Delilah: A Novel (28 page)

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
.

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?”

Before Orev could answer with laughter, Aylah turned to greet Samson, who strode towards them.

“Home at last,” Samson announced when he stood beside them, gazing at the farmhouse. The building might be halfway to collapse, but Samson ignored its faults. Smiling, he turned to Aylah and swung her up into his arms. She smiled back—already, Orev saw, she found it hard not to smile when Samson did—and slid an arm around his neck.

“Wait, Samson, and I will unbar the door.” Orev stepped forward, but Samson shook his head.

“No need for that.” Samson strode forward, pushed the door open with his foot. The heavy wood door wobbled, then seemed to twirl like a dancer before it fell backwards into the house. “I’ll need to mend that,” Samson said, and carried his bride over the threshold—and the door—into her new domain.

Orev followed, and looked around at the empty dwelling. A large roofless courtyard was flanked by the wings of the house. Ancient bricks formed walls that needed plastering; the stairways to the second floor and to the roof had few steps free of holes. Orev decided to let Samson be the first to ascend them.
Land and house not touched for seven long years. Let us see how you conduct yourself now, priestess-wife
. An uncharitable thought, but the urgent pace of the journey had wearied Orev; his lame foot throbbed, and pain flashed like lightning up his leg if he stepped wrong.

Samson set Aylah upon her feet. “Well, it was once a stout enough house. But those stairs need shoring up—see where the bricks have shifted? The side wall must be rebuilt, too. And the roof must be repaired, and the beams sag. And—”

“And forty other things need mending,” Aylah said, “but not now. Now I must see if the kitchen-yard still exists, or if the oven and fire pit, too, must be rebuilt.”

“Oh, if they are gone, that is easily remedied.” Samson flung his arm around her shoulders, and the two of them disappeared into the rooms beyond.

Orev moved outside to the nearest spot in which he could sit in shade.
Well, Samson seems happy enough, and the lady, too. I wonder
— A crash from within yanked his attention back to the neglected house. “Samson?” he called, cautious. The house could easily hold traps for Samson and his bride . . .

Samson appeared in the doorway. “Some old wine jugs fell over, but they were empty anyway,” he said. “Orev, why don’t you come in and sit down in comfort? There’s a stool, and a bed frame.”

“I don’t suppose the bed ropes are strung?”

“No, but that’s easy mended.”

“There’s no bedding,” Orev pointed out.

“Well, no. But my wife gives you her permission to unpack the garments and cloth sent with her and use them as you will.” Samson disappeared into the dimness of the house once more. There was another noise, this one harder to identify until a pair of squirrels fled out the door, chattering bitter complaints. The next sound rang clear—Aylah’s laughter. It was the first time Orev had heard her laugh.