When she had revealed Derceto’s plan to him, Lord Aulykaran had readily agreed to aid Aylah—and when Aylah gazed steadily at him, and asked him why he would do this, Aulykaran had merely smiled and said, “You underestimate the pure joy of meddling in other people’s affairs, my lady Sun. Now tell me why you wish to disobey the High Priestess and leave behind not only a soft life and great fame, but your dearest sister.” Aulykaran still smiled, but his eyes regarded her keenly, judging.
“If I had not offered to become Samson’s bride in Delilah’s place, Derceto would have given the task of slaying him to Delilah. If the Temple asked such a thing of her, it would kill Delilah’s heart. I cannot let that happen. And as for why I wish to go with Samson—well, I am no true priestess. I long for a quiet life as wife and mother. This is my chance to gain that life.”
Aylah had regarded Aulykaran, gauging how much she must offer him. “If you truly will aid me in this—help me get safely away, and Samson and his harper friend as well—you may have whatever you would ask of me.” To bed Lord Aulykaran would be no hardship, especially if it ensured his cooperation.
But Aulykaran had only said, “To see Derceto’s face, and my brother’s, when Samson once more slips through their cat’s-cradle plots will be payment enough. Now, I suppose you have the entire affair planned out, and need only tell me what my part in this entertainment is to be, while I need only follow your commands. But I do have one last question for you, Priestess Aylah, before I consent to oblige you in this.”
“And what is that?”
“Have you no fear of what Samson the mighty warrior will do to you, once you unveil your face to him, and he learns he has been cheated?”
Aylah smiled. “No. The Temple has taught me well how to delight a man, and whether he truly loves Delilah or not, Samson is a man, my lord. I will please him, for I will be a good loyal wife. I will make his home happy, and I will joyously bear his children. Delilah—she is not meant to be a man’s wife. She would yearn always for the Temple, and for Our Lady’s Dance.”
Aulykaran regarded her steadily; for once no laughter brightened his eyes. “A good answer, Priestess. Very well, I will help you—and Samson, of course. He seems a good man, and the gods know there are few enough of those in any land. Now tell me what you would have me do.”
Her faith in Aulykaran’s abilities had proven right. His indulgence in whatever chanced to amuse him, his dedication to pleasure and mischief, meant that nothing he chose to do seemed odd. Aylah watched from behind the heavy bride’s veil as Aulykaran guided the wedding’s rituals into the most harmless path.
Even the wedding riddles had been turned into mere foolish jests—and Aulykaran had carefully ensured that no one else gained the chance to ask anything more serious, more difficult to solve. We both owe you much, my lord Aulykaran. I know it, and I think Samson knows as well.
For she had swiftly decided that Samson was no mindless strong-man. She had watched him closely and realized that, despite the endless cups he waved about, Samson actually drank very little of the overrich wedding wine. And when he had laughed, and swung her up into his arms to carry her from the fire-bright pavilion, his hold upon her was firm and steady. Nor did his breath smell too strongly of wine.
He seemed kind as well. He had carried her to the mules Aulykaran had assured her would be awaiting them, lifted her onto the nearest beast’s back. Then he stood, his hands resting upon her waist, and said, “This is truly what you wish?”
A fine time to ask! Aylah had thought, as she silently inclined her head, assenting—and to her astonishment, Samson had smiled.
“A fine time to ask you, I know,” he had said, and for a cold breath Aylah had feared he could hear her thoughts. “But I could hardly ask it when all the wedding guests stared at us, and your High Priestess watched you. I was told you came to me willingly. Was that truth?”
He had regarded her as steadily as if he could see through the glittering threads of her veil. Aylah had drawn in her breath deeply, calmed herself before she answered. “It was truth,” she said. “And it would be wise to take me away from this place now.”
She did not speak again until Samson halted, turning to look back down the long road to Ascalon. The city gleamed pearl-bright against the dark sea glittering beyond; the wedding pavilion flared, torchlight warring with moonlight. This may be the last time I shall look upon Ascalon, the last time I shall see the Temple. The full moon’s light transmuted the Temple’s rooftops from brazen gold to silver and shadow. Somewhere beneath those shining rooftops, Delilah lay upon her bed . . .
Delilah, who would not even come to help dress me for my wedding. Aylah had not expected Delilah to be at the wedding itself, of course; one glimpse of her would have ruined Derceto’s scheme. But I had hoped she would at least clasp my bracelets, pin my veil to my hair. I suppose even I am a fool at times.
For Delilah mourned not only the loss of her heart-sister, but the loss of a man she had seen only twice. A man Delilah did not admit, even to herself, that she desired. But I know you hunger for Samson’s love, Delilah, even if you do not. Of course you would not come to adorn me as bride—to yield me to a man you yourself yearn to claim.
Still, to leave Delilah without saying farewell—No. I will not think of that. Delilah must remain safe, and I must . . . I must take great care what I do next. For Aylah now played her own game, not Derceto’s, and the next move would win or lose all. She drew upon the long years of Temple training to summon calm acceptance. I must forget that I have lost Delilah, no matter what I do. Derceto has ensured that, whether I obey her or defy her. I must claim my own life now.
When she was certain she could speak softly, her voice uncolored by fear or sorrow, she said, “Lift my veil, husband. It is time you looked upon your bride’s face.”
She had known that this would be the crucial moment, that all the rest of her life, and of Delilah’s, depended upon what Samson did when he learned he had been tricked. This was a man who had slain many men, whose strength and power caused the Five Cities to tremble for fear of what he might do . . .
Samson stood before her, gathered up the veil that wrapped about her like silent flame. The gold woven through the cloth weighed heavily upon her; she would welcome release from the stifling burden. He lifted the veil, and soft night air caressed her face. She forced herself to breathe, to remain calm. To study the face of the man gazing into her eyes.
His own eyes shone—first with passion, then, as he stared at her, with the cold glint of fury. Now he realizes he has been cheated. Now he may strike out, and if that is all he does, I shall be fortunate. Unlike Delilah, Aylah had been beaten many times when she was carried across the wide world as an unruly slave; she knew how to endure blows.
But the accusation, the anger that she had expected to lash out at her, did not come. Samson said nothing, merely stood and looked upon her, and she saw the rage fade from his eyes. It was his friend, the dark lame harper, who spoke first, asking what troubled Samson. Aylah turned to face Orev, who fell silent as he, too, saw whom Derceto had given into Samson’s hands . . .
At last, Samson laughed—a bit harshly, but still, he laughed. And as he spoke, telling her that she need not return to the Temple unless she wished to, Aylah listened to his calm voice and smiled. Nor did her revelation that she had been sent to be his death cause Samson to lose his temper. He is truly strong, your Samson. Aylah spoke the words only in her mind, wishing silently that Delilah could hear them.
For this was not a man so simple-hearted he felt neither fear nor anger. This man is so strong he can control his own rages—as if anger and lust were unruly stallions he must curb. She studied Samson as he led her mule along the road away from Ascalon. You are angry, Samson, but you will not loose that anger upon me. I wish I could tell you the whole truth—that Delilah would rather die than leave the Temple. I will make you a better wife than Delilah ever could. Perhaps, in time, you will come to love me—at least enough to keep
us both content.
But now she had more important worries than whether her new husband would love her at all. He is a man, and I can deal with a man well enough. Once I take him to my bed, he will look upon me with more favor. When she held Samson in her arms, beguiled his senses with the arts of pleasure she had been taught . . . You may still yearn for Delilah after that, Samson, but you will crave me as well.
Samson worried her less than did the High Priestess. When Derceto learned that Samson still lived, that Aylah, rather than returning to the Temple, remained with Samson as his wife, her fury would be deadly. I must warn Samson that we have an enemy venomous as a serpent and vicious as a wounded leopard. If we are to live long and happy, we must take great care. Derceto will not forget I have betrayed her.
They traveled onward into the day, until the sun stood high above them, and Ascalon and its dangers lay far behind. They no longer walked the high road; Samson had led them across the low hills, cutting half a day from their journey. Now, at midday, he led the mules to the shade of a small grove of willows.
“Willows mean water,” Samson told Aylah as he lifted her down from the mule’s back. “We can let the beasts rest here.”
Willow, a tree favored by Bright Atargatis. Aylah decided to take this as a good omen for what she now must do—truly become Samson’s wife. I must lure him into my arms, take him into my body, and I must do it in daylight, not in darkness. Samson must not be given the chance to lie with her and pretend he held another in his arms. You must see me, Samson. Me, not Delilah.
So while Samson tended to the mules, Aylah went over to Orev, who stood staring at the small spring bubbling between the willow-roots. “I ask a favor of you. Will you leave us alone here, Samson and I, until the shadows lengthen again?”
Orev lifted his eyes to gaze upon her face; Aylah regarded him steadily. “Do you think to make him love you?” the harper asked at last, and she shook her head.
“I think to be his wife. He cannot possess Delilah, and he cannot forget her. But that is no reason he and I should not be content together. Will you do as I ask?”
“I have a new song I must practice, and for that I need to be alone. Beyond that rockfall should be far enough.” Orev untied his harp from the pack and began to walk away, slowly. Just past the willows, he stopped and turned. “Samson has a soft heart,” he began, and Aylah smiled.
“I know,” she said. “Do not trouble your own heart over this, Orev. I am not the woman he dreamed of, but I am the woman who can make him happy. Now go and practice your art, and I will remain here and practice mine.”
Orev stared at her, silent, and then did as she asked. When he was out of sight, Aylah studied the willow-grove and selected a spot well-shaded by the flowing leaves, where moss grew thick as lamb’s wool. There she spread her wedding veil upon the cool ground. And when Samson walked towards the willows, she held out her hand.
“Come, Samson. Come and rest for a time. Please, do not refuse, for I need your help. It took six handmaidens to dress me, and I cannot free myself of these stifling garments.”
She had been right; Samson was but a man, after all. And if he wished he held Delilah close against his heart instead . . . Well, that I am too wise to ever ask, and he is too kind to ever answer.
Good marriages had been forged of less precious virtues.
That night they camped on a low hillside, and Aylah lay quiet, pretending to sleep, so that she might hear what Samson said to Orev when he spoke freely. She had to listen carefully, for Samson kept his voice soft, and the night wind sighed, half-concealing words. But she heard Orev praise her, pointing out her virtues to Samson, who bade him be silent.
“For I know what you try to do, Orev, and it is kindly meant.” Samson spoke without either anger or joy. “But I am not a fool, no matter what you sometimes think, and I know I must be content with what Fate has given me now.”
“She is beautiful,” Orev murmured.
“She is better than that,” Samson answered. “Aylah is kind and clever, and has a good heart. She will be a good wife to me.”
A pause. Then Orev said, “Tell me you will let that suffice. Tell me—”
“Tell you I have forgotten Delilah? No, Orev. I will not tell you that.”
“Then promise you will not go down into Ascalon after her. At least promise that.”
“I promise that I will not seek Delilah out in Ascalon. And I promise I will be a good husband to my wife Aylah. But I will promise nothing else.”
“You still think to win the other, then.” Orev’s words fell heavy on the night air.
“I think I must thank Yahweh for the gift of Aylah, and I think that if He denies me Delilah now, there is a reason. Go to sleep, Orev. We still have a long walk before us tomorrow.”
When Samson came and lay beside her, Aylah waited until his breathing slowed. She turned and slid her arm around his waist, pressed herself against him. As he slept, she gazed up at the night sky, dark as Delilah’s hair, and vowed again that she would make him happy.
Even though neither of us can ever forget Delilah. Aylah wished she had some power to make Delilah forget Samson. Perhaps time would fade passion. But even if it did not . . .
My choice for us all is better. Now Delilah need never learn the truth about her beloved Temple. Now she will live the life she was born for.
And so will I.
Samson
When they crested the last hill and looked down upon the farm that had been given as Aylah’s dowry, Orev sighed inwardly. Even he could tell the land that now belonged to Samson and his bride hadn’t been tilled or tended in at least a generation. I wonder if even Samson can plow and sow and reap a harvest here.
As if he had heard Orev’s thought, Samson said, “The land rests, and the house and outbuildings can be repaired. A fine dowry for you, wife.”
Aylah smiled. “All that is needed is a roof on the house, and perhaps a new wall. Truly a generous dower, husband.”
Already Samson and his substitute bride had grown comfortable with each other. Now safely away from the Temple, Aylah spoke freely, jesting with Samson as if she had been married to him for years instead of days.
At first, Orev had worried that Aylah, accustomed to the pampered, indulged life of a priestess in Ascalon, would prove a curse rather than a blessing. But she had shed her elaborate wedding garments when they first stopped to rest at the willow-spring, and the bridal gems as well. When they moved on the next morning, they traveled not with Aylah, Priestess of Atargatis, but with Aylah, Samson’s wife.
Orev watched her walking beside Samson, admired the strength and power in her steady strides. That she had been one of the Temple’s dancers showed in every graceful move. Apparently she was incapable of awkwardness. She had unbound her hair and plaited it into two braids that fell to her waist. Her pale hair glowed against the blue linen gown that covered her from neck to ankles, and its long sleeves hid the serpent tattoos coiling about her arms. Sturdy sandals protected her feet from the hard road.
Now where did she acquire such suitable garments? One might almost think she had planned her escape from the Temple, truly wished to be a humble farmer’s wife.
“Are you tired, wife?” Samson asked. “If you are, you must ride your mule.”
“For the honor and profit of the Temple, I danced long hours, danced until my feet bled. Walking will not tire me.” She gazed down at fields overgrown with nettles and wild grass. What had once been a tidy small orchard stood between the fields and the house; here, too, the weeds had grown thick and heavy among the almond trees. Orev thought there were other trees as well, apple and cherry and lemon, perhaps. All the trees were so neglected Orev could only hope some still bore fruit.
“It looks very pretty—from here,” Aylah said, “but I know nothing of farming, or how to judge whether this land is good or ill.” She paused, added, “Although I think . . . ill.”
“Oh, there is nothing here hard work won’t mend. Let us go
down now and see what needs to be done,” Samson replied.
“Everything,” Orev said, and knew the others did not hear. Ah, well, this proves Aylah spoke truly about one thing, at least. For it seemed clear enough that the Temple’s ruler had not expected Samson ever to set eyes upon the farm that had been given as Aylah’s dowry.
An hour later, Orev learned that, while Aylah seemed placid as a desert pool, her wit was as keen as his own. They reached the farm, and while Samson tended to the mules, Orev and Aylah walked slowly over to inspect the house. Or, rather, the remains of the house.
“Do you know what I don’t understand?” Orev asked, and Aylah turned her winter-dawn eyes upon him, waiting. “Clearly the High Priestess did not expect Samson to live to see what you brought as your dowry, and so any wretched plot of land would do. But this farm belongs—”
“Belonged,” Aylah corrected.
“Very well, belonged. A farm belonging to so great a temple—why has it been left to rot? Where is the profit in that?”
“That is all you do not understand? Then you are a fortunate man indeed, Harper Orev.” Her voice held no hint that she jested; her face remained smooth as a dancer’s mask.
“Fortunate, but still unenlightened. This farm poses a greater riddle than any offered up at your wedding.” Orev smiled, and to his delight, Aylah smiled back.
“The answer to this riddle is simple enough. The farm was an atonement offering after the man who owned it killed his wife and children, and was himself slain by her brothers, who then gave the farm to the Temple. Since murder had been done here, and the land stained with blood, the farm must lie fallow and untouched for seven years.”
“And have seven years truly passed, or has the Temple given Samson cursed land?” Orev asked, and Aylah glanced slantwise at him.
“Truly seven years have passed. You cannot think the Temple would act in an impious manner?”
Delilah: A Novel Page 21