The Philistine Warrior (43 page)

“It’s no use, Jaita. I can’t prove anything about that, either—and then I’d just have to write another bunch of retractions.” Good old Jaita wasn’t pulling any punches; I’d asked for the truth, and he was giving it to me. “So what else are they saying?”

He leaned back and smiled a bit, cynically. “I think I did manage to deflate some of Warati’s charges against you. He spoke to a meeting of the Gazan nobility—he said you are…let me see, how did he put it? That you’re insubordinate…and impious….”

“How can a sovereign sheren be ‘insubordinate’?” I shot back. “And if piety equals superstition, then I’m proud to be impious!”

Jaita smiled some more. “By ‘insubordinate,’ m’Lord, he means
before
you became Sheren. Anyway, no one took him very seriously on that score—especially when I explained to them, in private, about the way Sheren Ittai treated our charioteers during the Danite War. And, as for the religious matter—well, that doesn’t bother them much, either; they think you’re a bit of a crank—if I may say so—but a lovable crank. And I pointed out that you have the respect and affection of High Priest Amphimacus.”

“Was that all he said? Nothing about Samson’s child, I assume. “Or about Samson himself?”

“No, sir. Warati and Zaggi seem to be keeping quiet about that…unless there’s something I haven’t heard.” He paused. “Oh, but what I’ve been meaning to tell you is that Warati
also
accused you of being professionally incompetent, as an officer!”

“‘Incompetent!’” I exclaimed. “Why, that bastard! What does he mean?”

Jaita sipped his drink. As usual, he found politics quite hilarious, no matter how important. “Well, sir, he’s criticized your part in Ittai’s campaign—but there wasn’t anything new in that. Then he condemned your handling of the
Battle
of Mareshah….”

“On what grounds, may I inquire?” My teeth clenched.

“According to him, he was winning the battle; but, he says,
you
risked everything by not telling him where you were, or what you were going to do. He says you should have submitted to his command—and been on the battlefield with him from the beginning. He maintains that, because of your pride, the Danites
almost
drove him back into Mareshah—with heavy casualties.”

I laughed. “Somehow that doesn’t make it sound like he was ‘
winning’
at all, does it? By God, Jaita, when I write my memoirs, the world will know about that battle, how it really occurred…and why I couldn’t possibly have cooperated with that idiot!”

“Yes, sir,” Jaita replied.

“We know what would’ve happened if I’d placed myself under Warati’s orders,” I continued. “Look at what he did with the chariots he did have, on loan from
Gath
—sent them in driblets into battle, or used them as unhorsed strongpoints for his infantry! Besides, even if we hadn’t caught the enemy at such a disadvantage, there wouldn’t have been any big disaster. Granted, there wouldn’t have been any big victory, either—I mean, if Warati’d been forced back into Mareshah before I arrived—but there wouldn’t have been a disaster. Unless Warati’s willing to admit that his men were on the verge of panic—and even I wouldn’t say
that
about his soldiers! What’s more, if I had told him where I was and what I was doing, could I have trusted him, and Ittai—who would’ve been informed—trusted them to safeguard the secret of my maneuver? How could I, a sovereign sheren, have submitted to his orders? And there wasn’t time for a conference!”

Jaita grinned his famous grin yet again—by which he meant that the truth hardly mattered in politics. Then we were interrupted by Queen Delai, who came to join us in the fresh air. Jaita rose and saluted Her Majesty.

“It’s good to see that you’re back from
Gaza
,” she told him. “Safe and sound.”

I outlined our discussion up to that point, cursing Warati as I did. But Jaita announced that there was yet more: “Warati also says, my Lord, that even on the
tactical
level you were mistaken. He argues that you should’ve hit the Danites on one of their flanks, instead of in their rear. That way, he claims, we could’ve rolled ‘em up with fewer casualties. Well, I talked to some of the young nobles later. I told them that I was there with you at Mareshah, and that Warati’s accusation is ridiculous. I think I did some good, though it was hard to find a completely sympathetic audience, except in Askelon; yet the best families in
Gaza
are willing to listen to reason—they hate Warati, of course, and they won’t even pay their taxes!”

But I wanted to get back to the Battle of Mareshah: “Naturally, a man like Warati would parrot the text-book solution: chariots should hit flanks. Granted, ideally. But you remember the ground, Jaita—we would’ve been forced to maneuver in full sight of the enemy to get on either of their flanks, and that would’ve given them time to get their reserves into position, and maybe break up our charge. Their flanks were well placed, you’ll recall—lapping around Warati’s flanks. The whole beauty of our charge was that it caught the Danites by surprise and scattered their reserves—and then we hit their rear, causing their whole line to disintegrate. We had to accept casuaties to achieve such a spectacular victory. Besides, except in horses, our casualties weren’t all that heavy,” I concluded.

Jaita nodded; he’d evidently been over it all in his arguments with the Gazans. “Yes, sir, that’s the way it was…and most of the officers in
Gaza
will allow that your tactics were correct. They realize that Warati’s no chariot leader. But—and, again, you know, I’m not talking about the really high-ranking nobles—again, many of the lower-ranking people who weren’t there still disapprove of your strategy, of not coordinating everything with the Melek, or Zaggi—if not with Warati. And they’re
all
unhappy with your politics…and I don’t think your letters of retraction will change that very much…I’m sorry to have to tell you all this….” He took another sip of his drink.

“I appreciate your honesty, Jaita. So…in that case,” I went on, “we’ll have a hard time getting allies in
Gaza
, even among those who don’t like Warati.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “I came out on top in the debate over the technical military stuff—including the Battle of Mareshah—and, even in my arguments concerning your strategy, I achieved a kind of stalemate. But I’m afraid the accusation about Prlince Akashou—and the threat to withhold recognition from Zaggi’s election—I’m afraid that’s all colored their views a lot.” He paused, then turned to Delai: “Your Majesty, I apologize for mentioning Prince Akashou…it must be difficult for you to hear his name, even…I know it’s hard for me to speak it….”

“That’s all right, Major Jaita,” she answered. “We can’t avoid the past…we can’t let our mourning distort our deliberations….” Then she turned to me: “Phicol, what’s the point of arguing with Warati over that battle? Of course he’s wrong, but he and Zaggi have enough power to browbeat Askelon and the Gazan nobles—and Major Jaita says even some of
them
take Warati seriously….” She paused.

Jaita continued her train of thought: “As you say, Your Majesty: the older, higher nobility in
Gaza
, they’re afraid to ally themselves with Lord Phicol; even those who hate Warati. And some of the younger noble families—newly enriched, newly ennobled—they’re ardent fans of Warati and Zaggi, the authors of their bloodstained riches! In
Gath
,
Ashdod
, and Ekron…I’m afraid…hardly anyone supports Lord Phicol. I hate to say it—”

I interrupted him: “It’s even worse than you think, Jaita. While you were away, I learned that a lot of people in Askelon have turned against me—in the countryside, among the rural nobility, I mean. My only solid support comes from the great nobles of the city itself. I don’t think the merchants have much opinion either way, yet…but I know Zaggi’s been playing up to them lately. I just don’t know for sure about them….”

We sat there, watching the
Mediterranean
rolling in and out; it was a beautiful day. Finally, I said, mostly to Delai: “You’re right.

There’s not much point in trying to change anyone’s views on the political quarrel with Zaggi. It just—I mean, it really stings to have my victory at Mareshah so misrepresented, though I know that’s about politics, too. God damn it, if I’ve done
one
thing right in this past year, it was that battle! Delai took my hand and squeezed it; she understood…and I smiled back at her.

Jaita looked into my eyes. Despite his youth, despite his congenial, cynical manner, he was completely serious now: “We who were there, sir—your charioteers—we’ll never forget how it was. And someday the truth will win out over the gossip. We’ll stand by you, sir!”

A lump came to my throat. “Thank you both,” I said. Shortly after that, he took his leave.

After he left, I put my arm around Delai. “You’ve been wonderful through this whole goddamned mess,” I told her. She squeezed my hand again, and we watched the ocean for a while. She leaned her head on my shoulder. “Delai,” I began again, hesitating, “I don’t want to seem conceited or too sensitive over all this business…about the battle, I mean….”

“No, my dear,” she replied, “you’re quite right to be upset.” She cast her eyes down and put one hand up to her cheek.

But I wanted to say more—what I hadn’t been able to say for all those months: “You see, as I just said, it’s the one thing I really did right in the recent wars…”

“Phicol, how can you say that? You helped salvage our fortunes during Ittai’s campaign into the hills. You helped save
me
from Samson, there in Timnath—after I got myself in real, overwhelming danger…and you saved me again from that falling roof where Samson died…. Please don’t feel so bad about those letters, accusing Zaggi of Akashou’s death….”

But I wasn’t to be stopped now, from saying what was preying even more deeply on my mind: “I mean that I failed…failed to protect your husband, my King….”

She put her lips up to my cheek: “Please, darling….”

“And I let you go to Timnath…if only…if I hadn’t insisted on telling Rachel that lie….”

“I know, my dearest….”

“She and the child might still be alive….”

She kissed me and held me tight. “Please, darling, don’t feel that way. I don’t blame you. You did your best—and Rachel wasn’t in her right mind, poor dear. I was the one who insisted on going to Timnath,” she repeated; “and I was the one who demanded that Samson’s child must live, against all reason….”

“Ibbi must share the blame for Timnath,” I began, but she cut me off:

“No, dear Cousin; he only advised. I made the demand—and to spare the baby’s life, too….”

Now it was my turn to kiss her, and we embraced; there were tears on her cheek, but her lips and mine pressed in warm caress. It was the first time we’d ever kissed like that—as more than close cousins, I mean, and I felt overcome with love. All those months, now two years, since that morning I saw her in the ocean’s spray…I’d loved her and hadn’t known it, couldn’t let myself know it. But now I knew.

Delai still cried. “Phicol, do you want to know why I really feel bad?” I held her to me. “It’s because…because I can’t stop myself from thinking that it…it’s better this way, better that Samson’s baby died….” And now tears came to my eyes as well, as she went on: “Phicol…I still feel bad about Samson, too. He was like some lumbering, trusting child, and I betrayed him, a dishonorable set of lies—and now I can’t even feel sorry, anymore, that his baby died…I’m sorry only for Rachel.”

Then I told her, with words I’d never used before: “I love you, Delai….” She looked up at me and hugged my neck; we held each other for a long time.

Finally, she looked down, shyly, and snuggled up to my chin. “I love you, too, dear Phicol.” She smiled, relaxing in my embrace. “I’ve always loved you, I think…but I had to be married to Ekosh