Delilah: A Novel

by Edghill, India

  A flash of midnight and silver, a chime of bells—

  “Samson, she’s a priestess of Atargatis. You might as well wish to wed the moon!”

  “I don’t care. I must have her.”

  “You don’t even know her name,” Orev said, and Samson turned and grasped the arm of the nearest man.

  “The priestess leading the dance—the girl like a black flame—who is she?” he asked, and the man stared at him as if astounded—or very drunk.

  “You must be a stranger from a far land, that you do not know Delilah Moondancer. Let me go now, for my wine cup is empty again.” The man waved the cup in proof of this, and Samson put his hands on the man’s shoulders and pushed him gently in the direction of the nearest wine booth.

  Then Samson turned to Orev and smiled. “Her name is Delilah,” he said, and Orev fought down an urge to pour the contents of the nearest wine jug over Samson’s head.

  “Very well, you know her name. But how are you even to ask for her, Samson? Walk up to the Temple Gate and demand to see the High Priestess?”

  Samson smiled and flung his arm around Orev’s shoulders. “You see? I knew you would find the answer. You always do.”

  “I but jested—” Orev began, then stopped as he realized Samson wasn’t listening. For a moment, as he watched his friend stride off in the direction of the Temple, Orev was tempted to let Samson face this particular peril alone. Perhaps a harsh enough rebuke will drive this mad fancy from him.

  Or perhaps it would not. Sighing, Orev followed after Samson. I wish we had never come to Ascalon. O Yahweh, I know not why You have set this snare before Samson. But if it seems good to You, give me the wit to save him from such a great folly.

  The Great House of Atargatis dominated the seaward quarter of Ascalon. Its gates faced a vast square crowded with men and women celebrating the Sun Partridge Festival. The Temple Gate stood open; any who chose could walk freely into the First Court and partake of the feast being set out upon long tables that, combined with booths and wine-bearers and dancers, turned the vast courtyard into a labyrinth.

  By the time they made their way across the courtyard, past belled dancers and smiling wine bearers and garlanded booths offering everything from luck-tokens to kisses and other erotic delights, Orev had grown very tired of the Sun Partridge Festival. There just seemed to be too much of everything, too freely given.

  When he told Samson this, his companion merely laughed. “You complain that a festival is lavish? That people are generous? There’s no pleasing you, Orev. Come, let us find the High Priestess.”

  Always impatient of protocol, Samson caught the arm of the first person who passed by—one of the Temple eunuchs, to judge by the man’s soft painted face and the fringed skirt he wore—and said, “I wish to speak with the High Priestess of this temple. Where may I find her?”

  “Are you blind? She who is Goddess-on-Earth stands there upon the steps.” The eunuch pointed, and Samson and Orev turned and looked upon what Orev at first thought to be a painted and jeweled idol. Then the idol vanished as the woman moved, spreading her arms wide and beckoning with both hands. Her palms were dyed crimson, the color of a setting sun.

  As if he saw nothing save that dazzling image, Samson strode across the courtyard to the Temple steps. There he stopped, gazing up at the High Priestess. Orev, following more slowly, came up to Samson in time to see the High Priestess look down at Samson, and to hear her say, “So you are Samson. And yet you dare enter Ascalon, dare enter Our Lady’s House, you who are our enemy?”

  So much for anonymity. I told Samson this was a bad idea. It was clear to Orev that the High Priestess not only knew who Samson was but was unsurprised to see him here. Almost as if she expected him to come to her . . .

  “I am not your enemy. And is not the city, and this temple, freely open to all when the Sun Partridge dances?” Samson regarded the High Priestess steadily.

  High Priestess Derceto smiled, a subtle curve of red lips. “That is true. Have you come, then, to feast upon Our Lady’s bounty?”

  “No. I have another boon to ask.”

  “Speak, then. What do you desire of the House of Atargatis?”

  “I have seen a priestess whose touch kindles fire in my heart. She is called Delilah Moondancer. I ask that you give her to me.”

  A flash of darkness in the long gallery above the court; a cry slicing blade-keen through the festive noises. Samson looked up and smiled. Orev tilted his head back and saw the two girls who had led the Dance. Midnight and midday; shadow and sunlight, their true selves masked by paint and gems. A heartbeat later the two young priestesses withdrew in a swift swirl of skirts, scarlet and ebony vanishing from sight of those in the courtyard below. Samson gazed at the spot where they had stood watching him. Orev looked again at the High Priestess.

  She regarded Samson with cool eyes; eyes flat and opaque as a serpent’s. “You wish to claim one of Our Lady’s priestesses? You are bold indeed, to come here and demand such a prize.”

  “I do not demand,” Samson said, and turned back to gaze serenely upon the High Priestess. “I ask.”

  “You ask.” The High Priestess’s expression did not alter, but her voice mocked. “And you think that Her priestesses are yours for the asking, Samson of Zorah? What can you possibly offer great enough to gain you such a prize as the priestess Delilah?”

  Take care, Samson, Orev silently begged. This woman is dangerous. Behind her flat jade eyes lurked greed and cunning. High Priestess or no, Derceto was not thinking of the girls in her charge, or the goddess she served. Derceto thought only of gain.

  “What would satisfy you?” Samson asked, and Derceto answered, “What will you give, to enjoy a night with this priestess you desire?”

  “You do not understand. I do not wish to claim Delilah for a night only, to use her as a vessel for mere lust. I wish to marry her. I want her for my wife.”

  For long moments the High Priestess neither moved nor spoke, seemed turned to cold stone. At last she said, “That is another matter. I cannot answer you now. Go, and return at sunset. I will have an answer for you then. Do you swear to accept that answer?”

  “I will accept whatever answer Delilah herself makes. If she denies me, I will go, and trouble you no more. If she is willing to be my wife, you must give her up to me. Is that a fair bargain?”

  The High Priestess smiled—and Orev felt a chill slide down his spine, cold as springwater. “That is a fair bargain,” Derceto said. “Now you may either feast upon Our Lady’s bounty or leave Our Lady’s House. At sunset you will have Her answer.”

  Delilah

  The day of the First Dance, Aylah and I rose before dawn, that we might be ready to dance the Sun Partridge across the sky. By the time the sun burned away night’s last shadows, we stood hand in hand at Ascalon’s Eastern Gate, awaiting the first clash of timbrils and beat of drums. Aylah’s skin was cool; she always seemed cool—but my blood raced hot, and as soon I heard the first chime of music I began to dance. We danced along the wide main street that ran straight through Ascalon from the Eastern Gate to the Sea Gate, and behind us fell in all the rest who would dance with the Sun Partridge. Some would dance the entire pattern, from Eastern Gate to the Sea and then back again; others would manage only a few turns before dropping out to celebrate the festival in other ways. It didn’t matter.

  I danced, and that was all I cared about.

  We wove through Ascalon’s garlanded streets, past shops and wine booths and people shaking rattles and beating on drums, adding to the noise of the musicians and the singing crowd. Men and women danced for a street or two and then dropped away as others joined the line. I kept dancing, sure-footed and joyous; I had spent many hours memorizing the path through the streets that we were to follow and never faltered at a turn.

  Pride is a fault; I grew too confident. We led the dance through a street full of booths selling festival trinkets and sweetmeats. At the corner where I must turn next, I dipped and twirled,
and nearly fell; something had caught my hair.

  My concentration on the Dance slipped from me, and for a moment I paused, trapped between one turning step and the next. My swinging curls had hooked upon a booth’s garland, bells and blue ribbons tangling with crimson roses. I could not pull free, and I dared not stop—

  All this took less time than three beats of my heart. Then a man tall and golden as the Sun Himself shoved forward and, with a flash of bright metal, sliced through ribbons and roses, freeing me to dance on. His fingers brushed my cheek as I turned, a caress swift and hot as flame. I had no time to do more than smile at him and see him smile back before the Dance itself swept us apart.

  But as I swirled away from him in the turns of the spiral dance, I carried with me the memory of his smile, and of his eyes burning the clear hot blue of the sky above us.

  Delight in the Dance consumed me; I felt neither thirst nor weariness. I felt nothing but joy until the First Dance ended, back at the Eastern Gate as the sun reached the top of the sky. When I stopped moving, all strength drained from me, and I would have fallen had not servants from the Temple waited to hold us up and press goblets of clear water into our trembling hands. For once Aylah seemed as shaken as I; we smiled at each other as we tried to drink, only to find our shaking hands spilled the water down over our breasts. I had not thought I would be so tired, and was grateful to step into a palanquin plentifully supplied with cushions and with wine and sweet foods.

  As we were carried home to the House of Atargatis, I summoned the strength to ask Aylah whether she had found joy in leading the dancing. “I had not expected to be either so happy or so tired after,” I said, and Aylah smiled and handed me a small round cake sticky with honey and sharp with cinnamon.

  “I had expected to be so tired, but I had not expected to be so happy,” she said. “Yes, Delilah, I found joy in the Dance. But for once no one was watching to judge if my every step was perfect and every gesture faultless.”

  “Praise Atargatis for that, for I nearly ruined the entire Dance,” I said, and Aylah laughed, a thing she did not often do.

  “Oh, Sister, you always think you will ruin everything! You are not Our Lady Herself, you know.”

  “This time it is true. When we went through the street jammed with festival booths—”

  “That was all of them,” Aylah pointed out. “Eat, Delilah, before you faint from weariness.” She licked honey from her fingers before reaching for a dish of silvered almonds.

  “We had to turn a corner,” I went on, “and my hair caught upon a garland. I thought I would fall—you must have noticed.” I took a bite of the small cake, savoring the mix of sweet and sharp flavors, as Aylah shook her head.

  “No. Eat more.”

  “The whole Dance would have fallen, but a man cut the garland free. You must have noticed him?”

  Again she shook her head. “I tell you again, Delilah, I saw nothing. I was dancing, remember? And trying to keep up with you.”

  I felt oddly disappointed. “You did not see him? He was very tall, tall as a god, and golden as a lion, and he smiled—”

  “Well, in that case I am sorry I did not see him—but you seem to have looked at him well enough for both of us.” Then, instead of asking about the man who had saved the First Dance, she said, “For Our Lady’s sake, stop nibbling like a mouse and eat! Don’t waste our one chance to eat as much as we like without anyone saying we must not!”

  Of course, I consoled myself as I obediently ate, I had looked upon the man, and Aylah had not. If you had set eyes upon him, Aylah, you would not be so indifferent now!

  The stranger was the sort of man that Aylah would say no sensible girl believed existed. The sort of man all priestesses dreamed of as lover on her Maiden Night. Although I had seen him only for the space of a smile, I would never forget his kindness. His eyes were blue, bright and clear as summer sky—

  “Delilah? Are you dreaming?” Aylah reached out and tugged the lion’s claw token braided in my hair. “If you fall asleep now, you will be carried straight to bed—and you swore you must see the High Priestess open the Temple Court. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, I have not changed my mind. Even if you are too weary, I will go.”

  “To see Derceto in all her gems and glory?” Aylah smiled, and shook her head. “Well, if you are not too weary, neither am I. I will come with you, heart-sister. Where you go—” She stopped, and looked away, as if intent upon the gaudy booths we passed.

  I reached out and clasped her hand; my fingers warmed her cool skin. “Where you go, I go. And I promise we will not stay long—just long enough to watch the High Priestess open Our Lady’s House to all who choose to enter it.”

  “To all who wish a meal they need neither cook nor pay for nor clean up after,” Aylah said, and I laughed.

  “Who cares why they come? Does Our Lady ask their reasons? And are you quite sure you did not see the man who cut me free of the garland?”

  “I do not care. I do not pretend to know what Our Lady thinks. And yes, Delilah, I am quite certain I did not set my eyes upon this godlike man who has captured your heart.”

  “He did not capture my heart. I only thought him—”

  “Perfect,” Aylah finished, and I flung my handful of silvered almonds at her.

  “I will never see him again, so it doesn’t matter what he’s like. I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” I added with great dignity.

  Aylah gathered up the almonds that had fallen into her lap and tossed them back at me, one by one. “It was not I who spoke of him first. It was not I who spoke of him again and again. It was not I who . . .”

  By the time our litter was set down outside the Court of the Rising Moons, almonds lay scattered among the cushions like wayward stars. But no one scolded us. As leaders of the First Dance and the Last, we could do as we pleased—at least until the Sun Partridge Festival was over.

  All the temples in the city threw open their outer courts between the First Dance and the Last, offering food and drink to any who came through their gates. The High Priestess or Priest of the temple acted as giver of the feast, so Derceto would stand as Goddess-on-Earth on the steps to the Great Outer Court, that all might look upon her and see Atargatis Herself.

  I wanted to gaze upon that dazzling vision. That was why I grasped Aylah’s hand and turned away from the gate into the Court of the Rising Moons. “Let us go to the gallery above the Outer Court,” I said. “From there, we can see everything.”

  Aylah sighed, and for a breath I thought she would object again. But she only shrugged and said, “Oh, very well, if you wish it. Why not? We can eat and sleep after.”

  On the longest nights, during dark hours when even poppy will not grant me sleep, I still hear her saying those light words. And until the moment when I draw my last breath, I shall wonder what would have befallen us all had Aylah said no to me on that day, and not yes.

  Smiling, I waved away the fussing servants, and Aylah and I walked through the corridors and gates until we reached the steps to the gallery encircling the Outer Court. The gallery was cool with sea-green tile; arched windows looked down to the courtyard below. I led Aylah to the first window, and we leaned upon the ledge, gazing at the vivid scene spread before us.

  Men and women clad in brilliant festival garments had begun entering the court. Long tables had been set in seven rows across the courtyard. On each table a different manner of food or drink had been set out, enough, it seemed, to feed hundreds. The tables were tended by Full Moons of Atargatis’s House; on this day, priestesses acted as servants to whomever came asking meat or drink.

  And on the steps that led from the Outer Court into the First Court stood the High Priestess of the Great House of Atargatis. At first I almost thought a statue of the goddess had been placed there, so still did Derceto stand and so perfect was her appearance. She wore the ceremonial gems and garments that only the greatest rituals warranted. Derceto glittered like a jeweled statu
e, and I saw awe and wonder on the faces of those who walked through the Temple Gate as they looked upon her.

  “A goddess indeed,” I whispered, and Aylah said, “Truly, she looks very fine.” She laid her hand on mine and tugged gently. “I’m tired, Delilah. Let us go—”

  But I did not listen, for the man whose quick thinking had saved the Sun Partridge Dance strode through the gate into the courtyard below. Tall, taller than I remembered, and even more brilliant than the sun; the strong midday light gilded his skin and hair.

  “Look, Aylah,” I said, and nodded towards the sun-bright man. “There—that is the man. The one who saved the First Dance.”

  Beside me, the only sound was Aylah’s breath rasping the heated air, a sound that seemed to prick the skin beneath the heavy chained curls weighting my neck. I turned and stared at a stranger, as if a ghost-pale image now stood where my heart-sister had been.

  “Yes, Delilah. I see.” Dancer’s paint gleamed vivid upon her lids and cheeks and lips, turned her face into a brilliant mask. Her eyes never left the man below as she said, “We cannot thwart our fate. I could fling myself from this window and the gods themselves would catch me up before I died upon the stones. Shall I put it to the test?”

  “No!” I cried, catching at her arm—and it was then that he looked up, his eyes caught by my sudden movement, his ears by my wild cry. Looked up, and saw Aylah standing beside me in the window, beautiful as the Lady Herself.

  And I knew, deep in my cold bones, that my life had changed—changed utterly between one breath and the next.

  Derceto

  Few things surprised Derceto anymore; that Samson had managed to astonish her proved him a very unusual man. She had played the part of Atargatis Incarnate so many times she sometimes thought her garments could act the role without her inhabiting them. The ceremony of welcome to the Feast of the First Dance had been no different than a dozen other such ritual occasions—until Samson stood before her and asked to marry Delilah Moondancer.