The Philistine Warrior (33 page)

The
Battle
of Mareshah

Bene’s mother, wife of Nomion, long waited for her son;

For years she had not seen him;

Now the rumor was that he had died. And many times

She stood there by her lattice; many times she

Cried: “Why is my son late in coming? How I yearn to

Hear his chariot arrive!”

But all her tears Death’s sad work could not undo; not in

All her years.

--the
Nomiad
, Stanza XLVI

We didn’t return to Askelon, as Delai had hoped, but headed straight from Timnath to
Gath
. There, Maoch and Zaggi awaited us—and our prisoner. Delai wanted her baby in her arms again, and so we sent word ahead to have Prince Akashou brought from Askelon to
Gath
.

Even before we entered the city gates, we spotted the Melek and his Chancellor; those two, with a host of retainers, had journied out to welcome us, so anxious were they to see the captive Samson.

“My Lord, by the dust they raise, I think all of
Gath
must be with them!” one of my charioteers exclaimed.

“Yes, good news brings out all sorts of people,” I muttered; but no one heard me. As the two parties approached each other,

Warati and I drove up to hail our sovereign lord of lords: “Greetings, Your Majesty!” I called to Maoch—knowing it would annoy Zaggi not to be included in my salutation. I noticed that my uncles didn’t have any other sherens with them—not Ittai of Ekron, of course, but neither was Makamaru of Ashdod, nor even the Sheren of Gath, with them. Zaggi didn’t like equals, much less superiors, except for his brother, Maoch, for whom he had a genuine fondness, I think—as well as respect, for his rank, if not his person…so long as Maoch listened to his advice….

“Hail, Phicol of Askelon,” Maoch called back. “Congratulations on your magnificent deed!”

Warati arrived on the scene to receive a pointedly warm welcome from Zaggi (after Maoch’s congratulations, of course).

Then the wagon containing Delai drove up. Zaggi greeted her with joy: “Queen! Niece! Thank the gods you’re safe!” They embraced, but her returning smile was weak—because her thoughts were elsewhere.

Watching their reunion, Ibbi and I stood near each other. The ordeal which Delai had suffered had wrapped her in gloom, and the feeling was still with her. Yet something else disturbed me: “Priest,” I whispered to Ibbi, “I dared not hope that even the coming reunion with Akashou would bring back joy to her heart—but she’s more hurt than I had expected. It’s gotten worse, not better…at least in Timnath she seemed determined and alert; now she appears sick and weak….”

“True, m’Lord. But Queen Inanna has promised that her child will restore her happiness one day,” the Chaldean answered.

Meanwhile, beaming with pride, Zaggi continued: “Dear Niece, the Melek has decided that you must live as a Queen should, and in comfort learn to forget the horrors of the past months. We are all profoundly grateful for the role you played in the capture of Samson.” At that, Delai winced; perhaps the memory of inviting Samson to marry her…even as a mere stratagem…was more painful than she could bear. But Zaggi didn’t notice her reaction. Decked in finery, speaking for the Melek, he put on a public performance, not only for us Philistines, but also for the Canaanite servants who had gathered outside the city walls and stood nearby. “The Melek,” Zaggi

continued, “has therefore decreed that a permanent and queenly income be established for you.”

He unrolled a scroll and announced a truly enormous sum of money, which would enable her to live in royal style. Eleven thousand pieces of silver from Maoch, 11,000 more from Zaggi and each of the sherens, plus a mansion in Gath—and a summer house in Askelon, by the sea she loved so much; all of this would be hers.

Will that comfort her? I wondered. Or will it make her memories all the more bitter? I hadn’t been consulted about the gift of money in my name, and that was an outrageous affront on Maoch’s, that is, Zaggi’s, part. But I brushed the insult aside; I would’ve given Delai the world had it been mine to bestow, and I certainly didn’t object to 11,000 pieces of silver. “Fantastic,” I commented to Ibbi. “The only way our Chancellor can think is in terms of money and power. She needs his affection, not a palace—although it pleases me to see her become financially independent of him.”

Ibbi smiled and replied with a mixture of contempt and irony in his voice: “But you see, Lord Phicol, that Zaggi wishes to turn her all the more into a public symbol of the unity of your people, thereby enhancing the Melek’s—and his—prestige. And she’s to be a symbol of death, as well…to the Danites and their Canaanite friends. That’s why he speaks so now, in front of all these Canaanite servants. He knows that everything he says will be repeated in the bazaars of
Philistia
. The story of Samson and Delai will be carried to all
Canaan
. You heard the whispers of the crowd as we were arriving, I suppose—at least the Canaanites didn’t mind
my
overhearing them. They say that Delilah—that’s how her name’s pronounced in their tongue—that ‘Delilah’ is now known to have been the bait used by the Philistines to trap him.”

“May the gods protect us,” I swore. “This is terrible! Don’t you see—but of course you do—that in song and legend it will be forever proclaimed that Delai played the harlot and betrayed their Judge! And now Zaggi is
paying her
for that ‘prostitution’! No matter the truth: that he raped her; that he kidnapped her…that she

did only her patriotic duty, as well as her duty to the shade of King Ekosh. And saved herself.” My temper began to rise.

“Precisely, my Lord,” Ibbi replied. “But let’s not forget that the Goddess must also be given Her due. She cannot be pleased with the Chancellor, who’s ignored Her. He should have hailed
Her
,

Inanna, as the true author of Queen Delai’s rescue…but all he did was make a platitudinous reference to all the deities…. Nor do I trust him. His enthusiasm for Her Majesty today is much too great to be real. Take care, Lord Phicol,” he concluded.

“What do you mean? Is Delai in danger?” I was puzzled to the point of anger.

“Divine Inanna wills that Her Majesty must live,” the priest answered. “And that the fruit of her womb must one day reign in all
Philistia
. But take care, my Lord. The Chancellor’s ambitions may offend the Goddess.”

I felt annoyed by the habitually cryptic way in which Ibbi pronounced his prophecies. But our conversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion. I turned to see what was going on—and there stood Sheren Warati by an overturned wagon, holding the fettered Samson’s arm.

“Philistines!” the grizzled Philistine warrior roared, “and Canaanites, too! Here is your Mighty Samson, terror of our land—bound and helpless, deserted by his god! His magical hair cut off. And now he shall be punished for the death of our King and the kidnapping of our Queen!” With that, Warati brandished a heated iron and proceeded with his long-awaited revenge on the Danite race.

The crowd, Philistine and Canaanite alike, gasped in horror: “His
eyes
!” they screamed.

But the Sheren of Gaza had not yet finished. Ripping the loin cloth from Samson’s thighs, Warati applied his knife, and people strieked again—but they couldn’t drown out the screams of Samson as blood sprang from his groin! The Philistines began to cheer.

“So will perish all the seed of rebellion!” Warati shouted, waving his bloody trophy in the air. And Samson collapsed in pain, fainted away.

“That monster,” I snarled. “I’d gladly kill the Danite; I’d have killed him in Timnath, had I known what Warati planned! But a
soldier’s
death—the sword—not by public torture…a circus…Warati’s no warrior, no true lord of the Philistines. He’s a brute!” And yet, hadn’t the Philistine commoners—of my own race, my own people—weren’t they now cheering Warati’s deed, once recovered from the shock? My hand was on the hilt of my weapon, my knuckles white—and I relaxed only at the gentle touch of Priest Ibbi.

“Patience, my Lord. Your time will come.”

Our attention was called back to the bloody scene: “Heal his wounds,” Warati commanded his men. “If he lives, we shall sacrifice him to Dagon during the Spring festival, three months hence.”

At that moment, Delai hurled herself into my arms, crying, her voice mounting to hysteria: “No more, please—I can’t take any more,” she begged, sobbing. I grit my teeth and wrapped her in an embrace so tight that I forced her convulsions to abate.

Warati prepared to leave with his prisoner, and Zaggi approached us. But before he could speak, a chariot rattled to a stop nearby, its horses glistening with sweat, their eyes wild from their gallop. A dusty-faced messenger shouted for the crowd to clear a way. Another messenger, I thought, and my stomach turned over…. It was Major Jaita himself, and I knew that something extraordinary must have happened, for Askelon to send a field grade officer at breakneck speed to
Gath
.

Dismounting, Jaita rushed over to Melek and Chancellor, shoving people out of his way, his face twisted in agony; he hadn’t even seen me.

“What is it?” Zaggi demanded, annoyed at this interruption of his orgy—his circus of welcome and revenge.

Jaita saluted quickly, automatically: “My Lords,” he gasped, “the baby, Akashou—is dead!” We all fell silent, hoping we hadn’t heard him right. “A fever, as they were getting ready to bring him here,” Jaita continued, and he leaned his hand on Zaggi’s wagon, as if needing support.

“It can’t be!” Zaggi sputtered, choking with emotion; but the look on Jaita’s face told everyone that it was so.

Five seconds of anguish passed; Delai lifted her head from my chest and stared up at me. Turning to Jaita, she reached for him as a child might reach for the hand of a trusted parent…she walked toward him. “There’s been a mistake,” she said quietly. “My baby’s all right…did he miss me while I was gone?” Jaita hadn’t seen her until that moment—and he stepped back, horror struck, falling on his knees before her. “How is my darling, my little Prince?” she asked.

Ibbi grabbed my arm: “My Lord, take her to Askelon!” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll go with you. In a few seconds, she’ll collapse into delirium—she doesn’t know what she’s saying now, but very soon she’ll need my medicine!”

I jerked my arm out of his grasp and seized him by the shoulders. “What have you to say now?” I shouted. “What about your prophecies, you charlatan! What about the greatness you promised for her child?” My face was drained, my teeth and lips compressed; I struggled to keep my hands from clamping around his throat.

But Ibbi looked straight into my eyes with a chilling stare; his hand shot up and shook my jaw: “Don’t blaspheme the Great Inanna,” he commanded. “The prophecy stands—in a way hidden from us all, but it stands! She
will
one day bear greatness!” A pause, and we both relaxed our grips on each other. “But now, for the sake of all that’s holy, my Lord, get her into a wagon, head for Askelon—I must be ready when she needs me! See, she’s wandering, as if in a dream—but her awakening will be terrible!” Everyone was watching us, had heard us—except for Delai, who stood staring out into the grasslands of
Gath
.

I rushed to her side; she met me with a faint smile, and fear took hold of me, fear for her very sanity. I don’t know why, but I spoke to her in something like anger: “He’s gone, Delai!” I shouted. She smiled still, so I took hold of her arms and shouted again “He’s dead!”

She pulled away and answered with matching fury: “I know he’s dead. Don’t tell me!” And then she froze to the spot, head bowed, hands covering her face—yet she didn’t cry.