21
Sorrow and Might
It was dark in the tent now. The oil lamp had flickered and snuffed out during the last hour, but Othniel was so enraptured that he could not bring himself to strike another flame to a new one.
Othniel inhaled the dank, musty air inside the wet tent and tried to rouse himself. “Then the wandering began,” he said quietly.
“Then the wandering began.” Caleb sighed. “And as difficult as those months were when Pharaoh kept refusing to let us leave, they were nothing compared to the wilderness.”
“We need to be finished for the night, Uncle. You must rest now.”
“No. I do not need to rest, not yet.”
Othniel smiled. “Then I need to rest.” He stood up to leave. His joints and muscles felt tight from sitting in the cold for so long; he couldn’t imagine how the old man was feeling. “Do you want me to send for a maid to lie with you for warmth?”
“I would be lying if I said that was not tempting. But no.”
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“I will go and fetch a hot drink from the watch fire. Oftentimes the watchmen keep a pot boiling over the flames on nights like this.”
“I can fetch it for you, Uncle.”
“I want to stretch my legs some more before going to sleep.”
“Please do not go out on the watch tonight. It has been a long day. We need you to have a fresh mind.”
“The day I do not take my turn on the watch is the day I am buried. And even then, I will take the first watch in Sheol.”
Othniel smiled and shook his head. It was no use arguing with his uncle. Before leaving, he sparked a fresh lamp for Caleb to have in his tent. He set it on the small table at the entrance.
“I look forward to hearing about how Yahweh sustained you in the wilderness, Uncle. No one remains who can tell us of these things.”
Caleb nodded. “I will tell it to you.”
“We must always remember how he saved your generation from the Egyptians,” Othniel said, more to himself than to Caleb. Then he left.
Caleb used his walking stick to help himself to his feet. He stretched as best he could. Pain. Constant, eternally deep pain, from the back of his neck all the way down to the toes of his feet. The prickling sensation felt like a hundred weavers’ needles pressing into his elbows, knees, and feet.
“Must get moving to loosen up,” Caleb mumbled to himself as he made his way to the flap of the tent and stepped outside.
It was late evening now. He could see the watch fire being stoked with more wood as the first watch of the night prepared to go to their positions on the perimeter. Troops stood around the fire warming up before heading to their shift.
It made him forget the pain for a moment. Such a wonderful sight. Troops encamped in the woods. No arrows flying yet. No death to grieve. No mothers or wives to give the sackcloth of mourning to. The night before the first battle felt like the thrill of a great hunting expedition and not the last night many of them would see before Sheol devoured them.
He poked his walking staff along the trail toward the fire. He thought about letting them see him smile, but waved the thought off. He would smile for them when the Baal worshipers were all dead.
Thunder rumbled long and steady. He noticed it because it had been many hours since he had heard any, despite the constant rain. Lightning flickered high above in the same casual pace as the thunder.
Movement. To his left.
He crouched and turned to face it, but the night was too dark to see anything clearly. But there was movement, he was sure of it. Unusual movement.
Wiping the rain from his eyes, he stared at the black forest. Squinted. Held absolutely still. “Yahweh, please illuminate the sky for me once again,” he whispered.
And Yahweh did so. The sky lit up with lightning, and the movement he had seen was now bearing down on him. Massive, mountainous shapes running toward him.
Anakim.
They must have smashed through the perimeter, and the sentries’ shouts had been drowned out by the storm. He did not have time to think of anything else, for the nearest monster was almost upon him.
Anakim were all at least two heads taller than any other man, and as their dark forms drew closer he could see their immense, bare, mud-covered torsos.
Caleb quickly realized they were wearing only loincloths, no armor, probably to be able to sneak up noiselessly on them. He strengthened his grip on his staff, his only weapon, and held absolutely still.
Do not shout for the others yet. Kill the first one through surprise, disorient their attack.
The first of them was three strides away, and the giant had his face turned toward the watch fire and the men around it. They would strike the camp, kill as many as possible while they fought their way through, then disappear back to their city with a few captive women.
A heathen raid just like every other heathen raid, be it Amalekites or Philistines or any of them, and Caleb’s anger flared hotter than the sun. He yearned to slaughter them and feel their hot blood on his face. His muscles tightened.
I have killed you before in your dozens, and I will kill you in your hundreds and thousands if I must.
Caleb watched the giant’s waist rise, then fall in stride, then rise again, and that was when he attacked, emerging from the shadows and sliding his staff into the gap between the giant’s legs, which were so thick and he was running with such force that it jerked the staff out of Caleb’s hand.
But the attack worked. The giant tripped and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Caleb scrambled to find his staff, probing his fingers into the undergrowth where he thought he saw it land. He had only seconds before he lost the advantage. He pushed his hands through the mud again, again . . . there!
As soon as he had it he staggered to where the Anakite had fallen, glancing to his left and right to see the others descending on the camp. He yelled, “Ambush! To arms!” but that was all he had time for, because the giant had gained his hands and knees and was spinning toward him.
Caleb darted around his enemy’s blind side and leaped on top of his back, putting the staff against the thick neck and pulling with all his strength to cut off the man’s windpipe.
But he was not strong enough to hold it. Not anymore.
The Anakite lurched back against him, flopping like a fish on land, and Caleb winced as the great bulk pinned him backward onto the ground, trapping a sharp rock against his spine. His mind became foggy from the pain, then cleared. Then he realized he needed to release the staff and grab for the rock, yet he was too late. The giant twisted, and a massive fist swung around and struck Caleb on the side of the head, hurling him back to the wet earth.
“To arms!” Caleb cried again, though weaker now and with bursts of light in his vision. He still had the rock. Still had the rock. What to do with it? He had a plan, could not remember it.
The Anakite was standing above him, holding a blade high, about to drive it down into his gut and send him to Sheol.
The rock.
What about the rock? Fog. More bursts of light. He could not think. Wished he was a younger man.
Something in his instincts triggered, and he managed to roll to the side just as the sword of the giant slid deep into the mud where he had been.
The rock!
He screamed and threw the rock as hard as he could directly into the giant’s face, which was so close he could smell the foul breath. The Anakite recoiled in shock, his face shattered.
Caleb’s fury raged hotter as he regained clarity. Exchanging blows with this enemy would not work. He saw the sword. Dove for it.
He pulled the sword out of the mud and begged for just a little more strength from his old, tired muscles.
The Anakite was rising. Caleb thought, as he stabbed the tip of the bronze sword forward, that they had been fools not to wear armor coming against him.
The blade’s aim was perfect. It cut through the flesh of the giant’s torso and slid out the other side with little resistance. Caleb did not stop to examine the result of the wound, for he knew it was fatal. Instead he started running back to his tent, to where his own weapons were. The death scream of the Anakite rose up as he pulled at the sword that had run him through.
Caleb saw nothing in the darkness. The Anakites had doused the flames, as he knew they would, for they wanted terror and confusion, wanted to kill as many of Caleb’s people as possible in one swift pass through the camp and then disappear back into the woods.
“God of my people,” Caleb shouted hoarsely as he approached his tent, “give me battle this night! Look with favor on me and strengthen me to kill your enemies!”
Just before he reached the tent, he felt it coming across him. The warmth in the back of his neck. The sensation of a hot breath blowing through his blood. His eyes flaring wide. Muscles surging and twitching.
He did not know what it was, but it had come to him in desperate times, from the days he had killed Amalekites for Moses until this very night.
“Yes, Yahweh! I receive!” he shouted.
He tore into his tent and found his sword and his battle-axe. Both forged from new copper. Both yet unstained with the blood of enemies. That would change.
Back out in the camp, running fast, his blood heating up, Caleb saw the figure of one of the giants tearing into a tent. The screams of a woman from inside. Caleb rushed forward in that direction.
Men were emerging from tents at the commotion. “Rally on me! Rally on me!” he called out.
Caleb entered the tent. An oil lamp was casting just enough light to show the Anakite pulling one of the cooking women toward the entrance by her neck.
Caleb locked eyes with the man for an instant. The giant nearly filled the tent with his bulk. His eyes flickered between Caleb and the woman, and Caleb knew what he was about to do if he could not capture her alive.
“Stop!” was all he could cry out as he lashed forward with the blade, but the giant already had his elbow crooked around her neck, and it was easy for him to snap it, killing her instantly, just before Caleb’s sword slid through the Anakite’s ribs and was buried to the hilt. Tears burned in Caleb’s eyes as he wrenched the sword around, trying to slice the giant’s insides into ribbons before pulling it out with a firm yank.
The giant screamed at him through a mouthful of blood. Caleb dodged the swipe from his hand and swung the tip of the blade across the man’s neck, opening up a wound that would be fatal. Caleb turned away from him to rush out of the tent. No time to weep for the dead woman; they were killing more of them all across the camp.
Pagan filth, attacking our women! Cowards!
He ran into several of his men as they tried to enter the tent and knocked them backward out of the entrance with his force.
Outside, he tore his cloak in grief and stripped it away, baring his chest, until he stood in the rain wearing only a loincloth. His skin was wrinkled with age, but in this moment his muscles were taut and strong.
“May the Lord strike me down if I do not kill every one of them!” he cried out. He whirled around and saw Othniel.
“Come with me and bring fifty men. Where is Abnedeb?”
“Here, my lord,” the commander of one of his divisions shouted while pushing his way from the back.
Caleb ran to the nearby watch fire and knelt down, using a stick to draw out his plan. Screams and cries were heard all down the ridge.
“General! They are killing our people!” someone said.
Caleb did not look up. “They will kill even more if we attack them without a strategy. Abnedeb!”
“Here, my lord.”
Caleb pointed to a route on his rough map that led down the ridge and ended below the walls of Hebron. “Take your men down this way and cut off their retreat. We will chase them along the ridgetop. They are only here to kill our women, so they will not want to engage too many of our soldiers.”
“But, lord, they are enormous,” Abnedeb said, his voice shaking.
Caleb glared up at him, and then he saw the same fear in everyone else’s eyes. His temper flared, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “Yes, they are enormous. But I have killed two of them by myself this very night, and I will kill many more, and so will you. The Lord is our strength and salvation, and he will deliver them into our hands.” He looked back down at his map. “Abnedeb, do you know what you are to do?”
The general swallowed hard. “I . . . I am to take my men down this ridge and stop their retreat.”
Caleb looked up at him. He stared hard into his eyes. “Get moving then.”
Abnedeb departed. Caleb was back on his feet instantly. “Kill all of them,” he said to the group, and they all rushed into the night to their tasks.
Othniel fell in behind Caleb as they ran through the tangled undergrowth in the direction of the rampaging Anakites. Caleb stopped to listen for the screams and, hearing them, adjusted his direction. Soon the attackers would be reaching the other side of the camp and bursting through the perimeter with their captives under arm.
Tents appeared everywhere around them. This was the encampment, deep inside the lines where it was thought to be safe to have serving women, but the shrieks and cries Caleb heard echoing through the night proved that thinking had been futile.
“Go left!” Caleb shouted to Othniel, and his nephew gestured for the men with him to bank left through the tents while another squad followed Caleb.
Caleb caught a glimpse of the fleeing forms of the Anakites as they sought the concealment of the woods. The Israelite archers had finally found their nerve. Caleb raced past the arrow-riddled corpse of one giant, who had been brought down by them, and sent the others into flight with deadly, consistent releases. Regardless of how big a man is, Caleb thought, he is not too big for our barbed arrows.
He still could not understand their numbers, had no idea how many were cutting through his perimeter, vowed to deal harshly with the commander of the night’s watch.
Shouts, clashes on the right. He slowed, holding his hand up to stop the men behind him. What was it? Where were they? He strained his eyes and ears.
Only the rain. A rumble of thunder. Clanking, clashing to his left.
There. Fifty paces away. An Anakite fighting with Othniel’s men. At least that was what he thought he saw, but it was dark and confusing. Where were his men? Abnedeb, where was he? Cutting off the retreat, he remembered.
What are we supposed to be doing? Caleb asked himself. Abnedeb sent to the flank . . . but what was his own assignment?
He wiped his face, cursing the confusion of battle. Attack the Anakite with Othniel now?
No, keep pursuing.
“On me!” he shouted, and ran forward again, leaving Othniel to handle the straggler.
“Lord God of the heavens, great Yahweh who delivered us from the Egyptians, please hear my prayer,” Caleb said as he stumbled in the direction the Anakites might have gone. He cursed them bitterly again. Attackers had every advantage. They had the plan, had knowledge of their objectives.
Caleb and his men passed several wounded and dead, a few more women, some of them elderly. They had been hacked or clubbed to death, their bodies twisted and contorted from the power of the blows. A fleeting thought, gone as soon as it came, that perhaps his army was doomed if it was facing an entire city of these monsters.
They passed where he knew the perimeter line had been, and he saw the dead body of a sentry, vowing again to punish the commander of the watch. From behind, more men in the camp were running after them, terrified and desperate for vengeance at the same time.
Over the rain they could hear more screams. Lightning flared. Ahead through the woods, Caleb saw six great figures illuminated.
“How many did you see?” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Five,” answered his shield bearer.
“Four,” answered another warrior.
“Six,” the shield bearer said, changing his mind.
“I saw six,” Caleb confirmed. “Stay concentrated together! We have to take them down one at a time!”
The Anakites were tall and massive, and they were carrying captives, making it hard for them to navigate through the thickets of the hillside. Caleb and his men were able to gain ground on them quickly. The one in the back of the group, carrying a screaming young woman in each arm, looked back and saw them pursuing. He soon realized he could not outrun them, so he threw the two women to the ground and turned to face them.
By this time Caleb’s men had shed their rain-sodden cloaks and were down to loincloths. Caleb called for a wedge, and they closed on the Anakite in the formation with their swords up. Caleb’s shield bearer held a long spear up, ready to jab with it when the giant was off-balance after an attack at them.
The Anakite had a tangled mass of long hair tied in braids that flowed down his back. The muscles in his shoulders and chest were impossibly large, and he attacked silently, fast and with skill, and Caleb moved aside as the Anakite pulled the sword from his belt and lunged at him.
Caleb parried the blow but only slightly. The force would have knocked him over with direct contact. As he did, the shield bearer moved in with a spear jab, which the giant saw coming but was too slow to avoid. The spear tip hit the arm and bit deep. The giant howled and wrenched his arm away, and Caleb and his shield bearer crouched side by side for the next attack.
The giant glared at them, saying something in the tongue of his race.
“I do not understand the language of dung,” Caleb spat at him.
“You have fought my kind before,” the giant said in the Canaanite tongue, which Caleb did understand.
“I have killed many of your brothers, yes. I will not go down to Sheol until I have brought you all with me. Now hurry up and attack so that I may take your head off and then run down the others.”
The other Hebrews had circled the Anakite, weapons raised. The giant realized he would not make it past fifty men alive, with more rushing down the hillside from the camp, and he decided to attack through them to kill as many as possible in the hope that he could penetrate the circle.
The giant whirled to his left and lowered his head to charge the ranks. He knocked down three men with his rush and absorbed the full strikes of three clubs without effect. He cut his blade across the bare chests of two men, nearly cleaving them in half.
“Remember your training! Fight them in teams! No clubs!” Caleb shouted, angry that his men had so quickly forgotten all that he had taught them about this race. But he did not have time to think anything else because the Anakite had turned on him, knowing that he was their leader, and if he was killed, the others would likely scatter. Caleb cursed the ground again, because the giant knew that these men had no experience battling his kind.
The Anakite rushed him, but Caleb’s shield bearer feinted an attack low, giving the temptation to strike him first. The giant took it, kicking at the shield bearer, allowing Caleb time to make one stab with his blade. But the Anakite had anticipated him, set his own trap for them. His fist swatted the blade aside, and he kicked the shield bearer full in the chest, sending the young man sprawling into the mud.
“Attack him! Attack him!” Caleb shouted at the others, but the Hebrews only crouched and watched, waiting for an opportunity to strike that would never come.
“Attack from behind while he is facing us!” Caleb ordered. “Do it now or you all are dead men!”
Finally one of the Hebrews ran forward in spite of his terror and tried to cut the back of the Anakite’s legs, but the giant saw him coming in his peripheral vision and swatted his blade away as well.
“You cannot cut! You have to stab! Get the point buried into his flesh!”
Every lesson he had taught them, forgotten! Caleb’s fury was unending. He would replace all of the training masters, make them all carry rocks up the mountain until they . . .
The giant moved to face him again, then rushed forward. Caleb was bending low to counter the attack when his knee gave out, biting sharply in pain as he forced himself into a crouch. He pleaded for Yahweh to strengthen his wretched body.
The giant drew closer, raising his arms over his head. Caleb held the sword up, desperate to get enough of an angle to intercept the blow.
The shield bearer had gained his feet and dove at the giant’s legs with enough force to cause the Anakite to buckle. The giant caught himself, threw enough into his next punch to crush the Hebrew’s ribs and send the man flying once more.
“Attack him, you fools! Attack!” Caleb shouted, and finally another Hebrew found his nerve and ran a spear into the giant’s thigh, which made him cry out in pain.
The Anakite seized the spear shaft and pulled the broadhead out, then spotting a gap in the lines, decided that he would eventually die if he remained where he was. He ran for the gap, using the spear he pulled out of his leg to pierce the skull of a Hebrew soldier who was scrambling to get out of his way.
Caleb gained his feet, his eyes burning with tears at the foolish loss of life, the deaths caused by green troops, cursing himself louder than any of them. “Yahweh, if there is any favor left for me in your great heart, give me the strength to run this man down!”
The blood in his veins grew hot, the pain dimmed, and he felt himself flying through the rain, through the brush, closing in on the fleeing giant, who looked behind him just in time to see Caleb leaping up with his bronze sword and aiming the blow between the shoulder blades.
The Anakite tried to dodge it, but his foot caught in the bramble, causing him to stumble. Caleb landed with his full weight against the blade and drove it between the shoulder blades, severing the spine of the giant. They crashed together to the ground, then Caleb had to duck another wild swing. The giant was paralyzed below the waist and would be dead soon, but his arms still flailed, and he hit Caleb so hard that he nearly passed out, feeling something crack in his ribs. Immediately his lungs began to burn.
Move . . . the . . . weapon . . .
He lurched. The sword arced up and over and down on the giant’s neck, but the giant caught it and pulled it away, grabbed Caleb’s throat with one of his hands and started choking him.
Caleb gagged, bile rising in his gut as he lost his breath. He flailed at the giant’s head, his face bent skyward as he was being strangled. Water flooded his eyes so that he could not see anything.
His fingers groped along the giant’s face until they found the soft bulbs of flesh, and he pressed as hard as he could.
The Anakite yelled and tried to bite his fingers, succeeding in getting one of Caleb’s fingers in his teeth. He bit down hard and tore away at Caleb’s skin.
They were locked together, Caleb’s fingers in the Anakite’s eyes, the paralyzed Anakite choking Caleb with both hands and tearing his finger to shreds with his teeth.
Press . . . harder . . .
Caleb extended the tips of his fingers deeper into the sockets, praying the pain would be so great that the Anakite would finally yield.
What finally ended it was the blade, which had been buried deep between the giant’s shoulders. Caleb felt the struggle from the giant start to ebb as he bled out from his heart getting slashed to pieces by the blade, his damaged lungs collapsing.
Moment by moment the giant weakened, though his jaw remained locked tight on Caleb’s finger. The chokehold on Caleb’s neck loosened enough to allow Caleb to break free, and he used the opportunity to seize the hilt of the sword and jerk it back and forth inside the giant’s chest.
The Anakite gave one more death shudder, then fell still. Caleb gasped for air, realized that the jaws were still clamped shut on the tip of his little finger. He rolled away and tried to tug the finger free, but it would not budge. The jaw muscles had locked in their death struggle.
His men gathered around. He gestured for them to help him, and they tried to pull the finger loose.
Caleb cried out in agony. “Cut it off! They are getting away! Cut it off!”
It was Othniel whose face appeared above him. “Uncle, I am sorry we are so late. The Anakite killed five of my men before we could bring him down.”
Caleb nodded, then closed his eyes and said more quietly, “Cut the tip off. He only bit the tip. I don’t need it. It’s not my weapon hand. Cut it off. They are getting away!”
Othniel hesitated only a moment before he motioned for one of his men to bring him a war axe, which he lined up and swung down on Caleb’s finger. Caleb felt a pierce of pain, and then it was only a dull ache. He glanced at the bloody stub of his finger, grateful that it was less than he thought. Only the top joint was missing. More than enough to be useful to him still.
“Wrap it, quickly.”
“Uncle, should I send the men?”
“No, they are all cowards. I have failed them; they are not prepared. We have to do it. They have more of our women, and we have to stop them. Please, wrap the finger.”
Othniel hastily cut a piece of cloth and went to work dressing Caleb’s finger to staunch the bleeding.
Seconds later, Caleb stood and pulled his blade from the Anakite’s corpse. “Abnedeb will be cutting them off near the city. We can meet him down there.”
More men streamed into the clearing. The alarm had been sounded all over their camp.
Caleb approached one of his senior commanders and said, “Tell the others to stay near their tents. We don’t need everyone, and if the Anakites send others to raid again while we are chasing them, it will be disastrous.”
The commander bowed, pivoted on his heel and began shouting orders to the men gathered around them. Caleb motioned for Othniel, and each of them led their detachments down the hillside through the thick forest.
All Caleb could think about was the state of his army. They had been capable troops up to this point, brave in the face of Canaanite arrows. But the presence of the giant Anakim had robbed them of their courage. He knew they would be shocked at their first encounter, though he had not expected the disastrous results of today.
At the bottom of the hill, they moved fast to cross the flooded wadi at a place spied out earlier, then began climbing the hill on the other side. Caleb searched for Abnedeb and his men in the clearing below the walls.
“Do you see them?” he called to Othniel.
“No, I do not.”
Frustrated, Caleb increased his speed until he was within an arrow’s flight of the walls. The gate of the city stood in front of him. He turned in a circle looking for his men. “Abnedeb!” he called.
“Uncle, please pull back,” Othniel said as he searched the walls above them. “If they see you, they will send arrows.”
Caleb ignored him and stared at the tree line, willing Abnedeb to appear. Where was the man? He had never let him down before—
Something struck the ground nearby, sending a spray of mud and water at them. Caleb whirled around and saw it was a body, thrown from the top of the wall. It did not move. He felt a heavy sensation in his gut as he knelt beside the crumpled form.
Abnedeb.
Tied to the corpse with a string was a long lock of black hair. It had been cut from a female scalp, for there was a beauty clasp fastened to it.
Caleb clenched his fists and glared up at the wall. He knew the message well. They had killed his men and had enslaved his women. Despite the rage in his heart, he fought to keep control of himself. He bent over and put his forehead in the mud to calm his spirit.
The rain increased again, as did the wind. The next wave of storms from the Great Sea had entered the hill country.
“Yahweh, what would you have me do?” he whispered. “What is your will?”
His blood coursed hot. His body ached. But he waited.
Soon, in his spirit:
They will have a man, and you will meet him in battle, and all who are present will know that I am the Lord.
Caleb held silent and prayed again, to be sure.
The voice said again:
They will have a man, and you will meet him in battle, and all who are present will know that I am the Lord.
He would not have been able to explain clearly what he had heard or how he knew what had been said. He simply . . . knew. Caleb rose and fixed his eyes on the top of the gate, where they would be watching him.
“My name is Caleb, and I am the son of Jephunneh! I am from Kenaz, adopted by the tribe of Judah!” His voice rang out against the city walls, clearly heard by the watch, even in the storm. “Send me down your man! Send me one of your sons of Anak, so that I may cut him to pieces in the name of Yahweh, God of Israel!”
No one moved on the walls, and Caleb grew angrier at their ignoring him. “I am Caleb, the son of Jephunneh! I was there when Yahweh crushed the Egyptian armies with his fist and buried them in the sea! I will slaughter you all, man, woman, and child! Send me down your man and perhaps there will be mercy for some of you!”
He panted, his chest heaving. The fire in his blood was not cooling. It was ordering him to stay. To wait. A man would come.
Rain fell hard. No other sound. No other movement. Nothing else visible. Only the dull orange of the watch fire against the sky, and the black outline of the walls.
Then came a loud clanking sound as the gears of the gate ground against each other. The men around Caleb crouched next to him, ready to receive the charge.
“If I meet my death, return to the camp and hold council. Appoint the three senior generals to command the siege of the city,” Caleb said.
Othniel blanched. “I thought Yahweh told you that he had given them into your hands.”
“Yahweh said that he has given us this city for our inheritance, and that all here would know that he is the Lord. That has nothing to do with whether I live or die.”
“That is madness! If we lose you, we have none able to lead us.”
“The will of the Lord is all that matters. He wishes to make himself known to the Anakim, just like he made himself known to the Egyptians.”
“Uncle, you—”
Caleb ignored him and walked toward the gate, which now stood wide open. Through it he could see the courtyard of the city, where a mass of residents had gathered and dozens of torches burned under awnings in the marketplace, casting flickering shadows.
Othniel motioned the others forward, almost fifty of the Hebrews, their weapons tense and positioned high, waited for whatever was to come through the open gate.
To himself he noted the bravery of these men, who had acquitted themselves well during the ambush and now stood ready for the enemy in the shadow of his fortress.
People began pouring out of the gate and into the grassy field below the walls.
“They have come to watch,” Caleb said. “That is good. All will know.”
Rich and poor were present. Canaanites of all nationalities. Othniel was surprised to see that they were not all giants like the ones who had attacked them earlier, but regular-looking people.
“Uncle, where are the Anakim?”
“They run the city,” Caleb answered. “Others from the land dwell here among them and serve them.”
“Are they favorable to us?”
“They worship the Baals just like the Anakim. We can give them no quarter. If we let them live, they will turn the hearts of our people.”
As though in answer, the people, realizing they appeared to be nothing more than farmers—contrary to the rumors of demon gods who had been sweeping through the land after destroying Jericho—began shouting and taunting them. They threw stones and handfuls of mud, but they were hesitant to charge them.
Caleb closed his eyes and released the aches and pains all over his body to Yahweh. May they be my offering to you, God of my people, he prayed. Whether I live or die, whether I am in comfort or in pain.
Everyone appeared to be waiting for something, and before long it became apparent what it was.
From the back of the crowd came a giant at least three cubits taller than any other man present, much larger even than any of the Anakites who had attacked them that night. He was dressed in his armor of bronze plates and stiff leather. A bronze, full-cover helmet kept his face hidden. It was polished and shone even in the dim light, with a plume of thick horsehair billowing from the top.
The people cheered him. Children cried out the name of their god. The giant waved at them and raised his spear.
“Who is he?” Othniel muttered.
Caleb smiled. “The Lord has given me Sheshai, the youngest of the three chiefs of Anak. But it cannot be that easy, God of Israel! I did not even breach the wall!”
Othniel looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
Sheshai gestured behind him with a huge hand, and a cluster of women were pushed forward from the crowd and thrown down on the mud in front of Caleb. Six of them had been captured. They were bound together by the wrists.
“Here they are, Hebrew. Come get them,” Sheshai said, his voice roaring above the clamor of the courtyard.
Caleb recognized several of the Hebrew women, including the elderly one who had served him earlier. He made himself stand as still as stone. Only his eyes moved, searching the top of the wall for their archers. The rain was falling hard, and they would have no range to strike him.
“You are Sheshai, correct?” Caleb asked in the Canaanite tongue.
The giant tilted his head. “You have heard of me?”
“I have. Your head will be mounted prominently on the gate after I have worn it on my belt, watching my warriors sack this city.”
“I am honored,” the giant said in a mock tone.
“And afterward I will come for the heads of your brothers and send them to the other cities I have come to conquer for my inheritance.”
The giant laughed. “You must be the old man they call Caleb.”
“I am.”
“What is this inheritance you speak of? My kind were here long before your father’s father.”
“I have come to claim the land that Yahweh, the God of Heaven and Earth, has declared is mine.”
“I do not know this Yahweh.”
“You will soon.”
Sheshai raised his weapon high, a sword as tall as Caleb himself. He barked an order, and several soldiers stepped forward and pulled at the legs of the huddled Hebrew women, who began screaming as they were separated. But their wrists were bound with cord, and once they were pulled apart, they formed a rough circle with their arms outstretched and a length of rope between them. The soldiers pressed their chests down into the mud and held blades to their necks.
Sheshai stepped on the back of one of them as he entered the circle. “We will test your god, Hebrew. If you win and kill me, you may go free with the captives. If I win and kill you, your commanders will surrender your army.”
“I will kill you, and then I will destroy your city,” Caleb answered.
There was a commotion, and the residents of the city pointed above them to the top of a large building on the edge of the courtyard. High above, two other giants were standing side by side next to a watch fire.
Sheshai looked up at them and waved his sword. “Brothers! The Hebrew general has offered himself to me in single combat!”
A cheer from the crowd. Sheshai held his arms up to quiet them.
“I invite you to watch as I kill him and enslave his army!”
But the Anakite chieftains above made no movement or reply. They only stood still, resembling mountains that wore cloaks.
Louder, so that everyone could hear him, Caleb said, “People of Kiriath-arba! I declare this town’s new name to be Hebron, and I will put you all to the sword if you oppose us! Those who leave peacefully will be allowed to cross the Jordan out of our lands. I warn you that I will not have mercy even on your little ones if you remain.”
Caleb pointed at Sheshai. “But your head will hang from my tent when I lie down to sleep this very night.”
The people turned quiet, seemingly shaken by his conviction.
“They will have heard of our other sieges,” Caleb said quietly. “They want no part of us without their champions.”
Sheshai shouted another order, and the soldiers pinning the Hebrew women down lifted their heads up by yanking on their hair so that they faced Caleb. They put their daggers to the women’s throats to keep them from moving.
Caleb locked eyes with one of them, a young wife and mother he knew from the camp. She was wincing in pain, but her gaze was hard and brave. He nodded to her. “Stay strong, my sisters,” he said in the Hebrew tongue. “You will return to your men this night. You will see your children married.”
Sheshai stepped into the center of the circle formed by the women and the ropes. “If your men interfere with us, mine will slit their throats,” he said, gesturing at the wives.
“Are you that afraid of me?” Caleb asked, his mouth widening into a grin. “Perhaps you have heard what I have done to the rest of your kind.”
Sheshai lifted his sword out in front of him at eye level. He crouched down. Caleb walked forward and stepped over the rope. As he passed the young wife he’d made eye contact with, he reached down and touched her head gently.
“May the Lord bless you with many sons and may they be full of years.”
The soldiers of the city all laughed.
Blindingly fast, Caleb knelt and pivoted with his entire body’s force to swing the blade, and his sword cut through the nearest soldier’s neck, sending him backward with a death mask of surprise on his face.
Arrows flew through the rain from Caleb’s men and struck each of the other soldiers. Only one managed to slice his blade against the neck of his captive before three shafts buried into his chest, but it was not deep enough to cause serious harm. The women, crying, jumped up and staggered toward the Hebrew soldiers, who had shifted their bows to aim at Sheshai.
The Anakite bellowed an order to the watch on the wall, but the arrows far above were driven low in the rain and thumped harmlessly fifty strides away.
Caleb rushed at Sheshai, not giving him time to realize his mistake, his weapon up to strike first, drawing out the giant’s defensive posture, then at the last moment holding back to allow his men to send the arrows they had ready. The fletching made whistling sounds as they passed him, and Sheshai recoiled as a dozen arrows struck against his armor.
Caleb ran to the side and found the weak spot in his armor, at the base of the neck, and shoved his blade through it for a clean kill.
But Sheshai had recovered his balance and managed to twist aside. Caleb’s strike clanged off the armor, and he pulled back to regain his own balance.
“Attack them!” Sheshai called to the gates.
An arrow deflected off Sheshai’s face guard, causing him to stagger back a step. Caleb moved in with his sword up, calling out to Othniel, who closed in beside him and circled Sheshai on the other side. Othniel had a battle-axe and darted in close behind Sheshai to land a blow to his knee, which Sheshai avoided by jumping back—only to trip against Caleb’s outstretched leg and crash to the earth.
By now more soldiers were rushing forward to fight the Hebrews, who maintained their perimeter around where Caleb and Othniel were struggling with Sheshai.
“Help them!” Caleb said to Othniel. “I will finish him.” And as Othniel turned to hold off the attack from the gate, Caleb tried to make another cut through a gap in Sheshai’s armor and landed this one, a deep gash into his flesh that made the giant yelp in pain.
To this point, he’d had Sheshai on his heels, surprised at the ferocity of his attack and his disregard of the understood rules of single combat, but now Sheshai managed to gain his feet and crouch in his defensive stance.
Neither man taunted the other; they simply attacked. Sheshai’s blows were too strong for Caleb to block directly. He prayed for speed, and the warmth in his blood seemed to increase, giving him the extra step he needed to avoid Sheshai’s swinging arcs with his large sword.
From nearby he heard Othniel shout, “Uncle, they are sending more Anakim outside the walls! Dozens of them!”
Caleb glanced up and saw them storming out the gates, an army of the huge men, and knew he had to order the withdrawal. “Pull back to the camp! Back to the heights!”
Caleb pressed the assault against Sheshai, but the giant backed up and held his hands out to his men. “Stop! He is mine! He is mine!”
The Anakites running out of the city did stop, but their faces were filled with rage and confusion. They cried out to their leader. The people from the city chanted for them to attack, consumed with bloodlust.
Sheshai attacked Caleb recklessly, his anger overriding his judgment. Caleb waited for the next opening and then stabbed, making another deep cut above the breastplate near the arm.
Sheshai buckled under the blow, completely taken aback by it. Caleb felt a surge of power in his arm, a whisper in his soul: That they may know that I am the Lord.
He yelled, fury overtaking him, his blade finding its own way down and around the giant’s neck, and then Caleb was on Sheshai’s back, knocking off the helmet with his free hand and revealing a head twice as large as his own with long black hair.
Caleb pulled his hair and stabbed the blade into the neck far enough to slice the windpipe. Sheshai went rigid and gagged, grappling for Caleb, but the old man’s arms were strong beyond measure, full of the power he had known since he was young. He paused so that all who were present could witness what he was about to do.
“You will know . . . that there is a God in Israel!”
Caleb rammed the blade up into Sheshai’s throat as hard as he could. When it was buried to the hilt, he threw the face back into the mud with contempt.
The defeat of their champion was so complete, and so fast, that many did not know it was over. Their chanting slowly died. Children asked parents what had happened. Men stared in disbelief. The Anakites who had charged out of the city stood motionless and watched, stunned. They eyed the Hebrew archers who kept them at bay.
Caleb strode over to Othniel and held out his hand for the axe. Othniel handed it to him.
Caleb walked back to Sheshai’s body, peering up at the dark shadows of the two other chieftains as he walked, and swung down several times with the axe until the head was separated. He held it up in the air.
“I have kept my vow and taken his head!” Caleb shouted, his white beard caked with so much mud and blood that it looked black and thick like a man half his age. “By the end of this week, every one of you will lie dead, and you”—he pointed at the chieftains—“will join your brother on the city gate.”
Caleb turned and walked back to his men, tying the severed head to his belt with the hair.
The Hebrews kept their bows up until he had passed them, then they all withdrew into the forest. Their last glimpse of the gate was of the Anakites and the rest of the people staring after them, still unmoving.
After helping the women along the rocky part of the trail, for they had been barefoot when they were taken, Othniel drew close to Caleb as they climbed the hill.
“Well done, Uncle.”
Caleb grunted. He was moving with more effort now. “We lost people tonight,” he said heavily.
They passed the perimeter of the camp. Hundreds of people were running around in the night and calling out for loved ones. Wails and trilling of mourners. Caleb picked his way to the tent, where the Anakite had killed the woman.
A crowd had gathered outside the entrance. Several of them held torches; the rain had lightened enough to allow for it. They all were staring at the entrance silently. Caleb heard grunting and a few shouts.
The dead woman was lying on her back near the entrance. Her husband was smashing the corpse of the Anakite with a rock, screaming at it, cursing it.
“We know the corpses are unclean, but we cannot approach . . .” someone was saying to Caleb. He waved them off.
“Don’t interrupt him because of that. Let him grieve.”
Caleb felt his throat close up and choke away his voice. Tears burned in the edges of his eyes. The group parted for him as he approached the grieving husband. He knelt down next to the man and placed his hand on his back.
The husband jerked around and swung at him. Caleb ducked away from the blow but remained calm.
The man swung again and cried out, “I was hauling rocks up the hill on your orders! I was gone! She is dead because of you! I was hauling rocks, and this monster killed her!”
Caleb recognized him. Heliphet, the son of Japhtha, the one who had been the first back with his stone.
Heliphet threw the rock at Caleb, who avoided it but did not return his attack. Others rushed forward to protect their general. He waved them away as well.
Heliphet tore at his garments and screamed at the sky in despair. Caleb knelt near him. There was nothing he could say, no comfort he could offer the man.
Finally, Heliphet crawled over to his wife’s body and put his face on her chest. He wept uncontrollably.
Caleb stood slowly, moved next to him, and knelt again. He placed his hand on Heliphet’s back. This time the grieving man did not swat him away, but kept weeping. Everyone watched as the rain continued to fall.
Heliphet raised his head and looked at Caleb. Even in the darkness his eyes appeared swollen. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said softly. A broken man.
“There is nothing to forgive, my son,” Caleb replied. “What you say is true.”
Caleb stayed with him another hour after ordering everyone else away. He let the man scream, let him weep, let him beat his chest. He convinced him not to kill himself.
It was a process he had gone through many times with so many of his men that Caleb could recognize every part of what Heliphet was going through. He would be filled with rage as well as embarrassment, violence as well as passivity.
At the end of the hour, Caleb gave him a long embrace.
“Remember who the enemy is,” he said, pointing at the corpse of the Anakite. “Let it dwell in you. Not for vengeance, but for victory. Your wife will be honored with victory. We will make the burial arrangements. Be with your unit tomorrow morning.”
Heliphet nodded. Caleb stood and departed.
A short distance away, Othniel emerged from the forest to fall in step next to him.
“You are not giving the man time away to grieve?” Othniel asked.
“Time away? If we had time, perhaps I would. But battle is what heals a man. Take him away from his brothers and the mission for too long and he will grieve poorly. Give him battle and he will grieve well, and with purpose.”
Caleb did not turn to his tent but kept making his way through the crowds of his people, who were still recovering from the raid.
“Where are we going?”
“To find the watch commander. Who was it tonight?”
“Sholem.”
They came to the center of the camp. A large watch fire had been built, and the cold, wet, terrified people were amassed around it and arguing with each other.
“Sholem!” Caleb called.
Everyone quieted immediately.
“Sholem!” he called again.
A few people shuffled to the side and made way for a man walking forward.
“My lord,” Sholem said as he moved toward Caleb hesitantly.
Caleb walked up to him and, without pausing or slowing his movement in any way, swung his staff at Sholem’s leg.
The crack sound was sharp in the night. Several women gasped. Sholem cried out and fell to his knees.
“You are relieved of your duties. Forever.”
“Why?” Sholem gasped.
Caleb’s voice was steady. “You were commander of the watch. They got through our lines easily. Many lost their lives tonight because of you.”
Without another word, Caleb struck Sholem on the head savagely with the knobbed staff. Sholem crumpled forward into the mud.
“If he is still here by morning, I will execute him,” Caleb said to the group, and then walked away, holding the staff in his right hand as the head of Sheshai dangled from his waist.
By the time he made it back to his tent, he felt like only a memory of himself.
“Disaster tonight,” Caleb said as he peeled off his wet cloak and tunic. Someone had lit his fire again, and he stood over it, relishing the warmth.
“You killed three giants in a single battle, including one of their chiefs,” Othniel said.
“There are dozens more, and that was the weakest chieftain,” Caleb answered.
Caleb’s breathing became labored. Each of his joints seemed to hurt in unison. The warmth in his blood was gone now. As always, when the battle was over, he felt his age again, and the frustration of it clouded his mind. He muttered silent curses to himself, but then stopped, recognizing the discouragement in the wake of battle.
“If you get any closer to those flames, Uncle, I’ll have to sweep up your ashes,” Othniel said gently.
“That man, Heliphet. His wife. A terrible loss.”
“It could not be helped.”
Caleb frowned. His bushy eyebrows hung low as he shut his eyes. When he opened them again, Othniel noticed how tired he looked. He had to know . . .
“How did you move like that tonight? So fast and fluid.”
“How did you expect me to move?”
“Well . . . with all respect, like how you are moving now.”
Caleb chuckled wearily. “That would have offended me if anyone else had said it.”
“Please tell me, Uncle.”
“Tomorrow, if we have time.”
“Please. Now.”
Caleb sighed. The storm shook the tent against its ropes. The wind whistled and roared.
“I do not know what it is,” Caleb admitted at last, “but whenever I am engaged in battle, and I know it is the will of Yahweh for me to be in it, he gives me strength.”
“What kind of strength?”
“Just . . . strength. My muscles become strong. My joints move the correct way. My mind is alert. Heat covers me, and it feels as though I could take the city alone. I feel like I am sixty years younger.”
“What is this strength called?”
“I do not know. But he always seems to give me what I need, when I need it. Never more, never less. Sometimes it is not there and I just have to fight through the pain and weariness. Other times I feel like I could capture a fortress by myself. Either way, the Lord is faithful.”
“Why does Yahweh allow us to be weak at times?”
“You should always find yourself in situations where you have no choice but to trust in Yahweh. The greatest victories come when you never have the most powerful chariots or most numerous armies. You should always have to depend on him utterly and completely, because he loves to demonstrate his power.”
Othniel wanted to keep on questioning his uncle. But no. It had been a long day. Another one tomorrow. It was time for him to leave.
“Please get some sleep, Uncle. I am sorry I have kept you up. I will be back in the morning for the first briefing.” He then left, stepping out into the night.
Caleb went over to the corner of the tent where his sleeping blankets were stacked. He wished he could drag them closer to the fire, but burning to death would get in the way of his capturing Hebron.
He spread out the blankets, slid himself under them and clutched his legs close to his body. His skin felt clammy. Never warm. Always cold.
He sat up suddenly.
“Othniel was going to let me forget. I have the first watch tonight,” he muttered to himself, then started pulling back his blankets. He winced as he put on his wet tunic. He was angry at his nephew for trying to keep him inside, but not terribly so. He understood the sentiment.
“Yahweh, my God, I need more of you now. I am tired and cold, and my heart is heavy with grief for my people who were lost today.”
No flood of strength came. He waited a moment longer. Nothing.
No matter. He would dress and depart regardless. It was his duty. He could do it, he decided. It was only pain.
“Praise you, God of victory. You give and you remove. I will trust you.”
After a long time, he was dressed and ready again. He ignored the welcoming, warm coals and picked up his staff and a bronze short sword from his weapons rack.
He stood at the flap and gazed out, just as he had that morning. The wind blew relentlessly, the rain steady.
He closed his eyes to brace himself.
He was on the ship, and the ship was passing into darkness. The plagues raged around him. The screaming of mothers. The sounds grew dimmer. And dimmer. Then they were gone altogether.
The Destroyer still moved in the darkness. Caleb was afraid.
He opened his eyes.
Gone now.
He drew a deep breath, then exhaled.
He walked outside and made his way to the perimeter, ready to admonish whoever was trying to take his place on the watch.