A story by Aaron S., based on the story from 2 Samuel 2.

"My lord Abner, they're coming!"

At the warning cry, I grabbed my spear and stepped from my battle tent. We were camped by the spring at Gibeon, and I expected David's army at any moment. This would be the day when Israel's future would be decided. Either we Benjaminites would win and Ish-bosheth's throne would be secured, or David and his army would win and take over the rule of the country. My men were ready for the fight. They were loyal to their king and to their commander, and morale was high. I looked forward to the contest with cautious optimism.

"My lord, Joab and the servants of David have come to the pool and are waiting for us there." I looked at my young armor-bearer, Gareb, as he spoke. He was trembling with excitement, a glint of impatient enthusiasm in his eyes. This would be his first battle, and he anticipated it with the naïve eagerness of a boy who has never experienced death. I smiled at him.

"Thank you, Gareb. Let us meet them." I turned to Ishra, a sour-faced, seasoned veteran who served as my second in command. He had followed Saul in pursuit of David in the wilderness, and both his loyalty to Saul and his dislike for David were passionate. I didn't like him much personally, but he was a strong warrior and a valuable leader nonetheless. "Prepare the men for battle," I said. "We leave for the pool in five minutes."

Ishra bowed his assent and rushed through the camp barking out orders. It was time.

When we crossed the several rocky hills that separated our camp from the Gibeon pool, Joab and his men were waiting. Most of them had sat down, some by the edge of the water and some under the shade of the oaks that were scattered around the pool, making good use of the abnormally abundant water supply. In front and slightly off to one side of the rest of his group, Joab paced expectantly. When he saw us, he stopped and waited.

I led the men down to the edge of the pool, and Ishra ordered them to be seated. If the men of Judah would rest themselves before the battle, so would we. Thus the two armies faced each other, each seated on the ground and watching the other - relaxed in body, but not in mind. The lazy afternoon sunshine and the warm breeze that rustled the leaves above us were not quite sufficient to dispel the feeling that hung in the air - a tense feeling, a sensing of the impending slaughter that would mean glorious victory for one side and humiliating defeat for the other; kingship for one man, and probably death for the man who opposed him.

"Greetings, Abner, son of Ner!"

"Greetings, Joab, son of Zeruiah! I am sorry we do not meet in peace."

Joab bowed in reply. "May God bless with victory whomever he wishes to bless."

Suddenly, with a startling and incongruous laugh, a young man leapt up from among Joab's men. I quickly recognized him as Joab's brother Asahel. "May God bless whomever he wishes?" he cried. "Nay! May God bless us, as I'm sure He will. Better yet, may God bless neither us nor them, for without divine interference our victory is sure."

I was angered by this insult. Asahel was a nice enough young man at times, but he was, like his brothers, headstrong and proud. It was true that he was a mighty warrior, and his skill as a runner could be matched by no other living man; but his comments were tasteless and haughty, and I had no patience for them.

"You speak as a fool, Asahel," I said icily, "and your words have no place on the tongue of an honorable man. Nevertheless, your challenge has not gone unheard. Joab," I continued, turning to the elder brother, "I propose a contest to see whose men really need God's blessing more. Let the young men arise and compete before us. Send twelve of your warriors over, and any twelve of mine will fight them and show what the men of Abner are made of."

"Let them arise." Joab's answer was equally cold. "And today the men of David and of Joab will prove themselves." Turning, he called out some names, and twelve men, young enough to fight with strength and zeal but old enough to know what a battle was like, began to make their way around the edge of the pool. They were certainly a formidable band. Asahel had spoken rashly and foolishly, but his pride in his fellows was not entirely ill-founded.
"Ishra, select twelve men who can equal these twelve," I said quietly, and Ishra immediately began to choose from among our best fighters. "Anub son of Eshton, Ishbah son of Jered, Hammuel..."

"Father!"

The unexpected word startled me, and I turned to see Joash, Ishra's eldest son run up to him. He was a young soldier, probably nineteen or twenty, but he was a zealous warrior and a good man. His father had trained him well in the art of warfare, and he had already made a name for himself on the battlefield.

"Father, I request permission to represent my army in this contest!" he cried.

Ishra hesitated. Joash was, after all, his eldest son, and he didn't want to lose him. The competition would be perilous - very perilous. But one look at his son's brave, determined face, and another at the mocking faces of the men across the pool, and his pride convinced him.

"Go, Joash, and fight well."

The other eight men were quickly selected, and space was cleared for the fight. The twenty-four faced each other, every one of them a picture of strength and courage. It was a shame that some of them would have to die. I began to sigh but, catching myself, brushed off my feelings of pity and regret. Sentimentality makes being an effective commander difficult.

The order to begin was given. With a loud cry, the men rushed at each other, swords unsheathed and held high. A great shout went up from the spectators - then all was silent. The contest was over in a shockingly short amount of time. With perfect technique, each of the twenty-four had caught his opponent by the head and thrust his sword through his side, so that together they all fell, slain in an instant.

Gareb's face caught my eye. The poor boy was white as a sheet, and his eyes were fixed sadly on the pile of corpses before us. "You said we would see who needed God's help more." He spoke in a low voice, scarcely above a whisper, but his voice was steady. "Well, I guess we both need him equally."
Suddenly, a heart-wrenching cry broke the stillness. With the rage of a bereaved father, his face twisted with grief, Ishra broke into a frenzied run around the edge of the pool, his sword in his hand and blood in his eye.

"No, Ishra!" I cried, but it was too late. Ishra was not the only man with loved ones among those slain, and his rash charge was the only spark needed to ignite both sides into action. Men leapt to their feet, swords flickered in the sunlight, and as is so often the case in tense situations, one man's reckless violence evolved into a full-fledged battle in mere moments.

The battle did not go well. It had not started in an orderly fashion, and it was so quickly plunged into absolute chaos that to speak of regrouping was to speak of the impossible. My men fought bravely, and they died fighting; but die they did, and it soon became apparent that the battle was lost. I don't think it's much of an exaggeration to say that twenty of my men died for every man they killed, and at such a rate it was not long before victory was clearly unattainable. I fought until the cause was hopeless, and by the time I called for retreat, many had already begun to run. Gareb was among the slain, and, in fact, those of my army who had not been slain were few. There was nothing to do but run, and run I did.

I pride myself on being a solid distance runner - a very useful claim for a warrior - and though the battle had been a tragic loss, I was not afraid for my life. I quickly managed to put some distance between me and the nearest enemy, and my pace was both fast and sustainable. Soon, however, I realized that I was being followed, and whoever pursued me was gaining. "Asahel," I muttered grimly, for of all the men in David's army, none but him could hope to pose me a threat when I had so long a head start. Only Asahel had both the speed and the stamina - and, I might add, the stubbornness - to catch me.

I pressed on, careful not to let the threat from behind push me to a speed that would wear me out. I needed to keep going at all costs, and if I went any faster on that hilly terrain, I knew I would soon exhaust myself. The man behind me grew relentlessly closer. Soon I could hear his footsteps behind me, and I was all but sure that my guess of his identity was correct.

"Is that you, Asahel?" I cried, glancing over my left shoulder.

"It is I." There was excitement in his voice. He was certain he would catch me, as was I, and the prospect of defeating me thrilled him. What better claim could he have to heroism than that he had outrun and defeated Abner, commander in chief of the armies of Israel and a great warrior?

But I still carried my spear. I may have been slower than Asahel, but I was not worn out, and I was the stronger man. Yes, Asahel would catch me, but when he did he would regret it. I would kill him. Indeed, I would have to kill him, but it would be no pleasure. Asahel had irked me at the pool with his impetuous speech, but I could forgive him that. He was young and foolish. When I had met him before, I had enjoyed his sense of humor and his carefree attitude, and I would have liked to enjoy them again. Furthermore, I admired his brother Joab as a great leader and military strategist, and I knew that my killing his brother, even in self-defense on the battlefield, would place between the two of us a rift that Joab would probably never be willing to bridge.

"Asahel," I shouted, these thoughts swirling through my mind, "turn aside from following me. Why should I strike you to the ground? How then could I lift up my face to your brother Joab?"

But he refused to turn aside. Pride, excitement, revenge - be what it may, something drove him on, and he continued to gain ground. Finally, he was only a few yards behind me, and I no longer had any choice but to kill him or be killed myself. Grasping my spear firmly in both hands, I whirled on Asahel and thrust at him with the butt end of my spear. He was caught completely by surprise. The spear caught him squarely in the stomach and passed through his back. He stood there, stunned.

"Oh," was all he said, a pitiful exclamation of disappointment and surprise, and then he fell lifeless to the ground. I began to sigh but, catching myself, brushed off my feelings of pity and regret. Joab and his brother Abishai would probably not be far behind, and sentimentality makes concentrating on one's running pace difficult.