EPILOGUE

The people of David reached Ziklag the next day, but the joy of being reunited was diminished by the reminder of what had happened to their homes — and their lives. David held a council that night, and it was decided that they would move elsewhere. David decided to wait until they had received word of the Philistine attack against Saul before plotting their course.

The defeat of the Amalekites had retrieved a tremendous amount of plunder, and David directed that some of it be sent to the elders of towns in Judah as tribute, since many were still convinced he meant them harm. Benaiah chose men out of the bodyguard to deliver the precious spices and metals.

Two days later, a messenger arrived with news of the defeat of Israel’s army, and the worst news of all — that Saul and Jonathan were dead. In his rage, David ordered Joab to kill the messenger. His grief was so great that David withdrew and composed a song, and then sang it long into the night, his men listening and mourning with him.

Many had lost brothers and tribesmen. Now that the kingdom was almost destroyed, they were unsure where to go or what to expect. Israel no longer had a king. David was the natural choice, but Philistia now ruled their lands with an iron grasp.

The following morning, two men arrived in town. One was powerfully built and carried himself sternly; the other was a youth who walked with a limp because of an arrow that had been lodged in his foot. No one knew who they were. Nor did anyone particularly care. They were veterans of the battle and blended in easily with the other refugees streaming in from the north, where the Philistines were capturing villages and overrunning the former kingdom.

Rumors flew that Saul’s general Abner was rallying support, but no one could confirm them.

David gave the orders to prepare for another campaign. Many assumed that they would be securing the borderlands from the coming invasions. Those close to the inner circle of the warlord knew otherwise—his objective was the throne of Judah.

Several days after the arrival of news about Saul, the voice still echoed against walls and houses and through the dusty corridors of the ruined city, as it had each night since then.

When it reached the place where men were forging new iron blades, Keth looked up from supervising the work of the Hittites. He paused awhile to listen as the voice mingled with the nightly creaking of the locusts. A man coughed, and his comrades glanced scornfully at him, irritated that he would disrupt the beauty of the music.

It was a lyre, strummed by hands moving so skillfully that at first some of the foreigners believed a captured goddess of the Sea People was in their midst, but those who knew what it was just nodded and closed their eyes.

Keth wondered where Benaiah was. Hopefully with his wife. Everyone had been busy trying to rebuild what they could of the city; interactions among the men had been limited while they pounded nails all day. The work had given them all many blisters, and there would be many more, but for now, everyone was content to listen.

David was playing it again, a song he was calling “The Lament of the Bow.”

The voice moaned in melodies too mournful to be understood. Everyone had been forced to learn the song out of respect for the dead, but few truly grasped the words. It did not matter. It was a song of war and loss, of friendships and grief, and of other things men know of but refuse to dwell upon.