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He'd sent a boy into battle. Now the boy returned a man.
"Where is the armor I gave him?" Saul crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze at the scrawny shepherd with a bloody prize in his grasp.
Clad in his sheepskin tunic, young David climbed the hill straightway to the king's tent. A massive head dangled from his grip, clutched at the scalp by thick, black curls. The dead eyes lolled open as if in surprise, the mouth sagging almost comically to one side as though the man in life had been little more than an imbecile. Blood and viscera oozed onto the grass from the ragged cut at the throat, loose flesh flapping with the boy's movement and leaving a trail of gore in his wake.
"Cut off with the giant's own sword, my liege," came the awed voice of Abner, Saul's commander, as he took his place at the king's side. Four of Saul's attendants struggled to keep pace with the boy, out of breath as they reached the king's tent.
It seemed to take all the lad's strength to hold the head in one hand and the sword in the other, blade dragged through the grass with some of the giant's blood still upon it, but the climb had in no way tired him.
Saul couldn't hide his disdain. He'd been young himself once, with a stature greater than any man of Israel—a head taller than the tallest of them. He'd been the king his people demanded. But times had changed. It was rumored the Spirit of the Lord had come powerfully upon young David after it had departed from Saul. This whelp of a boy, the Lord God saw fit to bless—today's incident with the giant Philistine was but one example. According to the youth, Jehovah had given him strength to take down a lion and a bear single-handedly. Why shouldn't he add Goliath of Gath to his list of conquests?
In place of the Lord's Spirit, a dark shadow had come to harass Israel's king.
When the shadow had first descended upon his soul, Saul remembered one of his attendants saying to him, "An evil spirit torments you, O King. Let our lord command his servants to search for someone who can play the lyre. He'll play when the demon comes upon you, and you will be delivered from it."
Head in his hands, Saul had closed his eyes and replied without much hope, "Find someone who plays well and bring him to me."
One of his men had answered, "I have seen a son of Jesse of Bethlehem who knows how to play. The Lord is with him."
The Lord is with him. Saul ground his teeth. Even then, it had already been common knowledge.
When David came to Saul and entered his service, Saul had liked the boy from the start—this he had to admit—and David soon proved himself, becoming one of the king's trusted armor-bearers. Saul sent word to the lad's father, saying, "Allow David to remain in my service, for I am pleased with him." It was the truth.
And whenever the shadow again came upon the king, he would call for David, and the boy would take up his lyre and play. Only then would relief wash over Saul like healing waters; he would feel better in time, and the evil spirit would leave him.
"Sire, do you not see?" Another of his attendants gestured with both hands at the dismembered head. "Goliath is dead—the Philistines have been routed. We are victorious, my lord!"
Weeks ago, the Philistines had gathered their forces for war and assembled at Sokoh. They pitched their camp at Ephes Dammim, between Sokoh and Azekah. The Israelites had assembled and camped above the Valley of Elah, drawing their battle line to meet the Philistines who occupied one hill and the Israelites another, with the valley and stream running through it between them.
For forty days and nights the Philistine Goliath had come out and taken his stand at the edge of the stream, booming in a voice like thunder at the ranks of Saul's men, "This day I defy the armies of Israel! Is there not one among you with the stones of an ox? Send out your strongest, and let us fight to the death! If he wins, we will be your servants. But if I win, you will serve us!"
Young David had spoken up to Saul, "Let no one lose heart on account of this Philistine, my king. Your servant will go and fight him. The Lord who rescued me from the paw of the lion and the bear will rescue me from the hand of this giant!""
The boy now dropped Goliath's head at the feet of his king and knelt, straining to lift the sword as an offering while bowing his head in solemn fealty.
Saul licked his teeth, glancing at his attendants. They seemed eager that he accept the trophy—both the head and the sword.
"Mount it for all to see." He picked up the weapon with one hand, gripping it by the hilt. It was the broadest, longest blade he had ever seen, and if he had not been the strongest man in Israel, he would not have been able to heft it. He dipped the blade to indicate the giant's head, and only then did his attendants scurry to obey. He called the younger three of them Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Noah was his name for the oldest one with a beard as white and long as the prophet Samuel's. "You have our thanks," Saul told the boy. "The Lord God has smiled upon you this day."
David did not meet the king's severe gaze. "He gave me victory, Sire, over that uncircumcised Philistine."
"Pity you didn't think to bring back his foreskin." Saul clucked his tongue in mock disapproval.
Across the stream on the Ephes Dammim side, the shouts of the men of Israel could be heard echoing throughout the valley below. When the Philistines had seen their champion slain, they immediately turned tail and ran for their lives. Saul's men had surged across the stream after them and now pursued the Philistines, chasing them to the very gates of Ekron, if need be. Their dead would be strewn along the Shaaraim road to Gath. And when the Israelites returned from chasing the Philistines, they would plunder their camp for anything of value.
Events could not have turned out better.
The giant's head seemed to agree. It chuckled as Shem and Ham struggled to lift it.
King Saul stared at the thing, every muscle in him turning cold as stone.
"Saul has slain his thousands," it growled from its lopsided mouth in a deep, throaty voice that no one else seemed to hear. "And David his tens of thousands."
The shadow was descending—that was the only explanation. This severed head could not possibly be speaking. It was the demon; it could be nothing else. The evil spirit had returned, and with it now, the voice of a ghost.
Yes, a ghost... the king mused. One who might possess certain secrets known only to those inhabiting the afterlife?
Saul approached his attendants, his gaze fixed upon the bloody thing in their grasp. "Take it into my tent. I wish to admire the boy's handiwork."
The head made no sound while they did as commanded. Saul held the Philistine's sword down at his side and kept an eye on young David who had yet to stand, his head still bowed.
"Rise, lad. Enjoy what the Lord God has wrought this day. You are to be commended." Saul gestured sharply for Noah to escort the youth away.
The king watched David under his attendant's arm as they descended the grassy slope. Other men surrounded the boy and lifted him up onto their shoulders, celebrating his victory with drink and song and dance. Saul's grip on Goliath's sword tightened until the knuckles on his hand grew white. Then he turned on his heel and entered his tent.
"Begone."
His attendants nodded and bowed as they passed him, careful to close the flap of camel hide as they took their leave.
––––––––
The giant's head lay sidelong on the grass beside Saul's pallet. He eyed the thing warily, stabbing the earth with the giant's sword and leaving it to quiver by its blade.
"Speak." He sat facing the monstrous thing, yet he felt no dread. When the shadow came upon him, he never felt fear—only a dismal disregard for his life and everything it entailed. It left him angry more than anything else. "You are defeated. I am now your king, and I command you: speak!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like a fool. To speak to a cold, dead thing like this—it was truly a sign of madness.
But then Goliath's eyes twitched upward to focus upon Saul, the thick lips working against the blood caked upon them. "Saul has slain his thousands," it groaned, "and David his tens of thousands."
Saul ground his teeth, fists clenching and unclenching. The words made no sense—yet they caused such a fire to burn in the king's belly that he knew there had to be truth behind them. "Tell me your meaning!"
The head only chuckled with a sick, gargling sound.
But of course it was just the king's imagination—or the evil spirit that had returned, the same that plagued his mind on occasion. If that was the case, then the words he heard, the feelings they induced, were in reality all a product of his deepest fears: that since the Spirit of the Lord now rested upon young David, he would eventually grow into a man who would steal Saul's kingdom out from under him.
"The boy who would be king," the head growled as if able to read Saul's thoughts.
Saul cursed, lurching forward to seize hold of the head and gouge out both its eyes with his thumbs, penetrating their sockets as he dug with all his might. He drove his strong right hand into the gaping mouth, feeling the teeth scrape across his wrist, and he seized hold of the Philistine's tongue, jerking it out with a twist, tearing it free from its root.
"Speak to me now, demon." Saul grimaced, crushing the slick thing in his fist. "If you can."
"Saul has slain his thousands," the giant's voice came forth with no impediment to its speech, staring sightlessly at Israel's king. "And David his tens of thousands!"
Saul rose up, casting the dismembered tongue to the ground and grabbing a fistful of the giant's hair. He stormed outside and snatched a javelin from the rack beside his tent, plunging the iron tip through Goliath's skull. Striding to the western edge of Israel's encampment, Saul planted the weapon into the ground. The head faced the direction of the Philistine retreat. Fitting, thought the king.
"Great champion of the heathen." Saul spat upon the giant's face. "Enjoy your afterlife in Dagon's embrace."
Gritting his teeth and forcing his most regal demeanor, the king of Israel strode down the hill to join his men in their merrymaking. After so long, the defeat of the Philistine army was indeed a great victory, regardless of whose hand the Lord God had seen fit to deliver it.
––––––––
In the dead of night, King Saul awoke gasping, sweating, throwing back his blanket and sitting up with a start. It could have been only a dream, but he stared into the darkness convinced he'd heard a voice hissing outside his tent: Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands!
How could such a thing be? Saul had been the only one to hear the preternatural chant from the giant's dismembered head, just as he was the only one to feel the shadow of evil when it came upon him. No one else shared this burden.
With a rotting coldness in his belly, Saul strode forth from his tent to seek out the source of the voice. But his steps were ordered.
He knew where first to look.
As King Saul approached, the head on the javelin chuckled, lurching strangely, pivoting of its own accord to stare at the king from empty eye sockets.
"Trouble sleeping, O King?" it growled with great mirth.
Saul glanced sidelong to make certain he was alone. The camp lay blanketed by the sounds of slumber. The men of Israel had destroyed the Philistine army, and now they reaped the rewards. The two night watchmen were nowhere in sight.
"What is the meaning of this?" the king said through clenched teeth. "Who are you to taunt me in this way?"
"Was I a dog that you sent a child to beat me with a stick?"
Again, the demon referred to David. "He defeated you fairly. The Lord God—"
"—gave him the victory, while every man of Israel wet himself in fear. Including YOU!"
With a vehement oath, the king drew his dagger and stabbed at the head, cutting through dead flesh and muscle, breaking through bone. The pieces dropped onto the grass, leaving the bloody javelin to stand alone in the moonlight. Darting a furtive glance over his shoulder, Saul gathered the remains and tucked the javelin under his arm, scurrying out over the hilltop, more than fifty paces from the edge of the camp. There he dug a narrow pit with the weapon and buried the pieces of the head, covering them over with fresh earth and stamping it down with his sandaled foot.
"Speak to me now," the king said with a low oath. He allowed himself to revel in this small victory. In the end, it hadn't been David who utterly destroyed Goliath of Gath. It had been King Saul of Israel! There would be no more unwelcome words from the giant—
Saul has slain his thousands—
"No!" The king clapped his hands to his ears, but it was no good. The words came through clearly, as if they now issued forth from his own mind instead of the head's bloody lips.
Young David is the anointed one. He will take your kingdom from you, O King!
Groaning and weaving on his feet, Saul boxed his ears and cursed with spittle flying from his mouth.
"My lord?" A dark shadow stood on the hilltop behind the king's tent.
Saul took up the javelin over his shoulder, prepared to skewer whoever had come upon him without warning. But then he lowered the weapon and ran a trembling hand over his face.
"Are you feeling ill, Sire?"
Saul recognized the man's well-built silhouette. It could be none other than Abner, the only one of his men who knew of the shadow that afflicted Israel's king. It had been Abner who first suggested finding David to play his lyre.
Keep a watchful eye on this one. You do not know if you can trust him. He and the boy may very well be in league.
Saul nodded to himself. For once, the giant's words made some sense. "I thought I heard something." Gathering his robes about him, Saul climbed the hill to meet his commander.
"The Philistines have been routed, my lord. The night watchmen would have notified me if—"
"We strike camp in the morning and make our return to Jerusalem. The air here reeks of death."
Abner nodded, reaching forward as if to relieve the king of his javelin. But Saul kept the weapon close.
––––––––
When the shadow descended, the king could not hope to think clearly on matters at hand, and that was bad enough. But now there was also the voice of the infernal giant to contend with—the hissing, jeering chant from inside Saul's own mind. It seemed to have taken up residence. There was no reason why he should still hear the thing speak to him. But then again, there had never been much in the way of reasoning where any evil spirit was concerned.
Abner, seeing the effects of the demon upon the king, summoned David to play his harp, recalling the good it had done Saul in the past.
It was now a week since the lad had slain the giant Philistine, and on the return to Jerusalem, Saul had not seen hide nor hair of the boy. But he had heard plenty—from the giant himself. Always the same, repeated over and over again: Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands!
"God be with you, my king," the youth said with a quick bow, his eyes on the stone floor in the king's great hall. The two of them were alone.
The lad smelled of the fields, of sheep dung and of sweat, but once he began to strum his stringed instrument, the king found that he did not mind the stench so much. Not at all, in fact.
The weight of the shadow seemed to lift from him, and for a fleeting moment, Saul felt his spirit lighten. He felt hope for the future—his own. Such had been lacking as of late.
But then the giant reasserted his presence: He will turn your son against you. Already, they plot together how to take your kingdom from you.
Saul's large hands tightened into fists as he grumbled deep in his throat like a wounded animal—the most dangerous kind.
What will you do, O King? Allow this whelp to undermine your rule? The giant chuckled within the confines of Saul's skull. Or has your strength already abandoned you? Flaccid waste of a man that you are?
With a sudden roar, Saul arose from his throne and seized his javelin, mounted nearby, the same that had been stained with Goliath's blood. Only now it was clean—Shem, Ham or Japheth must have seen to it. Frowning, Saul weighed the shaft in the palm of his hand, feeling its balance as time stood still for the moment.
"My king?" David had ceased playing. His wide eyes were now fixed upon Saul.
"Begone."
If you wish to hold onto your kingdom, there is only one thing to be done. You must kill the boy.
Saul's grip tightened on the javelin.
Kill the boy!
But the boy had become a man. And the Spirit of the Lord was strong with him—
KILL THE BOY!
Screaming a wild oath, Saul hurled the javelin across the hall at young David. It seemed to fly as slowly as things often do in dreams, and as soon as the weapon left his hand, Saul prayed it would miss. He prayed the God of Jacob would yet answer him one last time.
David ducked as the javelin thudded into the wall above him. If he had not possessed such quick reflexes, the weapon would have taken his head. Without a word, the youth fled from the king's hall with his lyre under one arm, his sandaled feet clapping hard across the stone floor.
Shem, Ham, and Japheth soon appeared, their eyes darting from the javelin, still quivering where it had pierced the wall, to the king and back to the weapon again.
"Begone!" Saul's voice boomed, and they scurried to obey.
––––––––
One figure remained just outside the king's hall, half-hidden behind the fronds of a short palm: Prince Jonathan, who stood listening as his father's whispers echoed from the bare stone walls.
"Your son is a traitor," came a voice that did not sound like his father at all. It was deep and gravel-throated even as it hissed, "He will betray you. I am the only one you can trust. Heed my words, O King!"
Seemingly in reply, Saul groaned with his head in his hands, leaning forward on Israel's throne in great distress.
"Kill the boy!" the strange voice ruptured forth from the king's throat, causing him to jerk violently in place.
"No, no," Saul moaned in reply, wagging his head side to side. "Begone," he pleaded.
Jonathan came out into the open. Unable to believe his eyes, he stared mutely at what had become of his father.
"Look—your betrayer stands before you!" Saul cried, his head jerking upward to lock eyes with his son.
"Father—" Jonathan held up one hand to stay the king. "You are not well. Let me summon—"
Shrieking like a madman, Saul launched himself from the throne with a mangled expression of ill intent and sprinted straight for his son. Jonathan turned on his heel to flee, but the king overtook him easily, casting him to the floor and pinning him down, screaming threats with the deep-throated voice one moment, then whimpering that David would take everything from them with a voice more like his own—yet one so unlike anything Jonathan had ever heard from him. It was that of a defeated man, a weakling.
"Father—" The prince fought against Saul in vain. Even in his bizarre mental state, the king remained the strongest man in Israel. "Father, if it is God's will, who are we to stand in His way?"
For a moment, the king held still, and in his eyes emerged a look of understanding at the inevitability of it all. His hold on Jonathan relaxed, and he bowed his head.
But then Saul's eyes widened, and he grated out in the voice that was not his own, "Kill the boy!"
The king's strong hands clamped around Jonathan's throat and began to squeeze with all their might. Jonathan's pleas choked to garbled nonsense as he writhed weakly, his eyes rolling upward in their sockets.
"It is David who takes your life, my son!" the king cried. "He has done this to us. He has slain tens of thousands! Who are we among so many?"
"Father—" Jonathan rasped.
It would have likely been his last word, had Abner not passed by near enough to overhear the scuffle and come running into the hall.
"My king!" With a mighty heave, Abner pulled Saul off his son, and young Jonathan rolled onto his side to curl his knees to his chest and gasp for breath. "You are not well, my lord. You must retire—"
"I must decrease." Squeezing his temples with one hand, Saul sat on the floor and turned his back on Jonathan as if he could not bear to look at him. The voice was his own again as he murmured, "He must increase." He looked Abner in the eye. "You will see it through. You must. Do you understand?" He gripped Abner's forearm. "The Lord is with him."
Confusion clouded the commander's gaze. "You will be well again, Sire. You need only rest."
"Do not trust him!" Saul lurched backward and staggered to his feet like a drunk man. "He is in league with them both!"
Abner dropped back a step. "My king?"
Eyes bulging from their sockets, Saul dashed to the far wall and tugged his javelin free, whipping it end over end to aim the point at Abner's chest. "You think to take my kingdom from me, is that it? You and my son—allied with that mere shepherd boy?"
Then in another voice, more like the king's but low and lifeless: "The Spirit of the Lord has left me. Darkness now encompasses my soul. I am the king my people demanded, but not the king they deserve." He half-turned to look upon Jonathan as he rose to his feet, keeping his distance. "You spoke the truth, my son. If God wills it, who are we to stand in His way?"
Abner glanced at the prince, then back at the king. The javelin had yet to waver.
Saul's grip tightened white-knuckled on the weapon. "And who are you to stand in mine?"
He lunged at Abner, thrusting forth the javelin with all his might. And while the commander of Israel's army was a man quick on his feet, he found himself not nearly quick enough. The head tore into his side with a spurt of blood, but even as he dropped back wounded, Abner remained standing, clamping both hands on the shaft of the weapon, and with a strong twist, he unhanded the king of his javelin and tugged it free of himself at the same time.
Saul's eyes went wild with rage. "I am Goliath of Gath!" he roared, and the voice of the dead Philistine echoed throughout the great hall as it had in the Valley of Elah. One hand shot out to grip Abner by the throat, lifting him up off his feet. Abner buffeted the king with the javelin's shaft, but to no avail. "The king of Israel is no more!"
"That may be." Jonathan's voice was barely audible even to himself as he stood behind his father and plunged his dagger between the king's ribs. Saul seemed to hang in midair for a moment before he dropped to his knees, craning his neck to look back at the prince in awe. "But neither is the Philistines' champion."
Abner dropped the javelin with a clatter and knelt before his king without a thought for his own wound. Jonathan withdrew the gold-hilted dagger from his father's side and cast it headlong across the floor, holding King Saul close to his breast as the life drained from him.
"The shepherd will be king," Saul whispered, his chin dropping to his chest. "He will be a man after God's own heart."
Then he stiffened as one faced by what he fears most, and he let out a long sigh as he passed into the afterlife.
––––––––
King Saul's words of prophecy were remembered well by the two men present, and when by the grace of God young David eventually grew in wisdom and stature and came to rule over Israel with Jonathan and Abner by his side, the king had no knowledge of the evil spirit he'd released by slaying Goliath—a demon that would continue to plague Israel in a myriad of ways over the centuries to follow.
David himself was not immune to its attempts at the destruction of his kingdom. But the Spirit of the Lord was with him all of his days, and despite the demon from Gath that continued to live on, finding various hosts willing to do its bidding along the way, in the end, nothing was able to sway David from his path to glory through the valley of the shadow of death.