measure of success with Beth Lechem’s young maidens and one, a youth they called Nathan, had been lucky to escape a beating after he had been discovered in a fumbling embrace by the girl’s older brother.
On both days the grooms saddled their horses and led them from the stables, returning them steaming and matted with streaks of sweat on their heaving flanks, mouths and necks flecked with white saliva. The riders had removed the simple goatskin saddles and sliver-ringed bridles then each had drenched their mount with buckets of well water before taking stiff-bristled brushes to them. Then they paid attention to their weapons, sharpening daggers and bronze-tipped thrusting spears, oiling leather jerkins and polishing buckles. These things David had watched his soldier brothers do, but never before had he seen the strange rope contraptions – three round wooden balls connected by cords – that he guessed could be thrown to tangle the legs of an enemy or his mount to disable them.
Though young, the youths seemed disciplined. David found himself envying their exuberance and sense of brotherhood; he had been tempted to come out from the hayloft to make himself known and beg them to let him join their group, whoever they were, but he could not take the risk that perhaps they had endeared themselves to his brothers and would hand him over to the injustices of Raddai and the wrath of Jesse.
He decided to wait for nightfall. Then he would leave Beth Lechem. Perhaps he might even meet these riders on his journey, wherever that might take him.
5
‘You can come out now,’ the prophet boomed.
David froze, suppressing the strong urge to sneeze. How had he been discovered? Who was this man with the commanding voice?
‘He’s usually up there, hiding in the straw.’ He recognised the voice of one of the young grooms.
‘We know you’re hiding here,’ said Samuel, a little softer this time. ‘It’s David isn’t it? The shepherd boy. Don’t worry, it’s safe to come out, I just want to talk.’
Thoughts raced through David’s mind. He could not trust anyone, least of all complete strangers. He considered making a dash for freedom, but there was only one way out and the voice came from the direction of the stable doors. Although he estimated it was evening, there was yellow sunlight filtering through the roof thatch and he needed the cover of darkness to make his escape.
How did they know his name?
David heard the creaking of the crude wooden ladder bearing someone’s weight; very soon his hiding place would be revealed. He edged deeper into the scratching straw. He saw hands on the top the ladder, then the face of a youth looking straight at him. The face smiled at him.
‘Come on out, wild boy.’ A coaxing tone, as if he were offering a scrap to befriend a nervous dog. David didn’t move.
‘Is he there?’ Samuel asked.
Without taking his eyes off David, the youth spoke. ‘Yes, he’s here, but I don’t think he trusts us.’
No, thought David, I don’t trust you whoever you are, and I don’t trust anyone in this town. It’s just me on my own again. He braced himself to spring at the fresh-faced youth who was now heaving himself onto the hayloft, one more spiteful enemy among the many who hated him. David against the world, with nobody to trust, nobody to talk to, no laughter like that shared by these young foreigners with their wonderful horses…
‘Nitsevet,’ said the prophet, and David hesitated. ‘Your mother is Nitsevet?’
So they know who I am, he thought. That makes it worse still. He sprang at the youth, intending to push him aside as he jumped but instead the two of them fell heavily to the earth floor of the stables, the commotion causing the nearby horses to whicker in alarm and strain against their tethers. David fell on top of the youth who grunted as the wind was forced from his lungs. He rolled sideways, trying to get to his feet, not noticing the blood that flowed from a gash on the side of his head. He felt weak and dizzy, but still he tried to stand up, then strong hands picked him up and held him, his feet hopelessly unable to find purchase on the ground, his arms pinned by the large, bearded man with the loud voice.
‘Now then,’ said Samuel with a hint of amusement, ‘are we going to fight or talk?’