The Philistine Warrior (45 page)

Delai then took hold of my arm; I knew immediately what she was about to say—she was going to interfere with my honor…and I

knew that I would allow it…. “Phicol, damn it, I’m not going
anywhere
without you! Are you going to let politics destroy us all?” (I hadn’t expected that much anger.) “What about
me
, Phicol? Politics mean ‘duty’ and ‘honor’ to you, but what do you think they mean to me? I’ll tell you what they mean to me. They mean that I got auctioned off in marriage to a man old enough to be my father, and then some—a man I’d never seen, and five hundred miles away. That’s the price of noble birth, isn’t it? But if I’d been a peasant girl, it would’ve been the same. Only the politics would’ve been village politics, and my price would’ve been a few
cows
instead of a fortune in jewels!”

“But…Delai—I thought you
loved
King Ekosh….”

“Yes, I was lucky to be sold to a wonderful man. Yes, I loved him. But if politics had decreed it, I’d have been sold to any old slob of a prince or noble, even to a foreigner! So I was lucky, and I settled down in Egypt with him—I was homesick, I was lonely because Ekosh was always out of town, but I was secure, I was getting to like Egypt, and I had a few friends, and Rachel; and I loved my husband. Then politics came in again, and it became somebody’s duty to spy on us, and somebody else’s duty to kill Menena, and Rachel’s duty to kill my baby, and….” She choked back tears, hot and bitter tears, but I didn’t know how to interrupt. “And as for Samson…it became my duty to betray him, and risk my life to help get him captured, when I could have been saved with a lot less danger if we’d just killed him in Timnath. But no, it was somebody’s duty to take him alive, and then we had to connive to keep a new and innocent life secret because somebody’s
duty
demanded its death! Oh, and I forget, it was

Samson’s duty to pull down a roof and kill some more people, because his god told him to kill…to…to…well, I’m sick of it, Phicol—
sick
of
it
!” Her face was red, her eyes burning.

I’d expected her to cry, to beg me to take her away; but I hadn’t expected all that! I had to say something. “I’m sorry, Delai…I’m sorry,” I stammered. Ibbi and Amphimachus, old bachelors that they were, had been no more prepared than I—for what I can only describe as a domestic quarrel on the subject of justice and duty…on one level,

but much more important on another….. They were very embarrassed.

And then Delai did break down and begin to sob, and I wanted to hold her; but the High Priest spoke, pleading with me: “Phicol, please don’t stay in Askelon. You can’t win, and it’ll only mean bloody reprisals—your nobles persecuted, a new Canaanite rebellion, perhaps—and to no purpose, because we’re outnumbered terribly. You must think of your honor, I know; but you must also think of this: you mustn’t let yourself get killed. You’re the last remaining adult hope of
Philistia
—or at least of those who haven’t yet lost their senses. Please listen, Phicol. Sooner or later—and probably before long—Zaggi’s ambitions will get the better of him, and he’ll lose his touch; he’ll reveal himself as a heavy-handed dictator, and
then
it will be your turn to risk life and limb, to fight, when something might be gained! Remember, now, I’ll say again, that—except for Zaggi himself—you’re the only adult male left in the House of Nomion. It’s your
duty
—if Delai will pardon that expression—it’s
your
duty to Philistia, to your dynasty, and to Dagon and Astarte, your duty to stay alive for that day of reckoning with Zaggi
which will
come
. At least, Phicol, don’t throw your life away in some brave but futile gesture. You have a duty, also, to Delai, your future wife; you must get her away from here, else she might fall into Zaggi’s hands…and live for who knows how long as his prisoner, however luxurious the prison might be…if he doesn’t decide to poison her in secret out of spite…and out of fear of Ibbi’s prophecy….”

There was a pause. I muttered, “How the hell did I get into this mess?” But I had a pretty good idea how. Neither Fate, nor Zaggi, was entirely to blame…but my
pride
, my temper, had a share as well. Is that what the story-tellers mean when they say that the gods do not favor pride—when it goes beyond the rightful claim to fame that any good warrior may legitimately wish for?

Ibbi entered the discussion: “My Lord, please consider Queen Delai’s safety and welfare. The prophecy
will
come true, and, as my Lord the High Priest has pointed out, she must be kept safe, and her safety depends on what you decide to do right now.”

Ordinarily, his reference to that damn prophecy would have made me angry. But it wasn’t just Ibbi; they all were in league against me—me and my stubborn, hotheaded pride. My glance fell upon a little cat, Delai’s pet, as it sauntered into the room, tail stuck straight up in the air. “Well,” I asked the fluffy beast, “aren’t
you
going to add something to the discussion, as well?” I looked Ibbi in the eye and caught the old bastard grinning. I broke out in laughter, embarrassing Amphimachus, I’m afraid—and puzzling Delai, who’d stopped crying by then. Ibbi understood. “All right—I’ll go,” I said at last. “I give up. You’re all too much for me—and your arguments are too good! After all, I’ve made the same kind of case to myself these past hours—but you all have certainly sold it to me!”

They were visibly relieved; Delai came into my arms and I kissed her hair and then her lips; Amphimachus and Ibbi were embarrassed again. Yet there was one last spark of defiance left in me: “But I won’t abdicate as Sheren,” I announced. “I’ll take the insignia of Sherenship with me. And someday, I shall come back—and
then
Zaggi and Warati had better watch out!”

“You’ve made a wise decision, Lord Phicol,” Amphimachus proclaimed; and Delai kissed me again. Actually, I don’t believe the High Priest, or Delai, was much pleased by the idea that I intended to take the insignia with me into exile—but they didn’t press me on that issue, I suppose because they thought I’d given in enough for one day. Amphimachus—or his agents—could always re-visit that issue some other time...during my…
exile
….

And so we turned to the new problem—that of escape….

The next night, with a few trusted aides, I took my party down to the beach. Ibbi was with us—we wanted him to come, of course, and I figured he wouldn’t be safe in
Philistia
from that night on. But

Amphimachus would stay in Askelon. No one knew of his brief—though crucial—role in my decision to leave; nor would anyone dare harm him, for fear of the Goddess Astarte. He would wait in Askelon, and someday, we hoped and expected, he would send word

that I was needed again in
Philistia
. We arranged it so that he could always find me by contacting Ibbi’s co-religionists in Tyre and Timnath; Tyre was the first stop on my way into exile—our way, Delai’s and mine.

As for Major Jaita: he saw us off, but he, too, had elected to remain behind—tainted though he was by contact with me. He would now command the charioteers, and they would someday be the nucleus of my future support. The great noble families of Askelon, fathers of my charioteers, could see to it that Jaita would not suffer on my account. At the most, if a new Sheren got elected (despite not having the ancient insignia), Jaita might be deprived of command over the charioteers. He was willing to take that chance.

We avoided Pai’s docks, and I forbade myself to think about the dishonor and shame of flight. We stepped into the small boat which Jaita had arranged to meet us; then we allowed ourselves to be rowed out into the
Mediterranean
, out of
Philistia
—for how long, we, none of us, could say. We rowed past Astarte’s rock, and I could see the waves turning white as they rolled against it. The last of our homeland; Delai pulled her cape around her.

“Are you cold, my dear?” I asked, and placed my arm around her shoulder.

“A little,” she replied, staring at Astarte’s rock. “About two years ago, my darling—it was a hot morning in the summer—I remember, I played in this very surf…that was the day Uncle Zaggi planned my wedding….”

The fish amulet of the Goddess was still on her wrist, and it caught my eye. Someday, I told myself, I should describe that scene—her seashore playtime—as I had seen it.

“I was a child then,” she went on. “It was a long time ago, but it was only yesterday, it seems now….” Gently the boat rocked us as our sailors pulled at their oars. “It’s just too incredible,” she concluded, and I took her hand in mine.

Soon we reached an awaiting ship, lying out of sight of the nighttime shore. It was a merchantman, heading north to
Tyre
, her captain friendly to our cause because of his religious connections—a follower of Ibbi’s cult, and known also to Amphimachus as an

honorable man. Ibbi had arranged for this journey; we owed that strange little man so much…and I forgave him for the prophecies that had—so far—turned sour. We boarded the ship and admired its build. On the prow was an image of Dagon; the God was portrayed, here, with a fish-tailed body, a mer-man, fitting for the Lord of Sea and Grain, and I remembered that He was also the god of an exiled race—my Philistines; like them in the past, we were now at sea, looking for a new home. Before long, we headed north; our coastline disappeared in the night.

“It’s hard to believe that we may never return,” I said—and felt surprised to hear myself say it. “It’s not the
Philistia
we knew and loved, not any more…perhaps never again.” And yet it was also hard to believe that we would never see our home once more.

“We can remember it as it was, at least,” Delai replied, close to tears. “And we have each other now….”

I held her close as we stood by the rail. The chilly air, the cloudy night, the slapping of water on the beam, reminded us that this ocean, too, was home to our race; that long before us, our forefathers had also gone into exile on the high seas—but, finally, they had found their new home. “I love you, Delai,” I murmured; she pressed against me. All the time she’d been Princess, Queen, widow, pregnant, I’d been unable to think of love.

She looked up at me: “I’ve always loved you, ever since we were children; and now I know that Divine Inanna wants us to love each other.”

“You won’t be a queen anymore,” I remarked.

“I won’t even be a Philistine,” she laughed, but there were tears on her cheek. “Yet I’ll love you, my dearest.”

I laughed, too, with a trace of bitterness in my throat: here was Divine Inanna again, willing the latest event—and, as usual, the Goddess was most correct in Her predictions whenever She willed whatever had
already happened
. Then I kissed Delai and we held each other for a long time, while the mist got in our hair and made the warmth of our embrace so pleasant to feel in the night.

As we sailed to
Tyre
, I wondered what everyone was thinking about back home…what was being said of us—by Zaggi and all the rest. Again, I toyed with the idea of writing a memoir, lest Zaggi and Warati would have it all their way in our chronicles. It was a funny thought, and the further we got from Askelon the funnier it seemed. Yet
somebody
with an interest in truth, with a grain of honesty left in him, somebody had better write down the story of our dynasty, our nation, and our race—the way it really was, before Zaggi and Warati got their hands on it all. I’d hate to see my people known to future generations only through the official chronicles of Melek Zaggi’s court. That might be worse than being forgotten altogether.

The only thing worse than either of those fates would be—and may Dagon forbid it!—would be if we Philistines came to be remembered only in the chronicles of our bitterest enemies, the Danites and Judaeans. I shudder to think what they—or the Greeks, for that matter—might have to say about us.

We reached
Tyre
and stayed there for several weeks, hidden away in a Temple of Ishtar-Astarte. From there, we conducted long-range negotiations—through Ibbi’s associates—with representatives of the Assyrian Emperor, Tiglath-Pileser, in hopes that he would grant us asylum. Meanwhile, news began to filter into our sanctruary—news from
Philistia
. We heard that Zaggi was beside himself with rage over our escape—and especially because I’d taken the insignia of the Sheren of Askelon with me. But our whereabouts remained unknown to him, partly because we’d planted clues pointing to
Egypt
as our place of refuge. Supposedly, we’d planned to be taken in by old comrades of Ekosh in Pharaoh’s court. I enjoyed myself in my (enforced) leisure hours, imagining Zaggi’s impotent wrath.