THE NEGEV DESERT—1039 BC
At first sight, King Saul thought the warrior might be injured by the way he stumbled and swayed toward him. Granted, the barren desert plain between them lay knee-deep in corpses and the jumbled detritus of battle. And yes, the sun shone high overhead in a summer’s cloudless sky. Yet it seemed clear that the figure approaching him labored with some unusual burden. Saul stood, raised his hand to his forehead to shade the sun and saw.
The soldier was dragging a man by the hair. Toward him.
Saul sighed, turned away and spit into the merciless Negev dust. The liquid actually caused a faint sizzle and the daintiest release of steam from the hot sand under his sandals.
True, he welcomed his subjects’ enthusiasm for warfare. But it also wearied him that their battle lust caused them to forget an order so straightforward and simple. He had made it clear to his unit commanders that they were to kill every Amalekite, man, woman and child. These weren’t even his orders, to be frank. In fact, Samuel had told him that G-d wanted the enemy’s livestock killed, as well. But now it looked like the old custom of taking spoils and capturing enemy leaders seemed to have supplanted his direct orders.
So be it. Ever since Samuel had appointed him king, Saul had become convinced that the old prophet was burning with an inner fire born of jealousy and hate. It seemed obvious that Samuel had relished a little too strongly his previous years as ruling judge of Israel, for he had certainly approached the choosing of a king with mouthful after mouthful of grumbling and dire warnings.
G-d did not want this, Samuel had muttered. You’ll regret this. You’ll pay. G-d wants the direct link between himself and the people left intact. He had gone on and on and on. Even the people had become convinced of Samuel’s self-interest, which was one reason they had so lightly regarded his warnings when Saul became king.
On account of my height, Saul reminded himself as he stooped down to reenter his tent for a moment of respite from sun and heat—and responsibility. My accursed oversized height, he thought again for the thousandth time.
Saul had never wanted to be king. He had always felt self-conscious about his size, and now the mere length of his limbs made him a perennial object of withering and burdensome attention. No one would understand what an ordeal that was, despite the obvious appeals of being monarch.
And then there were the military campaigns. Saul definitely harbored mixed feelings about the incessant circuit of death Samuel had made him embark on since coronation. Granted, the aversion had dimmed after his armies’ recent unbroken string of victories. He had to admit that the people’s sudden adulation had soothed his discomfort, even warmed his relationship with Samuel. But often the sheer horror and drudgery of war, not to mention the lingering possibility of defeat, made it almost unbearable. He would rather have stayed home planning the construction of a proper royal abode or summoning the kingdom’s fairest maidens for consideration as possible Queen.
But now comes this prisoner. Saul sighed wearily. He would surely be forced to rebuke a soldier whose actions he inwardly did not oppose, all for the sake of appeasing that cantankerous old priest. He left his tent and steeled himself for the task.
The soldier had drawn close now. He bowed low, then released his prisoner’s hair, causing the head to hit the dirt with an audible thud. “Your majesty,” he said, “I give you Agag, king of the Amalekites.”
A collective gasp went up from the scattering of soldiers around the area. Saul peered at the prone captive and a chill of recognition cascaded down his spine. He had fully expected the prisoner to be a leader of some sort, perhaps a general, but not the king. Yet the tattooed blood markings on the man’s back and shoulders were indeed those of the crazed figure that had waved his countrymen on to death and jabbed obscene gestures in Saul’s direction just a few hours before. It was he, all right. Agag. The filthy, murdering demon worshipper was now his prisoner, the most notorious rapist and mass murderer in the known world and king of the clan that had mercilessly ravaged the children of Israel years before on their journey north from Egypt.
In short, his nemesis. Not only that, but in many ways the human nemesis of G-d himself.
The thrill of superiority made Saul stand straighter and taller, suddenly unashamed of his stature. All the demeaning concessions and negotiations with old Samuel now faded into oblivion. He was king of a conquering army, and the knowledge made his head swim.
His soldier gave Agag a kick across the shoulders, sending him face first back into the dirt. “Your Majesty, there’s more. My men and I have kept back this pig’s household riches. You should see his livestock alone, your Majesty. We’re bringing it all to you now, even one of his wives who was traveling with him for you to—ah—do your bidding before she’s also exterminated.”
A quiet voice warned Saul that Samuel would fly into an absolute rage at this disobedience. G-d’s mandate had been clear and specific. Kill them all. Kill them instantly. Livestock included. In fact, Saul thought with a suppressed chuckle, Samuel probably would have hewn this soldier’s head from his shoulders for insubordination if he were on hand. Or tried, for there was no telling what this seasoned Hebrew fighter would have done in his own defense.
But thank goodness Samuel was back in Gilgal, attending to his endless sacrifices. And Saul had to admit that it felt good to contemplate taking the fallen king’s possessions. Who knows, he might even sacrifice a portion to G-d to appease any displeasure—in case Samuel’s rantings actually represented the Lord’s wishes. Yes. He would make a great pious show of burning these riches back to the elements. Maybe even fashion the gold into some sort of candlestick or icon for the tabernacle. Maybe the Levites would begin to appreciate him a little bit, and the gift could spark a thaw in the fierce opposition born of their loyalty to Samuel.
Saul walked forward to the prisoner, grasped his long hair and pulled hard, forcing his face upward.
“Look at me, you swine,” he growled.
Agag whispered something in his native tongue.
“What?” Saul whirled around and waved over his interpreter.
“Spare me” came the translation.
Agag spoke again, louder now, and the translator leaned into Saul’s ear. “Please spare my life, your Majesty.” Agag shuffled his knees under him and managed a kneeling position. He even pulled his hands together as though in supplication. “It is well known that you Hebrews serve a merciful god. That you are people of justice. Please show me mercy, as a tribute to the mighty one who gave you this victory.”
Saul could not help looking up and around him at the gathered crowd. Had even his own subjects shown him such verbal deference lately? It felt good, this stream of abject tribute from another sovereign, especially one who had shown him and his people such complete loathing in the past.
Saul looked away at another disturbance approaching on the desert floor. Farmers? Through the quivering desert haze he could make out oxen, sheep, donkeys laden with goods—no, there were Israelite soldiers driving the herd.
Ah, yes. The spoils of Agag’s household.
He turned to the captured king. The time had come for a royal pronouncement. He pursed lips and drew his eyebrows together, scrambling to muster the proper eloquence.
“Agag, your people are Israel’s oldest foe. And a needless one, I might add. We asked for nothing but safe passage when we approached your lands so many years ago. Yet your people murdered our aged, our women and children. Since then you’ve pillaged and plundered our ranks without quarter. Well, I hope you saw the carpet of bodies on your way here today, Agag. It is all that remains—or should I say you are all that remains—of the Amalekite race. My G-d has decreed that your people be wiped forever from the face of the earth.”
Impulsively he added, “As for your fate, I shall hold you prisoner until such time as I decide whether to slay you personally in obedience to YHWH’s command or merely let the widows of your victims stone you to death. Meanwhile, tonight you can listen to the sound of me ravishing your wife. Begone.”
He ordered Agag dragged away and chained in a nearby guardhouse, then retired to his tents. It had been a long and weary day. Hard work, all this killing. Such hard labor that he reclined on his pillows and promptly fell into a deep afternoon sleep. When he awoke, the tent stood dark but for a few candles his servants had lit in the corners. He rolled upright and fought to regain his clarity. And then he was reminded of his impulsive threat to Agag.
In the intoxicating moments following Agag’s capture, the prospect had stirred him with lewd anticipation. But now, his head swimming with sleep, his senses tinged with nausea, the prospect did not seem as enticing. Maybe he would let the night pass along with the idea. Only the guards would know he had not made good on his statement.
He heard a shout. “Stop! Stop!” His eyes flew wide open. His heart thundered in his chest.
He jumped to his feet and raced outside. He saw the retreating forms of soldiers running away into the darkness of a ravine behind the camp.
“What happened?” he shouted.
“The Amalekite woman!” a voice cried back from the blackness. Saul thought simply that the women had escaped, which to him was no great disaster. Then the voice finished, “She laid with him!”
The full import of this revelation grew slowly within Saul like a gradual rising of floodwater. First, that his finest men had been eluded, which was only a slight embarrassment. So the doomed king had enjoyed a final night of pleasure. A trifling jibe for a condemned man, nothing more.
Then it came to him. This could become a major embarrassment.
And his heart sank. “She laid with him!”
What if? What if she’s—? No, no, she cannot be with child. . . .