Delilah: A Novel

by Edghill, India

  But that swift unease vanished as Delilah began to speak again, replaced by dread heavy as a stone upon his heart. For she spoke of High Priestess Derceto’s scheming with the Prince of the City of Ascalon, and the attempts already made to capture Samson.

  “But they failed, all failed, and why? Because Samson’s god favors him, and because—”

  “Because those who tried to take me can think only in the paths they have already learned to tread. Change frightens them. Nor do they understand that a man may summon power from lifeless stone.”

  “And Derceto thinks me still her obedient playing-piece. So when I send word that I have won Samson’s heart, and know how he may be easily taken, I will be believed. They think him half-god, you know, that there is some trick to his strength, his skills. Did not they see at his wedding that the drugged wine did not even lull him?”

  “That’s because he drank less than a mouthful of it,” Orev pointed out, and was ignored.

  “And I have sent word that ropes cannot bind him, that poison is powerless to harm him. But now—now I shall say I have discovered his secret.” She leaned her cheek against Samson’s shoulder, twined her fingers in his long sun-bright hair. “I know just what I shall say. Did you know, Samson, that if your hair is cut off, you will become as other men are?”

  Samson caught her hand and kissed her palm. “Clever Delilah. Is she not the wisest of women, Orev? No, don’t speak yet—let me tell you the rest of it.”

  The rest of their mad scheme turned upon the fact that Derceto, High Priestess of Atargatis’s Great Temple in Ascalon, would attend the dedication of Dagon’s Great House in Gaza at the next new moon. For one brief span of time, all those whom Delilah and Samson hated would stand together by the altar in Dagon’s Great Temple . . .

  “Which as you know is the newest of the Great Temples, and builders now are nothing. Compared to those who built even two generations ago, they are only children playing at making bricks. Do you remember the master mason I once spoke with upon the Lion’s Path? He told me then how Dagon’s Temple was made—and that it could not stand if the earth shook.”

  “Samson, you are not a god, to make the earth tremble at your will. What does it matter how well or ill Dagon’s Temple was built?”

  “It matters because I have listened to how Dagon’s Temple in Gaza was made, and looked at the drawings of how its stones are set and its lintels braced, and I tell you, Orev, I can bring down the arch over the altar whether the earth trembles or not.”

  Orev looked into his friend’s fire-shadowed eyes. “So you will let the Philistines capture you and take you before Dagon? Samson, think. Why should they do so foolish a thing? They fear you greatly—you’re more likely to be thrown down one of the prison-shafts and left there to rot.”

  Even as he spoke, Orev knew no words of his would dissuade Samson, or Delilah either. But he had to try.

  “No, they will not. The Lords and Ladies of the Five Cities wish to see Samson for themselves, see that he has been taken and serves them as a slave. And where better to display their prize than in Dagon’s Great House? I will tell them that Dagon demands this. So they will keep Samson safe-prisoned until the Temple is dedicated. All the Great Ones will attend the rituals in Gaza; Derceto will be there. Once he sets his hands to its stones, Samson will know how to destroy the Temple. With Atargatis’s mercy, none of the innocent will suffer; only the guilty will perish. And Samson and I—”

  “We will be free,” Samson finished.

  For a moment, Orev hoped they were jesting. But a glance at their faces told him they were not. They mean to do this. Are they—

  “Are the two of you mad? You’ll both be killed. That won’t help your dead, or the living, either.”

  Samson smiled, draped his arm over Orev’s shoulders. “We won’t be killed. Only those who have done evil shall die. Who knows better than I how to move stone? And we have Yahweh’s own promise that I’ll succeed.”

  “And the Lady’s. ‘The Son of the Sun will destroy a god’.” Delilah’s night-eyes glittered bright. “The Seer at En-dor saw it.”

  “You are both mad,” Orev said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Not mad, but resolute,” Samson answered. “Delilah has designed the plan well. Trust me, Orev, we have thought long on this. And we accept the risk we run, the price we may have to pay.”

  But you don’t think you will have to pay it. The two of you truly think this scheme is god-blessed. That you will succeed, and live—Orev stared at his friend and at the priestess who stood beside him. Samson’s work-hardened hand curled about Delilah’s small, soft one; their fingers coiled in a lovers’ knot.

  So that is how it is between them.

  Pain chilled Orev’s heart. That the two sought this wild justice for his wife and her vowed sister was risk enough; that they truly loved as well could prove fatal. In Orev’s experience, few things were as dangerous as love. Better to dance upon a bed of hot coals than to trust love to make all right in the eyes of He Who Made the Sun and Stars.

  But Orev’s long study of human nature had also taught a cool, dispassionate truth: those in love would listen to no one and nothing save their own hearts. The only thing he could do for Samson and the priestess Delilah was to wait until they needed his help—and hope that his aid would be enough to save them from disaster.

  Seeing the dedication burning in their eyes—Samson’s the blue flame that danced above a forge’s coals; Delilah’s a cold fire dark as shadowed stars—Orev doubted that anything could stop them, or that his love for both could change one breath of what would come.

  But he could pray, and hope.

  Hope was all he had, now.

  PART FOUR

  Dark Moon

  Delilah

  When I went before the rulers of the Five Cities, I garbed myself as Priestess of Atargatis. I knew I faced a hard task; the words of a Full Moon of Bright Atargatis would carry more weight than those of a girl garbed as a dancer—even a much-famed dancer.

  I stood before them all and told them, calmly and quietly, that I had gained the answer they so desired.

  “I asked Our Lady for aid, and She granted my plea and petition. I know how you may take Samson prisoner, what will make him as easy to capture and bind as any other man. But Atargatis asks something in return for this favor.”

  I waited until the Lady of Gath—always the most impatient—demanded to know what Our Lady asked in payment. No hint of emotion troubled my painted face as I answered. For all any of them could tell, I recited words about which I cared nothing.

  “Our Lady and Mother, the Star of the Sea, Bright Atargatis, revealed to me the arts by which I lured Samson and seduced his secrets from him. But She also said that Samson belongs to the gods, that Dagon Himself demands Samson be given into the keeping of Dagon’s Great House in Gaza. Dagon commands Samson be displayed before the altar when His new Temple is dedicated at the next new moon, that all may see Dagon’s power and Samson’s weakness. Therefore, while Samson may be taken, he may not be harmed.

  “So you must swear to me, swear upon the most holy altar in the Five Cities, that Samson will not be harmed. No blade, whether of iron or bronze, may touch his skin. No club, whether of wood or of stone, shall break his bones. No flame may burn his flesh. If I do not have your oath on this, then Samson may pillage your caravans and lay waste to your lands until the stars grow cold and Our Lady Atargatis will not lift a finger to stop him.”

  Without hesitation, they swore upon Atargatis and upon Dagon that every word I had spoken would be heeded and obeyed. After the rulers of the Five Cities had consecrated this vow, and Derceto had burned their offerings on the high altar of Atargatis Herself, I told them how Samson would be rendered harmless.

  “You all know he has sun-hair, long and bright. This hair is dedicated to his god, Yahweh. When I, a priestess of Atargatis, cut the hair from his head, Samson will become as all other men. Then you may safely take him, and carry
him off to the Great House of Dagon in Gaza.”

  On the day Samson and I had decided upon—when only half a moon-turn remained before the dedication of the new Great House of Dagon in Gaza—we sat in the bright Sun Garden of the House of Ivory. I had cut his long hair, carefully, and held it in my hands. We waited, silent, for the forces of the Five Cities to come through the Sun-Gate at the hour appointed.

  His hair was soft as sunlight, and as warm. I looked down at the bright mass of his hair, sun-fire in my hands. “Beloved,” I began, and then stopped, for I heard the creak of leather and the jangle of metal. It was too late now to say anything at all.

  A dozen warriors burst in, then halted, cautious, spears and swords ready. They might have been hunting a great lion instead of one unarmed man. But when I smiled, and nodded, they rushed forward and seized Samson. They regained their rough courage when Samson remained still as stone, feigning weakness, while I twisted the locks of his long soft hair in my hands, as if flaunting his loss before his eyes. He remained still as they bound him. Thus far, the scheme Samson and I had woven followed the pattern we had laid out with such care.

  But we had staked all on the Lords holding to the vow I had extracted from them. I had formed the oath carefully—but not carefully enough.

  No iron blade bit into his flesh, no club broke his bones, no fire burned his flesh. Those who ruled the Five Cities kept the letter of their oath. But they violated its spirit. The heavy-set man who had borne in the chains to bind Samson now lifted a small object wrapped in crimson silk from his belt. He unfolded the silk, revealed two silver hairpins. The pins shone bright as stars and had been honed to deadly points.

  No blade, no club, no fire. Only a woman’s hairpins, the final betrayal—

  “No,” I said, but no one listened, and if they had, they would not have heeded me. Samson’s eyes gazed into mine. “We have not lost yet, Delilah. Have faith, and wait.”

  He spoke so softly only I heard. His courage gave me the strength to do one last thing for Samson. I forced myself to smile, and to whisper, “Beloved.”

  My smile was the last thing his eyes ever saw. I prayed to the Lady of Love that it might be some small comfort to him in the darkness.

  The warriors took Samson to the Great House of Dagon in Gaza. The Temple servants took me back to the Great House of Atargatis in Ascalon.

  I did not know where Orev was taken. Only later did I learn that he had slipped away, knowing he could be of use to his friend only if he remained free, and followed Samson to Gaza. I looked only inward, seeking oblivion. I could not bear to see even memories.

  I remember very little of the next handful of days. I remember the sickly sweet taste of poppy syrup; I remember lying upon embroidered cushions in a closed litter. I remember swaying shadows, and cool hands upon my face. And I remember the scent of bitter spice, and High Priestess Derceto saying, “You have done well, Delilah.” The words echoed as if I lay in a cave with walls of stone.

  After that, I remember nothing. I slept for three days, refusing to wake.

  But I could not sleep forever. I opened my eyes at last, and saw that I lay in my own bed, in my own room. I was home again in Our Lady’s House. And, just as when I had mourned Aylah’s death, a priest of Milchienzeek stood beside my bed, and one of that goddess’s little dogs lay with its nose cool against my neck.

  Absently, I stroked the dog’s smooth white coat. Outwardly comforted, I used those moments to remember what had brought me back here, and to think what I now must do.

  I must still play the game. I must not reveal by word or glance that I care whether Samson lives or dies. I must trust his faith in his own god. His last words to me still echoed in my ears:

  “We have not lost yet, Delilah. Have faith, and wait.”

  “You wake at last,” the priest said. “That is good. Milchienzeek is kind.”

  “How long have I slept?” I was horrified to hear the priest say that I had lain asleep for three days. But I betrayed nothing; I patted Milchienzeek’s dog one last time and then stretched and sat up.

  “My thanks,” I told the priest. “But there are those who need your Lady’s dogs more than I.” I smiled; it took all the strength I had. I turned my eyes to the handmaiden who sat beside the doorway and was twice glad I had used caution in my first waking moments.

  For the handmaiden who watched over me was Mottara. The High Priestess had again sent her own most loyal servant to tend upon me.

  To spy upon me, to weigh what I say, and how I look when I say it. I hoped Mottara was disappointed when I smiled at her also and said, “You may tell High Priestess Derceto that Delilah Moondancer has returned. Tell her, too, that I await her next command—and my next dance.”

  Mottara rose to her feet and bowed. “I shall do as you ask, Priestess.” As she pushed aside the door-curtain, I added, “And send Pehkah and Japhilit to me. I wish to bathe and dress.”

  Mottara inclined her head—perhaps to hide the fact that she suddenly seemed to have set her teeth into a bitter fruit. “As my lady Delilah orders.” Before I could issue any more commands, Mottara slipped past the curtain and let it fall closed behind her.

  The priest of Milchienzeek was kinder; he seemed truly pleased I had woken well and happy. “The blessings of Milchienzeek the Kind upon you, Priestess of Atargatis.” As if it were part of the blessing, the dog licked my hand. Smiling, I thanked both priest and dog, and they, too, went away. For a few moments, I was alone.

  But I was too wise and wary to think myself unobserved. I had learned much since the day Samson had freed my hair in the Sun Partridge Dance. Now, the only person I trusted here in the Great House of Atargatis was myself.

  So although I wished to weep until my eyes burned, to drink poppy syrup until I fell again into the comfort of nothingness, I did neither. As if I did not see the vial of poppy lying upon the mother-of-pearl chest, as if I felt nothing but relief at my return to Our Lady’s Temple, I stretched again. Then I yawned and lay back upon my pillows, awaiting the arrival of the servants I had ordered Mottara to send to me.

  And, hardest of all, I smiled. Whoever spied upon me would see only a young priestess haughtily rejoicing that she had succeeded in the task assigned her. A girl eager to claim the rich reward she had been promised.

  And I shall claim that reward. But not here, and not today.

  Today I must wait, and smile.

  And have faith—and wait.

  Samson

  “From Delilah’s soft arms they dragged mighty Samson, Samson whom a woman’s wiles had rendered helpless as any other man. The Philistines took him, and bound him, and because they feared him and his god so greatly, they put out his eyes—but even a blind man may see truth, and his god.”

  Later, when he grew tired of conjuring reasons that mighty Samson permitted himself to be captured by mere Philistines, Orev added words to please those who listened.

  “From Delilah’s soft arms they dragged Samson, Samson whose hair she had shorn, rendering him helpless as any other man. For Samson had been vowed as a Nazirite before his birth, and he drank no wine and ate no unclean thing, nor did a blade ever touch a hair on his head. But the woman Delilah beguiled him, and Samson at last revealed that his power lay in his uncut hair . . .”

  Harper’s privilege, the creation of that iron vow—for those who listened wished to hear of a hero, a man unlike other men. And after all, those words held half a truth. Had not Delilah persuaded the rulers of the Five Cities that Samson might be easily taken if only his glorious mane of hair were shorn like a lamb’s?

  “Rejoicing, the Philistines bound Samson with fetters of brass; rejoicing, they bore Samson to Gaza, to the Temple of Dagon. And there in that vile Temple, they bound blind Samson to grind grain for the Temple, thinking to mock him and bring him low.”

  “But Samson trusted in his god, and Samson bowed his head to Yahweh’s will. And Samson ground grain in Gaza, and awaited Yahweh’s word . . .”

  The P
hilistines took no chances; they might have blinded and bound him, but clearly they still feared Samson. A full fifty warriors of Gaza guarded the ass-drawn cart in which Samson had been chained. No one was permitted to approach the cart the warriors surrounded.

  Orev did not even try to do so. He merely followed Samson and his jailers along the road to Gaza. No one seemed to object; what danger could a lame harper pose to fifty armed men, after all? Nor did Orev cherish hopes of freeing Samson; he knew it to be impossible.

  And he feared more for Delilah’s safety than for Samson’s, at the moment. The Foxes had already slain one of Samson’s women, and would delight in slitting Delilah’s throat. Still, it would take a few days for the news of Samson’s capture to travel the length and breadth of Canaan. Gaza was two days’ journey from Sorek Vale at a swift pace, and Samson’s captors moved swiftly, clearly eager to hand their charge over to others. Orev felt reasonably certain that the overconfident fools who called themselves “Samson’s Foxes” would not hear what had befallen until Samson was prisoned in Gaza—and Delilah safely returned to her Temple in Ascalon.

  He was half-right; by the time the prisoner’s escort was only a day’s march from Gaza, Orev glanced aside, his eyes drawn by movement. And there they were, the Foxes, watching the Philistines from the untended land beyond the road. Orev recognized the twin brothers Dawi and Golyat—no one could mistake their red hair. Now the harper scanned the sides of the road as he walked, knowing that more of Samson’s self-proclaimed allies must stalk him and his guards. A mile onward, Orev spotted Achbor and Enoch. Perhaps the rest of the Foxes lurked out of sight; Orev didn’t know.

  What I do know is that if they try to rescue Samson now, all he has suffered will be for nothing. The first thing Gaza’s warriors would do if attacked was cut Samson’s throat. Better a dead lion than one who escaped. I would not wish to be the captain who must tell the rulers of the Five Cities that he let Samson escape now.