Judah
I left Leah in a wagon with the other women who would help support the camp, then rode to the front. I found Jonathan waiting with men from Mount Gilead. They were understandably impatient to begin their journey home, so I gave the order to set out.
Once we were under way, I asked the Mount Gilead men for details about their situation. To my chagrin I learned their trouble had been instigated by our overthrow of Jazer. Timotheus, the Amorite captain, had been stung by our victory, so in revenge he captured several Israelite towns. The women and children he kept as captives, and the men—over one thousand—he put to death. Survivors from his raids fled to a fortress at Dathema, a fortress Timotheus now held under siege.
I felt a burdensome weight of responsibility for the dead men’s families. If we had not overthrown Jazer, Timotheus might have left the villages alone.
No, an inner voice assured me. He would not have done so.
We marched over the scorching plains of Jericho, forded the Jordan River, and climbed the rocky terrain of Mount Gilead. A sludge of anxiety slid around in my belly, for we were moving through territory we did not know. The Mount Gilead men showed us where to find food and water, and so we made quiet, slow progress toward Dathema.
We marched three days into the wilderness, where we encountered a tribe of peaceable Nabatheans who told us Bozrah was in danger of falling into enemy hands, as were the cities of Bosor, Casphor, and Maked.
“The Amorites are preparing to attack these strongholds tomorrow,” the Nabatheans told us. “They will capture and destroy all these people in a single day.”
Bozrah stood on the road to the Euphrates, sixty miles east of the Jordan. Though the long journey would divert us from our primary task, we could not let those people be destroyed. We turned back by the wilderness road, marched to Bozrah, and fought to free the town. Before leaving, we killed every invader.
Because the Amorites were preparing to attack the cities on the plain, we left Bozrah during the night and marched north to Dathema, the last stronghold of our people. As the rising sun brightened the area, we saw a huge company advancing toward the fortress with ladders and battering rams. I commanded the men to blow the shofar to announce our presence, then smiled when the Amorites turned to find themselves trapped between the fortress of Dathema and the army of Israel.
Though we were weary from our overnight march, HaShem gave us the strength we needed. At the sound of the shofar we charged, lifting our voices in hymns of praise. Timotheus and his army fled, but they could not escape. We killed eight thousand Amorite besiegers, relieved the captives in the fortress, and returned the surrounding area to Jewish control.
But Timotheus escaped us.
As we rested after the battle, Jonathan came over and sat beside me. “How did you know we should press on toward Dathema?” he asked. “Any other commander would have spent the night in Bozrah and marched the next morning—arriving too late.”
I stretched my legs toward the crackling fire. “I thought of Saul, who once marched all night to relieve Jabesh-gilead, which had been put under siege by Nahash the Ammonite. If HaShem gave Saul and his men the strength to march all night, why wouldn’t He help us do the same?”
Jonathan grinned.
“But I tell you one thing, little brother—I am growing weary of battling Timotheus. I should have killed him at our first encounter, but I mistook mercy for wisdom.”
“We will get him tomorrow,” Jonathan said.
I grunted. “If not tomorrow, then soon. Because I will not make the same mistake twice.”