The Philistine Warrior (25 page)

My anger fled and a lump came to my throat. I wouldn’t cry at the brave death of a great warrior; but tears came for the happy husband and father whose life had been so snuffed out. And I cried for Delai and their baby. “I swear it, Sire,” I promised.

Then Ekosh summoned up his last remaining strength; he smiled in gratitude—and died in my arms.

Our slaughter of the Canaanites in Azekah went on through the night and into the next day. But I remained with my fallen chief. My hatred was gone; only sorrow could I feel, and still feel, even to this present day.

When I went out into the streets of Azekah late the next morning, it was like witnessing the hangover from a drunken orgy. I’ll never forget the terrified faces of such Canaanites as remained alive. Nor can I forget the stiffened corpse of a boy—ten years old, perhaps—whose skull had been shattered against a wall by some giant Philistine hand; there were pieces of his brain still clinging to the bricks.

The frustrations and hatreds of a year—no, of generations—had been let loose in that moment of revenge. I myself had killed only those who stood between me and my dying King: perhaps two, although I really can’t say how many were hit by my sword. They were all adults and males, I think; civilians, but hardly the less guilty for that; or so it seemed to me at the time. Nevertheless, I admit it: if I hadn’t been preoccupied with the dying King—and then guarding his body—I, too, would certainly have carried sword and torch to Azekah, just like my charioteer comrades. If there was a building left untouched by our zeal, I did not see it.

It was now my sad duty to convey the remains of our Melek to
Gath
for the great funeral which custom decreed. Instead of the

victory celebration we’d planned,
Gath
’s House of Holy Images would behold the cremation of our great leader.

Ekosh was laid on a platform over the grave which would hold his ashes, all that would be left of this lost hope of
Philistia
. We stretched him out, head pointing east, ornaments and food placed around him, for these were the ancient ways. The fire which consumed this Melek of our race flamed long into the night, as though to echo the burning sorrow in our hearts—and the wild fury of the thousand battlefields that had once been our fatherland.

The bards sang stanzas of the
Nomiad
all that night:

…and up to Heaven leapt the fire they set

Within his death-bed pyre….

Ashes gathered in an urn, a kingly dirge was

Sung….

And like Hawk-eyed Nomion, King Ekosh, too, had left his widow, and his will:

“Guard against the Hebrew tribe…and may

Astarte let you live in peace…

May Dagon keep my sons in His sweet care;

Do honor to the Queen, my wife, and tell her

That I died

Loving her with all my heart…and with each

Breath….”

And with these words Death to him came;

Gathered to his fathers then; full of years and

Fame!

And all the chieftains…wept with open tears

To see

Hawk-eye’s widow bravely stand at Piram’s

Side…

But all her tears Death’s sad work could not

Undo; not in all her years.

Nor could I doubt that some day, soon, the bards would sing a new epic, this time dedicated to King Ekosh; but first, we all vowed to finish the great man’s work. For me, this meant the Danite War; but to others there, the massacre at Azekah would show the way—and there was no need for the bards to sing those lines to tell
them
what to do next:

Then burn his sacrifice and take up arms against

The Ephraimite;

Spear and axe—revenge is sweet; the shade…

Cannot rest, it needs to drink Hebrew blood which

We shall spill, on his grave to sink!”

So in this way, the bards evoked the darkest blood-lust among my compatriots, men like Zaggi—even more, like Warati…but, I shudder to admit it, among others, many others, as well. The Canaanites of Gath watched the smoking pyre from a distance; they knew that all of
Canaan
would soon suffer the punishment which Azekah had already received.

For this, too, my heart was heavy as we stood around the ashes of our King, some praying, some staring in awe, others still numbed by shock. The funeral of Nasuy had not been nearly so great or sorrowful as this. Nasuy had been loved and respected; but he was old and his time had come. Moreover, he hadn’t used his office to much purpose. Ekosh had united us, moved among us, offered us hope; yet he was cut down in such a way as to suggest that hope could never return again.

Saddest of all was the sight of Queen Delai at the death-bed pyre, before the lighting of the fire. I had promised to protect Ekosh with my life, but it hadn’t been possible for me even to take the terrible news to her in person; all I could do was to instruct my messenger to tell her as gently as he could.

As I later learned, Delai was not taken completely by surprise. A premonition, of which I had no prior knowledge, had haunted her since leaving
Egypt
, and so she suspected the worst when she heard a commotion outside Maoch’s palace. When my grim-faced messenger entered her chamber, she said: “The Melek has been killed.” Not as a

question, but as a statement. She tried to be brave, as Ekosh would have wanted, but she faltered—as Ekosh would have understood; yet only for a moment, while the messenger explained what had happened.

Seeing this officer’s distress, Delai then picked up a small medallion which her husband had once worn: “Melek Ekosh would have wanted you to have this to remember him by, for your kindness,” she told the man. “And I—” She stopped and caught her breath. “…and I want you to have it, too….”

When she handed him this token, her fingers trembled, and the poor man broke into tears, kneeling at her feet. To give him what had once been a part of her husband’s life was to admit that Death had come and taken him away; but it was my officer, not Delai, who cried. Her tears flowed later on, when she was alone.

All this I learned much later, as I say. I actually joined her in
Gath
only on the day of the funeral, before the pyre was lit. Our meeting was formal, for we were in the public eye, and she was the Queen. Delai bade her husband a private farewell, and prepared to retire to her place of honor. As she left the pyre, she turned to me: “He belongs to his soldiers now, Phicol,” she said, and I understood her to mean that her part in the ceremony had ended; it was time to light the fire. I nodded. “You’ll see me…later?” she asked. By later, she meant after her husband had been burned to ashes.

Surely, the most terrible thing is to see a beloved mate, with whose flesh you have been one, cold and lifeless—but then, worse, destroyed, utterly, turned to powder. That was the ancient way. I promised to come, and she went to her throne—the little girl who was our Queen, a widow at age seventeen.

And two days later, we were both back in Askelon. There, Delai was taken in hand by her doctor and priest, the Babylonian Ibbi. Generally, I regard priests—and doctors, for that matter—as a pretty slimy lot, both preying on the superstitions of the unfortunate. But I had to admit that Ibbi was a very learned man, and clever; and I also

felt that he really
believed
all that he said about Ishtar and Her ancient ritual. At least he wasn’t a hypocrite. And he was genuinely dedicated to the welfare of both Queen Delai and her baby.

Nevertheless, I bristled at his intimacy with her, and her dependence on him; it didn’t seem healthy. Not that I wanted to deprive her of a comforter at such a time; but I hated to see her coaxed further into superstition.

Consequently, I wasn’t very pleased when Delai came to see me one morning about a week after the funeral—in the company of Priest Ibbi. We exchanged greetings, and I asked them the purpose of their visit. I could see that Delai had something on her mind.

“Dear Cousin,” she began, “Ibbi and I wish to ask a favor of you. We want you to help secure permission from Uncle Maoch… for us to spend some weeks in Timnath.”

I shot a quick and not very friendly glance at the priest, and then looked back at Delai in amazement. “Timnath?” I asked. All I knew of the place was that it was a little town on the
Sorek
River
, somewhere between Ekron and…Azekah, of unhappy memory.

Sheren Ittai had recently reconquered Timnath, with the help of some of my charioteers—whom I had left there after the Melek’s death, under Captain Jaita’s command. Then Ittai did it again—he negotiated another truce with the Danites, on the grounds that the Melek’s assassination obliged us to reconsider everything; and, besides, the Danites were now sufficiently cowed—for the time being, Ittai claimed—while Ekron herself needed time to rearm!

Naturally, what this truce really meant was that the Danites would also have a chance to lick their recent wounds. But without

King Ekosh around to crack heads together, what was there to do with a man like Ittai?

In any case, Timnath seemed secure enough—or so we thought at the time—and my only concern was getting Delai there and back safely. Had she forgotten the troubles we experienced taking her to
Gath
and
Gaza
, back when she was on her way ultimately to
Egypt
? And those were much more settled times. What could possibly make her want to go to Timnath—so close to where her husband had been killed?

“But…
why
?” I asked her.

She looked to Ibbi for a second, as if to get his permission to speak. “There’s a temple there, Phicol…a
temple
of
Ishtar-Astarte
.”

I was about to protest that there are temples of Astarte all over the country, and she guessed my thoughts: “It’s a very important temple, Dear Cousin…one where Astarte’s worshiped in the…well, according to the ancient rites…. It’s the only one in
Philistia
, and it’s where Ibbi is well known. He believes that I shall find peace there. Please, Phicol—it’s very important to me.”

I knew better than to get involved in a discussion concerning the “ancient” rites of Inanna, also known as Astarte, or Ishtar, or Hathor, or…. Yes, now that she’d mentioned it, I recalled that Timnath was a center of Assyrian and Babylonian mercantile activity, and Ishtar’s
Temple
there was in the hands of Babylonian resident foreigners. That must have been how the Goddess’s “ancient” ritual came to
Philistia
. But I didn’t ask about that; and there was no point even in further argument—because I could see that her mind was made up.