The Philistine Warrior (27 page)

In vain I kept reminding Zaggi and Maoch that the war against the Danites, the war which King Ekosh had planned, must be resumed and given the highest priority. Yet, as things were, even if the truce had ended one way or another, Sheren Ittai would surely have wasted whatever forces we might have lent him. So I insisted that my squadron be withdrawn—or at least be ordered not to follow Ittai’s directions, unless first cleared with us in Askelon. So it was no use even talking about a rational, honorable campaign. Zaggi and all the rest were content—yes, even enthusiastic—to take the easy way: persecution of the Canaanites, rather than the essential, but difficult, task of rooting out the Danites in the north.

From Zaggi’s point of view, you see, it all made sense. After all, our nobles—and even our Philistine commoners—were fast acquiring lands from the dead or enslaved Canaanites. So all the hopes of Ekosh that we could regain the loyalty of our subject Canaanites were now being dashed; Zaggi and Warati were building their power base by encouraging the blood-lust—and the land-hunger—of the Philistines. I’m not saying that many, perhaps even most, of the Canaanites didn’t deserve some punishment, such as higher taxes, or even worse. But their women and children? And the (usually) loyal city Canaanites? Plus those in the countryside who had risked their lives by being loyal to us—and had suffered from Judaean atrocities for that loyalty? Not to mention the families of Canaanite soldiers who had served in
our own
regiments
!

There was nothing I could do. So I withdrew all the rest of my squadron—with Maoch’s grudging approval—from around Ekron, and we encamped on the plains of Askelon. Occasionally we warded off attacks from Judaean bands; but we ignored the Canaanite rebels, leaving them to Philistine militia; the rebels were soon more or less crushed. We wanted no part of the militia or the “law” courts which dealt with the rebels in such a spirit of greed and blood-lust. We were, after all, regular soldiers, and our job was to fight wars, not murder civilians—even when murder got carried out under the “law.”

Mostly, I and my troopers put in our time training. But I couldn’t stay with them all the time, because there was that other matter: the political settlement. Planning for a serious war could not get under way until Philistine race-hatred cooled down—and, more to the point, until a new Melek could be elected. It was this problem that occupied so much of my time.

It took a while, because there was no obvious candidate—as there had been at the death of Melek Nasuy. Ekosh’s baby could not be elected, because an adult leader was needed—and a lengthy regency would not be healthy for our nation at any time, least of all at such a time as this. Nasuy had left an infant grandson, true, but there was no point in considering him, either, and for the same reason. The House of Nomion was bereft of mature males so far as
Gath
was concerned; and the various factions of the nobility there—and throughout
Philistia
—could not agree on a new dynasty. The Gathian nobles could not even agree on a new sheren for their city; nor were the other cities prepared to regard any new Gathian sheren as automatically the new Melek as well. The days of our unity were over.

The problem was without precedent. When Nomion lay dying, he declared that Piram should be Melek of Philistia as well as Sheren of Gath—so there was no election at all. But Piram died without testament, so the Gathian nobility thereupon asserted their right to elect both Sheren and Melek. As it turned out, they chose Nasuy, son

of Piram, for both posts; and they later did the same for Ekosh. But now that the dynasty in
Gath
had run out of mature males, the nobles of the other cities demanded a role in choosing the next Melek.

After all, it was now clear that meleks in the future were going to be much more powerful than in the days of Piram and Nasuy. Therefore, all the country’s nobility must have the right to vote. But this constituted all the more reason to separate the office of Melek from that of Sheren of Gath. Obviously, only the Gathian nobles should have the right to elect their own sheren. So, who would be Melek?

A compromise candidate had to be found. Since the dynastic principle was best, the logical choice was my Uncle Maoch, the eldest male of the House of Nomion. He received the support of Askelon, of course, and also of Ekron and
Gaza
. Maoch was a venerable and inoffensive man, exactly what politics—though not war—required. Above all, he didn’t have any enemies in
Gath
.
Ashdod
went along with the idea, and so Maoch became the Melek of Philistia. But at a high price: the nobility of
Gath
insisted that Maoch resign as Sheren of Askelon—and that he reside in
Gath
, where the meleks had always lived. Furthermore, unlike Piram, Nasuy, and Ekosh, Maoch must be no more than Melek—he was not allowed to be Sheren of Gath as well. A local noble, equally inoffensive and ineffective, got elected to that post.

Needless to say, these precautions were not taken out of fear that Maoch himself might emerge as a dictator. But the nobles were now having second thoughts about the powers which they’d been willing to grant to Ekosh; they feared that this precedent would be irreversible if they granted such powers again. They were well aware of the ambitions of my Uncle Zaggi, who was now the next eldest survivor of the House of Nomion. Everyone knew Zaggi to be strong, competent—and eager for power; they knew that Zaggi would be the power behind Melek Maoch, and they knew that Zaggi might himself someday be the most eligible candidate for the office of Melek itself. All of this explains why everyone agreed to let Maoch take Zaggi to
Gath
to be the Chancellor of all
Philistia
. They knew that Zaggi would influence Maoch in any case, so why not give him the

office of National Chancellor? That would be better than allowing Zaggi to become Sheren of Askelon in his brother’s place, and thus gain even more power. So part of the price for Maoch’s elevation was that Zaggi must withdraw his candidacy for the office of Sheren of Askelon. He agreed to that, in return for the Chancellorship of all
Philistia
. And Maoch agreed because he wanted Zaggi at his side in Gath. And the anti-Zaggi faction was happy to see Maoch and Zaggi in the national offices—because they, the anti-Zaggists, could now commandeer the office of Sheren of Askelon in compensation, on top of the sherenship of
Gath
.

Which in turn explains how I, Phicol, son of Adinai, became Sheren of Askelon! I was next, after Zaggi, in the line of the House of Nomion—and I was known to be opposed to Zaggi, Warati, and Company, even though I was Zaggi’s nephew. The anti-Zaggi faction, therefore, elected me as Sheren of Askelon. The rich merchants, led by Port Master Pai, gave me their support, but mostly I got elected on the strength of my popularity among the older nobility of Askelon, whose sons had been with me in the chariot service. They remembered the abuse we’d suffered from Warati, and they knew that Warati and Zaggi were thick as thieves.

At last, I thought, I could begin some real work. I actually believed that. Well, I was able to moderate the senseless and immoral carnage—and injustice—being done to the Canaanites of Askelon’s plains. (The persecution of our city Canaanites, never very severe in the first place, had already subsided.) Most of all, I began to plan for a real war against the Danites. But even as Sheren, I found that it wasn’t easy to get things done. I was hampered by lack of cooperation from the other cities—especially Warati’s
Gaza
and Ittai’s Ekron—and even from the new Melek and his Chancellor. Nor did I receive much help from the gentry of the countryside. They were too busy digesting their spoils.

And my erstwhile supporters, the merchants, proved themselves, as usual, more interested in money than in glory—or rational war-making. So they hesitated to pay for a new war. Only my followers within Askelon’s city aristocracy backed me up

completely. The rest of my people were happy to have me as Sheren, so long as I didn’t ask them to do anything difficult.

In the meantime, we had to deal with a new problem: the growing legend of that Danite chieftain, Samson, the “Judge,” the murderer of Ekosh. He’d been an obscure, small time leader, known only within a few clans of the Danites, until his assassination of our King. Then he became well-beloved by all the Danites; even the Judaeans way down in the south began to talk of him as the savior of all the Hebrews. The Canaanite rebels, seeing no hope for an accommodation with us—their bloodstained masters—now themselves looked to Samson as the potential leader of every anti-Philistine race and faction.

Something had to be done, because this “Judge” was fast gaining power within Canaan, and it was only a matter of time before he would break Ittai’s truce and fall upon Ekron; then all of Philistia would go up in flames again, and Ekosh’s nightmare—recognition of Dan by Assyria, or Babylonia, or Tyre—might come true.

I brought this matter up with Uncle Zaggi when he visited me in Askelon, shortly after the politicking which made Maoch our King and Zaggi his Chancellor—and me Sheren of Askelon. Zaggi was making a tour of all the Philistine cities at the time, and so, ironically, it was with him that I held my first diplomatic conference as Sheren.

It was enjoyable, in a bitter kind of way—to confer with Zaggi as a more or less equal.

Actually, any sheren—the sovereign lord of a city—might be said to outrank a mere chancellor, albeit the chancellor of all
Philistia
. There had never been a national chancellor before—Piram and Nasuy (and Ekosh) had possessed councilors, of course, and a chancellor for
Gath
, but never a national chancellor. So the protocol wasn’t entirely clear; nevertheless, I accepted equality with Zaggi as sufficient. The most important thing was to forget politics and personality clashes and deal with Danite power—which meant, in the first place, dealing with Samson.

“I’d never heard of Samson before,” I remarked to Zaggi as we settled down to our conference.

He rumpled his brow and fingered an olive. “Neither had I.” He was much agitated over that Danite giant, and I couldn’t quarrel with him over that. “But apparently,” he went on, “at least according to Ittai, Samson had quite a reputation among some of the Danite clans, and even among the Canaanites of the
Sorek
Valley
, even before the assassination. He’s been a ‘judge,’ or war lord, of various bands of Danite raiders for fifteen or more years, but he’s never used his power much in the political sense. He’s committed all sorts of mischief, I’m told—burning harvests, for example—not in outright war, necessarily, but also in raids…and even because of personal grudges against certain peoples; he’s even murdered some of his fellow Danites in his brawls. He caused quite a riot once, according to Ittai.”

“On the surface of it, he sounds more like a rogue than a chieftain.”

“Quite so, Phicol. His loyalty to his own people is open to doubt: he even married a Philistine woman once—or so the story goes. Mostly, he appears to look out for himself and his petty concerns…wenching and killing. He was in Azekah, they say, pursuing one of his amours when Ekosh arrived. The assassination of Melek Ekosh must have come about purely by chance, not by design. Or so we gather….”

“But this pseudo-prankster somehow became a leader—a ‘judge’!”

“By ferocity more than by wisdom, I should say,” Zaggi sniffed.

Of course, I told myself, Zaggi’s—and Warati’s—popularity of late has also come about more by ferocity than by wisdom. But in the interests of my nation, I was trying to stay at least on speaking terms with the Chancellor. “And naturally,” I put in, “his murder of the

Melek has made him prominent. Even the Judaeans and other Canaanites around Askelon—and farther south—know of him now.”

“That’s the problem, my Lord,” he said. (By accident he’d called me that, and I could see that he regretted his slip—legitimate usage though it was! Thereafter, to preserve his dignity, I called him “lord” on occasion; although he was not a sovereign, he was still, after all, an aristocrat of a princely family.) After a second’s hesitation, he continued: “Yes, we must kill—or better yet, capture and execute—this creature, Samson. It’s vital that he be prevented from inspiring and uniting all the Danites—indeed, all the Canaanites—against us. We must cut off the trouble at its Danite root.”