Sons Of The Flaming Throne – Ch. 8 | KT OLLA

FLAMES of fire rose and flew across a barley field. The burning blades hissed and crackled, and broke down into ashes.

Harvest was just a few weeks away for the owner of this field. His barleys were ripening in shades of gold and brown.

But then the fire came; and everything golden was burned to nothing.

Everything promising became ashes.

Absalom’s donkey stood a step away from the fire that afternoon, as the young man watched the field destroyed from the back of his animal.

His servants also stood with him, adding more straw to the fire.

Now a young man who saw the fire had hurriedly taken the report to his master, the owner. And it was Joab who owned that burning field.

‘Your barley field has just caught fire, my lord!’ the servant trembled on his knees.

But Joab wasn’t prepared either. ‘What? My own barley field?’

The lad stammered. ‘I’m… I’m afraid so, my lord. And by the time I got to know it, it was beyond any control!’

Joab was really hit. ‘Oh goodness! Goodness me!’

But the boy picked up with a different plea.

‘Please spare me, my lord; spare my life—I’ve got no power in my hand to stop it!’

Joab leaned a little towards him. ‘What d’ you mean you’ve got no—’ He just pulled back right there.

Then he took up afresh. ‘Wait a moment! That fire—what started it?

‘Tell me, was it an act of God or that of man? Was it natural fire—or human?’

The servant boy raised his head at the question and sunk it low the next instant.

Then Joab feared to hear the truth he knew.

‘My lord, a man started the fire I’m afraid. A noble friend of yours but an enemy as I speak!’

The general jumped to his feet immediately.

‘Say no more—and follow me!’

The boy hurried up and hastened after his master, as Joab went for a male horse—the sprightliest one that could run.

He also gave his servant a young ass to ride after him.

So, when the army chief arrived at his barely field, it was as though he saw the retreating backside of the arsonist.

But Joab didn’t meet any man in the field. Or even anything left of his crops.

Everything in that barley farm was black soot covering the whole plain. So Joab looked at the ashes, bowed his head and sighed.

Just then when the soldier bowed his gaze, he sighted something nailed to the ground beneath him.

But it wasn’t anything random. It was the signature that the arsonist left on the site.

It was a scarlet band that the Third Prince braced his hair with.

Yes, Absalom was the charming prince of the loveliest appeal. He was tall and lanky, darker toned and curly haired.

His hair was curled up in some long thick fries, reaching down from his crown to his back side. Much like the mane on the spine of a regal horse.

No, Absalom was the dream man of every girl in Israel. He was loved for both his charm and grace.

And when he cut his hair at the end of every year, it always weighed more than two kilograms on the scale.

So he had a band of scarlet wool wrap his head in a fitted snug. As though it was his crown for being David’s dearest child.

Now, Joab bent over and picked up the woolen band. He looked at it, and sighed again.

‘I knew it—the Third Prince was here.’

So the man charged his hefty stallion and told himself it was time to find Absalom.

For Joab realized that this fire was a summon he could not ignore.