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Solomon sat in his crystal chariot atop the ridge. Spread below him, ten thousand of the finest Israelite soldiers marched north toward Damascus. He could see Benaiah’s banner fluttering in the breeze, the Captain of the Guard leading the host of Israel to war against the Syrians.
For the week that it took to gather the men and then mobilize them into marching divisions, the Syrians and Edomites had burned and destroyed three other villages. With each attack, Solomon’s anger grew. Though Benaiah tried several times to convince Solomon to change his war plans, the king refused. As he sat in his crystal chariot in the noonday sun, watching the might of his army before him, he smiled grimly. Now, we shall see what you will do, Rezon of Syria. And once we destroy Damascus, we shall turn on Edom!
Joshua galloped toward Solomon and saluted the king. Solomon peered out the window of his chariot. “Commander Joshua!”
“We will reach the foothills of Syria by nightfall. Benaiah recommends we only travel by day due to the mountainous terrain between Damascus and here.”
Solomon shook his head. “No. I want to keep marching straight through the night. We must not delay. I want to arrive at Damascus tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Joshua frowned. “My lord, traveling the mountains of Syria will be fraught with danger. I think it wise if we stop--”
“No! Order Benaiah to continue the march. We must keep the advantage of our momentum!”
Joshua saluted and galloped down the ridge. Solomon rested in his chariot, tapping the pommel of his sword, thirsting for a fight. I’m going to crush you, Rezon. You will soon feel the might of the Israelite war machine.
An hour later, as Solomon’s chariot slowly followed the vast Israelite army, Benaiah thundered on his war horse toward the king. Solomon climbed out of his chariot as Benaiah swung off his steed.
“My lord and king!” Benaiah saluted Solomon. “You cannot order a march through the night. The terrain is unknown and dangerous. Our men are tired. We have been marching straight from Jerusalem for the past week with little rest!”
“The men are strong. They can endure. They must. We cannot allow Rezon anymore time to gather his forces to defend the city. I want to crush Damascus before nightfall tomorrow.”
Benaiah shook his head. “This is madness, my lord! We will--”
“Captain Benaiah!” Solomon snapped. “Would you prefer to be reassigned at Jerusalem? I have many more capable men who will not question my orders.”
Benaiah bowed low and saddled his horse. “I will do as you command, my king!”
Solomon watched as his captain and closest friend galloped away. Just trust me, Benaiah. Trust me. I know what I am doing.
“They are in the Syrian mountains,” the tall guard informed Rezon. The King of Syria rose from his throne, his hands clasped behind his tall, arched back.
“So, he intends to drive straight through to Damascus, does he?” Rezon whispered to himself. “Very well. Prepare our armies. I want him cut off in the mountains. Near the pass of Gerared.”
“Yes, my lord,” the guard snapped to attention and hurried out to mobilize the men.
Solomon awoke with a start. He lay in his crystal chariot. A fierce wind howled through the sharp mountains. The twisted ridges of those very mountains cut jagged edges against the starry sky. He heard a series of shofars blasting in the distance. Israelite shofars? Solomon ordered the chariot to halt and climbed out.
“What is the situation?” Solomon asked one of his commanders.
“Our men have encountered resistance near the front of our armies.”
“What kind of resistance?” Solomon said, mounting his war horse.
“It appears the pass is blocked by several large boulders. It will take several hours to remove them.”
Solomon swore. “This is Rezon’s work! He must have blocked the pass. How long will it take?”
His commander never answered. An arrow whizzed through the air and lodged deep in his throat. He toppled forward off his horse. Solomon drew free his sword. He heard several screams at once. In horror he watched several thousand flickering torches thunder down from the mountains behind them, all born by Syrian soldiers. He could see their swords glinting in the torch light like blood. Arrows continued to rain down around the king. Israelite guards dropped like flies.
Solomon raised his shield as two arrows stuck deep into it. He swore and grabbed his own silver trumpet, blasting out a call for help.
On the other end of the army, Benaiah slid free his sword as arrows began to rain down from the mountains before them. In a moment, hundreds of his soldiers working to move the stones fell dead at the sudden onslaught. Moments later, Syrian war horns cut through the night air as thousands of soldiers rushed down the mountains toward them.
“Form lines!” Benaiah shouted atop his horse. His men drew their swords, forming a single mile-wide line of soldiers facing the mountains before them. The Syrians reached the valley floor and rushed like mad toward them.
Benaiah gave the signal and archers positioned behind the front line let loose several volleys. The Syrians, adept to the mountains, easily avoided the arrows by lifting their shields above them even as they continued their charge.
Raging like untamed animals, the Syrians flew into the Israelite line. Benaiah watched as the line buckled but held, swords clashing. The king’s trumpet blasted from far behind. Benaiah cursed as he spun his horse around. He could see the thousands of torch bearing Syrians bearing down from behind them. Trapped! Just where Rezon hoped to have us. We have to retreat or we will be slaughtered.
Benaiah scanned the countryside. The Syrians possessed the high ground. Even if they managed to kill this first wave of attackers, the enemy could continue to lob arrows from the mountains above until they regrouped and sent the next wave. Meanwhile, Benaiah would be forced to command the lower ground, sitting ducks waiting for the next assault. This is madness!
Benaiah turned back to his front line. The Israelite soldiers killed the last of the first wave of Syrians. The line had mostly held but the men, bloodied and tired, could not withstand another direct assault. As Benaiah had predicted, more arrows began raining down around them. Benaiah swung his shield above him just in time to block an arrow.
Solomon, his sword drawn, watched as the Syrians struck deep into the unprepared backside of the Israelite army. In horror, he watched his men fall to the deadly blows of the Syrians. Many of the Syrians wielded unusually long spears, easily driving them into the Israelite soldiers before they had a chance to get near enough to lock swords with them.
Solomon braced himself as five Syrians pushed toward him, mowing down soldiers who desperately fought to guard their king. Solomon, yelling, charged. He ducked one spear and lunged, his sword plunging deep into the chest of a Syrian. The four others swung their spears forward. Solomon dove to the ground and threw his knife into one man’s eye, swinging his sword up to hack at a pair of legs ready to trample his head.
In a few moments Solomon jumped back to his feet, finishing off the three remaining Syrians. A thick line of Israelite soldiers formed a bulwark of steel before their king. Still, the Syrians continued to pour down the mountains. He could now see the enemy advancing down all around them into the valley, cutting deep into their lines. Trapped. Completely trapped. I must order a retreat. But a retreat to where?
Joshua, his head bleeding badly, galloped toward Solomon. “Are you hurt, my king?”
Solomon shook his head. “No. Commander, we’ve got to fight our way back out of this valley. I need all our forces concentrated on this end of the valley. If we can push the Syrians out of here, we can get back into the plains.”
“A retreat, your majesty?” Joshua asked.
Solomon nodded. “It is our only option. Do it now!”
Joshua saluted and began to issue the orders.
Benaiah watched as the second wave of Syrians poured down the mountains. “Stand ready men!”
This time Benaiah had equipped his men with long spears, hidden behind and ready for the first surprise strike. “Hold steady, men. Steady . . .” When the Syrians were only three feet from the line, Benaiah lifted his sword. “Now!”
Spears lunged from the line and cut the unprepared Syrians down. A cheer went up from the Israelite soldiers. Benaiah smiled, but as he turned to scan the valley he saw that their success was limited. The Syrians had badly broken their eastern and western lines. He could see Joshua had pulled most of the forces south to defend Solomon and drive through the Syrians that attacked from behind in hopes of securing an escape. Good, so Solomon has ordered a retreat.
“Alright men, the king has ordered a retreat. Prepare to fall back!” Benaiah ordered. In moments his soldiers spun around, forming marching lines. “Fall back!” Benaiah led his northern front toward the southern edge, bringing up the broken eastern and western fronts as well. As the Israelite army began to accordion backward, Syrians continued to pour down from the mountains. Benaiah watched as hundreds of men fell to the sword, spear and arrow. Blood flowed over the valley floor.
It would take all night before Solomon’s army managed to fight their away back out of the valley and into Israel once more.
Solomon stood in the large banquet hall before his golden throne. Benaiah and Joshua stood at attention before him, along with several other commanders. He looked at Benaiah soberly.
“How many did we lose?”
Benaiah swallowed. “Of the ten thousand, nearly half. Of the half that survived, almost a third are critically wounded. We lost nearly all our supplies to the Syrians in the mountains.”
Solomon nodded. He turned to Joshua. “And commander, what of the Syrians? What news from them?”
“I just returned from the northern border an hour ago, my lord,” Joshua answered. “The Syrians have destroyed two dozen more villages, leaving no survivors. The Edomites have also struck our eastern borders. One of our main highways is blocked.”
Solomon nodded. He turned back to his throne and sunk into it wearily. He sighed as he gazed at the gathered military leaders. “You all fought well. I know you must be tired. Please, go and rest.”
The men saluted, bowed and departed. Ever since the total failure in the Syrian mountains, Solomon had ordered a full scale retreat back to Jerusalem to minimize their losses. It had been an utter humiliation.
Benaiah alone remained in the banquet hall before the king. Solomon rubbed his thick beard. “Yes, captain?”
“My lord,” Benaiah bowed once more. “In taking care of the sick and wounded, and in refortifying our military to make adequate defense, we will need money.”
Solomon nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. All projects have ceased and every spare penny will be used for the army. I promise.”
“My king . . . this doesn’t have to be your first defeat of many. If you will turn back to Yah, He will help us conquer our enemies. Even as he helped your father subdue his.”
Solomon let his head fall into his hands. “Leave me, Benaiah. I must rest. And think.”
Benaiah bowed low again and departed the room.
Queen Rebecca stood with her husband on his bedchamber balcony in the twilight. She had not been in his bedroom for years.
“Thank you for joining me this evening,” Solomon said as he held his wife close.
Rebecca nodded, silent. She looked up at her husband. “What news of the Syrians and Edomites?”
Solomon shrugged. “Same as it has been for the past several months. They continue to send their cowardly raiding parties into our borders, wiping out whole villages. And each time, they penetrate deeper. Joshua and Benaiah have formed battalions to guard our borders but the cowards strike when we least expect them. There is no order or reason to their attacks.”
“They are trying to wear you down,” Rebecca said. “They want to weaken you.”
Solomon sighed with exasperation. “As soon as our army is rebuilt, I will launch a full scale invasion. I intend to wipe Syria and Edom off the face of the earth.”
“And how long will that take?” Rebecca asked.
Solomon knew the answer but shook his head. He sighed, feeling defeat weigh down his shoulders. “I don’t know. Months perhaps.”
The two lovers stood in the silence as the sun began to set. Rebecca smiled. “Remember when we used to watch these sunsets every evening? And you would give me a rose, every night, just as the sun disappeared.”
Solomon smiled, enjoying the memories. “Those were simpler times, my love.”
Rebecca shook her head, her brow furrowed. “And they can be again, my love! Why must you continue with your women and your idols? Why must you continue in your sin? Surely you can see that Benaiah is right. The only reason armies half as powerful as yours continually defeat you is because you are not walking in righteousness.”
Solomon rolled his eyes. “I really don’t need this, Rebecca . . .”
“It is exactly what you need!” Rebecca raised her voice. “I’m not going to be like one of your foreign wives and just tickle your ears. I’m going to tell you what you need to hear because I actually love you!”
Solomon pulled away from his wife and walked toward the stone railing of the balcony. “Rezon and Hadad are just a thorn in our side, that is all. They cannot even hope to defeat me.”
“No,” Rebecca said. “perhaps not. But they will weaken you. And when you are gone, what then? What kind of kingdom will you leave your son? A badly damaged and weakened nation? Is that what you want your legacy to be?”
“I did not ask them to start raiding our villages!” Solomon snapped. “I will deal with them.”
Rebecca shook her head, her eyes desperate. She rushed toward her husband and gripped his hands. “Can’t you see, my dear, what is happening? Can’t you understand? The hatred of your wives, the attempted coup, your loss in Syria and now your continued defeats . . . Yah is trying to reach you. He’s trying to wake you up! He’s using his rod to chastise you because he loves you.”
“Do not speak to me of love!” Solomon hissed, drawing back. “You who have locked yourself away in your palace for months on end, not even bothering to join your husband for dinner. Do not even dare speak to me of love!”
Tears rimmed Rebecca’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Solomon. I know I have not been the perfect wife but . . . but you’ve hurt me so much. There were times when all I could do was hide away in my tears. Times when I thought I should have just cast myself out the window of my palace. But I never did. Because I never stopped hoping. I never stopped believing you would change.”
“Well, you were wrong,” Solomon said bitterly. “I have not changed. It is too late for me, now, anyway. The Lord left me a long time ago.”
“Only because you left him!” Rebecca pleaded, reaching for her husband.
Solomon shoved her back. “Do not touch me! I am tired of your words.”
Rebecca drew back, tears falling down her eyes.
Solomon drew a deep breath and shook his head. “You would have done well to leave me as the Lord did. Your life would have been happier.”
The king walked into the room and out the bedchamber door. Rebecca stood on the balcony, her tears flowing freely. “But I didn’t leave you, Solomon. Because the Lord never did either.”
Solomon watched Ahazael, his new scribe and replacement for Caleb, scribble away his notes as the two men stood in the royal library. The king gazed at the hundreds of scrolls that reached up as high as the ceiling. It was a tall, narrow room, packed with scrolls of the ages, possessing wisdom from as far back as anyone could remember.
Ahazael finished writing, lifted up a parchment and crinkled his forehead in worry. Solomon fixed his gaze on the bearded scribe and waited.
“My lord,” Ahazael said, scanning the figures before him. “Over the past two years we have been forced to use your gold to try and rebuild the cities the Syrians and Edomites have destroyed. All other moneys have gone to maintaining our army and keeping them fed while they patrol our borders.”
“And?” Solomon felt his impatience.
“My lord, the royal treasury is nearly depleted.”
Solomon felt the words like a sword driving into his chest. “Depleted?”
“Another month, perhaps two, and we will run out of money,” Ahazael said, shaking his head.
“How is that possible? We had so much gold it dripped like rain!”
“Your navy has been engaged in fighting the war. We have not made a journey to Ophir in over a year. Your craftsmen, rather than mining for wealth, are busy making swords and shields. We have simply run out of money.”
Solomon shook his head. In a sudden rush of rage he tore free his sword and swung the blade into a nearby table. Ahazael staggered back in shock. The table split against the stone floor and papers scattered everywhere.
“We have not even finished assembling our invasion army!” Solomon screamed. “The Syrians and Edomites are making fools of us!”
Ahazael frowned. “My lord, we cannot afford to continue this war.”
Solomon’s face hardened. “We cannot concede defeat. If we draw back now, then everyone will know that Syria and Edom struck Israel and got away with it. No, we must not stop fighting.”
“But, my lord--”
“I want taxes raised,” Solomon said. “Taxes raised and new taxes levied. We will raise the money from our people. They will understand the war we must fight.”
“My lord, you raised the taxes six months ago. Many of your people can barely pay those. If you raise them again, I fear you will cause much unrest in your kingdom.”
“I don’t care!” Solomon yelled. “Raise as many taxes as you need to refill our treasury. We must not be made to look like the laughingstock of the world!”
Captain Benaiah, tired and weary from months at war, trudged through the inner streets of Jerusalem as night settled on the land. A small inn, the Gideon’s Army Ale House, dominated one side street to his right. He turned off the main road and into the inn.
He pushed passed the wooden swinging doors and into a well kept establishment. Clean, swept oaken floors shimmered in the light of a large fire in a brick fireplace. Round tables were mostly empty but a few patrons sat at the walnut bar, sipping ale.
A short, fat bartender, with a bald head and a brown beard smiled at Benaiah as he approached the bar. “Hello, Captain Benaiah. Back from the front, are you?”
Benaiah nodded wearily as he collapsed into a stool. “At long last. I’ll just take some red wine.”
The bald man nodded and furnished him with a stone goblet filled with the fruit of the vine. Benaiah drank long and deeply, the warm liquid filling his chilled insides. The innkeeper polished the bar surface with a rag and eyed the Captain. “How goes the war?”
Benaiah shrugged. “Same as always.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Worse,” Benaiah said. “We had just finished rebuilding Kirith Jer Arim and not two days later a raiding party of Edomites ambushed our scouting party and destroyed it. It will take months to rebuild it.”
“And more of our taxes, no doubt,” the innkeeper said darkly. Benaiah sipped his wine. The short, bald man leaned close to the captain. “I know it may not be my place, but the talk around Jerusalem is not good. People are just about fed up with the king.”
“Oh?”
The innkeeper nodded, lowering his voice. “People are talking, murmuring. The taxes they pay are too high, and what little money they have left they use to barely feed their families. I know people who work hard all day, only to see most of their earnings go straight to the king for his war. People are just plain fed up.”
Benaiah had heard the whispers and murmuring as well, albeit muted within the king’s court. Several magistrates and leaders were angered at the high taxes, while Solomon continued to surround himself in luxury, wine and women. Still, no one had dared approach him about the sensitive subject as they remembered what happened to the last group of people who decided to take political power into their own hands.
Benaiah leaned close to the innkeeper. “Are people really becoming that angry with the king?”
“For awhile people just accepted it. But now, with the latest increase in taxes, and especially with how bad the war is going, people are nearing open rebellion. Why, it was just yesterday that I heard several farmers right here discuss simply not paying their taxes. Just to see what the king would do.”
Benaiah shook his head and shut his eyes. He could feel his temples begin to throb. Near the front, morale was not much better. The soldiers complained about their meager rations and the grueling schedule they maintained in patrolling an immense northern and eastern border. Many of the soldiers also complained about the taxes, thinking they should be exempt since they fought.
“If the king does not stop raising these taxes or does not start winning this war, he’ll have a general uprising on his hands. Make no mistake about it,” the innkeeper warned. “I just thought you should know, since you are his closest friend and all.”
“Was his closest friend,” Benaiah corrected, downing the rest of his wine. “He doesn’t seem too keen in maintaining our relationship anymore.”
“Well, he brought you back from exile. He didn’t send you back into that dungeon. You’re back as Captain of the Guard. Surely that counts for something!”
Benaiah shrugged. “Some tell me he only did this because I happened to save his life. But even that little favor seems to be largely forgotten by him.”
The innkeeper frowned deeply and shook his head. “I just don’t understand. King Solomon used to be so wise, so great, so powerful. I can’t figure out when he went wrong. It’s as if he just slowly . . . drifted away. I can’t figure it out.”
Benaiah smiled sadly and rose to his feet. “Neither can I, my friend. Neither can I.”
