Disclaimer: Biblical fiction is based on actual events, but elements have been added to enhance storytelling. Please refer to the 1 Samuel 13-14 for the account this story is based on.

It was a hard climb. Clinging to the rock, the Prince gazed upward, squinting at the reflection of the mid-morning sun off the rock. Half a dozen bearded faces peered down from the top, shouting obscenities and laughing. He looked back at his squire, the servant boy he’d grown up with. Not only was he responsible for his own life but also that of his squire. Reaching his foot out, the loose shale gave way and he hung from his handhold as his legs dangled in midair. Looking down past his dirty sandals, the Prince saw the verdant gorge far below. His squire, just below him, stared up at his master hanging precariously, knowing there was no way of clinging to a rock face if he tumbled down on top of him. Fingers aching and sweat pouring into his face, a flash of doubt hit the Prince like a punch in the gut. What am I doing here?! But then the sign came rushing back. He took a breath, gritted his teeth, and felt his feet find purchase in the cliff face. What good is my life if I can’t spend it for my people, he thought as reached for the next handhold. The Prince climbed on. 

Halfway there.

His nation was at war, having been oppressed by their powerful neighbors on the coast for generations. Priests and prophets of the past had decreed the King and his people would rule their divinely appointed territory with strength, success, and glory. Instead, thanks to generations of moral corruption, they were stuck paying exorbitant tribute and having to hide the products of their farms from bands of raiders from all directions. The King’s people hid their crops and valuables down dry wells, deep in caves, or buried underground - anywhere to keep their possessions safe. Fed up with heavy taxation, social repression, impressment into work gangs, and the mocking of their religion, the King had rebelled. But now they were facing the consequences. 

Two armies faced one another, each atop a cliff with an overgrown ravine in between. The locals called these rockfaces Bozez and Seneh - “Glistening” and “Thorny”. In response to the King’s rebellion, his enemies from the coast had sent an army. A big one. To the north, beyond shining Bozez, camped the oppressors on the outskirts of the town of Michmash. The townsfolk that hadn’t escaped beforehand were forced to join them. “Either fight for us, or you and your families will die.” Persuasive, but not particularly endearing. With their options limited, the conscripts were resentful and bitter toward their warlords, torn at the prospect of fighting against their countrymen. Their wives and children were held as prisoners of war to ensure cooperation.

To the south, beyond thorny Seneh, the King camped with his army. Actually, it was more like a hastily-assembled militia. In those days, their enemies had outlawed blacksmiths, lest the people make weapons for themselves. Thus, the King and all his people had to pay to have their equipment sharpened, not to mention the journey across the mountainous border to have the service provided. 

All of Israel had to go down to the Philistines to have their plows, hoes, axes, and sickles sharpened. The price was two-thirds of a shekel for sharpening plows and hoes, and a third of a shekel for sharpening pitchforks and axes, and for fixing goads.

They were going broke paying the smithing fees, just to work their land and have their enemies pillage the produce. Two swords were all they had for their entire army. Naturally, they went to the two men who would lead them into battle - the King and his oldest son. The rest were equipped with makeshift flint knives, wooden shields, dull sickles, and spears without metal ends (little more than sharpened sticks). No body armor to speak of. A few stout tunics of bull hide, but most were clad in linen rags and worn-out sandals. Not a helmet among them, just windblown dark hair adorning their bare heads. A stark contrast to the thousands of heavy infantry assembled beyond the opposite cliff. Across the ravine, they could see the sun reflecting off the enemy’s polished bronze - helmets, shields, spear tips, and swords all designed to crush rebellions. Not a comforting sight. 

The King and his army were camped on the plain behind Seneh, barely six hundred men, tucked into dozens of caves around the town of Migron. In fact, the King and his bodyguard were camped in the shelter of a low cave that residents of Migron had used to hide baskets of dried pomegranates. They had started out as far more, but the rebels had steadily lost heart and slipped away after seeing what they were up against. The King’s hometown of Gibeah was further south, tucked in among the mountains. If the army from the coast wasn’t stopped, that would be their next stop. 

Not satisfied to hide, or wage guerilla hit-and-run warfare, the Prince had wanted to face their enemies head on in open battle. Who cares if we’re completely outnumbered - God is on our side! The King had disagreed with his son’s seemingly foolhardy plan. Whatever, if he couldn’t march out with the meager militia of his countrymen, then he’d march out alone. 

Almost alone.

*    *    *

Early that morning as the camp still slept, the Prince had shaken his servant awake, then put a quick hand over his mouth to keep him from waking the bodyguards next to them. The sky had barely started growing light. The Prince whispered in his ear.

“Come, let us go over to the garrison of these uncircumcised. It may be that the Lord will work for us, for nothing can hinder the Lord from saving by many or by few.”

The characteristics of a good squire were (1) physical strength, able to carry whatever equipment and provisions the Prince would require; (2) unquestioning loyalty, even following his master into danger and certain death; and (3) stupidity. A healthy measure of thick-headed idiocy was a requirement - no attempts at manipulating, outsmarting, or sharp-tongued remarks. An armor bearer, kehli nasa, was a mule, a loyal dog. Priceless yet expendable. In this regard, the Prince’s squire was perfect - three for three on the required characteristics. During their childhood, any error was strictly punished. But since no one was able to lay a hand on the royal son himself, it was taken out on his whipping boy. How many bruises, beatings, and bleeding had this young man suffered because of his unwavering devotion? As such, the Prince didn’t take him for granted. They’d found adventure together, escaped danger together, and one day (probably soon) they’d die together. 

In the dim light of early dawn, wiping sleep from his eyes, the squire unhesitantly responded to his master. 

“Do all that’s in your heart. Do as you wish. I’m with you heart and soul.” 

Sneaking past the drowsy sentries, they slipped over the edge of the cliff and began their descent. 

The two of them were as dissimilar in appearance as two young men could be. They were both in their late teens, with beards starting to fill in nicely. The Prince was dark and handsome, head and shoulders taller than anyone else, just like his father. A stallion of a man. His squire was thick and stocky, with Both were in their late teens, the squire thick and stocky, fair hair, pale gray eyes, more of an ox than anything. But despite their different appearances, life had joined them inseparably. Like most young men, they yearned for adventure. Risks were laughed off, scoldings unapologetically received, scars bragged about for years. They had the same heart. 

Climbing down Seneh was challenging, but at least they were going with gravity. North-facing and partially shaded by the hot Palestinian sun, her sharp crags were populated by thorns and brambles. With the help of a short length of rope, the Prince and his squire slowly descended in the cool hours of pre-dawn. Sometimes dropping down onto a narrow ledge, other times scrambling through sharp bushes. Their bare arms and legs were quickly covered in scratches - bleeding before they even met their enemies face-to-face. 

In the cool gorge, they were sheltered from view by dense foliage. The gap between the cliffs was a narrow ravine - nahal - that flowed with water in the rainy season but dried up in the arid summer months. The rains had ended three weeks prior, and the brook was barely a trickle through the thick mud, draining its meager flow from west to east. Every plant was sucking up all the moisture they could before the dry season browned their leaves. Sneaking, crawling, and slithering through the undergrowth, they’d finally come to the base of the opposite cliff.

Hidden among the greenery, they discussed their plan. Rather, the Prince described his brash idea.

“Look, we’ll cross over to the men and show ourselves. If they say, ‘Wait till we come to you,’ then we’ll stay where we are and not go up. But if they say, ‘Come up to us,’ then we’ll go, because the Lord has given them into our hand. This’ll be his sign to us.” 

The faithful squire nodded his head, they slapped shoulders, and stepped out into the open. 

When the enemy lookouts at the top of the opposite cliff saw them crossing the gorge, they called down.

“Look, the Hebrews are coming out of their hidey holes! Hey, you down there! Come up here! We’ve got something to show you!”

The Prince’s heart beat faster. The sign was fulfilled! 

“Come up after me. The Lord has given them into the hand of Israel!” 

Climbing down Seneh wasn’t terribly difficult - going with gravity - but Bozez was another matter altogether. They were climbing up the other twin, hauling their gear with them. The squire’s official title was armor bearer, but there was precious little armor to bear. In addition to the sword belted to the Prince’s side, his squire carried a stout club. It was nearly as long as his leg, whittled down from a burly knot of sycamore, and he could swing it harder than a man twice his size. Each had a makeshift flint knife. A leather sling with a pouch full of smooth stones rounded out the arsenal - not half bad to chuck a rock, but no match for enemy archers. At least there was less to carry up the cliff. 

Bozez was as different from her twin as the Prince from his squire. The south-facing bare rock gleamed in under the hot sun. She was too steep and sun-blasted for anything more than a few clumps of grass to grow, and even these were hanging on for dear life. So was the Prince. There they both were, halfway up a cliff that mountain goats would scarcely approach. Out of breath, muscles aching, and sweating from every pore as the morning sun grew hotter by the minute and beat down on them. But his brief moment of doubt passed as he remembered the sentries’ mocking words from the top of the cliff. Hanging by a tired hand, with another whose life also hung in the balance, the Prince found his faith again. Feet found purchase, arms found strength, and they climbed on as a growing crowd of hecklers watched from above.

*    *    *

By the time the dew had fully evaporated from the ground - mid-morning - the Prince finally conquered Bozez. Hauling his body up the final stretch, he rolled onto the scrubby grass. His squire scrambled up behind him, both exhausted. Their flush skin was covered in dirt, sweat, and scabbed-over scratches.

“Go ahead, catch your breath!” a bearded enemy soldier laughed. “Have a drink and gather yourself before your assault.” Then, turning to the two dozen men behind him, he cried, “Quick! Call for reinforcements! I don’t know if we can handle these two on our own!”

They all roared with laughter. The ringleader was about to continue his tirade of mocking, but upon turning back to face the exhausted Prince, he stopped short. Without a word, the Prince had shed his fatigue and closed the space between them in three quick strides and swung his sword with all his might. The voice of the laughing sentry was abruptly silenced as his head was separated from his shoulders. His unblinking head landed face-down on the ground as the rest of his body collapsed.Two dozen mouths dropped open. But the Prince was just getting started.

Barely had the first one fallen when he thrust his blade into the chest of the next, withdrew, and lopped off the arm of a third. Hot on his heels, his squire swung his club and caved in the second man’s skull before bringing it down on the one-armed man’s helmet.

Soldier after enemy soldier fell as the Prince hacked his way through the crowd. His long reach slashed his sword indiscriminately, not caring what he came in contact with as long as he drew blood. Nobody could get near him. The close proximity made ten-foot spears obsolete, while their short swords and arms couldn’t reach near enough. The thorns and brambled of the ravine drew more royal blood than the entire band of soldiers on the cliff. Enemy blood, however, flowed like the winter torrents. Bodies (and parts of bodies) toppled to the ground. The squire, having discarded his stout club for blades of his own, dispatched anyone still breathing in the Prince’s wake.

Twenty men fell in the distance of a sling’s throw. The two cliff climbers from Seneh fought on, cutting down the mockers from Bozez. 

*    *    *

The panicked commotion in the enemy camp grew like a landslide. None of them knew what was going on. Where’s the attack coming from?! The well-patrolled borders of their camp were unbreached, and the natural barrier of the cliff was at their backs. No other army had approached, and yet men ran for their lives, screaming of demons on the loose. They hastily armed themselves and attacked anyone unfamiliar. 

The enemy army was composed of soldiers from many city-states, not just from the coast but from conquered nations inland. Many of the King’s own subjects, like the men of Michmash, had been forced to fight against him when their territory had been annexed. When the chaos began, they were the first to switch sides. Quickly mobilized by their captains, they swept through the camp, attacking the oppressors relentlessly. The multi-national army fought itself, and more enemies fell from their fellow men-at-arms than from the Prince and his squire. They were simply the flashpoint that ignited a massive melee.

Then, in the midst of the turmoil and bloodshed, the earth began to shake. Not just the tremors that commonly affected those parts, but a full scale earthquake. Rocks split apart and the ground opened up into bottomless chasms. Tents, animals, and men fell to their deaths as the earth swallowed them whole. Seneh and Bozez, the mighty sisters, both collapsed toward each other, filling the gorge with boulders the size of houses. Dust choked every throat. And anyone able to keep their footing risked getting their throat cut by panicked soldiers trying to save their own skin or taking revenge on their enemies. 

Back at the King’s camp, all eyes were across the ravine. What was going on over there?! The King ordered holy relics to be brought to him, in order to consult his God whether to launch an attack. But before he could discern an answer, his men began charging across the gorge, which was now half-filled with the remnants of the twins.

The rout was on. The vast enemy army was chased by the hardy militia. Atop what was left of Bozez, the rebels found the Prince and his squire covered in battle gore. He began shouting orders to organize into bands and give chase. All hands quickly took up the weapons of their enemy and gave chase. They all must be hunted down before they could reach the safety of their walled cities. 

As the coastal army fled northward, those who had abandoned the King heard the commotion and emerged from their caves to investigate. It wasn’t long before they too were cutting down their oppressors. 

Miles north, the citizens of Beth-Aven in the province of Ephraim, a city still loyal to the King, were shocked to find invaders streaming toward the mountain pass - in twos, fives, and tens - without mules, carts, or provisions of any sort. Just weeks prior, their towns had been pillaged by these same raiders. Payback time. The Ephraimites joined the royal military - now well-armed - in the chase over hills, through forests, and across fields. Corpses and equipment littered the land. The weapons that had been brought against the King and his people were used to cut their enemies down. 

And it all started with the selfless courage of a Prince who hiked up a cliff to pick a fight with an army.

© D. B. Ryen Incorporated, May 2025.

Italicized quotations paraphrased from Bible. This account of Jonathan defeating the Philistines at the Battle of Michmash is based on 1 Samuel 13-14.