“The written words of my fathers tell us that this raven was a godsend to Gideon, and it kept him alive. Always fond of hunting, Gideon would travel many days, deep into the wilderness, searching for the largest deer or the largest boar to bring to his family for meat. On one occasion, he was far into the forest when a strong storm arose and left a dense fog which caused him to lose his way for many days, without food for most of them. Almost without hope, Gideon felt as if he would not live. But he prayed to God that he would be spared and led home.”
Eli paused at this point, as if to make sure his student still listened. Pekah didn’t have the heart to tell Eli he wasn’t in the mood for a story.
“As Gideon arose from his prayer, this raven descended with a branch of berries in its beak.” Eli pointed at the image on Pekah’s breastplate. “Dropping the branch, it flew away, and Gideon followed. More ravens came, each one bearing fruit. Gideon ate, and then followed the birds until he was back on familiar ground and was able to leave the forest. On the day when Father Noah gave his final blessings to his sons, he counseled Gideon always to follow the path of the raven, and to do so by watching out for the welfare of his brethren. Noah charged Gideon to provide for them in whatever ways he could, so they might all dwell together in joy.”
Pekah now understood the prodding joke from Eli about the raven feeding him, yet the story did not cheer his heart-not in the least. It made him feel worse. At this point in time, Gideon as a people was about as far off “the path of the raven” as the tribe could be. Pekah glanced again over toward Nate’s bed where the dagger lay in the dirt, a reminder of the sleepless night he had passed. An overwhelming urge to clear his conscience made his heart race, but words to express himself would not come. Frustrated, he sat in silence, unable to even acknowledge the story Eli had so eloquently related.
Eli took a deep breath as if he was about to tell more, but stopped short. Out of the corner of his eye, Pekah saw Nate grip Eli’s arm.
Nate suggested that they all pray to begin their Sabbath day, and then partake of a meal together. Pekah mechanically knelt and closed his eyes. Still feeling the effects of a difficult night, his thoughts wandered. At the end of the prayer, he could not remember a single thing said, nor could he remember who had spoken. His mind foggy, he joined the other two men in finding a seat around the dying fire.
Saving the bread and dried meats from Pekah’s provision sack, Nate took the food from his own supply, broke the bread, and passed it with handfuls of dried fruit to the others. Pekah received his portion, but held the crust in his hands, staring down at the ground much as he had done the previous evening.
The struggle he felt within was fierce. Guilt. Sorrow. Fear. Insistence that he had done nothing wrong. Yet still there was confusion as to why he felt so horrible. What was it? Then he knew. The murders-a little boy and an old man. Something surged within him, and he felt the sudden need to clear the air.
“Nate,” Pekah began very abruptly. “I was there on the day my people attacked Hasor. I wanted so badly to stop them, but I could not find the strength to try. I witnessed the murder of innocents. A little boy was killed for no reason.”
Pekah hesitated, and then without regard to what he was saying, he spat out, “I saw other things. The man you killed yesterday, Captain Sachar-I saw him kill the judge. He threw his dagger into the judge’s back, like a coward. That is the knife.” Pekah stiffened, fully expecting some sort of retribution.
How incredibly stupid. I’m alone in the woods with these two, and either one of them could kill me without a second thought.
Nate’s face went pale as he leaned forward to stare at the gilded sheath on the ground. Surprised at himself for what he had confessed, Pekah remained fixed and motionless, pointing at the weapon. Nate was still.
Should he not be angry? The leader of his people was murdered! Why doesn’t he threaten me?
Pekah saw the tears well up in Nate’s eyes, then pour down his cheeks.
“Please excuse me,” was all Nate said. He got up after placing his breakfast on top of his shoulder sack, and left the camp to go sit where he had the previous evening.
Pekah lowered his arm to his side, his eyes once again finding the ground. Grieving, he wiped tears from his face as the stresses of the night began to release.
What was I thinking?
He peeked over to where Eli sat, but did not make eye contact with the Uzzahite.
Eli rose like he was about to get up and follow Nate, perhaps to comfort him, but he did not leave, sitting down again instead.
Pekah set his bread aside. “I don’t understand, Eli. Why was he not angry?”
Eli did not answer, but moved closer. “Pekah,” he said as he sat down, “Nate was not the only person in his family defending Hasor when your army arrived. He has not mentioned it yet, but Nate’s father was killed during the fight. Last evening when Nate and I talked about the fall of Hasor, we shared information with each other about the events of that day. I feel terrible about what has happened to Nate’s father. I have always felt like one of Nate’s family, and I feel his loss as if it were my own.”
Pekah’s chest tightened. Once again, a feeling of intense guilt for his part in the skirmish made him tremble. He folded his arms, his hands squeezed into tight fists.
“And I’m actually quite surprised that you shared the information about the knife and the death of the judge. Pekah, why did you tell him?”
Pekah did not stir, but raised his brows and blinked the water from his eyes.
“Pekah, I need to tell you something. I know of your army’s mission. We had been told by a Danielite spy that the armies of Manasseh were marching, and of the emperor’s intent to capture the judge so they might find his son and either bring him into captivity or kill him. I also know they were searching for the king’s scepter. Is this true?”
Pekah found the strength to speak again. “Yes. Our orders were to find the judge’s son.”
“You didn’t find him, did you?”
“No, we did not. And after what happened in Hasor, I’m glad he was not found.”
Eli smiled. “I, too, am glad.”
They both looked toward the old log in the distance where Nate sat with his bowed head resting in his hands.
“Pekah,” Eli continued in a calm and reassuring voice. “Nate is not just any ordinary Danielite. Nate is, in reality, Jonathan, son of Samuel the Judge of Daniel, true heir to the throne, and now the only living member of his family.”
Pekah’s heart skipped, shocked by Eli’s revelation. He again glanced over to see Nate in the distance. By telling Nate about the blade he had taken from Captain Sachar, Pekah realized he had just thrown a javelin of pain into his new friend’s heart. The old man was Nate’s father?
“Why did I ever pick up Sachar’s weapon?” Pekah moaned.
“War is a terrible thing. Those who started this attempt at conquest are the ones to carry the blame, not you. Try not to let yourself take this burden upon yourself, for the burden is not yours to bear.”
Pekah felt the wisdom of Eli’s words, yet couldn’t accept them. He had personally participated in the battle. The guilt still lingered in his chest.
“Why did you tell Jonathan about the dagger? You could have kept that knowledge to yourself, and not a soul would ever have known what you saw that day.”
Pekah scratched the back of his head. “I couldn’t sleep,” he explained. “I was up all night long with images of death, suffering, and injustice plaguing my mind until I nearly burned with fever. When my detachment attacked Hasor with the rest of the Gideonite army, I immediately felt I did not want to be there. I volunteered to serve the emperor because I believed our peoples would be better served if we were united under one king. I had been told the Danielites were foolishly preparing themselves for war.”