The Philistine Warrior (48 page)

In such fashion, the weeks turned into months. Our contentment was completed a year and a half after leaving
Philistia
: I mean by the birth of our first child, a boy! I knew, naturally, that the baby would face an uncertain future, and that his very existence, if known to Zaggi, would increase that uncertainly. Yet I pushed such thoughts into the back of my mind as I gazed on the cherub, with manly pride.

Delai took my hand; she seemed shy for some reason. “Darling,” she began, “would you be displeased if we named this child so as to carry on the name of poor Akashou?”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Sweetheart,” I replied. “But perhaps there should be something unique about his name, a translation of his Egyptian name, Akashou, into the Philistine?”

“Well, then, let’s call him ‘Achish,’ the Philistine equivalent of ‘Akashou’?”

Now, “Achish” also happened to be a variant of “Ekosh”; both versions derive from the Trojan name “Anchises,” who was a comrade in arms of our great King Nomion—and of his brother, Prince Nastes, who fought and died to defend the walls of Troy.

“Achish,” then, harkened back to the earliest times of our tribe’s migration to
Canaan
.

“Perfect, my dear,” I exclaimed. “He’s a strong and healthy baby, worthy of such a splendid name!”

“Goddess Inanna has blessed us richly, dearest Phicol,” she concluded—and I kissed them both.

Later, Ibbi helped in the naming ceremony, and then he consulted his omens. He announced that great things would be accomplished by Achish and his descendants—and that the name would be preserved from generation to generation.

In my own mind, I made light of Ibbi’s latest prophecy. I laughed inwardly at the clay models of sheeps’ livers, and the other apparatus by which he foretold the future. How could Achish become great as the son of exiles? I wondered. There was a trace of bitterness in my silent laughter. Ibbi had, after all, been promising great things for Delai’s children, ever since she was in Egypt—and so far, two of them had died…. But such thoughts were usually only for late at night; they weren’t allowed to interfere with our customary peace and joy.

We did hear from time to time of events in
Philistia
; Ibbi had maintained contacts with his co-religionists in Timnath, and there were also a number of trade caravans per month, and they sometimes brought news of the outside world. And once in a while I would attend staff briefings given by the Grand Vizier. The reports we received indicated that, as we’d expected, Zaggi and Warati had become increasingly heavy-handed—especially Warati. They had attempted, with middling success, to conquer yet more territory from

the Judaeans in the foothills; yet they weren’t up to another war with the Danites. And they had increased their oppression of the plains Canaanites within
Philistia
’s boundaries—oppression as never before. We heard, too, of discontent among the older nobility, especially in
Gaza
, because of Warati’s tyranny.

Still, it all seemed so far away, almost as if from some foreign kingdom—rather than from our homeland. True, Delai sometimes gazed wistfully to the west, longing for the smell of salt water, the sights of home. And occasionally I yearned for action and glory. But for the most part, we were happy with our lot. Within a year of our arrival in
Assyria
, I was promoted to the rank of full colonel in His Imperial Majesty’s service.

Months turned into years, as I have indicated. Then, one summer day, almost three years after our departure from Askelon, we were sitting on our porch in the cool of the evening, drinking cooler drinks and playing with little Achish, when we saw a wagon approaching our house. Before long, we saw Priest Ibbi dismounting from his vehicle; he hurried up to where we sat.

“Where’ve you been these past weeks?” I asked him. He’d been gone longer than we’d expected—since he’d said that he was going only to Ashur, and only for a short visit.

“Lord Phicol, I’ve been in Ashur, as I told you, but something else came up—and so I’ve brought a visitor! With that, he pointed to his wagon; from it emerged, slowly, painfully, the white-haired Amphimachus, High Priest of Dagon in Askelon!

Delai ran to him and embraced him excitedly. I followed close behind and clasped his hand. “Sir, it’s wonderful to see you!” I exclaimed. Only then did I realize how much I’d longed for a familiar—Philistine—face.

“My Lord, Your Majesty, this will be one of my fondest memories—seeing you both again,” the old man replied.

I chuckled: “Oh, we don’t use such high-sounding titles here—not even our real names, in public!”

Delai tugged at his sleeve: “Look what we have here!” she said in glee, exhibiting our baby.

The child was duly admired. “My goodness,” Amphimachus marveled, and he held Achish up high to get a good look. “What a fat and jolly fellow you are!” Achish squealed, and we beamed with joy.

We brought out chairs for both priests—soft and welcome after a long, jouncing wagon ride. Amphimachus held Achish on his lap and listened as Delai explained all about babies, their care and feeding. A slight indiscretion on Achish’s part ended that phase of the conversation; so, after calm had been restored, I asked the obvious question:

“But what brings you here, Lord Amphimachus? Don’t tell me you’ve been exiled, too!” A note of anxiety crept into my voice.

“I bring startling news, and I gather you haven’t heard it yet,” he began. “Melek Zaggi is dead!”

Delai and I both caught our breath: “Dead?” I exclaimed.

“Yes—and by suicide. After a successful rebellion against him.”

“Holy Dagon!” I swore. “How did that occur?”

“He went too far, at long last. He demanded unrestricted control over the national army—and then he jailed some of his opponents without just cause, or even a hearing. And, to top it all off, he declared
as law
that his elder son must inhereit the throne, even without an election. Then he put the three children descended from Melek Nasuy under house arrest. We all feared for their lives. So, Ittai of Ekron—as the Sheren of longest tenure—headed a group of nobles who protested Zaggi’s behavior….”

“Ittai finally turned against him, eh?” I noted.

“Yes, even Ittai! Well, then a fever broke out in
Gath
—lots of people died. And one day Zaggi announced that Nasuy’s grandson—in captivity, remember—that he’d died of the fever!”

“My God!” I blurted out…and Delai took hold of my hand.

Amphimachus went on: “At first, Zaggi claimed—as I say—that the child had died of disease….” Delai’s grip on my hand tightened. “But suspicion naturally pointed at the Melek, and people

then recalled the all-too-convenient death of Prince Akashou. At the height of this spasm of suspicion, Zaggi appeared before the nobility of
Gath
. He accused Sheren Ittai of engineering the murder of Nasuy’s grandson, and of framing
him
for the crime.”

“This is incredible,” I ventured. “But what then?”

“Indeed! Worse: Zaggi produced a servant and claimed that
he
was the killer—a paid agent of Ittai. Ah, but, unfortunately for Zaggi,
another
servant of Nasuy’s household managed to escape to Ekron—and, in a fit of remorse, he—this second servant—he confessed that
he
had poisoned the child on Zaggi’s orders. In the meantime, the first servant, the one accused by Zaggi, got spirited out of
Gath
by some of Ittai’s agents—and
he
appeared in public to deny Zaggi’s charges. It was a fine mess, I’ll tell you.”

“Ittai’s become more cunning—or more effective at being cunning—than I could have imagined,” I commented. “Did the truth ever emerge?” I put my arm around my wife; the talk of child-murder had upset her quite a bit.

Amphimachus resumed his tale: “The truth finally did emerge, Phicol. Zaggi was so unpopular by then that most people believed him to be guilty. But nothing could be proved. It was, after all, the word of the Melek against that of two mere servants. Zaggi’s guilt wasn’t established beyond question until
after
the success of the rebellion—after Zaggi killed himself, leaving behind a document confessing his guilt!”

“But how did the rebels win without such a confession? Didn’t Zaggi have the Army on his side?”

“Well, in theory he did. But, as I say, most everyone was displeased with him, even before the affair of the murdered child. And when they became convinced that Zaggi’d killed Nasuy’s grandson, even without the confession, yet, the nobles of
Gath
and Askelon rose in rebellion.
Ashdod
joined them; and, of course, Ekron had long been against him, because Sheren Ittai was behind the whole thing.”

“Was there much bloodshed?” I asked.

“No. Zaggi’s friends deserted him much too fast for that. Your old nemesis, Pai, was also in on the plot to overthrow Zaggi. He became Sheren of Askelon, you know, after you returned the insignia—you must have heard about that?”

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “We heard. What a wretch he was,” I sneered.

“Well,” Amphimachus replied, “all things considered, Pai wasn’t a bad Sheren. Our commerce certainly prospered. Anyway, he deserted Zaggi just as quickly and just as craftfully as he’d joined him—back when you were forced into exile. The rebellion received support from Pai’s merchants, of course; but the rest of the commons had nothing to do with it. Except for Pai’s merchants, it was entirely an affair of the nobility—which is actually as it should be,” he noted.

“Certainly,” I added.

“The masses, you see, didn’t have time to get involved: Zaggi soon found himself cornered in his palace, and he committed suicide; so it was all over.”

Delai spoke: “Won’t there ever be an end to all this?” she cried, gripping my hand, on the verge of tears. “Our House is as cursed as the House of Troy—and of Agamemnon!”

“Well,” Amphimachus began again, “it was obvious to everyone that Zaggi was going to kill off all possible opponents to his regime—and enemies, or potential enemies, of his blood line,” he explained, as if to justify the rebellion. I don’t think Delai was much comforted by that idea. “Of course, we would’ve done no more than exile him—if even that—if it hadn’t been for the murder of Nasuy’s grandson. For all we knew, he’d kill the two little great-granddaughters next. So it was the murder which made our revolution inevitable—and made its success inevitable, too, even before the death-bed confession. I think the rebels would’ve executed Zaggi if they’d taken him alive—and had his confession in their hands; evidently, Zaggi thought so, as well, and killed himself before anyone could read his confession. I mean, he wanted his confession to be known, but he wanted to kill himself…without anyone’s help!”

“Uncle Zaggi…,” Delai began, more wistfully than in pain; “I never really liked him…but I sort of loved him once…and he seemed

at one time to be an honorable man.” Then she did begin crying, and I held her close to me. After all, Zaggi had been, in effect, her father—she couldn’t even remember her real father, Pinaruta.

“I saw ambition getting the better of him over a long period of time,” I remarked. “I remember once when he was drunk—but, never mind; it’s not important.”

“What happened to Zaggi’s wife and sons?” Delai asked.

Amphimachus sighed: “They’re well, and under the protection of the Sheren of Gath, as are Nasuy’s great-granddaughters, now. But there’s still trouble—or there was when I left
Philistia
.
Gaza
is in turmoil. Warati set out to save Zaggi, though too late, and the wrath of the Gazan nobility got finally turned against him—and this time it wasn’t just a matter of quarreling over taxes! Alas, the Gazan commoners stood by Warati, and so he was able to crush the nobles within the city walls. The leaders of the rebellion then escaped from
Gaza
; they joined with Ittai’s forces, and now they’re demanding Warati’s resignation and exile—or his death. When I left, he was holed up in
Gaza
—standing off, defying, all
Philistia
.” He paused. “But the good part is yet to be told!”