The Philistine Warrior (44 page)

first, to become a woman, I guess, not a child, before I could love you as more than my cousin, and know that I love you.”

We talked of the future then—of our hopes for peace, and happiness…together—and we soon found that we’d already decided to marry, even without mentioning the word “marriage.” If only, I thought, if only I can take the place of King Ekosh in her heart…and remove the memory of Samson from her soul. But all that would be for another day. In the twilight of that evenling, sitting there by the sea…all of that was for another day.

When the vote was taken—only two weeks later—Zaggi was elected over the opposition of much of the Gazan and almost all of the Askelonese nobility. His victory was inevitable. The question now, we all knew, was how Zaggi’s election would be received in noble—high noble—
Gaza
, and in Askelon in general.

As Melek, Zaggi supported Sheren Warati against the Gazan nobility; together, they declared the opposition nobles to be in rebellion—because of their refusal to pay their taxes. Now Zaggi’s—and Warati’s—popularity among the country gentry and the masses really began to pay off. All those newly enriched families who owed their lands and wealth to the confiscations which Zaggi and Warati had sponsored during the anti-Canaanite bloodbath—all of them now supported Melek and Gazan Sheren.

One by one, the high-ranking nobles of
Gaza
, isolated as they were, submitted—or were arrested. There wasn’t any fighting. Those arrested were assessed a mild fine on top of their back taxes…and sent backs to their homes; a bit shamefaced, but not further molested. Zaggi’s subtle hand could be seen in that policy: Warati would have been much more severe, if left on his own—and he would thereby have provoked a reaction in favor of the delinquent nobles, by his ham-handed brutality. Zaggi was conciliatory…and the Gazan “Revolt of the Nobles” ended with a whimper.

But what about Askelon? After the election, I demanded certain assurances of a constitutional nature from Melek Zaggi. I

wanted him—and the nobility of
Philistia
—to draw up a
written
constitution (we’d never had one before), so that the ancient traditions of our land could be preserved…and guaranteed. I demanded written assurances that each sheren’s sovereignty would be respected. Specifically, I said that, under no circumstances, should the armed forces of a sovereign city be used by the Melek without the consent of the sheren of that city. I further stipulated that Queen Delai must be allowed to remain in Askelon if she wished—and that the Melek must not have the right to order her to come to
Gath
. Nor should the Melek have the right to veto any marriage which she might wish to contract. (My motives there were certainly transparent!)

And finally, I said that, until these conditions were met, I would
delay
recognition of Zaggi’s right to the throne. I was careful to say “delay” rather than “withhold.” Yet an indefinite delay could become the equivalent of refusal, a dangerous thing to contemplate—still, I felt that, only in this way, could I protect Delai, myself, our coming marriage, and, indeed, the ancient liberties of our sovereign cities and of the nobility. Not to mention protecting whatever children I might have by the Queen.

Now, these conditions were hardly outrageous. The sherens had always been sovereign lords, and they’d always had ultimate control over their armed forces. All I was asking was that the traditions be written down—because I knew, better than most, that Zaggi intended to do away with them if he could. A precedent had already been set by King Ekosh (ironically with my help!) whereby the Melek’s powers over military and diplomatic policy had been increased. But that was in a time of emergency. Now it was time to dismantle that precedent, and write down the ancient ways of our land and race. True, Melek Maoch had not been granted the powers which Ekosh had enjoyed; but I wanted to make certain that Zaggi could not regain those extraordinary powers, so recently granted and then taken back. That was all I asked. Who knew when another war might bring about more “emergency” powers…falling into Zaggi’s hands?

On the matter of the Queen’s rights: there were no precedents to speak of, because we’d never had a dowager queen before, except in the case of Nomion’s widow; and the issue of where, and with whom,
that
widow should live never got raised—she lived by her own choice with her son, Melek Piram, and never remarried. Since there were no precedents, it seemed to me entirely appropriate that I should demand that some be established.

The only radical thing about my demands was that I had threatened to delay recognition of Zaggi’s election. Yet I believed that even such an admittedly dangerous ultimatum was justified. After all, Zaggi knew about the prophecy. He was superstitious, and so might take seriously Ibbi’s prediction that an heir of Delai’s body would rule some day—and that might mean that Zaggi’s sons would
not
. Even if Zaggi did not take the prophecy seriously himself, he knew that many people in
Philistia
would. It didn’t matter to him whether I took the prophecy seriously or not; others certainly would. And so, it was hardly beyond mere possibility that Zaggi would try to prevent Delai from re-marrying—or that he might try to kill her, or me, or both, and—or—any new baby she might bear. Hence my demand that she must be free to marry as she chose, and free to remain in Askelon, where she would be more or less safe—and any new child of hers would be safe, certainly safer than in Gath.

The consequences of my demands and “delaying” tactic came all too soon. How could I justify my ultimatum to the public without explaining the whole history of Zaggi’s behavior? My hands were tied, at least insofar as Delai’s rights were concerned. And, as for the political freedoms I wished to protect—well, my fears and demands just didn’t seem, to
Philistia
, to be worth the threat of, in effect, an Askelonese secession!

Therefore, I, too, now got declared to be in rebellion by the new Melek. But only
me
, not Askelon as a whole. Once again, Zaggi was dividing in order to conquer. And once again, he did it with finesse. He even offered me a chance to back down from my stand. So I was left with a dilemma: should I submit, recognize his election, and be left with my title as Sheren—if not my dignity? Or should I resign and retire from politics, and even from the Army? Or should I

stand my ground and prepare for civil war? But that would be immoral—as well as hopeless, given the political odds against me—and, moreover, civil war would have led to more fighting with the Danites and their Canaanite allies.

Late one evening, Delai, Ibbi, and I went over the alternatives, over and over…. “Zaggi offers me a full
pardon
,” I explained, sneering at the word. “My threat to delay recognition will be forgotten. He’ll issue some verbal promise about the ancient liberties, and all that. I’d remain Sheren of Askelon—discredited somewhat…but perhaps in time a more normal situation could be restored….” I was unconvinced by my own words. In my heart, I knew that Zaggi would connive—and probably succeed—in eventually depriving me of all real power, even the title. Wasn’t he determined to make all of the sherens into mere provincial governors, puppets of the monarchy? How could I count on him to keep his promises? He hated me and feared any children I might have by Delai. He had proven himself ruthless, killing one baby and probably two. He knew I would marry Delai as soon as her health recovered. He’d begun his career of infamy long before, with his persecution of his half-brother, Pinaruta, Delai’s father.

Ibbi understood all this, of course. He agreed with my line of thinking, and my fears—fears shared by Delai, much to her distress, especially about the danger to her future children, if any. “Your Majesty, my Lord: the omens are not good. For the safety of both of you, I urge you to leave Askelon….”

I stared at him in a kind of stupor. Submitting to public pressure might be honorable—even though in reality that meant submitting to Zaggi. Fighting might be honorable, though futile. Retirement might be honorable—with the hope that renouncing all claims to any throne on behalf of myself, plus any children I might have; all that might be enough to keep Delai—and those future children—safe from Zaggi’s plots. Yes. Honorable. Maybe. But to
run away
from my home? No. Dishonor. Yet a thought occurred to me: exile, voluntarily entered into, might not be so dishonorable after all…and might be the safest choice for Delai, for us all. I turned to her.

Pale, but fast regaining her strength, she nevertheless seemed simply tired now—tired of going on. “My dear,” she began, anticipating my question, “how much more must be lost to convince you that we are cursed…our family, our land…. We can only cause more bloodshed if we stay and try to fight it out. I want to leave. I’m exhausted…so tired…Phicol, let’s leave, go to
Egypt
, anywhere….I can’t stand the thought that our children—that we—that we’ll have to live in fear of that man…that murderer! What more is there to be gained here? What do honor and duty ask of us now?”

These were the very words which I hadn’t been able to bring myself to say out loud. “I understand,” I told her. There was a long pause.

“My Lord,” Ibbi broke the silence, “someone’s coming down the corridor.” He rose. “If it’s who I think it is, I’ve sent for him, because he has news.” Ibbi opened the door; framed in the lamplight was Amphimachus, white-haired, tall, dignified.

“High Priest!” I exclaimed. The door closed behind him. “Why…?”

“Lord Phicol,” the ancient Philistine replied, “I’ve already told Ibbi earlier today of my fears…and now I’ve learned for certain what will happen….”

“What do you mean?” Delai asked, fear in her voice. I took her hand. The gravity in his voice had alarmed me, too.

“We—you—have friends among the nobility here—and we can count on them to support you and Phicol,” the High Priest told her. “But I also have friends who are opposed to anything that might lead to civil war….” He turned to me now: “Friends who don’t understand why you hate Zaggi so much….”

“Then Ibbi’s told you about the murder of Samson’s child?” I asked him.

“He has. And you’re right: it won’t do your cause any good to reveal the truth about Samson’s child. There’re rumors among the Canaanites—and even among the Philistines—perhaps started by Zaggi, I don’t know…anyway, rumors that Delai
did
have a second child…not Ekosh’s…not Samson’s…but
yours
, Phicol….”

“What?!”

“Yes, and that it was killed—along with its nurse, or a midwife, a girl named ‘Rachel,’ to keep Her Majesty’s reputation—and therefore your political career—safe and sound.” He could sense the growing fury in my eyes, and he held up his hand to stop me from interrupting. “No, my Lord, the truth won’t be believed, except by those few here in Askelon—in the great noble families and their charioteer sons—those few already committed to you and the Queen.

Believe me, to say anything on the subject of the child will only lend credence to that false rumor. And Zaggi would then make that rumor his official line…and the good will everyone has for Delai could easily vanish, at least among many, even some who are now our friends…nor will anyone believe that Zaggi murdered Akashou….”

There was a pause, and then Priest Ibbi spoke: “But, Lord Amphimachus, what about the information which you promised to bring this night?”

Turning to me, the High Priest told us what he knew: “I’ve learned that Zaggi has set in motion a secret mobilization of the armies of
Gath
and
Gaza
. If you don’t submit to his will, utterly and immediately, he’ll send his troops here to arrest you—even to besiege Askelon if necessary. Warati will command them. You’ll be declared an outlaw. What’s more, there’ll be a revolution against you, right here in Askelon, Phicol….”

“Who? When?” I demanded, hotly.

He looked grave and sad. “It’s the Master of the Port, Councilor Pai…Zaggi’s promised a lot to the merchants…and they’re to provide money and arms to the mob…past animosities between Pai and Zaggi have been forgotten….”

“Then Zaggi
has
been cultivating that scoundrel!” I exclaimed, remembering a luncheon date I had once noted between the two, not very long ago. “There’s no hope, then. But I can fight on to the last here—with my old comrades, my charioteers!” (Of course, chariots would be useless against a rebellion within the city.) Then I thought of Delai, dearer to me than my life: “But Delai must escape,” I announced. “Ibbi, you must get her away from here!”