Delilah: A Novel

by Edghill, India

  “You will be richly rewarded,” Sandarin said. “The Five Cities will be grateful, and generous. You need not slay him yourself, if it proves too difficult—some say the man has his god’s protection against blades and poison. Kill him if you can, and if you cannot, find out how he may be taken. Deliver Samson to us, and you may ask anything you choose.”

  Almost, I said that I needed no reward, but I saw the greed in Derceto’s eyes and merely nodded. Let the Prince think what he would; let Derceto believe she would claim for the Temple whatever riches the Five Cities offered. I did not care.

  Derceto was false, the world she ruled illusion. All I had loved, Derceto had torn from me. All that Our Lady had given, Derceto had destroyed.

  My heart-sister. My joy in the Dance. My first bright desire when I looked upon the man Atargatis had sent for me.

  All gone, and in their place, truth. Now I knew what I must do. I will avenge Aylah, quiet her ghost. A cold vow, set in the scale beside a hot desire to lay my hands upon Samson’s skin. I will claim Samson, for he is mine. Unruly passion, burning sudden and fierce as summer wildfire. Aylah herself had begged me to be happy. I forgot that she had also begged me to be cautious, distrusted fierce bright loves.

  Our Lady sent him to me. Derceto cheated both the Bright Lady and me. Suddenly I saw Samson’s face again, as he had looked up and seen me gazing down from the window. Bright as the sun, his eyes wide with pure awe and desire—

  I would avenge Aylah’s death. And I would claim Samson as my own, for whatever span of time Our Lady allotted us.

  After I left the High Priestess, I wandered, apparently aimlessly, through the corridors and courtyards. I let tears spill, wiped them with my fingers, smearing kohl over my cheeks. I did not care what path I set my feet upon, for there was no place within the Temple that I could trust.

  At first I had thought to go to the Court of Peace, seek truth of the Seven Fish. Then I thought of the avid gaze of the fish as the Seer-Priestess dropped seeds into the dark water, of their gaping greedy mouths . . . I clenched my fists; the twin amulets dug into my left palm. The Seven Fish revealed nothing, nothing but what the Seer-Priestess wished us to know. False. All false. Always, always Aylah had doubted—and she had been right. The fish were useless—

  No. Not useless. Swift as the fish after seeds, the words flashed through my mind. Think, I commanded myself. Think as Derceto thinks. What is an oracle but the revelation of what the Temple wishes us to know?

  Suddenly I remembered my desperate, foolish plea in the days before Aylah had been bartered to Samson: that I might ask the Seer at En-dor what the future truly held for Samson. I had not been given the chance to learn what awaited us all, for Derceto had already decided what was to happen. But now—

  “Now Derceto needs you. And you can tell her anything you choose, Delilah.” For a breath I thought Aylah stood close to me, that her voice whispered tart wisdom into my ear. Perhaps her ghost had come to me in truth, drawn by my love and grief; I never knew, for I dared not risk even a glance behind me, lest she vanish. And it did not matter, save to my heart, whether Aylah’s ghost spoke or whether my memory had summoned my heart-sister’s calm ability to pluck sense from passion’s tangled web.

  Derceto needs me, so I can ask whatever I desire. And she will grant it. So long as the High Priestess must have what only I could give, I could ask anything. I opened my left hand and stared at the two coral fish. By Atargatis’s Mercy, no one but I knew that Aylah had come to the Sorek Grove, that she had spoken her heart to me. That I knew she had still worn the sister-token I had given her.

  So Derceto had told a foolish, unnecessary lie—a lie that served only to prove her evil. I did not need Aylah’s sister-token to remind me of our love, and nothing Derceto said would make me act as a trap for Samson. But Derceto need not know that I would never betray the man who had been kind to my heart-sister, who had fathered her daughter. The man my heart knew Atargatis had sent for me . . .

  I will tell Derceto that only at En-dor shall I learn how I may beguile Samson, how I may lure him into the snare the Five Cities prepare for him. But that was not what I would ask of the Seer. I had my own desires that I wished fulfilled; my own future that I wished revealed to me. And I could safely ask whatever I wished, for no one ever knew what passed in the Seer’s cave save the petitioner and the Seer herself.

  Unless the man or woman who had sought to know what only the Seer’s gift could reveal chose to speak of what had been asked and answered, it would remain forever lost in the smoke that stained the walls of the ancient shrine. Derceto would know only what I chose to tell her.

  And she will believe you, Delilah. Tell them what words you wish them to hear. Order them to do what tasks you wish to have done.

  For the first time, I understood that the fear the Five Cities suffered rendered them vulnerable. Just as pride and arrogance led High Priestess Derceto to look upon all of lesser rank as mere players on her game board—and blinded her to their loves, and their hates, and their ambitions.

  Fear, and pride. Two fatal weaknesses.

  Fear and pride will force Derceto and the rulers of the Five Cities to believe all I say the gods ordered me to do. Fear and pride will bring them begging to my feet, pleading to grant anything I say the gods have asked.

  Fear, and pride—my new allies.

  Any tale I choose . . . Silently, I spoke to the only one in all the Temple whom I could trust. Bright Atargatis, I vow by Your Love that I will free my heart-sister and her daughter. I vow I will unbind their ghosts and release them from the night winds into Your care.

  When Derceto’s chief handmaiden came in search of me, seeking to know why I had not come to Sunset Prayers, I was lying upon my bed, weeping. I heard the rustle of cloth as Mottara pushed aside the curtain, the clink of anklets as she slipped into my room. I refused to move, to acknowledge the handmaiden’s presence. After a few moments, she slunk off again. I waited, but no one else came, either to chide or to comfort.

  I rose, and wiped the tears from my face. No one had come to light the lamps, but that did not matter. I did not need light to comb a lock of my hair smooth, to braid Aylah’s amulet into it beside the lion’s claw token she had given me. The false token, the one Derceto had given, I bound with a red thread and hid among my lesser jewels.

  Let Derceto see and hear only that I wore a coral fish beside a lion’s claw—a good omen, a sign I would be the weapon the Five Cities demanded. Derceto needed good omens now; she would believe it so because she wished to believe. Yes, and she would willingly grant what I would ask of her.

  This time when I told Derceto I must go to En-dor, to find wisdom there, she would agree. And if she did not . . .

  If she did not, I would say I could do nothing without consulting the Seer at En-dor. And Derceto will believe me, for it will be the truth. To learn what I must do to gain what I most desired, I knew I must ask at En-dor.

  My journey to En-dor was the second time I left my home in the Great House of Atargatis, traveled beyond the walls of Ascalon the Beautiful. Unlike my first excursion, when I went to act the Goddess at the Sorek Grove, I did not gaze about in wonder and joyous anticipation. This time, I studied the landscape I was carried through, noting the twists and turns, marking where the road ran straight and safe, where tumbled rocks or tangled bushes might conceal danger. The way from Ascalon to En-dor was long, and I felt uneasy in my bones. During the day I suffered forebodings to which I could not put names. At night, when I slept, I dreamed that I walked the road alone.

  I was not alone, of course. As was fitting, I traveled in a litter, escorted by a dozen Temple guards and accompanied by two handmaidens twice my age. No one with any sense would hinder us upon the road—or so I was constantly assured once we left the highway that ran along the seacoast and turned inland, heading north to the hills below the Sea of Kinneret. I listened to the guards as they talked among themselves, gauging the risk of one route over another; they were not
easy in their minds about this journey. They spoke of the danger of foxes, which seemed odd to me, for what danger could foxes be to an armed band of men?

  “Have you not heard of Samson’s Foxes?” Bodar asked, when I questioned him. Bodar commanded the Temple guards escorting me, and as the High Priestess herself had given me into his care, Bodar treated me with more respect than my rank alone demanded. When I shook my head, he explained that bands of men roamed the hill roads. “Brigands, claiming Samson as their leader.”

  “Do you not believe he commands these robbers?” I knew Samson would never condone the deeds the Foxes committed in his name. Aylah had called him kind and lenient, and almost too truthful. And I had my own memories of Samson: freeing my trapped hair the day I led the Sun Partridge Dance; standing patient in the Temple courtyard waiting on the High Priestess’s pleasure; smiling up at me where I stood watching—such little things, to claim my heart forever . . .

  No, Samson would never lead such wanton killers as the Foxes. But I wished to know what others thought of Samson—truly thought, when no one stood nearby to judge every unwary word. “Why do you doubt?” I asked Bodar now. “Is not Samson the greatest enemy of the Five Cities?”

  Bodar hesitated, as if trying to decide what I wished to hear. At last he said, “Perhaps he does lead them. Or perhaps he once led them and no longer does so. Many now call themselves Samson’s Foxes. Easy to claim, my lady priestess.”

  “Yes,” I said, “easy to claim.” Then I thanked him and withdrew to think over what he had said. Many Foxes now, all proclaiming Samson as leader. He never ordered such crimes; he has not an evil drop of blood within his veins. But I know who would order any evil if it gains her what she wishes. How would these Foxes know when to strike at Samson’s home? Someone had sent the Foxes that knowledge. Derceto. With one stroke, the High Priestess punished Aylah’s failure and gave Samson a reason to take revenge. She laid all blame upon Samson, created out of nothing a madman who robbed and killed, who ravaged farmlands and destroyed peace.

  Fear now traveled the high roads; Samson’s shadow, silent and deadly. And who would believe that shadow truly belonged not to Samson, but to Derceto?

  All my life I had heard the Seer of En-dor whispered of as the most powerful of all those who Saw Beyond. I had envisioned a rich shrine, beautiful and imposing; I had imagined She Who Saw decked with gems and garbed as richly as a goddess.

  Instead, at the end of my journey, I faced an uneven path that I followed to a narrow opening in a rocky hillside. Just outside the cave sat a small girl setting white pebbles in a circle; she looked up as I slowly approached, and then pointed to the dark doorway.

  “Am I to go in?” I asked, but the child simply went back to playing with the white pebbles. I looked behind me down the path; large tumbled boulders hid my escort from my sight. I could go back or I could enter the cave. I drew a deep breath and stepped forward, into darkness.

  I never did see the cave clearly. Even when my eyes adapted themselves to the dim light, I could make out only the banked fire on an ancient stone hearth, and the figure of a woman crouched beside the smoldering wood. Smoke permeated the air, rich and bitter; laurel burned in the fire, or myrrh. Smoke and darkness embraced me, oddly comforting. I was safe here, as safe as I had been while I grew in my mother’s womb . . .

  “Did you come to stand forever in my doorway? Come in or go away.”

  The Seer’s voice held no emotion, nor did she turn to look at me. I stepped carefully forward, until I stood beside her. Neither young nor old, nor half-mad from the burden of great power, the Seer seemed no more than any mortal woman. Now that I stood close, I saw that she sat cross-legged, and that she had laurel leaves piled in her lap. As I watched, she took a handful of the leaves and dropped them onto the slow fire. Flames hungrily ate the leaves, sending even more smoke surging upward.

  “Ask your question, Priestess,” she said.

  “You know—” I began, and stopped. Of course the Seer knew why I had come. Why else, but to learn my future? Doubtless she knew who I was, and perhaps even why I stood here now.

  “You are here. Ask.” She tossed another handful of laurel leaves upon the hearth. Smoke swirled through the cave, and with each breath we drew its heady power into our bodies. “Ask, Dark One. What would you know?”

  I had thought hard and long on this; had formed the question I would ask She Who Saw with the care of a seal-carver etching an image into flawless crystal. I had repeated the words a dozen times a day as I journeyed here, until I knew my petition by heart, knew it as well as I knew the prayers to Atargatis. Reveal to me how I may avenge my heart-sister and her daughter. Show me how I may unveil Derceto’s evil. Show me the way to my future with the man my heart desires.

  But now I remembered nothing.

  And into the smoke and silence, I heard my voice speaking words that were not my own. “I would know Samson’s fate.”

  The words seemed to swirl upward into the smoke; I longed to breathe them back in, but it was too late. The question had been asked—and I longed to know what future awaited Samson. His fate is mine, now.

  The Seer nodded, and held her hands over the smoky fire. “Show me Samson. Show me the Son of the Sun.”

  The smoke coiled, darkened; the Seer keened as if mourning a child. When she spoke again, her words echoed against the stone surrounding us. “The Son of the Sun. Bound by a woman, he will destroy a god. Night comes when the Sun dies. Go now, Night’s Daughter. It is not yet time for you here.”

  Then silence. At last I realized the Seer had left only her body here; her spirit walked among the ghosts of past and future. She would say no more to me now.

  En-dor not only granted me an answer I did not yet understand, but unbound a power I had not known I possessed. When I returned to Ascalon, to the Great House of Atargatis, and bowed before the High Priestess before looking straight into her lying eyes, I knew that Derceto feared me now. She is afraid I will learn the truth, all she has done to bring me to this moment. Derceto would do anything to keep me her willing weapon against Samson. Oh, yes, I can now ask whatsoever I desire, and it will be granted.

  “Well, Delilah?” Derceto asked. “Did the Seer at En-dor reveal what you must do?”

  “Yes, High Priestess. Everything I must do was revealed. Grant what I ask, and I will do what must be done.”

  “Ask,” was all she said, but it was enough.

  I smiled, and began to speak. “First, I will need your blessing, High Priestess. And then I will require jewels and fine garments and a cook who can prepare rich dishes well. And I will need a house, a house in the Valley of Sorek . . .”

  “The Valley of Sorek,” I had decreed, and so it was there, in that lush wild garden, that the Temple’s trap was set.

  Of the lands that belonged to the Temple, I chose an extravagant, frivolous pleasure-palace that lay upon the southern bank of the glittering River Sorek. Beyond the gilt-edged wall surrounding the house, fields of poppies spread bright as blood. A grove of pomegranate trees shaded the southern wall, and the small cinnamon-sweet roses of Damascus grew in the sheltered gardens.

  Opulent as a queen’s court, lavishly painted and tiled and gilded; whatever clean beauty the dwelling might have possessed was hidden as completely as a priestess behind her painted mask. No one offered any objection when I stared at the sun blazing on the gold-tipped elephant tusks arching above the courtyard gate and said,

  “This one.”

  Those two words set the Temple’s plan, my plan, into motion. I neither knew nor cared who dwelt within the river-palace, or where they would go, now that I had claimed this property for my own use.

  Nor did I think the Temple cared overmuch. I had chosen as I had been expected to choose—a palace that was a treasure in itself, whose riches would dazzle princes. A mere man would be overwhelmed. But I knew Samson would not be dazzled; Samson would see the palace for what it was. A snare.

  But the snare was not crafted to
catch Samson, but his enemies—and mine.

  I knew I must take care, for Derceto was no fool. I must seem to work wholehearted to do Derceto’s bidding. There are many ways to seduce a man, to bend him to the Lady’s will. Knowing myself watched, I began with the most obvious. Derceto expected me to offer myself to Samson, to seduce him with my body. So that was how I would begin. As long as the High Priestess believed me to be wholly her creature, Samson and I would be safe together.

  Safe to plan our vengeance against those who had sent Aylah to her death.

  The palace I had chosen had been created for pleasure alone. A summer dwelling rich with open colonnades and latticed windows, it had gardens planted to reveal their beauty at certain times, or in certain light. There was a Moon Garden, in which only white flowers grew; by day the garden seemed dull, lifeless. But it came alive by night. When the moon rose full, the white flowers glowed in its silver light like pearls, became mirrors of the moon.

  But the Sun Garden was my favorite. There every flower glowed yellow as sunlight: day lilies and narcissus and iris, bright little suns against the cool green of their leaves. Just to stand within its brightness warmed my heart.

  Much of the house had been built of cedar, and the sharp clean scent of that wood underlay the extravagant perfumes of frankincense and nard. Many of the walls had been painted with scenes of pretty women dancing or handsome men hunting. On the wall of one of the long open colonnades, blue monkeys picked pale yellow crocuses.

  Sometimes it seemed to me that not even a handspan of the palace’s walls had been left unadorned. What was not painted was set with tiles of brilliant red, blue, and yellow. Exuberant, finely carved patterns swirled over cedar pillars. Gateways were inlaid with silver, or with lapis, or with ivory. So much of that precious material adorned the palace that the dwelling had been named for it: the House of Ivory.