Delilah: A Novel

by Edghill, India

  It seemed to Orev that the High Priestess smiled—or perhaps the shadows thrown by the torches created that illusion. “Then take her hand and she who was a priestess of Bright Atargatis becomes wife of Samson.”

  As Orev watched, the bride offered her left hand to Samson, who grasped it in his. Samson reached out to lift the bride’s veil, but she shrank back and the High Priestess said, “It is not our custom to unveil the bride at the wedding feast—it brings ill fortune. She will lift her veil for you at the proper time. Now it is time to rejoice.”

  Upon these words, the wedding guests pressed forward, twining long garlands of ribbons and flowers about the new-wed pair. More wine was offered, and the musicians began a lively tune on flutes and timbrils.

  The wedding guests began to dance, either grasping others’ hands and circling the bride and groom or twirling about in ones or twos like maddened quail in springtime. Torches flared higher, the slaves poured more and more wine, the dancing grew more frenzied. Half-worried, half-sober, Orev shoved his way through the raucous crowd towards Samson, who sat upon a heap of cushions beside his hidden bride. For a few moments it seemed impossible to get near Samson; the crowd seemed to push Orev back, sending him into dizzying spirals, caught up by the wild dancers.

  Finally Orev used his chief weapon: his harper’s voice could, at need, cut through other sounds like a blade. “Samson!” he called, and Samson lifted his head and glanced around.

  Seeing Orev being borne away by the movement of the wedding guests, Samson stood and beckoned. “My friend—let my friend come to me,” he ordered, and Orev was at last able to make his way to Samson’s side. “Orev, friend!” Samson flung a heavy arm over Orev’s shoulders, tried to drag him down to sit beside him. “Come drink with us!”

  Samson held a large silver cup set with lapis and coral. As he gestured, wine slopped over the edge, dark as blood in the torchlight. Orev glanced at Samson’s bride; she held a smaller cup still full of wine in a hand half-hidden by a web of ruddy gold from fingers to wrist.

  So she does not trust the wine. Perhaps there were other reasons Samson’s new bride did not drink, but Orev seized upon that suspicion. “Samson—” He put his hand on the wine cup. “Now that you are wed, I think it time you took your bride home.”

  Samson stared at him, which didn’t surprise Orev. But he sensed other eyes studying him; the bride seemed to have shifted, that she might face him. Or so Orev thought, for he had never seen a more heavily veiled woman. What she looked upon, what she thought, only she behind that veil knew.

  Samson turned to his bride. “What says my wife? Shall we leave the guests to their merriment and go to our own house?”

  Silently, she inclined her head. Then she set aside her wine cup and held out her hand, not to Samson, but to Orev. Taking the hint, Orev grasped her hand and helped her rise—not an easy task, as her jeweled and gold-threaded garments weighed heavy as stones.

  Samson drank down the last of the wine and tossed his own cup aside before jumping, rather unsteadily, to his feet. “Come, then, wife. Who needs a wedding feast when a wedding night awaits us?”

  Not that we shall reach Timnath tonight, Orev thought. But two sunsets from now, they should be safely at the farm Atargatis’s Temple had bestowed upon the bride as her dowry. Now they had only to leave the wedding in peace—an odd thought, but then, this was an odd wedding.

  “Let us leave now, Samson, and quietly.” But even as he spoke the words, Orev knew it was too late for that.

  For Samson had pulled his bride away from Orev’s steadying hand and swung her up into his arms. “Behold my bride, friends! We leave you to celebrate our wedding—eat and drink and dance as pleases you. Fare well.”

  This produced cries of outrage; the wedding guests objected. The groom must not steal away the bride—“Without payment!”

  “I have paid for her thrice over,” Samson said, laughing. His bride lay silent and unmoving in his arms, as if holding her breath. “What more can you ask of me?”

  Orev scanned the crowd of guests, and so saw one of the guests glance across to where High Priestess Derceto sat beside the Prince of the City. Derceto nodded; so slight a movement Orev nearly missed it.

  “A riddle! It is the custom here. The groom cannot take away the bride unless he can answer one riddle and ask another that none of us can answer.” This demand was called out by a man who sounded suspiciously sober.

  Within the space of three breaths, the guests all were chanting “A riddle! A riddle!” and, to Orev’s dismay, others demanded, “A prize! A prize for the winner!”

  “This is not good.” Orev spoke softly, pitching his voice so that only Samson might hear.

  “No. I know no riddles, Orev.” Samson seemed baffled rather than angry.

  The guests began to quarrel over who would ask the guest-riddle, and Orev began to wonder if even Samson’s canny strength could help them escape. For Derceto there has no intention of releasing us from this wedding feast. She has planned this. Does she think the guests will slay Samson in a quarrel over these riddles?

  That seemed all too likely at the moment. The guests surrounded them now, bearing, to Orev’s eyes, an odd resemblance to Samson’s Foxes in their zealous insistence that Samson give what they demanded.

  Just as Orev began to glance around for a weapon, one of the guests called out, “I shall ask the wedding riddle. And when Samson answers it, I shall reward him with my admiration for his cleverness.” Honey-smooth, the voice silenced the rowdy guests. They turned to look at a man leaning against one of the tent-poles; willow-slender and garbed in saffron linen girdled with turquoise and copper, Aulykaran, brother to the Prince of the City, regarded the scene before him with languid eyes.

  “That’s no prize!” someone called out, and the man glanced briefly at the protester.

  “I beg to differ; surely Aulykaran’s admiration is worth more in the market than another man’s gold.” Aulykaran smiled, and gestured toward Samson. Each movement was graceful, slow as if he moved through water. “What says the happy bridegroom? Will you hear my riddle, O tamer of bulls?”

  “I will,” Samson said.

  “Oh, dear—now I must create a riddle. Now let me think—” Aulykaran turned his gaze upon the wedding guests and added, “Perhaps you should continue amusing yourselves; I think slowly, as some of you already know.”

  Orev shot a glance over at the High Priestess and the Prince of the City. Derceto’s face revealed nothing. The Prince glared at Aulykaran—a man noted for both elegance and indolence. Apparently Aulykaran desired for reasons of his own to thwart either his brother the Prince or the High Priestess. Or both. Yes, I think both.

  Tilting his head, Aulykaran slowly closed his eyes. The pearls in his ears—sea-gems the size of a dove’s egg—trembled against his cheeks. At last he said, “I have it. Now listen carefully, my savage friend—are you certain you are not too weary for this? Why not set the girl down? I believe she has feet to stand upon.”

  Samson glanced down at his wife, who lay quiet in his arms, and smiled. “I am not too weary. Say your riddle, man of the Five Cities.”

  “So you can speak for yourself, how charming. I had heard otherwise.” Aulykaran slanted a glance at Orev that drew laughter from the nearest guests. Refusing to be drawn into argument, Orev merely said, “I am a harper; I speak for everyone and no one. And Samson may not grow weary, but I do.”

  “Very well.” Aulykaran yawned, and then said, “What have I got in my pouch?” Again he tilted his head, as if in inquiry; the pearls hanging from his ears swung with the movement, caught torchlight, and glowed warm fire.

  Many of the wedding guests laughed, hearing a vulgar meaning in the seemingly innocent question. Samson took the query at the common value of its words, but he, too, laughed.

  “Simple enough—the answer is nothing, for you borrowed silver from me not so long ago,” he replied, and Aulykaran bowed.

  “You are correct, and are now the
richer by my sincere admiration. You have answered a riddle; now you must ask one.”

  “That’s not a riddle!” someone roared out in the slurred tones of the very drunk, only to be suppressed by others even drunker.

  “Well, Samson?” Aulykaran asked. “You have promised to pose a riddle; now you must perform for us.”

  “Then I shall do as I have promised.” Samson paused, and Orev only hoped his friend could think of something, and quickly.

  At last Samson said, “I saw strength bring forth sweetness, and I saw sweetness bring forth strength.”

  “That’s not a riddle either!” The outraged complaint set off another round of argument among the drunkest wedding guests. Orev ignored them, watching the High Priestess and the Prince of the City gaze at Samson. Perhaps it was no more than the shifting light, but Orev thought he saw fear shadow their faces.

  Aulykaran held up his hand. “Silence, friends. I must think—and you all know how difficult a task that is for me. So while I think, you drink.”

  Laughter from the closest guests, and shouts of agreement. Aulykaran bowed, then regarded Samson consideringly. “I am not precisely certain,” Aulykaran said, after pressing his fingertips to his forehead, ostentatiously considering the question, “but—no, that cannot be the answer. Let me try again.”

  There was a brief silence, then, as Aulykaran began sipping at his wine, apparently forgetting the entire matter of riddles, someone shouted out, “The answer! We must have the answer!”

  Aulykaran set down the golden goblet, stared about as if astonished. “Then why ask it of me? How am I to know?” He lifted his hand, gesturing towards Samson and the bride. “Bridegroom, I yield. What is the answer to your riddle?”

  “A stone lion became a hive for bees. What is stronger than a lion, and what is sweeter than honey?”

  “How true. I declare Samson the victor, and free to depart with his new bride.” Bowing to Samson, Aulykaran blithely ignored the glare Sandarin directed at him. The Prince of the City clearly was not pleased with his brother.

  Lord Aulykaran, you are amazingly helpful; I wonder why? But Orev decided the answer to the riddle of Aulykaran’s assistance could wait. Leaving this wedding swiftly, safely, was far more urgent a matter.

  Samson smiled. “I thank you, friend, and now that I have answered your riddle and you have not answered mine, by your own custom I take my bride and leave you all to feast in our honor.”

  Aulykaran bowed. “Long life and happiness to you and your bride. Now I return to the chief delight of such occasions—the pleasure of good wine.”

  And to Orev’s relief, most of the wedding guests joyously returned to eating and drinking. Unhindered, Samson walked out of the pavilion, his veiled bride in his arms. Before Orev followed, he looked again at the High Priestess and the Prince of the City.

  This time, there was no mistaking the signal the High Priestess gave; a motion of her hand that drew obedient nods from half a dozen men and women who stood aloof from the feasting. After Derceto’s gesture, those who had awaited her order mingled with the others, once again becoming mere wedding guests whose only interest was feasting and drinking.

  Slowly, Orev made his way out of the wedding pavilion, thinking hard. The High Priestess and the Prince of the City plotted still—that was clear as springwater . . .

  “Orev! Let us leave this place and go home.” Samson caught the harper’s arm and guided him to an elaborate litter—Lord Aulykaran’s, for beside it were two sturdy mules. Samson’s bride waited there; Samson set her upon one of the mules, a sleek gray. Bulky packs had been tied behind the saddles; Orev hoped the bundles held something useful, such as food and clothing. “Ah, the wedding gifts from Aulykaran,” Samson said. “So we will reach Timnath all the sooner.”

  Samson helped Orev to mount the second mule, then led both away from the pavilion, towards the high road that led northeast, to Timnath. Samson had freed Ari to accompany them, and the two mules, after wary inspection, decided the lion presented no threat.

  “Mules have more sense than horses or donkeys,” Samson said. “See how they understand Ari will not harm them? They were a kind gift.”

  “Samson, why should the Prince of the City’s brother bestow such gifts upon you?” Orev found this generosity even odder than the wedding had been.

  Samson glanced up at him and smiled. “Orev, did you drink too much wine? You spoke with the man—he wishes only to create mischief and to avoid violence. Now let us go away from here as fast as possible.”

  Clearly Samson had not imbibed nearly as much wine as Orev had feared. “So you’re taking Aulykaran’s advice?” Orev asked.

  “Don’t you think it wise? It was your advice as well.” Samson began striding faster, and the mules picked up their steady pace.

  They traveled in silence for a time, the full moon casting enough light for them to follow the road safely. At the crest of a long rise, Samson stopped, and they all looked back.

  Behind them Ascalon glowed like a pearl beneath the moon. Outside the city wall, the wedding pavilion blazed harsh, its torches warring with the silver moonlight.

  “How long do you think they’ll feast without the bride and groom there?” Samson asked, and turned to smile at the veiled woman sitting upon the gray mule.

  “Until the food and the wine are gone.” They were the first words Orev had heard the bride speak; words muted by her heavy veil. Then she said, “Lift my veil, husband. It is time you looked upon your bride’s face.”

  With gentle eagerness, Samson gathered her wedding veil in his hands, lifted the mass of gold-shimmered cloth until she was revealed to his eager eyes. Orev could not see the bride’s face, but he could see Samson’s, watch as amazement replaced ardor. Silent, the bride reached up and freed her veil from Samson’s grasp, flung it back to hang down behind her.

  “Samson? What’s wrong?” Orev’s question was answered as the bride turned her face towards him. So that is what the High Priestess planned—to cheat Samson of his heart’s desire. But why?

  Samson’s bride turned back to her husband. “Now you know how Derceto keeps her promises. Do you mean to send me back to the Temple?”

  “Do you wish to return there?” Samson asked, and she shook her head.

  “I am no longer a priestess, but your wife. Unless you repudiate me?”

  Samson stared at her, and for a breath his face seemed carved of stone. Then he laughed, a sound harsh and forced. To his hard-won bride, he said, “There is a tale my people tell, of a man who labored long to win one wife and was given her sister in her stead.”

  “And what did that man do, when he uncovered the ruse?” She regarded Samson calmly, awaiting his judgment.

  “Labored another seven years to earn the other sister,” Samson said.

  Orev drew in a deep breath. “Why did the Temple—”

  “Trick Samson into wedding me? Because I am of lesser value than she whom your heart desired. And because there is a task I am to undertake.” She lifted her hands to her tight-braided hair, pulled out two hairpins of intricately carved ivory. She held them out, flat upon her palm.

  “Take care how you touch these, unless you wish to sleep forever.”

  “You are to slay me?” Samson regarded the ivory hairpins, took them carefully into his hands.

  “That is what High Priestess Derceto ordered. The Five Cities fear you beyond reason, Samson. They live in terror of your bandit army, your ambition to rule as king over them.” She glanced back down the long road to Ascalon. “I think we should go on now. Later we can decide what to do.”

  Samson offered the hairpins back to her; after a moment’s hesitation, she accepted them, wrapped them in a length of her veil and knotted them tightly in the cloth.

  “My wife thinks we should travel on,” Samson said, and his voice held no emotion that Orev could interpret. “What do you think, Orev?”

  I think we should not have come to the Five Cities. I think you should never hav
e asked to wed a priestess of Atargatis. I think you should send this false bride back to her Temple and return to your father’s house. But it was far too late for Samson to turn back from his fate now. So after a moment, Orev said the first words that came to his tongue.

  “I think that drunken sot at the wedding feast was right, Samson. Those weren’t riddles.”

  Aylah

  Leaving the House of Atargatis proved harder than she had thought it would be. She had forgotten that she had known nothing else but Temple life since she was a small, frightened, furious child, that she would be turning her back upon all things familiar to her.

  That she would no longer walk through her life hand in hand with Delilah.

  She had asked that her heart-sister come to help her prepare for what awaited her, but Delilah had refused. That had sliced keen as ice through her heart, but Aylah understood Delilah’s anger and pain. And perhaps it had been better this way, better that they not see one another on this fateful wedding day.

  For who knows what Samson may do, once the deception is unveiled? He might beat her, or kill her. Or he might send her back to the House of Atargatis, where she would have to face the fury of a disappointed High Priestess. Aylah hoped he would do none of these things, hoped he would accept her in Delilah’s stead. And of course, he may not live to lead me away from Ascalon. I do not know what Derceto plots, but I doubt I am the only playing-piece upon her game board.

  Aylah lifted her hands and touched the pins that bound up her long pale hair. Ivory set with amber, the sharp ends deep crimson, like a bloody sunset. Henna-dyed, one might think—unless one knew the deadly truth. You have erred, Derceto. You think me as pious, as dedicated, as poor Delilah. You think I will murder at your command.

  Well, she would not. This marriage to Samson was her one chance to escape the opulent, stifling life of a priestess. And if Derceto plotted, so did she. It had taken very little deliberation to decide who she should enlist as her ally. Aulykaran. Indolent, elegant, good-natured—and clever.