“Show me.” He placed a clay tablet in my lap, and I squirmed to settle it into a steady position with one hand.
I swept the dust from the tablet and put down the stones, one by one, in their order, just as they lie along the sea.
“Now name them.”
“Gaza, Gath, Ekron, Ashkelon, Ashdod.”
“And who governs the Philistines?”
“Lord Marcos governs the city of Ashdod, Lord Karan the city of Gaza, Lord Adon the city of Gath, Lord Baltsar the city of Ashkelon, Lord Kanat the city of Ekron.”
“Interesting that you put Lord Marcos first.”
I kept my face impassive, so he would know nothing.
“Even an old man hears rumors. He has sent his wife away,” Akbar said.
He made his face impassive, so I learned nothing more. He swept the stones into a pile at the edge of the tablet with one hand, then clapped his hands together, freeing them of dust.
“Tutor, I have a question.”
He cocked his head to the side. It was how he waited for my questions.
“Once, a girl was brought into this temple, and Hannibal cut a lock of her hair off. Why did he do this?”
“You have other things to learn.” He lifted his chin, looking away.
“I want to learn this.”
“No.”
“Please. Please.” I laid a hand on his cold thigh. His hollow old bone was just under the surface of his skin. I tried not to shudder.
It worked. The corner of his mouth twitched and he scowled, removing my hand and placing it back on my own leg. I scooted closer to him. He did need the warmth. I was not tricking him now.
“Please.”
“All right. But only because I am tired. I don’t want to fight with you about it.”
“You said education was a struggle to be fought.”
“When I said that, I had just had breakfast. I was feeling quite strong. Now, the hour is late and I am tired.”
Though it was not late and the sun had only now begun to grow warm, I smiled wide and brought my hands together.
He cleared his throat, a terrible sound for an old man to make and a young girl to hear. “Hair is the essence of a person. Hair holds all their secrets, all their powers, all their history. If you take a lock of hair from someone, you can cast much magic on them. You can change their fate. Or even your own.”
“How? How could I change my fate?”
He recoiled, shocked.
“You are to become a priestess of Dagon. Your power will come from Dagon. Not magic.”
I knew very well the power of Dagon, that god with blind stone eyes. Ask the dead ones lying in the gutter about the power of this god. I had no hope in him.
“‘All greatness comes from learning.’ You said this yourself.”
He groaned, vexed at my nagging. But he told.
And I began to see what I could try next. A new plan began to form, though it had only a small sting. Parisa had won Marcos and would leave us. She would be the most honored woman in the city. She would want to bear many children for him. Children, sons especially, those would be her security. Even if Marcos divorced her, too, someday, a son would take care of her. A son would be the one man who could never send her away. Sons were security.
Though she would be leaving us, I could still find a way to make her feel pain, just as she had done to me.
All I needed was a little magic, which could be made from a lock of her hair.
I had to wait for Tanis to be alone. She was always busy, attending the women, helping them prepare for the next night’s work, or consulting with Hannibal, reviewing money and discussing patrons. Once the temple doors were closed, worship became a business. Tanis made sure her wares, the women, were ready for the services, and Hannibal made sure the services were profitable. I watched them from behind the pillar as they sat in the main hall. Hannibal sat in his chair, Tanis leaned over, standing at his side, observing as he counted coins from a bag. A servant sat on the steps below them both, holding a clay jar in his lap.
As Hannibal counted off the coins, he dropped them one by one into the jar. Tanis commented in his ear. I heard only the rough edges of whispers, but they looked comfortable with each other. I wondered if Tanis had ever loved Hannibal. The way she rested her hand on his shoulder made me uncomfortable.
Hannibal dropped the bag next to the servant and rose. Tanis bowed her head and departed. Hannibal and the servant now stood, talking together, Hannibal gesturing, making clear his plans for the temple and the money. As Tanis passed me, I stepped out from behind the column, taking her arm in mine.
I glanced back at Hannibal and smiled.
“What is it, Delilah?” She drew her head back as if alarmed by my sudden appearance.
“I wanted to ask a favor. Will you walk with me?”
“Is the sun out?”
I paused and listened. I heard the hiss of rain against the stone roof. Tanis smiled and nodded toward the main door at the end of the hall. “We’ll sit on the steps outside, under the roof. We can talk there.”
I would be glad when the rains were done. Those who depended on crops did not mind huddling under roofs all day and all night, because the rains brought them wealth. For me, rains were a soft, cold prison that made me sleepy just when I needed to be alert.
Outside, the steps were cold. I tucked my tunic between my legs and my hands under each arm.
“Cold?” Tanis asked.
“No.” I smiled and shook my head.
She frowned at me and turned her face to look out over the city. Ashdod was beautiful in the rain. The temple stood higher than the city, and we looked out at the buildings in muted shades of sand and shell. The heavy white mist of earliest day had evaporated by this hour, leaving only a soft veil over the city. In the center of the city was the market, with a few customers moving between stalls. The largest building was there, the home of Lord Marcos. From here he made his ruling and heard cases. To the west was the great sea. Today, the rains had left it shrouded in white and gray clouds. If I closed my eyes, though, I could hear it, the sounds of the waves carried here on the wind.
“I have wanted to talk to you, too, Delilah.” Tanis stared ahead, looking down on the city. She drew a long breath, then looked down at her hands before releasing it.
Marcos would come soon, tonight even, for Parisa. I shook my head to stop her.
“Tanis, I need your help.”
“Is something wrong?” Her body tensed as she looked at me, leaning toward me.
“Where does Hannibal keep the locks of hair?”
She pulled back, her brow knotting. “Who have you been listening to? Surely not Akbar.”
“It does not matter—”
“Yes! Yes, it does matter. If you do not understand our plans for you by now, then let me be clear. You are becoming a priestess, not a witch. You have no need of magic.”
“Please—”
“No!”
She stood, her face red and mouth set in a hard, straight line.
“I am afraid!” I sounded shrill. I could still find the voice of a child inside, even if I did not remember her.
Tanis did not move but judged me, her head tilted, her face open.
I spoke slowly, as if every word came from a painful place. “When I first came here, Hannibal took a lock of my hair. When he raised the knife, I thought he was going to kill me.” I smiled, looking up at her through my lashes. “But he took a lock of hair, and I always wondered why, but I did not ask anyone. I trusted, in you especially.”
Tanis’s face drained of color. “You do not trust me now?”
“I do! It’s Parisa I do not trust. She said she was going to steal my lock of hair and burn it. She said when she did, pains would come upon me, and I would die. I would never have a chance to serve in the temple.” I lowered my voice and looked out in the distance. “I would never become like you.”
Tanis hesitated, putting her arm around me, drawing me in. I hel
d my breath so I would not smell her perfume, so I would not weaken and cling to her.
“Parisa is lying. Only Hannibal and I know where the locks are kept. And even if she found them, burning your lock would not cause you pains.”
“What would it do?”
“Nothing. Only a witch could use it to cast a spell. Not even I know the incantations.”
“But there is no witch here. Where do you find a witch?”
Tanis pressed her lips together, then ran her teeth over her lower lip, pulling it in, pushing it out. She wanted to say something to me, so I waited.
“Delilah, I want to talk to you about your baby.”
I lurched up, catching the hem of my tunic under my heel. Struggling for balance, I backed away, tearing my tunic to get free.
“Thank you, Tanis.” I ran from the steps, back into the cold darkness of the main hall.
But I couldn’t run far. Though my heart was stung, and I fought to hold back any thoughts of that day, of that room of birth and death, I hid behind a column once more, and waited. I waited until my feet turned cold, and the cold rose through my legs and into my belly. I trembled, pulling my tunic tighter in around me.
The door opened to the main hall, and Tanis entered, her face red and blotched. I covered my mouth with my hand so that not even the sound of my breath would betray me. I knew Tanis had been crying for me. I held out the thoughts, far from me, not letting them hurt me. Tanis loved me too much.
She wiped at her nose delicately and walked to Hannibal’s chair. The main hall was silent, except for her footsteps. Looking around, she seemed satisfied that she was alone and then lifted the gold seat from the chair. My eyebrows raised in surprise. I had not known his chair had a secret too. Inside the flat square chamber, she ran her hand back and forth, then picked up a lock of hair and held it closer to her face. She returned it, and as she set the lid back into place, Hannibal opened the main doors. A cold wind snaked round my ankles. I could only see him in profile, and the robes of a man standing behind him. If I moved for a better view, Tanis might see me.
Hannibal called to her, and she turned, unafraid. “Tanis, Lord Marcos has arrived.”
“I am ready.”
She came down the steps, smiling at the men. Whatever they would be discussing, it was clearly not the first time. Tanis moved with ease, perhaps even joy. She took Lord Marcos’s arm, and the three went out the main doors. Lord Marcos’s home was in that direction, the seat of the city government, and the empty bed. A cattish laugh caught my ear; Parisa was awake too, dressing for her evening, perhaps her last one among us.
I had no choice. I had to do it now, before the services began, before Parisa collected her things and left.
I crept from my hiding place and ran across the cold floor to Hannibal’s chair. Lifting the lid, I saw dozens of locks of hair, all tied with cords that were looped in the center, each marked with a clay seal. I did not read the language of Ashdod. Turning the locks over, I looked closely at each in frustration. One had an image that I knew at once: a young girl with a swollen belly. I held the lock up to my own hair. It was mine. Placing it inside my belt, pulling it tight against my waist, I again turned over the locks, one by one. Each seal had an image of the girl or woman. They must have been images of the woman as she was when she first came here, as mine was. I turned them over, frantic now. The women in the next room did not need much more time to be ready.
Then I found it. An image of a thin woman, ragged hair, in chains. It had to be Parisa. Her expression, even in a clay seal, was one of defiance. She would wear another expression after today, one of bewilderment, wondering why she could not conceive, why she could never have the one thing she needed when her beauty faded and Marcos had moved on: a son.
“What are you doing?”
A hand caught me by the back of the neck. I jumped, frightened, trying to turn and see who had caught me. As if I didn’t know. Parisa’s grip grew tighter, her fingernails digging into my neck.
“I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry! I was only trying to help!”
“By stealing my hair?”
“I have heard rumors! Someone is going to put a curse on you, so you can never bear Marcos a son!”
Parisa dropped her grip on my neck and wrenched my arm toward her, prying the lock of hair from my hand.
“You’re nothing but a liar. And a thief.” She smiled, her lips pressed together, gloating. “Now, if you want to keep your hands, give me your own lock of hair. Perhaps I will keep your secret.”
I removed it from my belt and handed it to her. Thieves get their hands cut off.
She grinned. “Or perhaps I won’t. Girls like you deserve everything they get.”
She turned to take a step down from the chair, and I threw myself on her. We fell down the steps, and I landed on top of her as she screamed and tried to throw me off.
She was fierce, much stronger than I had expected. I fell to the side, and as I scrambled to get up, she lunged at me, knocking me back down, pinning me flat to the ground. She sat on me as her hands went round my neck, shaking my head up and down as she choked me. I did not want to die this way.
I tried to scream, but everything stopped under her hands—my screams, my voice, my breath. My face was swelling with trapped air as black spots swam in my vision. Through this swirling haze, I did not see clearly what happened next.
Parisa was knocked off of me. There were grunts and a dull, wet drumbeat.
I tried to raise my head but fell back into darkness as I heard shouting and running footsteps. I do not know how much time passed before I was on my bottom with my legs spread out before me, as I retched into my lap, coughing, trying to breathe again as a woman stroked my hair.
“Did she hurt you? Are you all right?”
Blinking, forcing myself to see and to think, I looked up. Tanis lay on the ground, her expressionless face turned to me, her eyes open wide. A dark pool spread out from under her head, moving toward me. Above me, Hannibal stood with Parisa, who was in chains. Two guards from the city flanked her.
Lord Marcos parted the women clustered all around, searching for someone. When he saw me, his expression changed to one of relief, and he rushed to me, helping me to stand, one hand around my waist.
“Get her a chair!” he commanded. A chair was brought, and he helped me sit, then kneeled before me, reaching up to stroke my hair. His hand came away clean. My skull had not split as I thought, though that was a miracle.
“Better now?”
I nodded, trying to peer around him. My head hurt too much to move it far, but he moved to block my view of Tanis.
“I should have come sooner,” he said. “This is not your fault, Delilah.”
“What happened?” I did not know how Tanis had died. What had I done?
“Hannibal said you caught Parisa stealing your hair and she attacked you. Tanis tried to stop her, and Parisa killed her. Hit her head on the floor. Tanis died to protect you. She must have truly loved you.”
“She brought me here.” I meant it as an argument, but he only nodded in agreement.
“She saved you twice, then. I have heard stories of your family.”
My mind cleared more with every passing moment. I looked around, my breathing coming fast. I tried to stand, but Marcos caught me by the shoulders. “Shh,” he whispered. “Wait until she is gone.”
Parisa was glaring at me, one cheek red and inflamed, the mark of a handprint visible. She spat on the floor, leaving a red spot. The guards dragged her backward, and she went limp, her mouth set in a snarl, her eyes never leaving mine.
“But what is happening? Where are they taking her?”
Marcos watched her go, disgust evident on his face. “All that beauty wasted.”
I heard a guard giving directions to the others. Parisa was to be jailed. A former priestess, imprisoned with men awaiting punishment or execution … condemned men would relish the distraction. Marcos saw her fate as wel
l as I, but he did not see the truth, not all of it. She had acted for herself, always. She loved no one more than herself. All people were like this, I knew. Just as there were no real gods, there was no real love.
Hannibal turned his attention to me. I shrunk in my chair, drawing my shoulders up, cringing away from certain punishment. Marcos stood and faced Hannibal, nodding. Hannibal held something out to me in his hand. I glanced at it.
It was my own lock of hair. I stood.
“I requested it be given to you,” Marcos said. “I do not want you to serve me in fear.”
“What?”
Hannibal tried to force a smile. But something was broken inside of his spirit. I could see that in his eyes. I looked down at his hands. They were shaking. “Lord Marcos came here today to request that you be made his permanent consort. You will serve no other man.”
I froze, aware that Marcos was watching, that everyone was watching. No one laughed. It was not a joke. The irony made my blood cold. If I had known the truth, Tanis would still be alive. I had been made a fool, again. My hope was in one man now, one man I did not want or love. He had only been a means to hurt Parisa. And now, he was all mine.
I smiled weakly and felt his arms slip around my body as my knees went soft and I fell.
Two days later, my hands trembled. I could not tie the sash around my waist. Rose rushed to my side, crooning my name, helping me sit back on the couch.
“I know how you are grieving. We all miss Tanis.”
I clutched her hand to my chest, nodding. I wasn’t grieving. I had no time, no will for that. I was terrified.
Tonight, Marcos would come for me.
“You look beautiful, Delilah. Do not be afraid.”
I looked at Rose as if she spoke a new language. What hope did beauty offer anyone, especially me? Anyone who thought me beautiful had hurt me or hated me. Beauty was no blessing.
Because of this curse, I would attend Marcos, and when he desired, he would take me to one of those curtained rooms upstairs. I did not want to go. I did not want this man! I had two long nights to consider what I had done. I thought hurting Parisa would sate my thirst, that justice would give me peace, but it did nothing. Justice was a dead thing, perhaps, and no use to the living. And vengeance was not a perfect art.
Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) Page 20