The Philistine Warrior (22 page)
“I’m sure she’s completely innocent,” the Prince assured her.
“But, my Lord, she loved him, she worshiped him! And she’s pregnant!”
That was news to Prince Ekosh. “We’ll do what we can for her,” he replied. She was crying into his chest now, and he knew no way to comfort her. “Ibbi found out about Menena’s treachery,” he informed her. “He knew something of Menena’s work for the Amonists—long before I hired him. So Ibbi investigated, and found the proof in Menena’s desk this very afternoon.” He paused. “We’re all the more indebted to Ibbi now,” the Prince added.
“I want him to come with us to
Philistia
,” Delai begged.
“Yes, he must come with us, now,” her husband noted. “I want him with you when your next child is born…and he must realize that he’ll no longer be safe here in
Egypt
…the Amonists will probably guess about his role in exposing Menena; and, besides, he’s been associated with us….”
Delai seemed comforted a bit by that time, and I decided that they should be left alone together. Someone had to tell Rachel, and there was no one available but me. I located her quickly, lest she receive the word first from a servant’s rumor.
I broke the news as gently as I could; she stood up well, I thought, to both the horror and the shame; and then I took her to see
Prince Ekosh. Her interview with him was brief. He showed her the evidence, said the kind words which needed to be said, no matter how futile it was to say them—albeit said most sincerely; and then he left Rachel with me again. I was about to take her to her chamber when Delai arrived, tears streaming down her face.
“Rachel…,” the Princess began, “Rachel…if there’s anything I can do….” There was, of course, nothing that any one could do, and I felt a lump in my throat, not only for the widow, but for Delai in her own distress.
Rachel replied to Delai’s offer by shaking her head: “Nothing…he was all I had…we were so happy…I can’t believe it….”
“The Prince made a careful investigation,” I assured her.
She looked up, eyes red, her whole face contorted: “Please…yes, I believe that he was guilty. I understand now…he loved me, he wanted to raise me—both of us—to a more respected status…he had such dreams, such plans. The priesthood…investing in caravans—that’s why he wanted to go to
Canaan
…and I asked him where he could get enough money to invest in a caravan, or shipping…and now I know where the money was to come from….” She began crying again.
“Dearest, come with us,” Delai begged. “You’ll never lack support or respect in our household….” But she’d said the wrong thing: Rachel would always be a servant, or ex-servant, in Askelon, or
Gath
—at least in everybody’s mind, no matter how well she was treated, no matter how much Delai might, if she could, treat her as a free person. It was to raise her above freedman status that Menena had, in his way, given his life—that was how Rachel now chose to remember him, anyway. She forgot that her husband had become a spy long before meeting her. Well, perhaps—having fallen in love—Menena might have
then
decided that, once reaching Canaan, he would quit being a spy and set himself up as an honest businessman, or candidate for the priesthood, just as Rachel believed. In an emotional sense, therefore (if not in a chronological sense), Rachel’s view of her husband’s motives might be more or less accurate.
In any case, she could hardly remain with Delai now, and she told us so: “No, Princess, I can’t go with you. I know my husband was guilty, but I can’t stay in the household which killed him….” We knew that for “household” Rachel might just as well have substituted the name of Prince Ekosh. “And to think,” Rachel continued, “that I used to be jealous of the time he spent with you, the attentions he paid you—even though I knew he loved me…and now to find out why….” She touched her stomach. There would be no Delilah in Rachel’s family, we understood—though there might still be a baby Menena. “I can’t leave
Egypt
…I can’t…not while I’m carrying his child. Someday I’ll return to my people in
Canaan
—but not now….”
“Rachel,” the Princess began, voice wavering, “if you want to stay here, I’ll see to it that you have enough money to live comfortably—and to return to
Canaan
whenever you choose. But with whom will you live here?”
“Menena had relatives, friends…I’ll live with his parents, if they’ll allow it. I’ll go there tonight.”
“I’ll see that Menena’s sent to them,” I said—as gently as I could.
“Thank you, my Lord,” Rachel answered.
“I’d wanted you to be cared for by Ibbi when your baby arrives,” Delai added.
“I would not!” Rachel exclaimed, and burst out crying again—because, after all, Ibbi was responsible for revealing the truth about Menena, and Delai had said the wrong thing again.
Delai said no more, but took Rachel’s hand in hers for a moment, and the girl smiled at her through her tears. Then Rachel got up; with hardly a word more; we went our different ways. Delai and Rachel promised to see each other again before the departure for
Philistia
—and they promised to write—but such promises are really just ways of avoiding the awkward sadness of a final goodbye. They knew they’d never meet again.
Then Delai summoned the mansion’s treasurer. She arranged for a large amount of money to be put in trust for her former servant—wondering aloud as she did whether it was the right thing to do, without informing the Prince; and would Rachel refuse it, or resent it?
“I don’t think she’ll be offended,” I told my cousin, “so long as it’s from you alone….”
“It’ll be paid for by selling some of my jewels,” she explained.
The very next day a formal delegation arrived from
Gath
to inform the Prince of his election as Melek, plus to the title, Sheren of Gath. The following morning, we were received by Pharaoh Ramses IX for a farewell audience. The little king seemed more lost than ever on his golden throne, and his eyesight appeared to be worse than before.
“I leave Your Majesty reluctantly,” the new Melek told his sovereign. “I did not crave the position and honor which will be mine. If it’s possible to arrange for a regency after the war in
Canaan
, I shall abdicate and return to
Egypt
.
Egypt
is my home.”
Pharaoh smiled, but with an ironic curl of his lips. He reached out to clasp Ekosh by the hand, but found Delai’s shoulder instead. At the touch of a living god, Delai knelt…Ramses fingers lingered on her shoulder for a moment, and then passed, falteringly, to Ekosh’s hand. “Prince—no, Melek,” he began, “don’t return to
Egypt
. In
Philistia
, you’ll have a great city and a nation to rule. Here, there’s nothing but toil and hostility—and death, always death…and the High Priests…”
“I would always toil for your House, Sire,” Ekosh replied—with unusual emotion.
“I know…I know,” Pharaoh sighed. He took a grape from the bowl beside him, turned it over in his hand for a moment—and then crushed it. The juice stained his fingers. “Rather like my eyes,” he remarked. “…or like Menena’s life….” And then he dismissed his fan-bearers and all others near him, except us three. “One never knows who’s a spy these days,” he pointed out. “My House, Prince, is not worth the toil of which you speak. There were once great kings in
Egypt
: Ramses II, Ramses
“To whom my family swore eternal allegiance, Sire,” the Prince noted.
Pharaoh went right on, as if he hadn’t even heard: “…but since Ramses
ruled
. And who knows anything about Ramses V, Ramses VI, Ramses
Thebes
were plundered, though I expect the robbery will get worse in the reigns of my successors. But now also, in my time, northern
Egypt
is independent, in effect—not only from me, which is no surprise, but also from the Amonists.
That’s
a surprise, considering the wealth and power they enjoy, even here in my own capital.”
“Sire, so long as I was in
Nubia
, that province was loyal to Your Majesty—and to Your Majesty alone,” Prince Ekosh put in.
“Yes, good Prince: you saved
Nubia
; but, alas, for whom? Now that you’re going, the priests will, sooner or later, control
Nubia
, too….”
“Can’t you order the governor—” Ekosh almost sounded impatient, and for once forgot to say “Sire,” or “Your Majesty.”
“Sweet and loyal Philistine,” Pharaoh replied, “you won’t say it, of course, but you know that I’m a broken man—hardly a man at all, and broken since birth. Early on, I, too, gave gifts to the High Priest of Amon, Amenhotep, and to the Temples of Ra and Ptah—and now, they, not I, own the trading fleets on the
Red Sea
. Amenhotep rules not only the priesthood, but much of the Army as well, except in
Nubia
and a few other garrison posts, and in my palace. Someday,
Amenhotep or some other High Priest will proclaim himself Pharaoh, maybe even before I die….” So now he had actually said aloud—though only to us three—the name: “Amenhotep,” the High Priest of Amon. Heretofore, one almost always spoke simply of “The High Priest,” or “The Priests of Amon,” or “The Amonists.” To say the name of this High Priest, naming him as a highly successful rival to
pharaonic power, was to cross some borderline, a superstition-laden thing to do. It was to admit the full truth. And that embarrassed us, the Prince most of all.
“Your Majesty has loyal troops in
Nubia
—even without me to command them, Sire,” Ekosh protested; but he couldn’t rid his voice of the sound of doom.
“And I shall go south and reign in
Nubia
as Pharaoh of Upper and
Lower Egypt
—those two ‘loyal’ provinces where I’d hardly dare venture,” he proposed in bitter jest.
I couldn’t find a thing to say myself, and (fortunately) it wasn’t my place to speak up.
Ekosh searched for some way to take our leave…on a note of cheer: “Sire, so long as I am Melek of Philistia, that will be another loyal province for you.”
“Yes, loyal—but independent. Even your grandfather, King Nomion, ruled independently, though in the name of Ramses
