Delilah: A Novel (25 page)

“So great Samson wed a woman of the Philistines, a woman who pleased him well. And a great feast was held, a wedding feast with many guests. A feast where many rich dishes were served and much fine wine was drunk, wine such as the Philistines delighted in
.

“And the guests drank deep and the night grew late, and as the moon rose high, the guests demanded to test Samson with riddles before he might set eyes upon his new bride’s fair face . . .”

There was one thing in the Philistines’ favor. No people Orev had ever heard of planned more sumptuous feasts. And when it came to celebrating a wedding between the handsome hero who had succeeded in tasks a god might hesitate to undertake and the lovely priestess he had fallen in love with at first sight—well, for that occasion nothing was too rich or too fine to spread before the assembled guests.

Most of whom were Philistines, of course. Samson had sent messengers to Zorah, asking his parents to come to his wedding and to bring what guests they wished, but Manoah and Tsipporah did not come. Once Orev thought he’d spotted some of the young hotheads who longed to call Samson “leader” in the crowd of wedding guests; he hoped he was mistaken. He must have been; why would the Foxes come?

The ceremony itself took place in an extravagant pavilion just outside the walls of Ascalon. A crimson cord circled the pavilion; the cord’s ends touched the city walls, making the wedding ground part of the city itself. The pavilion spread its blue and yellow roof over a space larger than half a dozen of Zorah’s houses. Within, blue smoke coiled through the air, smoke heavy with the cloying odor of nard. Carpets woven in designs of lilies and palm trees spread over the ground; tasseled cushions lay scattered at the edges of the carpets. Low tables held golden bowls of fruit and silver trays of sweet cakes.

Orev wasn’t sure what to think of the arrangement—better than being trapped within the city, in the event of trouble, but somehow it seemed odd. He’d expected the wedding to take place within one of the courtyards of Atargatis’s Temple. There was no point in talking with Samson about the matter; the happy bridegroom only laughed, no matter what Orev tried to tell him.

“Philistine ways are not our ways. Let my bride be married as she wishes. After we are wed and Yahweh grants us children, she will forget Ascalon.”

That the bride—a priestess dedicated to her own goddess—might not wish to marry at all seemed not to occur to Samson.

And Orev was forced to agree with Samson’s argument that since he had performed the Three Tasks set him, and been proclaimed worthy of a priestess’s hand in marriage, the Temple of Atargatis had been more than generous. The bride’s promised dowry proved to be a farm in Timnath, a village two days’ journey from Ascalon and only a few hours’ walk from Zorah. Samson and his wife would dwell close enough to Zorah to please his parents—assuming they could accept a Philistine priestess as their son’s bride.

“We shall live happy there,” Samson had said. “And you, Orev, if you grow weary of life upon the road, come and act as steward for me.”

“I’m a singer of songs, not a farmer.”

“Sing as I farm, then. Music makes a task sweeter.”

It was always hard to argue with Samson, harder still to be angry at
him. In the face of such manifest joy, Orev’s worries over the whole affair seemed to fade to pale shadows.

But Orev soon learned he was not the only man troubled by this lavish and seemingly joyous wedding feast. As he and Samson entered the bridegroom’s tent, a figure glittering as one of the Temple idols awaited them, reclining upon the embroidered cushions meant for the bridegroom’s use until his summons to the bridal feast.

“My lord Samson?” The words, spoken in a lazy drawl, sent a warning chill down Orev’s spine. As if the man sensed this, he smiled and said, “No, I have not been sent to strike down Samson—as if I could.” He rose, and bowed, and all the gems hung about his neck and woven in his hair glinted bright as stars. “Permit me to present myself—Aulykaran, brother of Sandarin, who is Prince of the City of Ascalon.”

“Greetings, and be welcome,” Samson said, even as Orev asked, “And why is the brother of the Prince of Ascalon here?”

Aulykaran smiled. “To give the bridegroom a wedding present, of course. Why else?”

“To poison my wine?” Samson suggested, a remark so sensible that Orev stared at him in surprise.

“Oh, not I. That sort of thing I leave to dear Derceto and my beloved brother. I’d be careful what you eat and drink at your wedding feast, if I were you, Samson.” Aulykaran turned his attention to Orev. “You know, harper, I don’t think your friend the hero is nearly so foolish as you seem to think him.”

“I don’t think him foolish,” Orev said. “I think him too good-natured. He keeps his temper too well-chained.”

Aulykaran studied Samson intently for a moment. “Perhaps. But I would not like to be there when you unbind your temper, Samson.”

“I have no need of anger,” Samson said.

“Someday you will, and on the day your anger rages free, I trust I shall be far away. Now, about that wedding present—”

“You have not yet answered me,” Orev pointed out. “Why are you here at all, let alone bestowing gifts upon your brother’s enemy?”

“My brother’s foe, not mine. I am here because a bridegroom should be given fitting gifts, and because I enjoy meddling. I also enjoy giving advice, but I find that good advice is so rarely followed. Still, it amuses me to offer my wisdom upon the altar of the gods.”

Samson laughed. “I take advice, if it is truly good. Is this good advice your wedding gift to me?”

“In part. First, I shall merely mention that the High Priestess and my dear brother are most certainly enmeshed in schemes almost as elaborate as this wedding. They’re up to something, but I, alas, am not privy to precisely what the two of them plot.”

“And you are telling me this because . . . ?” Samson asked, and Aulykaran smiled again.

“You see, harper? Not so foolish. Well, Samson, perhaps I tell you this because a wedding should be a joyous occasion—although marriage so seldom seems to be. Perhaps because I prefer peace to taking up the sword. Or perhaps because you seem like a good man, and I meet so few. Or perhaps because your bride comes with a rich dowry and I wish to borrow a pouch of silver from you? Who knows?”

“Perhaps you just wish to cause trouble, my lord Aulykaran.” This seemed the most likely explanation to Orev. “At least, you have no need to borrow silver from anyone.”

“No? Samson, will you lend me what silver you possess?”

Samson unclasped a bracelet from his wrist and held it out. “Of course. Take this, if you need it.”

Orev sighed, and Aulykaran laughed. “Yes, friend harper, I see he is a great trial to you.” To Orev’s surprise, Aulykaran took the thin bracelet from Samson’s hand.

“You will have this back again when you leave Ascalon, which I strongly urge you to do the moment the vows have been said. You have been given asses and servants by the Temple?”

Samson nodded. “Yes. They wait—”

“I know where they wait, and they should wait in vain. Outside this pavilion, to the east, tethered near my own litter and my own slaves, are two strong mules and some provisions for your journey. You will know them by this bracelet of yours, for it will be tied to one of the mules’ reins. Take those mules, and your wife—assuming you are truly given one—”

“I have been promised her,” Samson said, and Aulykaran lifted his brows and shook his head.

“And I promise,” Aulykaran said, “that you would be wise to take your bride, my advice, and the mules, and leave by the swiftest road away from Ascalon. And I wish you joy in your marriage, Samson.” He bowed, and strolled out of the tent with the indolent grace of a leopard.

Samson gazed after him, thoughtful. “Do you think we can trust him, Orev?”

“This from you, who trusts everyone?” Orev considered Aulykaran’s words, and his cool amused eyes. “Odd as it may sound from my lips—yes, I think we can trust him. I don’t know why, but yes.”

“Because although he does not like to think it of himself, Aulykaran is a good man at heart.” Samson eyed the curtain covering the doorway to the tent. “How long until I am summoned, do you think?”

“Not long enough,” Orev said, and Samson laughed.

“I will wait,” he said. “But I do not think I care for any wine, Orev. At least, none from a vessel only you and I will drink from.”

She arrived at the wedding pavilion just as the sun reached zenith and all shadows vanished for a brief span of time. The bearers set down her gilded litter; Derceto stepped out with the grace of long practice. She stood quiet for a breath, letting those who gathered to watch events unfold gaze upon her. She was High Priestess, owed the people of Ascalon the sight of Atargatis’s Vessel.

Then she walked, in slow, measured paces, into the vast wedding pavilion. The air trapped within the tent’s brilliant cloth walls was hot, but Derceto ignored the minor discomfort. Sandarin awaited her, and she would not grant the Prince of the City even the small satisfaction of seeing her troubled by the heat. She paced across the pavilion, her bare painted feet soundless upon the thick carpets, to the two thrones waiting beyond the wedding fire. Incense smoke swirled in a slow dance through air sweet and heavy as honey. Derceto stepped around the wide brazier in which cedar and sandalwood and nard burned, and sat upon the throne beside Sandarin’s.

He said nothing; there was no need for words between them.
We understand each other better than many who have been forty years married
.

Which was why Derceto had ensured that nothing about the wedding feast had been left to chance—or to Sandarin’s interference. During the
seven days of the Sun Partridge Festival, Temple took precedence over City. It was to the Temple that Samson had delivered himself, and it was the Temple that would claim him.

No matter what the Prince of the City plotted.
For I set my own plans spinning the moment Samson uttered Delilah’s name seven days ago
.

Now all lay ready. Samson need only act as any man would on his joyous wedding day.
Eat and drink, Samson. Drink long and deep
. If Samson drank deep enough, he would never wake. If he drank only enough to sleep overlong, he would awake to find himself bound, the Temple’s slave.
For at sunrise, festival truce vanishes with the morning mist. And if your power is stronger than that which lies in the wine, and you do not sleep at all . . 
.

Why, then the guests Derceto had so carefully arranged to attend would ensure that even if Samson lived to carry his wife away from the feast, he would go no farther than the nearest bend in the road. Derceto studied the guests who crowded the pavilion, seeking her unwitting allies. They thought themselves clever, believed they had slipped into the wedding uninvited and unnoticed, rather than as her own chosen guests.
I ensured the news of Samson’s wedding to Atargatis’s priestess traveled far. I knew it would entice them, lure them here
. Derceto studied the crowd, her eyes seeking. Ah, there they were—a band of uncouth, ill-clad louts. “Foxes,” they called themselves, sworn to Samson.

Mad foxes, keen to bite, yearning to see Samson prove himself the hero-king they demanded he be.
You Foxes wish to see Samson bring down the Five Cities
. Derceto gazed upon a slender youth—no, a maiden, despite her warrior’s garb—who glared about her with angry eyes.
You wish to see Samson slay us all. How will you like watching as he bends his head before me, the High Priestess of Atargatis? As he claims a Philistine priestess as his bride? Will you follow him then, Foxes? I think you will not
.

Of all who lurked within the crowd of wedding guests, awaiting her signal—or, Derceto was certain, Sandarin’s—it was Samson’s own Foxes who would most long to slay him.

“Ah, the bridegroom comes,” Sandarin said, and Derceto set aside her silent gloating and nodded. She took the opportunity to slant a
glance at Sandarin. Yes, the Prince stared meaningfully at two men standing beside one of the many copper bowls piled high with honey-glazed fruits.

Too obvious, O Prince. And only one string to your bow—your own bought men with hidden knives, I suppose
. Derceto watched as Samson strode into the tent, strong and bright as summer sun.
Now I—I have half a dozen deaths awaiting him. And while you may elude some, Samson, you cannot escape them all
.

Samson came towards her, smiling, stood before her throne and bowed his head. “I have come, Lady of the Lady’s Temple, to claim my bride. And to thank you for bestowing her upon me. Your goddess is kind.”

If Our Lady is kind, Samson, you will be too drunk to leave before tomorrow’s sun rises
. No harm could come to Samson during the days and nights the Sun Partridge danced. Even Derceto and Sandarin did not dare violate that law. But if Samson remained one moment beyond the next dawn . . .

“Welcome, Samson. The wedding feast is spread before you—now eat and drink and await your bride.” Derceto gazed into Samson’s guileless blue eyes, and smiled.

The wedding feast began at midday, and by sunset, when the bride was brought out from Ascalon to the wedding pavilion, almost every guest was at least half-drunk. The steward assigned by the Temple to tend upon the bridegroom had kept setting full goblets into Samson’s hand; Samson had handed most of them, after a courteous sip of the wedding wine, to whomever stood nearest to him. Even so, Orev suspected Samson had consumed far more strong spiced wine than he realized.

A roar of delight arose from the waiting guests. The bride’s elaborate palanquin drew near, a massive, glittering affair carried by a dozen Temple eunuchs and escorted by half a dozen priestesses. Orev watched as the bridal procession approached the wedding tent, noted the painted faces of the eunuchs, the gilded breasts of the priestesses. Suddenly he wondered if Samson were wiser than he’d thought. If there was one deed that might repulse those who called themselves “Samson’s Foxes” enough to repudiate Samson as their chosen leader, wedding a priestess of Atargatis could be that feat.