Now I had a dead friend, a man I did not want, and a night ahead of me that made me sick to think about. My tutor had taught me of governments and gods, not of all the necessary deceptions that had to take place when the curtains were drawn. No woman could want to do those things with a man. I did not know how I would disguise my feelings when he reached for me.
None of the other women would even look at me, and certainly they would not welcome me into their secrets. Whatever tricks they used to hold down their meals when a man touched them, they would keep those secrets from me for one more night at least.
I was alone in my ironic little disaster.
I tilted my head, letting my hair fall to one side. Running my hands through it, my fingers remembered what to do, braiding it into one long, strong rope. I remembered the wool I had hoped to weave, to make something beautiful and earn my place. I had been unhappy, but in those days I had understood what must be done.
I knew the cold was there but did not feel it. I had already exhausted myself in my preparations, which never seemed enough. How could I have allowed this to sneak up on me?
By the fourth hour of the afternoon, the sun had begun to fade and night encroached, with purple shadows and cold winds from the sea. I had just released my braid and was preparing to redo it when Hannibal entered our sleeping chambers.
“Lord Marcos has arrived.”
Everyone stopped their grooming and watched me as I stood, bowing slightly to Hannibal. As my eyes swept downward, I saw my tunic shaking violently over my knees. I had to open my mouth and draw the deepest breath I could before I straightened up. It didn’t work.
“Are you all right?” Rose asked.
“I will do what I have to do.”
Hannibal helped me walk to the door leading to the portico, and with one hand on the door to push it open, he leaned to my ear.
“Please Marcos, or do not return to these chambers.” He pulled away and smiled, nodding for me to smile as well.
I did, drawing one last breath before I entered Marcos’s life and became his consort.
Marcos stood when I entered, pleasure in his eyes, as if he did not know what this night had cost me. Perhaps he didn’t. I did not yet know him. Hannibal presented me with a silent flourish and then backed away, leaving me alone with my lord.
He sat and motioned for me to join him. I clasped my hands together in my lap so he would not see them shaking.
The temple was going to be busy tonight; I knew beyond these walls that the wheat had been planted and the barley was coming near to harvest. Men would be coming from nearby villages to plead their case to Dagon, to make love—and life—with a priestess.
I flinched as I thought of the couples soon to drift up the stairs. Lord Marcos noticed and put an arm around me. Perhaps he thought I was cold.
The high winter rains had made the air cold, that was true. A fire burned in the center of the portico, and a few couples stood over it for warmth. Men pleaded in soft tones for blessing and wealth. My womb was empty. I knew what it was to be given blessing and wealth. I knew what it was to lose it all.
Marcos seemed to be content to sit and watch the flames with me. I considered things to say, gracious or learned things. I knew I should entertain him, or impress him. I edged my body at an angle to look at him, removing his arm and setting it in his lap as I cleared my throat.
“I have conditions.”
“Conditions?” He seemed amused. I bit my cheek to keep from crying.
“First, no one may serve you wine but me. I don’t want to be surprised by another woman taking my place someday. And I will not go upstairs like the others. You must take me from here when you want to do those things.”
“I did not agree to these conditions when I asked for you.”
“I did not ask for you.”
He laughed, not taking his eyes off me.
“I will agree to your conditions if you will agree to mine.”
I narrowed my eyes, searching his face for a clue to what he wanted.
“First, no more conditions.”
I nodded. “Agreed.”
He leaned over and grabbed my leg. I squealed without meaning to, and turned my face down when another woman glared at me, as if I was delighting in my stolen fortune.
He ran his hands down my calf and then kneeled at my feet. My heart began thundering, fast and loud. I froze, praying for some quick clue as to what I must do in response. He paid me no attention and removed my sandal, running his hands over my feet. His fingers rested on the cuts and scars, tracing them as he looked up into my eyes.
He replaced my sandals and tied them before sitting again.
My whole body began to recoil. There was no way to conceal my shock. He held me there with one heavy palm now resting on my thigh.
“That is my second condition. Do not harm yourself anymore. Whatever troubles you, come to me with it.”
I stared at the fire. “How did you know?”
“You flinch when you walk. But not every night. And I know that you have suffered.”
I did the strangest thing, without meaning to. I lifted one arm and placed my hand on his. He smiled, putting his other hand on top of mine. He was warm and strong. Relief flooded my body, making my knees weak.
“As long as I live, I promise, Delilah, you will be loved.”
Lord Marcos kept his word. He did not take me upstairs on that night, or any night after. He visited nightly, after his business had finished for the day. He told me of the cases he had tried, of the decisions rendered, of the fortunes won and lost in the city. He told me stories from his childhood and legends from the people.
These were the tender years of my life, when stories were told for amusement and instruction and their lessons learned at a distance. Suffering was no longer my teacher.
When the night came that he took me outside the walls of the temple, I cannot say I was ready. That would be a lie. But I had less fear. He placed one arm around my waist and led me out of the portico, down the steps into the city street.
“Welcome to Ashdod, Delilah.”
He led me through flame-lit streets, and above us, the sun had descended in pink and yellow bands across the deep purple horizon. We walked without speaking, spying on families eating around low tables with flickering oil lamps, past quiet shops with tools resting on tables and mice scampering through straw on the floor and great fat cats leaping after them. Dogs trotted through the streets, whining when they saw us, hoping for a treat. A boy leaned out of a window, whistling, and his dog bounded past us. The boy’s mother stood at the door to let the dog in, then shut the door behind him, closing her home for the night.
These were wonders I had never seen.
“It is a peaceful city,” I said, sighing. Lord Marcos kissed me on the top of my head, and we walked on.
“This is my home.”
I had seen it from a great distance; now I stood in its shadow, dwarfed by its size, sand-brown bricks rising up before me, windows set in the walls higher up than three men stacked head to feet. Above the door, nothing. For almost two years now I had lived in a temple, where the main door bore an inscription that welcomed all men in. “Enter and enjoy,” it read, or that is what the other women told me, but I had hoped they were wrong. That would have made us harlots, not priestesses.
His door had no inscription. He was a free man.
He pushed open the double wooden doors and bade me to enter.
Crossing the threshold, I saw a mosaic tile floor of blue and white, images of women and gazelles, and three whitewashed columns along each side of the home. On the back wall was a staircase to the upper chambers, and low tables stood behind the columns.
“Citizens wait here for me to attend them,” Marcos said.
“Where is your throne?”
He laughed at me.
I frowned. “You are the ruler of the city.”
“The five lords rule with intellect, not force or fear.” He walked to the sta
irs. I hesitated. “Come.”
I had never been allowed upstairs as a girl, and at the temple, I had never wanted to go up the stairs. Everyone else lived above me, and things happened above me that I did not like or could not be a part of. I was not a girl who climbed stairs with men, even men like Marcos.
“Delilah. It’s all right. Come and join me.”
I took a step forward.
At the bottom of the stairs, he held one hand out to me.
He was a gentle man.
Always, he held out his hand for me. I climbed those stairs many times. My life settled into a comfortable routine—a life without fear, a strange delight. I returned to the temple before dawn and returned to Marcos’s home before the sun drifted away completely. Hannibal did not mind that I no longer entertained Marcos at the temple. Marcos made generous offerings to Dagon every week, even better offerings than in the past. Hannibal was pleased enough to say nothing.
Marcos was busy with men who had urgent business. Tonight he saw to it that I was comfortable in his chambers, then went below to attend them. I looked around me, a foreigner in this room without him. His bed was empty, the pallet resting on the floor, draperies around it to keep the pests out in the summer. The windows brought in the strong salty summer breezes from the sea.
A dressing table stood against the wall, with a stool, and a table by the bed with lion heads on each corner, for trays of refreshment. A lovely, perfect room that no woman could find fault with. Marcos had even purchased a jar of exquisite perfume for me. It was a luxury I had never known. With Marcos, life itself had become a wonderful luxury.
When Marcos returned, I had a question. I had always had this question, but until tonight, I did not have the courage to ask. His love was making me bold.
“Why do men divorce their wives?”
Marcos shrugged and began removing his sash. “Do you mean, ‘Why did you divorce your wife?’”
“Was she no longer attractive?”
He draped his sash across the foot of the bed. “She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.”
His answer did not make me feel good.
“Was she barren?”
He was removing his robe. I should have stood to help him, but I was afraid he would stop talking if I came near.
“I don’t know. I stopped lying with her years before the divorce.”
“But you said she was beautiful!”
“Delilah, whatever you may think of men, we are a bit more complex than you realize. A beautiful woman is just as likely to displease a man as an ugly woman. Maybe even more so.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t. Whatever has happened to you in the past, whatever behavior in themselves men have excused on account of your beauty, they were wrong. If a man claims he was compelled to hurt you, he is either lying or no man at all.”
He was in his linen robe now and nothing else. I stood to help him remove it. He shook his head no and got into bed with a sigh.
I wanted to say many things to him just then. I did not want him to be mad at me, but I was not sure this was anger.
Without deceit, I had nothing to say, so I disrobed and lay beside him. An hour or more passed as I waited for him to touch me. When he did, I turned my body into his and did not resist him. That was all the truth I was capable of.
We passed most all our evenings in this chamber or on the beach, watching the waves break and little crabs scurrying for their dinner. In the distance, birds flew straight at the water, diving below, then surfacing to float effortlessly. There were dancers, acrobats even, in the market on warm nights, but these birds were the performers I preferred. Marcos, too, I think, was glad to be away from the city, away from the problems and accusations and pleadings of the citizens.
Tonight was such a night. We sat on the sand, the day’s heat keeping it warm though the sun was setting in a blaze of yellow and orange. Brilliant white clouds reflected the last of its rays. I had served as Marcos’s consort for a full year now.
He watched the birds at the horizon. “Do you ever wonder if all of this”—and here he gestured to the world around him—“is all there is?”
“But my love, you have everything! Wealth. Passion. Even power. How could that not be enough? How could you wonder if there is anything else? What else could there be?” I was breathing rapidly, my nostrils stinging from the effort. I wanted to know what he would say.
“Is it enough for you?” he asked, with a steady gaze that made me doubt myself. This must be how he ruled the citizens.
“Nothing is truly my own. I cannot say it is enough, because nothing is mine. I was made your consort, not your wife.”
I stood without grace, my chest still rising and falling.
“It will not always be like this, Delilah.”
I turned to him with a shudder. “Please do not send me away for speaking like that. I am sorry. I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve much more.”
That summer passed without any more frightening words. We drank of love, and I grew to know his body, and his heart, so much better than my own. Slowly, this man I had once claimed no desire for, now claimed all my desire. In him, I knew my place, my home, my purpose. I did not fail him. Even when I was weak, he showed me how to be strong. When I was sad and could not explain why, he comforted me with walks, and love, and tenderness that left me breathless. He kissed me on the forehead when I was unlovely and angry.
That is why I did it.
I opened myself to a great pain, thinking I was stronger now. But always, always, life has its surprises. Unguarded hearts always lead to disaster.
I was such a fool.
We lay in his bed, and he told me of the day’s business. A man and his wife had found a child in the fields and made claim to it. He had blessed them and given them a silver coin for luck. I asked their names, but I did not recognize them. I had met most everyone of any importance in the city, and even the other four Philistine lords, but none seemed to see anything unusual in my face. No one saw their daughter’s features in mine.
“Do you know of anyone who adopted a baby from the temple?” I did not want to reclaim her. I would not even know her in the streets. I just wanted to know if they were good people. I wanted to think she was as happy as I, that the gods had been just as kind to her.
“Of course not.”
“No one?” I felt cold. His tone was not right.
“Who would take a baby that had been birthed at the temple? That would be like stealing from the gods. A curse would follow the baby.”
“But I do know of a child that was given to a nobleman’s family.”
In the darkness, I heard him catch his breath. He understood why I asked and what lies had been told to me.
I tried very hard to make no noise, but he held me as I cried.
That is, truly, where my story ends at the temple. I knew Tanis as she had truly been, a tender liar who served only herself. Or her god, not knowing that they were one and the same. Perhaps she had wanted to tell me the truth the night she was killed, but whether she wanted that for herself or for my own sake, I would never know.
I lay awake, thinking of who else might hurt me, who else might hide. I must have fallen into a deep asleep, because I awoke alone, shivering, though the room was not cold.
And here was the greatest irony of all: One last secret was being played out upon me as I slept. One last secret, one that would change my fate forever.
Stretching, lazy in the late afternoon sun, I was the last to rise. The other women were already dressed and at work on their hair. I sat up, crossing my legs on the bed, waiting for sleep to clear from my eyes. Spring was here. We all felt it, even locked away in this room. I smiled to myself, thinking of the flowers already in bloom and all the treasures of freedom Marcos would show me.
Hannibal entered the room, a dark look on his face.
“I would like to be alone with Delilah. Everyone, please g
o and eat now.”
A few glanced at me. Rose did, a fearful look on her face. I smiled at her. I had nothing to fear from Hannibal.
When the room cleared, Hannibal did not move. He stood at the door and did not look at me. I rose, my stomach beginning to tighten into a cold knot.
“Have I done something?”
He did not reply. He was pressing his lips together, rubbing them back and forth. Hannibal was always sure of himself. Nothing had ever made him nervous in my presence.
“What is it?” I rested a hand on his arm, hoping he would look at me.
“Marcos died this morning. He was listening to cases at his home, and he slumped over at a table. No one could wake him,” Hannibal said.
I fell to the floor. My breathing sounded clotted, rasping. I willed myself to die too, before the heartbreak took me. I think I was moaning. I do not remember much after this.
What is there to say of such grief? My heart was torn from my body, and I was weak, and pale, and grew thin. For months, I had no appetite, no desire for food or wine or words. I lay on my couch, my body aching from a grief that numbed every sensation except crushing black sorrow.
Rose tried to sit on my bed once in the early morning when she returned from her service, to comfort me. I smelled men on her and turned away. She did not try again. Hannibal gave up reasoning with me and ordered servants to hold my head back as he poured a thin soup into my mouth, shutting it after each pour, blowing in my face, tricking my body into swallowing.
One morning he lost his patience. He had something to tell me that would not wait any longer.
“Delilah, you must listen to me. Lord Marcos loved you.”
I moaned and thrashed against Hannibal. I couldn’t bear to hear the name. I couldn’t bear to lie here anymore, cold and alone. I had had everything, and everything I had lost. It had been enough, I wanted to scream in sorrow. It had been so much more than enough, a wealth beyond imagining, and I had lost it all again. I wanted to die, and I did not even have the strength to find my blade and lift it. If only I had known I would need this last strength, maybe I would have saved it.
Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) Page 21