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
David was dozing when he heard the cat cough. He came alert instantly, alarmed at the panicked bleating and shuffling of his flock. He peered into the darkness, shutting out the usual sounds of the night. Only his eyes moved, his body as still as the mantis he had studied by the last of the dying sunlight. The dog at his side gave a low growl but didn’t move.
The birthing had begun earlier than usual that year and he knew that most of the young goats would be too big and too quick for a lynx, but the sheep would be vulnerable. He had lost several unsteady, unsuspecting lambs before the nights had thrown off the last of their chill and become cloyingly hot when there was no breeze. Jesse would be angry at that, and if the old man didn’t beat him, his brothers would.
David narrowed his eyes, seeking the slightest movement in the teasing shadows of the night. He eased the sling from his belt and felt in his pouch for a stone. Slowly he crept towards the place where he thought he had heard the wild cat. A brighter moon would have helped, but he could make out the mass of his flock as sheep and goats huddled closer together for safety.
The terrified scream of a lamb being clawed brought him to his feet, running now, barefoot on the cruel, hard ground. In one movement he armed and swirled his sling at his side but he could not see the target. The flock heaved restlessly around him. The dog ran back towards the dying fire, but David wasn’t relying on the lazy, frightened animal which would be no match for a hungry lynx anyway.
He saw movement. He thought he could make out the lamb, still struggling, and a darker shape dragging it as it kicked weakly. 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 – more of a screech than a throaty protest this time – as the lynx released the lamb. David briefly saw moonlight reflected in the cat’s eyes as it looked back with indignation, and then it was gone. He fired two more stones into the black, empty 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. Grey, rock-strewn slopes slowly yielded the night’s shadows while delicate fingers of light sought the frugal grass and reeds that marked the drying brook. 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 fire beside the still waters that had collected behind a rocky dam he had made a year ago. 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.
David stripped naked and lay in the cold, 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 were his song. He stared up at his god and felt the music swell deep inside him but he made no sound, then he closed his eyes and the song and the music became one, his spirit the harp that found impossible notes and dispelled all thoughts of his brothers’ inhumanity.
Still naked, he fed the fire with thicker branches and went in search nature’s bounty, carrying his trusty knife. Near the feeble 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. He cut extra branches of the woody plant to dampen the fire, the best way he knew of keeping the flies away while at the same time creating sweet, heady smoke.
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.
After hanging the carcass by its rear legs from a branch of the acacia tree to drain the last of its blood, he secured it 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, empty 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, on the other hand, was a follower not a leader, always waiting for his brothers to make the first move; he looked around casually as if admiring the view.
David took his full water skin from the branch of the acacia tree where he had hung it, and offered it to Raddai who snatched it with a grunt. While Raddai drank thirstily, 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 wet, 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’s more youthful voice 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 reed 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 impossible odds 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.