Defending David, page 3
part #1 of Tribes of Israel Series
“Take me to Jerusalem.” She whipped around and gazed at the crest of the hill. “My uncle is an official in the palace. He will welcome you. Welcome us.”
“The palace?” Ittai released his hold until only his fingertips lingered on the threads of her garment.
“Of King David.” Bending, she braced her hands on her knees. “My uncle will pay you handsomely.”
If he had pulled lots, what were the odds he would capture a woman with ties to the king? His gaze darted around the rocky landscape almost expecting to see a messenger from God. How could he make battle plans this night when strangers were stumbling upon his camp?
He glanced at the path she had traipsed. “Is one of the men a husband?” He did not need a clan of Hebrews accusing him of kidnapping a man’s wife, or worse. “I have companions that are intercepting them.”
She shook her head. Strands of wayward ringlets stuck to her face. “No. One is a distant relative. I hardly know him.” Her eyes bulged as though she had spoken a long-held secret. “Please. Eglon was to take me to Jerusalem. Nothing more. The elders paid him for his escort. Now he believes me worth more as a slave.”
“I am not a judge in Israel.” If she only knew how far from the truth that statement was. “But I will protect you and take you to Jerusalem. That is where I am headed.”
“Praise God. I petitioned for His help this night.” She hobbled toward a boulder and sat. “Toda raba. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you were not on this hilltop.” She inspected her bloodied foot and winced.
Her sturdiness, the wildness of her hair, the way she moved from panic to calm, brought back images of his mother. He missed her. But oh how she would have wept at his exile. Death spared her more heartache and scandal.
“And my pursuers? What will you do to them?”
“Hmm.” Ittai scanned his surroundings. A lapse in control could cost him his life.
“Will you kill them?” She glanced at his sword and beheld him with those captivating eyes.
“One of my men is persuading your Eglon and will coax him to venture in another direction.”
She nibbled her lip. “Only one? Will he need help?”
Was the woman challenging his decision? How bold of her. Ittai crossed his arms. “My friend can take care of himself.” He was surprised Eglon’s screams hadn’t split the night air, but then no one hears Hamuran arrive. “He may have taken a scout or two.”
“Scout? What are you scouting?” She squinted at him and then turned and stared into the valley. Her head rotated, taking in the expanse of tents camped in the shadows. Whipping around, she almost fell off her perch.
His heart stuttered. More like flinched. Could his future become any more uncertain?
With her eyes rivaling a harvest moon and her mouth round and slack-jawed, he knew, he just knew, that he had another explanation to confess.
“You. You’re attacking Israel!”
So much for another peaceful night on his journey.
3
Rimona attempted to rise, but the pain in her foot streaked into her ankle and then into her calf. Unsteady, she collapsed onto the large flat-topped rock. How could she flee from this giant of a man? She should have known something was amiss. He was too quick with a blade and too unshaken by her circumstances. Never once did he seem to fear her pursuers. From his size and the dialect, she should have placed him as a filthy Philistine straightaway. Now, she had everything to fear. She may not be sold as a slave to Egyptians, but this foreigner was likely to keep her for his own servant, or worse.
She leaned forward and tried to ease the cramping in her stomach. Her lips trembled. In her mind, she assailed God. Why O Lord did You take my father, and now my mother? I should be sleeping in the warmth of a home in Beersheba, not in the wilderness near Hebron. Save me from this heathen.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she fought to control a wail. “What you are…going do…to me?” Her words were as jumbled as a pile of threads. She had nothing with which to bribe this man, and her bones could not scramble over one more treacherous slope. “All that I own was left behind.” She flapped her hand in the direction of the path. “Some cave.” Covering her mouth with her palm, she tasted, soil, grit, and salt. She cursed the jagged hillside. And Eglon. He’d made her flee and abandon her treasures. Waves of regret pulsed behind her eyes. Don’t cry and show weakness.
Her enormous captor stepped closer.
She fisted her hands and held them in defiance. Why did they have to quiver?
The warrior held out his hands. Steady as a fisherman’s footing, they were. He hadn’t fled Eglon in the dark of night, and from the number of campfires in the valley, he had plenty of swords to come to his aid.
“Do not worry. I will take you to Jerusalem.” He scrubbed a palm over his jaw and steadied a hand on his hip, above his blade, but not in a position to impale.
Should she believe him? She eased back on her large sitting stone and glimpsed the valley. Only a fool would travel to Jerusalem with an army of Philistines. Her breaths hitched as she turned her attention to the warrior stationed before her.
“I did not lie earlier.” The gruff in his voice sharpened. If it got anymore sharp, she would bleed. “I mean to keep you safe and deliver you to the City of David.”
“With an army in tow?” A crazed laugh bubbled on her lips. Would her uncle, or the king, believe her to be a traitor? She had nothing to escape her captivity. No mount to ride. No emeralds to tempt. No strength to fight. “You could send me off in the morning. With a donkey and a waterskin. I wouldn’t speak of your presence.”
“I have plenty of donkeys. But unlike your kin, I don’t send women into the wilderness alone.” He met her gaze with an intensity that could slay a man’s, or woman’s, heart. “You will stay in our tents tonight and set out with us at first light.”
“Us?” She assessed him to be a Philistine, but were there other peoples among his men? And under whose tent would she sleep? Could this man assure her safety in his camp? She shook her head to stop a leak of tears.
The large Philistine beheld her with a look that mirrored her father’s when she was a girl. At least it was an expression she remembered her father having. One of compassion. This soldier did not sneer or slither his sights all over her body.
“You have my protection. My word is respected among my men.”
“But who sends you into battle?” Disdain filled her voice. She breathed in the night air. The aroma of campfires and ash tickled her throat. “What king craves a portion of the lands of Judah? We are at peace.”
“I don’t serve a king at the moment.” He smirked and pinched his stubbled chin with fat fingers. “And I do not seek a battle or to conquer your land.”
How could a man who killed to stay alive be so hospitable? The tension in her shoulders eased, but only a half jerk.
“I am traveling to Jerusalem to see a boyhood friend.” He quirked a brow as if challenging her wits. “Your king kept my mother and me alive with his kindness. We knew him as David, son of Jesse.”
What was this warrior thinking? “King David won’t welcome your fighting men.” Her forehead pounded. She would be caught in a blood bath. Her captor didn’t look or speak like a fool. Truly, he had a plan. “Have you sent messengers? Word of your coming?”
“Soon.” He came even closer, close enough that she could kick him if her toes weren’t already screaming from her sprint over jagged rocks. Her toenails couldn’t damage the thick leather protecting his shins. His chiseled greaves filled the air with the scent of livestock. “I do not believe God would spare my life in Gath and send me to Jerusalem to die.”
“You’re a Philistine warrior.” Heathen.
He nodded.
“What God do you believe spared you?” She straightened. The hard stone beneath her dug into her thighs.
“Your God.” He dipped his head and crossed his thick forearms as if this conversation was ordinary. Nothing about this night had been ordinary. Her forehead pulsed with an ache that made her feel faint.
“My God is not your God.” She blew out a breath of disgust. Was this foreigner insulting her? Lying to her? Or both? “I serve the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. You do not. You are an uncircumcised pagan in His sight.” She clenched her teeth and stopped any more insults of his honor. He was an expert at bringing forth that blade.
Stifling a smirk, he said, “How do you know who I serve or if I have undergone circumcision?”
“Uh.” She didn’t know. Her cheeks heated hotter than those valley fires. Burying her face in her sleeve, she attempted to hide her embarrassment, her confusion, and everything about her being. The cloth smelled of dirt and desperation. Gone was the lingering scent of hyssop when she cared for her mother. Gone was the faint hint of jasmine oil that Leah wore to the market. Gone was the sweet air of Beersheba. All gone.
Sniffling, she held her head high and faced the foreigner. “Why would the God of Abraham spare your life?”
“Because I have asked Him to spare it. And the lives of my men.” He paced toward the edge of the hill overlooking the flickering campsites below. “I learned of your God from your king. When he was in exile outside of Gath.” The Philistine hesitated. His fierce gaze impaled her. “Why can’t I ask for victory or mercy like King David?”
An answer caught in her parched throat. Before she could swallow and form a response, the Philistine raised his arms toward the stars.
“Elohim, Adonai. Love the Lord your God with all your heart...”
Couldn’t be. Her captor was speaking Hebrew and praising the One True God. Her God. She stared at this mountain of a man, a Philistine fighter, relaying the truths of God given by Moses to her people. Her mouth gaped, shut, and then brought forth words.
“With all your strength.” She finished the well-known prayer with her rescuer. Tilting her head, she asked, “What is your name?”
Another man bounded to her side. Her heart catapulted to her throat. She struggled to breathe. A stench of sour body odor wafted her direction. She covered her lips with calloused hands. Now, she had another heathen to appease.
“Ittai, the men—”
Their intruder halted and gawked.
Hand to her heart, she reclaimed her countenance, and pointed a finger at the man who had moments before been praising her God and whose name rung in her ears.
“You are named Ittai? From Gath?” She blinked at the two men beholding her as a ghost.
Ittai nodded. “And I expect the men who were chasing you are traveling in a different direction.”
“With an escort.” The messenger indicated her presence with the slightest of movement. “To make sure they do not double back.”
Ittai gave a silent, stoic, side-eyed command to their latest guest. “We will see this woman safely to Jerusalem. And we will leave before dawn.” Ittai lumbered toward his soldier and clamped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hamuran has a wife and family you can stay with until we break camp.”
“I—I do.”
“Toda raba.” She nodded to the tall, lanky messenger. Hadn’t she asked God to watch over her this night? Who would have guessed a Philistine convert would have rescued her from her own kin? “I will pray we have safe travels to the City of David. I am in your debt for your kindness, Ittai.” She acknowledged the fighting man. “And Hamuran.”
“My men call me Ittai the Gittite.” Somehow in his dark, chiseled features, she thought she saw the tug of a smile. Perhaps he was gleeful to be done with her for a few hours. He cocked his shoulder-length mane of hair. “I will accept your prayers.” His brow furrowed. “Though, I do not know your name.”
“Rimona.” She pitched forward on her stone seat. “Of Beersheba.” Placing weight on her feet, she winced. “My kinsman was going to take me to Jerusalem. And now my belongings are lost on a hill. My mount—”
“Do not worry. Rest now, Rimona of Beersheba. Tomorrow we head toward Jerusalem. Soon, you will be walking the palace steps.”
She wished she could be as confident as Ittai that successfully accompanying an army of Philistines to David’s palace could be accomplished with only a few prayers.
The whoosh of his cloak caused a gust of wind to bathe her face. She blinked, and before she knew what was happening, her body lifted into the air and into Ittai the Gittite’s arms. She squealed. Was she lying on a felled tree? His arms were as solid as mature branches. What would the elders of her tribe say if they witnessed his forcefulness? Or his swathed touching.
I said rest, Rimona.” His chuckled rumbled in her ear. “You are wound tighter than a rolled rug.”
One thing she knew this night. Ittai the Gittite didn’t lie.
4
Ittai held Rimona loosely, but not too loose lest she topple out of his arms. Her stiff frame screamed of her unease. Buried beneath the folds of his cloak, her dark-lashed eyes never met his gaze. He could feel her elbow gently thumping against his chest like a rabbit burrowing into its hole. He stifled a bark of a laugh from the tickle as he trotted, half slid, down the slope of the hill. Disturbing his fighting men and their families with his chuckle would draw questions or fright. As their commander, he didn’t have to explain his actions, and he had no time for idle conversation with dawn nipping at his greaves.
When was the last time he had held a woman? He had carried his mother when she had been too ill to walk. He needed but one arm to support the hollowness of his mother’s bones. Rimona required more strength to uphold. Any robust woman would, but he was not in the habit of carrying women. No wife filled his tent. Warring for the King of Gath had left him alone. He had seen enough battles in his thirty-six years to rest on his accomplishments as a commander. He had no experience at being a husband, and he did not have the distractions that came with being bound to a wife. He had been free to search out wars without worrying what his death would leave behind.
Traipsing through the broad tents that held his fighting men, he hurried toward the inner circle of tent tops filled by wives and children. Fire pits did not burn as bright in this part of camp. Security gave way to peaceful slumber. The sweet aroma of oak embers and washed bodies enlivened his soul. For a moment. Only for a moment. He could not grasp even the shadow of a thought that David and his men might slaughter these innocents. His chest constricted tighter than tent seams. His people needed refuge, not war.
“How much longer?” Rimona’s words reverberated through the cloth barrier between their bodies. Her head shook and dislodged her head covering. Her hair stuck out like a bramble bush.
Haunting eyes filled his vision. Helpless eyes. Eyes too wide awake for this long into the evening. What if she had stumbled onto a caravan of lustful merchants? A hint of a shiver bathed his skin. He tamped down the fear of a boy entrusted with the burden to hide his mother from scavengers. A burden too lofty for a boy but not for a brawny young man. A man taught to be skilled with the sword. It was David who had given him a small sword among the skins of milk and loaves of bread all those years ago. The blade became a treasure from a man who was destined to be a king.
“Ittai?” Wisps of hair blew in the breeze as Rimona beheld him. How long had his mind been distracted? “Surely, your arms grow weary. What if someone sees us?”
“Hamuran’s wife lives ahead. At the end of this path.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his hold on Rimona. “I don’t anticipate a charge against me. This is my command.” Dirt nestled between his toes from the temporary trail. Not even the desert trade winds could cool the warmth radiating from Rimona’s body. “I trust Parveda to tend to you.”
Rightfully, any woman would watch over Rimona at his order, but Parveda was like a sister, or at least what he expected a sister to be. Loyal and forthright.
Dipping her chin, Rimona cast her vision at her sandals, battered, dirty, and dangling in the darkness. “You seem like a fine commander and fighter. Why would a king allow you and your men to leave?”
Is that why she’d remained quiet. Had she been pondering her rescue by an outcast?
“I find kings do not want the stones of their cities stained with blood that a thousand servants could not scrub clean.”
“You have seen that before?” Her eyes held a hint of disbelief. Or was the shine from the moon playing tricks on him?
“Every disciplined commander has.” He slowed his gait a short distance from Parveda’s dwelling. He desired to wipe out any doubt in Rimona’s beliefs that his men would do harm to King David. The streets of Jerusalem would not be bathed in blood. “What does the One True God say about serving other gods?”
She flinched in his arms. “There are no other gods.”
“You speak the truth, but kings can come to believe that they are a god. Or as powerful as one.” In the shadows of camp, he waited to see understanding in her brown eyes. “And kings demand loyalty.”
“Yours let you go with hundreds of his men?”
“He let me leave with men who would never honor him or at least, would cause dissension in his ranks.”
“Truly.” She nodded. A simple nod, but it made his posture broaden. “I needed you on that hill. Praise God the king let you go.”
Stifling a grin, he said, “Yes, praise God.”
“Perhaps your king believes you will return one day.” Her words sounded hopeful. This Israelite woman did like to talk.
“I doubt I will ever return to Gath. There is no place for me there.” The welcome of his mother was long buried. “I’m in search of a new place to live. A peaceful place.”
“What about your family?” Her tone was wistful yet filled with concern. Little good her kin did her this night.
“My mother and father are gone.” He sped his pace. Reminiscing weighed upon his bones more than this woman.
Rimona blew out a short breath. “As well, my mother and father are gone.” Her eyelids blinked.
