“Night and Day,” Sharissit said, when we stood before her adorned and laden with the new clothing we would wear when we danced. “Well, Little Sun and Little Moon—now you shall begin again.”
And we did, for dancing in full ritual costume required of us more strength and care, that we might perform the steps with grace and reverence. I worked hard to perfect the turns, to move lightly, to ring the silver bells about my ankles to the rhythm of the dance. I encouraged Aylah to work as hard as I, for I knew, from the attention we received, that the Temple had the highest hopes for us.
“Both of us,” I told Aylah, as we sat upon stools in the baths after one of the grueling lessons. It was pleasant, after such hard work, to do nothing, to let others pour rose-scented water over us to wash away our effort, and to knead soothing oils into our sore muscles.
Aylah slanted a glance at me. “High hopes. Yes, I suppose they do. They believe we shall earn great offerings for the Temple.”
“Of course we will.” Confidence filled me now; I would have to be a fool not to see how highly Sharissit valued my skill—and I had heard the Temple servants gossip when they did not know I overheard them.
“Yes, the Temple will use us as they wish, and we can do nothing save bow and act as the High Priestess commands.” Aylah’s words seemed to hang flat and heavy in the bath’s moist, heated air.
I stared at her as the bath slave unpinned my hair and started to comb sandalwood oil through its heavy length. “Aylah,” I began, and she shook her head.
“There is no need to speak now,” she said, and I closed my lips over the words I had wished to say.
But I was troubled in my heart, for it seemed to me that sadness burdened Aylah’s days. I remembered the prophecy she had told me, all those years ago, when we still were only New Moons: “I will be sacrificed to the Sun. I will burn, Delilah.”
Now I thought I knew what those fearful words really meant. Later, when we lay under the pomegranate tree in the garden belonging to the Court of the Rising Moons, I told Aylah, thinking to reassure her, to make her happy. “You remember the words you said to me long ago, that you were to be given to the Sun? Well, now you have been—you dance as the Sun, Aylah. That is what the Seer’s words meant.” I smiled, and squeezed her hand.
She regarded me intently for the space of a long indrawn breath. Then she smiled. “Perhaps it is, heart-sister. Perhaps it is.”
That was all she would say, but she seemed more content, and I prided myself upon easing the burden she had carried. Aylah laughed more, after that day, and I believed she had forgotten the Seer’s prophecy. Soon I, too, forgot again. Between the hours we spent under Priestess Sharissit’s instruction and those spent learning to perform the many Temple rituals, there was little time to brood upon possible futures.
The House of Atargatis was all our world, a world in which nothing changed. But beyond the Temple walls, beyond the high walls of Ascalon, time-honored ways of life had begun to shatter. Rather than ruling the heavens and the earth as equals, the Lady was in many places being relegated to tending hearth and home, childbirth and marriage.
The Temples of the Five Cities refused to pay heed to this shift, refused to permit such a change within their walls. The upper priests and priestesses sought to keep the knowledge of these impious new ways from both worshippers and the lower-ranked servants of the Lords and Ladies of the Five Cities.
Without success; nothing spreads faster than forbidden tales.
The Hebrews were blamed for much of the conflict between the elegant, time-burnished old ways and the brash, arrogant new. Having settled in the hills, the Hebrews now sought to move down into the fertile plains ruled by the Five Cities. A few battles had been fought, and thus far the Hebrews had been held at bay—they and their strange invisible god who dwelt in a holy, deadly box.
“Their magic box is called ‘Ark,’ Lady Delilah.” The maidservants who tended us priestesses knew all the bazaar tattle; we always listened, although propriety demanded we order such loose tongues to be silent. As she wove the silver ribbon through my hair, Mala went on, “It is formed all of gold, with two winged demons crouched upon it, and these demons slay any who dares touch the box they guard. The Hebrews’ god is imprisoned within this Ark, and they say whoever releases him will become king of all the world.”
“Who says so?” I asked, and Mala said, “Why, everyone! And the Hebrews plan to conquer the Five Cities and raze the Temples and sow the ground upon which they stood with salt.”
That I did not believe; who would be foolish enough to slay the earth itself?
Samson
“Now Samson grew strong, stronger than any other man who ever lived. And he grew to be the best of sons, the best of men. Always he used his great strength for good, to help those in need . . .”
Long before Samson was old enough to be considered a man grown, it was clear to any with eyes and wits that whoever had fathered him upon Tsipporah had not been her husband, Manoah. But since young Samson had always been strong enough to knock sense into boys twice his age, it rapidly became ill-judged to say anything against either his mother or the man Samson honored as his father.
And what is never said is forgotten.
By the time Samson was sixteen, the people of Zorah had managed to fold away any knowledge of his birth save that it had been a late blessing to his parents. That Manoah and Tsipporah were short and dark, while their golden son stood a head taller than any other man in the village and could lift a half-grown calf and carry it as a woman carries her infant—why, that meant only that Samson’s parents were indeed favored by Yahweh.
Just as his mother had always claimed.
Samson grew into a young man who looked very little like anyone else in any village Orev knew, and he remained Orev’s friend. Orev truly appreciated that, for to be Samson’s companion only added to Orev’s importance. Being Zorah’s harper had gained Orev a certain standing in the village; its people took pride, now, in having their own singer of songs and tales.
But Orev knew that being a harper and Samson’s friend granted even greater status.
For Samson, in addition to being taller and stronger than any other young man in Dan, also possessed an odd ability to draw others to him. Perhaps that was an inevitable result of his exceptional strength and his handsome face. Tall, strong, handsome; if Yahweh had bestowed these attributes upon Samson, surely Samson must also have been blessed with wisdom and good judgment. So men admired him, women desired him—and Samson remained oblivious to his own worth in the minds of others. And as the Five Cities pushed harder against Hebrew attempts to move west, towards the fertile plains, an increasing number of Hebrew young men grew impatient with caution. They demanded action, longing to take the land by force from the Philistines. Now Samson’s unconscious lure, his very appearance an implicit promise of greatness, turned into an unexpected problem.
For years, Orev had heard the men of the village complain, bitterly, that the Five Cities ruled too harshly. But now the precarious balance of opposing peoples and gods that had been known as peace in the land of Canaan seemed to have tipped too far. The new generation of Hebrews intended to do more than complain. They intended to strike, and to conquer. Just as the Hebrews had conquered long ago, when the war-leader Joshua destroyed the city of Jericho. The restless young men saw no reason that heady victory should not be repeated in their lifetimes. They lacked only two things to set Canaan ablaze, or so they thought.
Weapons—weapons stronger than the deadly iron of the Five Cities.
But even stones could kill, and bronze blades had slain men for twice a thousand years before iron had been dreamed of. Orev had heard enough careless talk to know that lack of iron weapons would not deter those who hated the Five Cities, if only they possessed the one thing they fiercely clamored for, the one thing they must have in the inevitable conflict.
A leader.
A war-leader was more precious, and harder to find, than iron swords. S
o Orev didn’t worry overmuch about rumors of rash men training for war and laying up stores of stones for slings and straight wood for spears—until the day he journeyed to Eshtaol, to sing at a wedding feast, and four men took him aside and asked if he was the harper who was Samson’s friend.
Unease pricked Orev’s skin, but there was no point in lying. “If you mean Samson who dwells in the village of Zorah, the son of Manoah, then yes, I know him.”
The four exchanged glances, and smiled. Their spokesman said, “I am Jehu, and these are Netan, Achbor, and Eli. We wish you to take a message to Samson for us.”
“Why not walk over to Zorah and speak to him yourself?” Orev asked.
Again they looked from one to another, this time apparently silently consulting. Jehu shook his head. “No. It will be safer if you carry our words to him.”
“Why? I know Samson well; his nature is sweet as honey and he does not anger easily. You may speak to him without danger.”
“The danger would be to him,” Jehu said. “Until all is prepared, it must not be known.”
What must not be known, you fool? You’ve already told me all your names. It would be the work of a few words with the nearest Eshtaol housewife to learn more about the four than they knew about themselves. But since Jehu, Netan, Achbor, and Eli doubtless were not as sweet-natured as Samson, Orev did not wish to anger them.
“Very well. Tell me what you wish me to say to Samson, and I will tell it to him.”
Jehu drew in his breath, and then spoke low and swiftly. “Tell him we will follow him. Tell him we are not the only ones who but await his signal. Tell him there is a meeting place prepared in the hills, where the three streams meet. Tell him someone waits there each new moon.”
Is that all? Orev let no sign of his irritated amusement touch his face. “When I see Samson, I will tell him.”
“You will remember all I said?” Jehu asked urgently, and Orev allowed himself to laugh.
“Brave Jehu, I am a harper. I remember hundreds of words and have them ready to tell perfectly at any time. I can remember forty words easily enough.”
Orev set the incident aside until the wedding feast was over and he returned to Zorah. But once home, he set out in search of Samson without wasting any time in rest. It was never very hard to track Samson down—he was always helping someone build something, helping someone carry something, or lying under the ancient oak on the hillside above Zorah.
This time he was under the oak. When he saw his friend, Samson lifted his hand. “What troubles you, Orev? Why have you hastened up here when you’ve just returned from Eshtaol? Sit down.”
“What makes you think I’ve hastened?”
“I watched you walk up the road, and then go to your house, and come straight here. And you look troubled. What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong is men assuming your common sense means you’re a great warrior. Orev sat beside Samson. “Samson, do you know four young men named Jehu, Netan, Achbor, and Eli?”
Samson shook his head. “Why? Should I know them?”
“Probably not, if you are wise,” Orev said, and then repeated, perfectly, the message Jehu had sent.
When Orev fell silent, Samson frowned. “I wish they’d stop sending me messages. Orev, do I look like the leader of warriors to you?”
Orev considered the matter carefully; his friend deserved an honest answer. “Samson, many now seek a man to follow, to lead them to war with the Five Cities. And you look like no other man in all of Israel and Judah. You are taller, and stronger, and very fair to look upon.”
“That’s not a very good reason to think I can lead them to war.”
“Sometimes, Samson, it is all the reason men need.”
If he could have had only one prayer granted, Orev would have begged for the ability to strike men mute. As far as he could tell, most of the world’s troubles began because someone couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And see what harm befalls? No matter what Samson does, he will be at fault.
The trouble began when someone boasted of Samson’s prowess—something Samson himself never did. Orev had traveled to Beltorath, knowing harpers were much prized there, and Samson had chosen to accompany him. Fate turns on trifles; Orev never did have an opportunity to claim a space in the marketplace and offer songs for sale that day. And Samson’s life was forever changed.
Beltorath lay just to the east of the Way of the Sea, in a pleasant valley that permitted easy access to the town from the trade routes; a position that granted it an importance greater than its size alone justified. As a result, Beltorath had become home to an endless market, where merchants offered the treasures of the wide world to any who passed by.
The market lured others to Beltorath as well. Men seeking amusement gathered there, as did those who plotted mischief. What better place to meet than an open marketplace? Who would think that men talking where any might see them plotted secrets? Or, if they were foolish enough to do so openly, that those secrets could be of any great import?
Samson and Orev had wandered idly through Beltorath’s bazaar, Samson staring in amazement at the vast array of merchandise spread out so that men’s and women’s eyes might gaze upon it, and desire it, luring them to purchase what they saw. Everything the world produced seemed available here: useful tools and pottery, beautiful fabrics and exotic gems, extravagant spices and rare woods, rich gold and silver jewelry, and useless trinkets proclaiming that their purchaser had once visited Beltorath’s famed marketplace.
Past the marketplace and its booths lay the sheepfolds and the pens for goats and for bullocks, the lines where fine horses were tethered until a potential buyer wished to examine them. Orev subtly guided Samson’s steps in that direction, rather than to the street where slave traders offered their living wares. Samson could neither buy nor free them, and Orev thought it better to avoid the area than to embark on an endless and pointless argument.
For if I hear one more time that among our own people slaves have rights and are granted freedom after seven years, I shall run as mad as they say most harpers are by nature.
Afterward, he wished he had led Samson to the slave-market. It would have been easier to smooth over any trouble there than to mend what happened when they passed through the beast-market.
As Samson admired the horses, and began a long discussion with one of the traders about whether a horse or an ass was of greater use, Orev glanced back the way they had come.
I was right; we are being stalked. The harper recognized the angry longing on half a dozen faces; young hotheads who hungered to strike out against the Five Cities. Orev had a keen memory; he remembered Jehu’s face, and Achbor’s. If those two were there, the others slowly approaching must also be eager to rise up in violence. Orev touched Samson’s arm. “Since you are not buying a horse, let us go on. Others will wish to see this fine animal.”
Ignoring the protests of the trader that merely discussing the beast with so knowledgeable a man as Samson brought pleasure, Orev drew him away from the horse lines. Trying to avoid encountering Jehu and his friends, Orev led Samson around the animal pens, heading back into the maze of the marketplace, only to find their way blocked by a broad circle of sand surrounded by men yelling encouragement to two wrestlers.
As Orev and Samson paused, the match ended—apparently in a draw—and both men bowed to each other, and all those who watched stopped yelling and either fell silent or muttered sullen curses. A draw meant no one who had gambled won—except the man who guarded the pledges.
As the two men walked out of the circle, another strode onto the sand of the wrestling ground. Silence honored him; he stood taller even than Samson, broad with hard muscle and so clearly a certain victor that no one would wager against him.
“What is he?” Samson asked, and Orev said, “A Rephaim, I think. A tribe of giants. I did not know any still lived.”
The moment’s pause proved disastrous; before Orev and his companion moved on, those who had tracked Samson through the
market gathered around him. Before any of Samson’s would-be followers spoke, the giant standing in the center of the sand circle shouted out,
“I am Kimmer, Champion of Gath, and no man has yet beaten me on the sand. Who dares challenge me? Never have I been thrown, so any man who throws me even once shall be given a silver bracelet. Any man who defeats me shall have the gold band I wear about my throat and be proclaimed Champion in my stead.”
The giant’s voice rumbled, thunderous; only silence answered him.
Samson touched Orev’s arm and began to turn away from the circle of sand. But Jehu moved faster, stepping sideways to bar Samson’s retreat. “Well met, Samson, and at a fair hour. I am Jehu, whose name you have been told by your harper.”
I am not “Samson’s harper.” For some reason, the words stung, but Orev refused to yield to unreasoned anger. And he could tell by Jehu’s face that the man’s nerves were strung bowstring tight. Such a man was a danger to himself and others, so Orev held his tongue as Jehu swiftly continued.
“Samson, you challenge the Philistine champion, of course? Trust us, he is no match for you—your victory will show the Five Cities they do not rule the world.”
“I challenge no one.” Samson’s calm refusal only spurred those who had followed him to anger.
“You must. Honor demands it.” This set off the pack of them; cries of “Samson challenges!” and “Yahweh commands it!” caught Kimmer of Gath’s attention.
The giant slowly turned and stared over the heads of those standing outside the circle of sand. His eyes met Samson’s. “So you challenge? Good. You—little men—make a path for Samson the brave.”
As the Hebrews cheered, the rest of the men surrounding the wrestling ground silently obeyed Kimmer’s command. The nearest backed up, jostling into those behind them, to open a pathway onto the sand for Samson.
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