The Philistine Warrior (30 page)

I wondered what thoughts passed through the minds of Delai’s guards when they heard all that! All Canaan might suffer for their leader’s drunken impiety…plagues, droughts…and they themselves might be held accountable by the terrible Queen of Heaven…who might suddenly swoop down upon them, black wings folded, like some horrible bird of prey, without warning, in the night…. Now they feared even to look upon the sacred person of Queen Delai…and they waited, nervously, for Samson—or anyone—to tell them what to do.

But Delai was feeling less than sacred. She yearned for warmth, she desperately needed to urinate, and she wanted to be clean. She’d been afraid that the brutes might attack her if she

moved, especially if she betrayed her physical needs. And yet…it really was true…the Danite guards no longer appeared lustful, but instead uneasy; they didn’t even look at her—except occasionally, and then only furtively, with a kind of awe. Delai felt that her Goddess was with her again; she hadn’t felt much like that ever since her husband’s death, but now the Living Presence was all around her, and she wasn’t afraid anymore. The fish amulet on her wrist flashed in the torch light of Samson’s room. Hardly knowing what she was doing, but with dignity, she rose and pointed to the nearest guard:

“You, guard,” she snapped, her court accent having its effect on the Danite. “Bring to me—a servant woman, and leave my chamber!” The guards hesitated—and then obeyed, relieved that they could leave the presence of such tabu. And so, in a little while, Delai was clean and warm again, her needs met.

Then she dismissed the Philistine maid they’d brought her. It was just in time, because she now heard his coming—the rapist; that voice, and his footsteps…and the confidence she’d gained fled from her again. She still didn’t know who he was, but the recollection of his body on hers, his brown beard in her face, his thighs bruising hers, all this caused fear to take hold of her again. She listened as he addressed the guards:

“Why are you outside the room?” His rasping voice came through the door.

“Mighty Sansom,” they replied, “the Priestess told us to wait here while her chambermaid attended her. We thought it best….”

At the sound of his name, Delai turned pale: it was her husband’s assassin! Of course! The description she’d heard of Samson did fit this man, but she hadn’t realized it in all the terrifying confusion. Now, like any trapped animal, she wanted to lash out; she looked around for a weapon. But at that moment, Samson appeared in the doorway…their eyes met…and Delai saw fear and guilt in his glance—as he looked away from her, eyes to the ground. Deep in her soul, she knew now that she wouldn’t need any weapon made of iron or bronze. Her Goddess was with her, guiding her….

“I shall return to the
Temple
,” she announced before Samson could say a word. The giant stood there with his jaw hanging open.

He averted his eyes again, as our Queen looked down upon him from the platform where she’d established herself. Her fish amulet was in plain view, her eyes angry with determination.

“Priestess,” Samson began, “I’ll perform a great sacrifice to the Goddess so that She might forgive me for my sacrilege.” Delai didn’t know what to say, although she was certain now of the advantage she held over him. Samson’s dark eyes became beseeching: “Priestess, will you forgive me?”

“I
shall
return to the
Temple
,” she repeated, more from recollection of her tone of voice just before, more than from any design; her haughty glance remained unchanged.

Samson knelt before her. “Yes, Beloved of the Goddess,” he whispered.

But then they were interrupted: the door opened, and one of Samson’s top lieutenants entered the room.

Unlike the guards, and unlike their leader, he didn’t seem awed by the Philistine priestess. “Mighty Samson,” he sneered, “do you so fear a Philistine woman? What is her goddess compared to the Bull of the Sky, the Yahweh of Moses?”

Samson whirled around to face him: “Who says that Samson fears?” he roared. “I am the son of Yahweh; my hair grows for Him! With my own hands I burned the fields of the Philistines. With the jawbone of an ass I slaughtered them. I am not afraid!”

“Then kill her,” replied the Danite warrior. “Or give her to the troops. Or keep her for yourself, for your own sport. But don’t kneel before her—or her harlot goddess!”

Samson’s anger changed to a sullen glower: “I will not allow her to be harmed. She is beloved of Ishtar-Astarte, and must return to Her Temple,” he annouinced with quiet determination.

“Coward!” the Danite shouted back.

And suddenly Samson became as he had been in the Temple: wild, his brown hair flying about his face, his heavy hands grasping—but this time for his hapless lieutenant’s throat!

“I am Samson!” he bellowed, and smashed his fist into the warrior’s face. “I am Samson!” over and over, as he tore the man apart in front of Delai’s frightened eyes. The poor bastard never had

a chance against that giant’s strength. At last, Samson let the mangled body and broken face out of his hands, and the Danite crumpled, lifeless, to the floor. Samson was covered with blood, but his rage had subsided.

A guard, cowering in the doorway, could almost feel those hands on his own throat. “Mighty Samson,” he called, “shall we take the Priestess to the
Temple
?”

“Yes! Yes! And none shall harm her!” their leader stammered in panic.

Priest Ibbi went on to describe his first meeting with Delai that same day. Two Danite soldiers appeared in the outer chamber at the
Temple
; Delai stood between them. Her eyes fixed on Ibbi, she had the look of one who has almost, but not quite, reached safety—and who dares not hope, dares not even betray the fact that safety is at hand.

As for the Danites, they seemed embarrassed—even fearful. “Holy man,” one of them—apparently an officer—said to Ibbi, “Mighty Samson gives greetings and sends an offering to the Goddess. He asks that you intercede with the Lady of Timnath and beg Her to forgive him, and all of Dan, for his impiety. He asks that you also beg Her Majesty to join in your prayers for protection, that the land we all live in might not be cursed with pestilence and drought….”

Ibbi’s face showed no emotion. “What is to be the fate of Her Majesty?” he inquired.

“The War Council of the Danites has advised our Judge that she must be held for ransom from the Philistines, because she is their Queen. We will not harm her. Samson has decreed that she may—under escort—visit the
Temple
as much as she wishes. Because she is a priestess, we shall respect her; but as a queen, we must hold her captive until ransom is paid.” He paused, as if hoping that the priest would be reasonable. “You can understand that, can’t you, sir?”

“We of Ishtar’s
Temple
have no desire to become involved in politics,” Ibbi commented, much to the relief of the Danites. “We accept your Judge’s terms.” With that, the Danite soldiers left the room and waited outside.

Delai then dropped her mask and fled to Ibbi’s arms. “Ibbi, my priest,” she cried, trembling. He led her to a private chamber. “What that man said isn’t true!” she went on, sitting down. “I overheard Samson, arguing with his council. They want me killed, ransom or not. They say he’s loved too many Philistine women—that I’m only the latest—that he should be campaigning, not here in Timnath with me!”

“What did the giant say to that?”

“Samson was angry, and I thought there’d be a fight—there was before, and he killed a man right in front of me!” Ibbi took her gently by the arm. “But then somebody—I don’t know who it was—

somebody calmed him down by saying that I should be held for ransom—and until then, Samson could do what he pleased with me. That calmed Samson down because he’d already shown that he wanted my love, not my death, and I guess he assumed that—I mean, after the ransom—he could keep me, persuade them not to kill me, and persuade me to love him! By then he was ashamed of his rage—he knew that killing that soldier had come close to causing his Council to condemn him; and even
he
couldn’t fight them all. But I think if anyone had called him a coward again, he’d have fought them all, and if they managed to kill, or subdue, him, they’d have killed me right away, as the cause of their troubles with him. But as it is, I know they’ll try to kill me after the ransom, Samson or not! And how long will Samson be afraid of Goddess Inanna? Ibbi, will I ever see my son again?”

“The Goddess, by any name, will protect you,” he said, softly. “But, Your Majesty, don’t you want revenge on Samson—who killed your husband, defiled you, insulted our Goddess?”

Delai slumped in a chair. “I don’t know. Of course, I wanted revenge…but now…I just want to see Akashou again. Ibbi, why didn’t you tell them that I must be set free?”

“As you yourself heard, dear Queen, the Danites are uncertain what to do with you. If I’d pressed for your release, they’d have been forced to make a decision, perhaps disastrous for you—and for your cause…the cause of our Goddess, as well as your nation. Samson might decide to obey his Council if he saw that you were determined to leave—if permitted—and, thus, he would have no hope for your love. Now, come, into the inner
Temple
, where Inanna will comfort you…and give you strength for what you must do.”

She rose and allowed him to assist her…falling into step. And when they emerged an hour later, Delai was calm—terribly calm, her eyes filled with determination again, and even with hatred for her Danite rapist; determination like what she had felt before.

While the Danite guards were being summoned, she said goodbye to her priest, doctor, and teacher: “The Goddess wills it,” she declared. “I shall obey. Each day, I’ll return…and someday—soon—that monster will pay with his life for his crimes…
Philistia
will be free of him…and Inanna’s thirst shall be quenched by his blood!” This was a Delai such as I’d never known before, I told myself, listening to Ibbi’s tale—and much later, when I heard about it all from Delai herself.

“The gods—and your people—will be grateful,” Ibbi replied to her there, still in the
Timnath
Temple
. “Holy Inanna has decreed that
you
are to be the instrument of his downfall.”

She smiled—and, I think for the only time in her life, with vicious pleasure. But then she put on a different mask—because her Danite guards had reached the door.

“Take care on your journey to Ekron and
Gath
,” Delai told Ibbi, softly.

“I shall see you again before I go,” the priest assured her, and their eyes met, giving strength to her to do Inanna’s will.

“Noble Queen,” Samson was saying, “you need have no fear. None of my men will dare harm you, no matter what you hear.” He combed his long brown hair as Delai watched him from a comfortable

couch. For days he’d been courting her, his obsequious professions of love alternating with his boasts and brags.

“The Goddess protects me,” she answered, using royal, courtly words to keep up a wall of ice between them. “I have no fear. Besides, I know that your men stand in awe of you, and will obey your commands.” Samson smiled broadly in pleasure at the compliment. “But, Judge Samson, how can I be sure that
you
will continue to protect me? After all, you still hold me prisoner. And I’ve heard that you’ve loved, and then abandoned, Philistine women before—and yet you claim to love me….”

“It’s true, Priestess!” Samson exclaimed.

“Why do you hold prisoner the one you love?” she taunted him.

He jumped up: “What do I care for ransom?” he roared. “That’s just to please my men!” Then he laughed: “I’ll call the ransom your dowry—for I intend to marry you!”