Warrior Poet (6 page)

Well past the middle of the night, something interrupted Samuel’s unusually heavy sleep. It was more physical sensation than sound, an inner resonance. Its tones were calm but commanding. It was quite familiar.

But the message was unexpected.

“How long are you going to grieve over Saul, when I have cast him aside as king over Israel? Cease your tears, for I have chosen an Israelite to replace him. You are to fill your horn with oil, and I will show you the man of My choice.”

Pulling himself up with his staff, Samuel stood and looked out at the quiet town through the open window. He spoke out into the still night. “O Lord, now that You have removed Your hand from Saul, why are You appointing another king in his place?”

He waited, and the Voice responded. “I have found a man after my own heart. I will send you to Bethlehem to a man named Jesse the Ephrathite. I have seen among his sons a king. Him I have chosen.”

Samuel was suddenly afraid. He had heard the rumors about Saul’s instability, and now the Lord was commanding him to commit treason. Samuel’s hands were shaking as he closed the shutters.

“Is my service for You at an end? How can I go? Certainly one of Saul’s men will tell him, and he will doubtlessly kill me.”

The Voice was untroubled. “Take a heifer to Bethlehem and tell the elders that you have come to sacrifice. Invite Jesse, and I will indicate to you the one I have chosen.”

Not greatly reassured, the old prophet grumbled out his defeat. “When do I go, Lord?”

“I will tell you when. Now lie down; you are in need of rest.”

As he drifted back to sleep, a question chilled him:
What will Saul do when he finds out I’ve anointed his rival?

Chapter Seven

His two boys were running after him. Joel, the oldest, was in the lead, followed by Abijah. Their bare feet raised little dust clouds as they tried to catch him. He turned, waved his staff at them, and smiled. Joel was angry, but the expression on his youngest stung Samuel. In those large brimming eyes, he could read desperation and disappointment.

He waved again, gesturing for them to go back to their mother. He turned and kept walking, his steps light and quick. He was Israel’s judge, heading out on his yearly circuit to visit her major cultic centers. In each, he would mediate disputes, resolve controversies, and reconcile antagonists, while also officiating at sacrifices and ritual feasts. There were also the occasional weddings to bless.

The first leg was the most arduous: a full day’s journey east to Gilgal. After a week, he would head northwest to the tabernacle in Bethel, where he would stay about a month. This was before Saul had it transferred for his own convenience. Samuel’s visit to Bethel always coincided with the Passover, the largest gathering of the year. That festival gave him the opportunity to remind the thousands of worshippers of God’s miraculous deliverance from Egypt. He would then go to Mizpah, a half-day’s walk to the south, and one or two weeks later he would be back at Ramah. In all, he would be gone from his family six to ten weeks.

Leaving his boys and their mother was never pleasant, but it was essential. As God’s prophet, he alone could keep Israel from falling into apostasy. He doted on his boys, but he also loved his role as prophet-judge, and though arbitrating business and family problems could be a headache, there was great satisfaction in the work. This was why he began these tours with an anticipation that overshadowed the twinges of guilt.

The smell of baking bread and herb tea woke him. On another morning, they would have made his mouth water, but not when they intruded upon this particular dream. The regret was so strong, it made his insides burn.

“Are you not feeling well?” Ginath asked, looking into the bedchamber from the open door. Samuel was looking at the light pouring through the open window above him. “I let you sleep late. I thought rest would be so good for you.”

Samuel raised his hand, gesturing Ginath away. He sat up, his head bent, letting the flood of emotion subside. The impact of those images was still strong upon him. What he would not do to go back to those days when his boys wanted nothing more than to be by his side, their little faces lifted expectantly, believing anything he would tell them.

Had I stayed home, would my boys have strayed from the Lord? Were they punishing me?

He blamed his aching joints, but what he would never admit was that his ill humor was brought on more by the pain of regret than by physical discomfort.

“Help me up,” he snapped.

Sitting by the newly made fire, he flicked his hand toward the cup of steaming tea. “Did you put honey in it?”

“Yes, Master. It is just as you like it.”

“Well, then, bring it here before it cools down. If it sits too long, it becomes as palatable as warm urine.” He had decided that regardless of the condition of his stomach, the herb drink might do him some good. It might even jog his memory. There was something he needed to remember, but the only thing on his mind was Abijah’s accusatory face.

Ginath was right; the temperature was perfect. Not hot enough to burn his tongue, but too hot to swallow in large, careless gulps. It forced him to concentrate, turning a simple act into a ritual that calmed and ordered his thoughts. At times, blowing on the steaming liquid could feel like an act of prayer. This morning, as his breath made the steam sway, it brought to mind images from the creation story.

He followed the dancing tendrils of steam. Breath had spiritual power, he knew. There was also spiritual power in dance. Of this, he had been intimately aware in his youth, when he joined the exuberant young men celebrating with abandon—the ecstatic movements could take you into the heavens themselves.

“Here you are,” Ginath said, handing him a slice of bread.

Samuel accepted it without a word. The knot was beginning to untangle. He could not say why, but he knew he needed sustenance. He took another sip. The dancing steam brought to mind the
Ruah
—the breath or Spirit of Yahweh, who danced over the waters at creation. And this was the key that released the memory.

The Ruah not only created but also anointed men for service. He had rested upon Aaron as priest as well as Bezalel of the tribe of Judah, who had been gifted to make the tabernacle a thing of astounding beauty. Samuel’s experience with Saul had taught him that the Ruah
also anointed kings, and this was symbolized by the perfumed oil that represented the Spirit of God. It was this image that reminded Samuel of what the Voice had told him.

His chest grew suddenly tight as it all came back to him. He had been ordered to anoint a member of the tribe of Judah. This man would not be constructing a building but taking over Saul’s kingdom. Samuel’s assignment was to commit treason.

“We are going to be leaving on a trip,” he said gruffly. “I will need all my strength.” He looked at the basket in the corner. “We don’t have any eggs, do we? I could do with two.”

“I will get some,” Ginath responded. “And they will be fried so they are crispy around the edges but soft in the middle.” He added this quickly, before Samuel could remind him of what he already knew.

“Make sure you make some for yourself. I don’t want you fainting along the way. We have a journey ahead of us.”

They left the house about an hour later. Samuel and Ginath rode together on their donkey. The Ethiopian sat in front, holding the reins. It was a warm day, and there was barely a hint of breeze. It promised to be a hot, dry day, not ideal for a long journey on the back of a donkey.

They traveled carefully on the rugged road that meandered through the golden hills covered with dry grass. It had not rained for months, and all the vegetation had turned brown. The better vantage points on their route revealed occasional vistas of higher hills overgrown with fruit trees, olives, and small gray vineyards encircled by quiet fields.

The donkey was old and slow. He took after his master, Ginath thought, but he was extremely sure-footed. He had not stumbled once on the rocks that littered the narrow road winding its way through the bleak hills. Ginath and Samuel waved at groups of travelers on foot and were pushed aside by a caravan of six camels. Fortunately there was enough room to move to the side without falling into the steep ravine.

As much to break the silence as to assist the prophet, after an hour Ginath spoke up. “It is terribly warm today. Would you like some water?”

The prophet grunted his assent and, after taking several swallows, handed the bag to his servant.

“Are we to go to Hebron, then?”

Samuel did not respond.

Ginath sighed, assuming the old prophet was dozing. He jerked the reins. It made no difference to the animal, but it gave him something to do. He hoped it might startle Samuel and provoke some conversation. Hebron was a safe guess since that was always their destination whenever they headed south. The trip took a full day, but as far as Ginath was concerned, it was worth the effort. It was the town where Abraham had built the first altar to Yahweh and was notorious for its abundance of lush fruit trees—Samuel had told him the story about the huge grapes as big as melons that had so amazed Joshua’s spies.

“No,” Samuel said.

Ginath had to think for a moment. Then he remembered what he had asked. “Where to, then?” He was unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Bethlehem, a village you have never visited. We pass by it whenever we go to Hebron. It is the town near where Jacob buried Rachel.”

“Ah yes, where the pillar stands.” He rolled the town’s name on his tongue. “It means ‘house of bread,’ no?” As a young slave learning the language, Ginath had developed an appreciation for Hebrew.

Samuel grunted affirmation.

Ginath knew there might not be a better moment to get the details he’d wondered about all morning. “Why are we taking this trip? It seems to have made you anxious.”

“Hah!” Samuel barked. “You might say that.” He groaned as he stretched his back. “I suppose you should know. After all, it could mean my death—and yours.”

Ginath’s hands jerked, and the donkey came to a sudden stop. Both Samuel and Ginath nearly toppled to the ground. “No need for that,” Samuel growled, but there was a note of satisfaction in his voice.

“What is going to happen in Bethlehem?”

As if sensing the sudden tension, the donkey began moving forward at a trot. Samuel explained their mission. When he was finished, every bit of excitement had seeped out of Ginath.

“So you have come to anoint the rival of King Saul.” Ginath could not hide the quaver in his own voice.

Samuel said nothing.

“Do you think that is … wise?”

“Of course it’s not!” Samuel exploded. “What do you think has made me so out of sorts?”

Ginath was desperately trying to think of ways to minimize their danger. “But must you complete this mission in front of every person in the village?”

“The instructions were not specific,” Samuel admitted. “God commissioned me to anoint Saul’s successor, but, no, He did not say it had to be done at a public ceremony.” Ginath felt Samuel sit up straighter behind him. “There may be a way to save our skins after all!”

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the gate. The village elders greeted them, inviting them to dismount and refresh themselves with some wine and olives. The elders were gracious, but the surprise visit of the prophet clearly unnerved all of them.

Eventually, Hazzok, the head elder, turned his thin, weathered face toward Samuel. He rubbed his hands nervously as he spoke. “Do you come in peace?”

Samuel smiled reassuringly and gave the agreed-upon explanation.

“A sacrifice?” asked the elder, his eyes widening. “In our small town?” He bowed his head obsequiously. “But why? We are of no consequence in Israel. Have we committed some grave offense against God?” His eyes were lifted warily toward Samuel, darting like a lizard seeking an escape.

“No, no,” said Samuel, sounding almost jovial. “Nothing like that. It is a blessing from Yahweh. He has favored your village as a place to honor Him.” He radiated warmth. Ginath was shocked by the transformation.

“Invite all the men and go to your homes to purify yourselves,” Samuel ordered.

The elders nodded piously and stood. Samuel gestured for Hazzok to remain while the others set off in a tight cluster toward the center of town.

“Make sure that Jesse and all his sons are present,” Samuel told him. “God has given me a special message for them. And I need to deliver it in a quiet location.”

Hazzok thought for a moment, twisting the end of his beard into a tight strand. “Yes, I know of such a place. It is near my house. My servant will show it to you.”

It was evening when Ginath came into Hazzok’s guest chamber. “The altar at the high place is ready, Master,” he alerted Samuel, “and the guests are about to gather.”

The heat of the day had waned, pushed away by a steady breeze that raised the dust and caused their tunics to flap about them as they followed Hazzok’s servant. Before they reached the summit of the high place, the servant pointed to a small stable. The thatched roof was bowed in the middle as if a giant had sat down on top of it. There were holes in the walls where stones had fallen out, and the frame over the entrance was cracked. Double doors had once protected the opening, but now only one remained, swinging crookedly from a single hinge.

“Jesse and his sons are inside,” the servant boy told them. “My master said you will not be interrupted. I will stay on the road to watch.” He rubbed the backs of his hands nervously, as if trying to clean them.

Inside the cool dwelling, Samuel examined the man in front of him. He had strong shoulders, high cheekbones, and a proud nose. His hair was long, thin, and gray, and time had bent his frame. Wild eyebrows framed intelligent eyes set in deep pockets. They had the bright, twitching intensity of a hawk’s. Samuel detected suspicion and cunning.