SIX

The terrified man, muttering in fright, was escorted toward a small cluster of tents tucked deep in the forest behind the lines. When they reached the command area, the escort pulled the flap of the center tent aside and announced the man, then darted back to his post.

The questioning went on for an hour. Eventually the chieftain decided that the tent was too full, so he ordered everyone out except his senior counselor and the bedraggled figure sitting in front of him. There were complaints and grumbles, but the men slowly filed out the flap of the tent and huddled together for warmth a short distance away.

The chieftain rubbed his eyes and cracked the knuckles on his hand. “You say that he used both sword and spear, and that he gave orders in their tongue. Was there anything else about him that you noticed? Clothing, armor?”

The man replied, “No, master. He moved in the darkness, and moved too fast … though, as I said, he had a shield, an armored one, unlike what they normally use.”

The chieftain was a head taller than any of his men, with thick black markings dyed everywhere into his skin. Scars covered his face, many obscured by the black beard tied in braids. Thick arms strained against his leather armor studded with bits of copper. Gold bracelets dangled around his wrists.

He pulled the armor off and set it against a tent pole. The tent was a luxury, one that he knew had no place on this mission. But he didn’t care. The troops would do all the dirty work. He had earned his keep, put in his time in the mud-soaked troops. He was the chieftain now, and he wanted to sleep in a tent; he wanted female slaves, and he wanted gold. That was why he was here. Anything that got in the way of those things annoyed him.

The chieftain looked at his deputy, who thrust his head outside the tent and called for a servant to remove the man. The lamp was down to a flicker. The chieftain ambled toward it, lost in thought, and readjusted its wick. The flame sparked anew. He turned to watch the servants hauling the lone survivor out.

“Do you believe him?” the chieftain asked his deputy.

“I don’t know, master. No reason for him to lie. I have heard the Hebrews have such men.”

The chieftain nodded. Regardless of what the foolish kings told the troops, the Hebrews were not cowering women. The raid had gone too easily up to this point. The gods would not let them have it without a challenge.

Other than the troubling news of this messenger, though, the chieftain and his large force of Amalekite warriors had much to be pleased with. The weather, which had been plaguing them for over a week with cold rain and high winds, had finally cleared out and left behind a brilliant night sky. Food was steady, disease had not crept among the ranks yet, and the land in front of them was full of so many women, they were told, that a man would have to tie them up just to be able to control them all.

The Amalekites were encamped for the night, spread out along a defensive front atop a ridge, each man’s position oriented to cover what the others could not see. Troops were crouched behind stones and fallen trees, eyes alert to any movement in the pale light. It was rumored to be a haunted land, this Judea, and superstitions were flying among the ranks. Everyone hated the Hebrews and thought them cowards, but the Amalekites were also aware of the many tales of their god destroying his enemies.

Each unit of one hundred men, under its senior commander, was strategically placed to better ambush any approaching forces. They had left their desert clothing behind and wore stolen armor in an attempt to mimic the military success of other nations. All carried an iron weapon and had been drilling day and night with them, aided by mercenaries who sold the expertise they’d gained in foreign armies.

The Amalekites had always been a nomadic people, wandering through the deserts of Sinai and the Negev, raiding trade routes and hoarding gold. Now they looked to the north and the fertile lands of their enemies, desiring revenge for the defeats inflicted by the Hebrew king Saul.

This force had been rapidly mustered from any remaining towns not already plundered by the Lion, the Hebrew warlord who had been inflicting terrible destruction on them, given that name by the troops out of admiration of his ruthlessness. When a spy reported that the Philistines and Hebrews were marching to war, and that the Lion himself was likely with them, the Amalekite kings had put aside the arduous task of butchering each other and stealing livestock and sent men to be united under the only chieftain remaining who had not been killed by the Lion. This advance force was to burn towns and steal, supplying them with the gold and goods they would need to organize a larger army.

The atmosphere in camp had been excited earlier in the day, when reports were coming in about the success of raids into southern Philistia and the border of Hebrew territory. They found little resistance anywhere they went; they moved with great speed into small villages whose men were on campaign with the Hebrew king. Since the Philistines were absent from their territory as well, the entire coastal plain was open to them. With every good report, the men became more confident and gave thanks to their gods for easy victory.

Then it all changed earlier that evening.

Instead of a feast of dates and meat captured from the Hebrews, each man in the raiding army now had his weapon in his hand, tensely waiting for word from the command position at the rear of the lines about the lone soldier who had stumbled in just before dark, shaken up and unwilling to tell his story until he saw the chieftain. No, a deputy would not do, he had told the watchmen. There were demons in the hills north of them, he kept repeating, demon warriors from the land of the dead.

The watchman who had first spotted the messenger spread the news that the man appeared exhausted and disoriented, that he had been running continuously for several days, never stopping to eat or drink. There was blood on his clothing. He said that all of the men in his party had been slaughtered by a demon and would say nothing more until he saw the chieftain.

The rumors had passed up and down the line, growing to become a fantastic tale of demon armies leaping out of the ground and bearing down on them during the night. The section leaders did their best to calm the men, but even the leaders felt an extra chill in the night air.

The sorcerers had warned of this, the troops whispered to one another. There were not enough lights visible on the horizon to give them permission to invade. The gods never allowed armies to prosper if the lights of the war gods’ targets in the stars were not visible. They had not even brought priests to appease the gods.

In his tent, the chieftain was pacing. “But there was only one. The Hebrews fight in teams of three or four.”

The deputy placed his hand down on the table, looking at the map of the region sketched on parchment by his spies. “He may not have been sent for us. But you’re right; they would not have sent one alone. Their best men are with Saul in the north.”

Both men remained silent for a moment, each trying to piece it together.

“He may have been on another errand and stumbled across them,” said the chieftain.

“Possible.” The deputy shifted his weight and looked up hesitantly. “What if it was a demon?”

The chieftain shrugged. “The priests would have warned us. I am no fool; I know there are demons in those hills, but I also know not every shadow is a demon.”

“The priests were against this campaign. Maybe they asked the gods to send the demon.”

Someone scratched gently on the tent flap.

“What is it?” demanded the chieftain, irritated.

“Master Karak, the officers want to know what to tell the men to calm them down,” came the voice of his armor bearer.

Karak looked at his deputy. “Well?”

“Tell them it was an ambush and there was only one survivor. It is the truth, and it will let them know what we are up against in these hills. Not demons, but dangerous fighters.”

Karak liked it. “It will help prepare the men for what is ahead.” He said to the armor bearer, “Tell the officers to tell the men that he was ambushed with his squad, there was a fight, and he alone escaped. Tell them to be ready and alert at all times.”

The armor bearer left. Karak walked to a cushion in the corner of the room and gestured wearily for the deputy to join him. It had been a long day. They had been jubilant at the early successes, but both men, seasoned warriors who held no illusions of war, knew it was bound to end. This was unwelcome news.

They settled onto the cushions and lay their heads back. The wineskins abandoned earlier were replaced. The chieftain held the wineskin against his forehead, lost in thought. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“He said the unknown warrior used both sword and spear. The only Hebrews I have heard of who do so are Saul and his son. Most Hebrews learn a single weapon in their tribes like our people do. They would not have time to learn more if they are plowing for crops and fixing oxbows.”

“But some elite fighters might learn them. You have learned three, master,” the deputy replied.

The chieftain sat up and stared forward. “It must have been one of the men with that warlord called ‘the Lion.’”

The deputy frowned. “Is he real?”

“You remember those tales about a Hebrew boy who killed one of the giants from Gath.”

The deputy nodded. “David. Hebrews on the borders would try to scare our people with tales of him. Do you think he is real?”

“All of our spies say they encounter talk of him in Hebrew lands. And someone highly competent has been leading raids against us. David might be the Lion.”

“He would surely be marching with Saul. A Philistine invasion of that size into the land of his people would draw him out.”

Karak scowled. The stories of David made him a terrifying figure to the Amalekites. One hundred boys under the age of ten had been sacrificed a few years previously by the priests in order to beseech the gods to strike David down. The kings and tribal chiefs had tried to appease their people by claiming he was a myth spread by Hebrews.

As Karak thought about it, it began to make sense. The stories about David claimed he was leading a band of criminals and foreigners and had trained them into elite fighting units. He might have sent one of his best fighters to the village on an errand, who then encountered the raiding party and dispatched them. A group of regular soldiers properly ambushed by a highly trained warrior under the cover of darkness could be defeated. It was not unthinkable.

“Master, David’s exploits really might be myth, something spread among our ranks by foreigners to deter us,” the deputy said.

Karak shook his head. “No, there is too much on him. The Philistines even speak of him.” He settled back into his rough lambskin cushions. “They are going to be vulnerable in the south. One man may have stopped a raid, but he won’t stop an army.” He paused a moment, thinking. “Bring the commanders back in. I want to move out as soon as the other advance parties return. We will hit that Philistine town the scouts reported earlier. Ziklag.”

The deputy stood up and walked to the opening.

“Also send in my share of the prize today.”

The deputy nodded, opened the flap, and stepped into the darkness. Karak rubbed his eyes, piecing it together. Of course, the man could have been lying. The raiders may have simply been defeated by old men with sticks. Either way, Hebrew warlord or not, the nearest army was days or weeks of travel away. If they moved fast enough, the gold and women of the southern regions of two kingdoms would be theirs to choose from.

The tent flap opened again and the group of men who had left earlier ducked inside. They were all large, with thick, dusty beards, and wore dull-colored clothing like their chieftain. His orders had been to dress in subdued garments to blend with the rocks and bushes. Behind them, panting in humiliation and terror, were three young Hebrew women captured during the day’s pillaging. They wore nothing to protect them from the freezing night and tried vainly to cover themselves in front of the group of men. There were loud laughs and comments.

Karak stood up from the ground to his full height, towering over the other men and causing the women to close their eyes in fright. He grabbed them by the hair and dragged all three across the room, while the officers laughed and made animal noises. He threw them onto the pile of animal skins that made up his bed. They shrieked in pain and clung to one another.

The Egyptian watched quietly from the corner next to the other commanders.

He despised these filthy Amalekites. They paid well, but most were lazy and undisciplined compared to his old regiment. When he was in Pharaoh’s armies, his warriors would have crushed them in an open war and laughed at their womanly ambush tactics.

Many important preparations for campaign were omitted in favor of needless luxuries, such as this large and cumbersome command tent. Only a fat ruler wishing to look powerful by touring the front lines would make his men carry such an unnecessary burden.

The chieftain appeared to be a skilled fighter; the Egyptian had sparred with him in workouts. But not all effective fighters made good generals. Karak seemed to be here not out of duty to his kings but rather out of a desire to grab as much plunder as he could after years of obeying the bidding of others.

The Egyptian didn’t begrudge the chieftain such a motive. It was what he himself was doing, after all. There were mercenaries from many lands in this army. Most were here as spies, of course — as was the Egyptian himself. They would offer services for hire to the Amalekites, claiming they had abandoned their homelands, and then promptly return and offer information to their own kings. It was dangerous but highly profitable.

The Egyptian turned away from the scene on the animal skins and stepped out into the night. His white linen robe glowed in the moonlight. He did not care what the chieftain had ordered about subdued garments; he would not stoop to wearing barbaric clothing. The colder he became, the more linen he would drape around his shoulders. Only shepherds and other wretches wore raw animal skins as cloaks.

An Amalekite soldier walked past him, his head coming no higher than the Egyptian’s elbow. The man’s eyes darted toward him quickly, and he picked up his pace. The Egyptian’s great size had been the subject of whispers in the ranks; his elegant grooming, the use of kohl and galena to paint his eyes, and his fine white clothing would have been openly mocked were he not the largest, most intimidating man in the raiding force. He had gleaming bronze skin, bulging oiled muscles that rippled with veins, and a clean-shaven head; there was no hair on his body of any kind.

The Egyptian had overheard the conversation about the Hebrew warrior. It reminded him of the only time he had fought a Hebrew, on the coast of the sea when he was among the pharaoh’s bodyguard. There was a Hebrew mercenary in the bodyguard as well, and on a whim one day while hunting with his falcons along the coast of the sea near Aqaba, the pharaoh had ordered them to fight for his amusement.

And they had fought. Across the sand, under the sun, into the sea. The Hebrew had talent, but he was untrained and rough, wielding his weapons heavily like an infantryman instead of nimbly like a master of arms, and the Egyptian had defeated him. Disgraced, the Hebrew had departed.

The Egyptian walked back to his own small tent, enjoying how he towered over the other soldiers as he passed them. Once inside, he laid down, resting his head on the wooden pedestal that served as his pillow, and listened to the light breeze moving through the camp.

It would be an interesting report to make to Pharaoh when he returned. The god-king would want to know about Hebrew warlords and skilled fighters before any invasion commenced.