The Philistine Warrior (35 page)

“We must be very sure of the loyalty and discretion of whatever servants come to know—if they don’t already,” I put in. “She can’t live without servants—that would raise suspicion….”

“You may not have noticed,” Ibbi smiled in self-satisfaction, “that, ever since we returned from Timnath, I’ve employed only priestesses from Inanna’s
Temple
, disguised as nurse and chambermaid—two ladies who fled with us from Timnath—as servants for Her Majesty. Their loyalty is beyond question. They will accept Inanna’s decree—even though none of us can understand it yet.”

Delai hadn’t said anything for a while, and I turned to her again, attempting to fathom her silence. She swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood up. I put out my hand as if to steady her, but she waved it away, almost with disdain, her brown eyes glowing with resolve. “I’ve been walking around for a long time,” she told me. “I’m not unwell any more. But there’s something else. It’s Samson. I know that he must die, as punishment, as a sacrifice to Holy Dagon. But I must see him before he dies; I want to tell him that he
will
have a child by me, after all. Inanna promised that much to him, you see, as you yourself heard, during the marriage ceremony….” My jaw dropped open. She went on: “I know this must surprise you, dear Phicol…but, after Warati—you know, what he did to Samson…after that, I lost my hatred for him. He must die, I know. It’ll be a salvation for him to have his tortures ended. But before he dies, he’s to learn of my pregnancy. I know how he must feel, thinking he’ll die childless, and I want him to know…that I forgive him….”

I was staggered, I must admit. And yet—hadn’t I, myself, said that Samson deserved a merciful death, a clean, soldier’s death, or at least not a death by torture? Hadn’t I said that very thing when I saw how Warati was torturing him, carving him up? Was it only because both Warati and his brutality disgusted me? Or was it because I felt ashamed to think that I had helped bring down a fellow warrior, however loathsome, by trickery and drugs? But all of that was irrational, of course: how could we possibly have been sure of saving Delai otherwise than by drugging Samson? And wasn’t it our duty to

our country to capture and kill that giant? Yet now that he was our captive, did torture make any sense? Wasn’t it just that sort of brutality for which I’d always condemned Warati—and even my Uncle Zaggi?

No, Delai was right…we’d won the game…now it was time to forgive, even though none of us, not even Delai, would even consider leaving the brute alive. But we could forgive him, at least. Not that we had any choice concerning his execution. We couldn’t have stopped Warati from having his way, even if we’d wanted to. I doubt that even Melek Maoch could have forced Warati to relent on the matter of torture, let alone execution; nor would Chancellor Zaggi ever have recommended asking Warati to end the torture, or cancel the execution—no, not even if Maoch himself might personally have wanted Warati to moderate his behavior. Nor would Maoch and Zaggi ever agree to exile rather than execution, let alone make any attempt to persuade Warati to allow exile.

Indeed, no one even suggested exile. All three of us—Delai, Ibbi, and I—would have granted Samson a quick, merciful death, without further torture, but we ourselves would never have allowed mere exile. And, as for torture…well, as I say, we couldn’t stop Warati from having his fun—his
crowd
-
pleasing
fun, offering Samson up in human sacrifice to our God. Yes, human sacrifice, even though it might be disguised, thinly, as a legal execution, a life for a life, Samson’s for that of King Ekosh. Granted, the assassination of our King could hardly be called an act of war; not to mention Samson’s other crimes: rape, sacrilege…. Yet, even so, his death would have to classified as human sacrifice, not legal execution—in my view, anyway. I couldn’t say what Inanna might think on the subject of torture…though Ibbi had said that She wanted Samson’s death.

My point is—my further point is—that Warati wasn’t really interested in avenging the King’s death—or even the rape of Delai. True, being a religious man, he might have felt, genuinely, that Samson’s
sacrilege
should be avenged. Essentially, though, it was enough for Warati to know that his victim was a Danite warrior…and

he (Warati) now had a chance to inflict the tortures of the damned upon that helpless man.

Delai, Ibbi, and I, could do no more for Samson than forgive him, letting him die without the burden of guilt which he evidently felt for his rape and kidnapping of Delai.

For all that, however, I still didn’t really like the decision which Delai had made. Forgiveness was one thing; but why should the Danite be told about her pregnancy? Yes, that might allow Samson to die happy, knowing that he would have a child. But why give him that much satisfaction? Hadn’t he in a sense deprived Ekosh of additional sons, besides Akashou? The King had sired two sons by previous marriages, but they’d both died young. He’d had two daughters who lived to maturity, but they’d married Egyptians—and all of their living children were female. Well, at least Ekosh had
some
descendants, even now that Akashou was dead. But, then, probably Samson, too, had left children—legitimate or otherwise—in various parts of
Canaan
! Why tell him he’d have a child by Delai?

As it was, I had to admire Delai for being so kind-hearted. Yet there was something else: yes, we had to keep her hidden to prevent anyone from knowing about her pregnancy—and so, how could we go to
Gaza
to tell Samson about his child to come? I asked her—and Ibbi—about that.

Ibbi had his answer ready for me; evidently they’d discussed the matter thoroughly: “Even by the time of Samson’s execution,” the priest pointed out, “Her Majesty’s condition will not be obvious.”

“I could take the message to Samson alone,” I replied. “That way there’d be no danger at all. People might wonder how she could go all the way to
Gaza
to see him, yet then return to seclusion in Askelon—which she’d have to do to keep the secret.”

“No, Phicol. I must see him myself,” she told me.

Ibbi explained his plans further: “The public will simply see it as her duty to the shade of Ekosh—to witness the death of his assassin. And her duty to Inanna (that is, Ishtar-Astarte!). As for returning to her seclusion—that will be easy enough to pass off as prolonged mourning…and perhaps a relapse into fever….”

But there was something else wrong, something I couldn’t quite figure out. “Suppose Samson betrays the secret?” I asked. But that wasn’t what was really bothering me, either.

“I’ll tell him on the day of the execution,” Delai answered. “And I’ll impress upon him the danger to his unborn child if he tells anyone about it.” She—or she and Ibbi—had certainly thought it all through, to their satisfaction, any way.

Then I suddenly knew what was wrong: “But, Delai—what will become of the child
eventually
?” Delai was shaken by that question; doubtless it had occurred to her—and Ibbi—but apparently they had no answer ready for that one! Indeed, there was no obvious answer, but I ventured a suggestion without giving it any thought: “We could proclaim it a child of Ekosh.”

Delai reacted swiftly to my ham-handed suggestion: “No! Holy Inanna would not allow such deceit. Besides, would you have Samson’s child as a potential Melek someday?”

Ibbi then caught my eye: “My Lord, the date of birth would likely cause suspicion…not to mention any possible resemblance to the Danite. Moreover, the public would wonder why her pregnancy had been kept a secret; even if we revealed it now, they’d still think it strange that we waited for weeks before making an announcement.” The priest paused. Mysterious, cryptic, exasperating he might be, I mused—but he clearly has a practical turn of mind. He had more to say: “The child could be smuggled into another country and raised by my co-religionists; no one would ever know its parentage. He—or she—could be dedicated to the priesthood of Inanna. It would be possible for Her Majesty to keep track of him, and even see him—or her, if it’s a girl. And if, someday, it becomes possible, she could even claim the child as hers, or by adoption….”

“But what about the prophecy?” I asked, knowing deep down in my heart that the problem could not be solved that easily, no matter what Ibbi said.

“I’ve consulted the omens,” he replied. “A veil of mystery hangs over the future. The prophecy will certainly come true—but exactly how, no one can say.”

My mind conjured up possible future husbands for Delai…including…myself? Dared I hope?

But then, once again, Delai’s eyes flashed in determination, and she seized hold of the conversation: “We will not discuss this further,” she snapped. “It’s my child, and I will have it! The secret will be kept from all but Samson and whatever servants need to know. I will decide the destiny of the baby after its birth.”

“Inanna’s Holy Will
shall
be served,” Ibbi commented—whatever that meant.

“I swear to protect your secret—and the child,” I promised Delai, impulsively, giving up all argument. But then I recalled the promise I’d once given her to protect her husband…and my promise to Ekosh to protect her and poor little Akashou…. I prayed—yes, I prayed—that,
this
time, I would not fail. I thought again: the prophecy…the fruit of her womb will one day rule in
Philistia
…could it be that
my own
bloodline was meant, though Ibbi had not said so…not in so many words, anyway?

The world would not wait for Delai’s pregnancy—or her dilemma—to end. It was time to think about war once again. Of course, our capture of Samson, and Warati’s treatment of the captive, meant that Ittai’s truce with Dan could not survive. The Danites would seek revenge; Ekron’s danger would increase, and all of
Philistia
might face newer rebellions and attacks…Judaeans and other hill peoples joining with plains Canaanites in seeking Philistine blood.

I sat in my palace pondering what course such new wars might take. Idly—or in deep contemplation, as I preferred to think of it—I thought of these lines from our great national epic:

“Bled and spent, we’ve fought a weary way,” the long-

Lost Prince explained. “The Danites came

By sea, and even now are on our trail!”

The Hawk-eyed King embraced his son. “Together we

Shall turn upon their host,” he said, “and smite

Hip and thigh the enemy!” So Bene laid an ambush

There, a wagon ring, luring Dan into the trap

Nomion would spring!

It was true that the Danites had been thrown temporarily into confusion by the loss of Samson. But when they finally did strike, we were no more prepared than we’d ever been, thanks to men like Ittai of Ekron and my own dear Uncle Zaggi. Yet the enemy was not really prepared for all-out war themselves—on a level above rampage. They didn’t have any siege machines to overcome Ekron’s walls, for example, and they hadn’t found a worthy replacement for Samson as their leader. Their attack was therefore formidable, but premature—motivated as it was, in part, by their rage over our capture of Samson; and perhaps by their hope that they could somehow rescue him…or, more likely, they hoped to capture some town or other, if not Ekron itself, and use it as ransom for their Judge. But they little knew Warati, who had Samson safely tucked away in
Gaza
, far from Danite territory; nor would Warati ever give up his plans for Samson, no matter what the Danites might offer for his return.

Despite the Danites’ unwise timing, nevertheless the war did not go well for us. Once again, Ekron was surrounded; Ittai screamed for help; and this time the enemy refused even to consider another truce. Maoch and Zaggi pleaded with me to send my charioteers to Ekron’s aid, but I refused. I wouldn’t put myself in the position of risking anything in cooperation with Ittai. I knew that Ekron had no choice now but to fight, and I knew that, without siege engines, the Danites could never beat down her walls, but would be obliged to starve Ekron into submission—and that would take time, time I could use, that we Philistines could use, to our advantage.