The Philistine Warrior (40 page)

They’d even sent to
Egypt
for advice. (Pharaoh’s court contained many experts on such matters of protocol, you may be sure!).

My councilors were (among others): benevolent old Amphimachur, the High Priest of Dagon in Askelon; Pai, the greedy master of our port; and Major Jaita—who served as my aide-de-camp. On many occasions, I also sought advice from Priest Ibbi. I hadn’t fallen under his spell, but I trusted him, if not his Goddess—and I knew him to be a man of the world, with many foreign connections. The confidence which Delai and I placed in this foreign priest caused some uneasiness among the people of Askelon, who didn’t care for foreigners in high places—and so, of course, I couldn’t appoint him to any official position (except that of Delai’s doctor-priest, which he already held).

This was the situation in my government when Chancellor Zaggi came to confer. The morning session was dull, as I’ve already noted, but I got the impression that Zaggi was holding back, not revealing his main reason for this official visit. When we broke for lunch, I was surprised to see him going off with Councilor Pai. They’d always been enemies, after all. But Zaggi had recently begun to take a sympathetic interest in economic matters—as distinct from land-grabbing—so, at that time, I thought no more about Pai’s private lunch with Zaggi, harmless as it seemed.

It was in the afternoon, when Zaggi and I were alone together, obstensively to discuss dynastic matters, when he confronted me with the real objective of his mission. He knew about Delai’s pregnancy, he told me, because Warati had, indeed, overheard her announcing it to Samson—and the Gazan had, naturally, lost no time in telling our

Chancellor the dreadful news; namely, that the giant would have an heir! Furthermore, Zaggi had also learned about Ibbi’s prophecy concerning the eventual greatness of the “fruit of Delai’s womb.” Probably, again, the Chancellor had been told of this by Sheren Warati. Perhaps the latter had learned about it from Samson himself, while he was Warati’s prisoner of war.

Now, Zaggi insisted, was no time to be sentimental: it was vital to our country’s interests that the baby must die. “Naturally,” he explained himself, “I don’t want any harm or embarrassment to come

to Her Majesty.” There was, however, a cold look in his eyes. And there was the ever-present bowl of grapes and olives, without which, it seemed, we just couldn’t have a conference. “So I do not propose to kill the baby while Delai’s in labor; but it must be destroyed immediately after birth, and in secret. No one must know about the baby, or the prophecy.”

“But Delai’s determined that the child must live,” I countered. “She believes that Ishtar-Astarte wants there to be peace between us and the Danites—and her part in the Divine Plan is to bear Samson’s son. Delai took pity on him for his suffering; and even his rejection of her desire for peace hasn’t changed her mind. And you, yourself, Chancellor, have pursued a policy of peace in the past weeks.”

“Peace is not amity,” he replied. “Peace is a time to prepare for the next war. We must someday have the mountains which produce these wretched Danites—and all of the highland races. We need land, and we need better strategic borders. In any case, this child of Samson’s is a danger to us all. What does she intend—to raise it as a Philistine? Give it to the Danites to be their future ‘judge,’ so that yet more Philistines might die?”

That was, indeed, an embarrassing question. “I don’t know what will become of the child,” I confessed. “But Ibbi’s prophecy might be mistaken. Suppose, for instance, that the child turns out to be a girl? Suppose the prophecy refers to some later child Delai might have by another husband? Whatever happens, I guarantee that
Philistia
’s interests will be safeguarded. The child may be sent to
Assyria
or, better yet,
Babylonia
, to be brought up as a priest or priestess by Ibbi’s co-religionists; in that case, the child will never know who his or her father was. You see, the child must live—it’s the Will of the Goddess….” I paused and Zaggi smiled cynically.

“Since when have
you
become a devotee of Astarte?” he asked. “And, by the way, you can call Her Inanna—Warati’s told me about the secret cult, there in Timnath….”

“Just because I don’t like silly rituals and superstition doesn’t mean I don’t believe in the Will of the Goddess,” I snapped. “And it doesn’t make any difference what name She goes by. The point is, that’s what Delai believes, and what she wants, and I won’t let you

interfere! No one—no one—can give a command to the widow of a Melek, especially when she’s under the protection of a sovereign lord…under
my
protection….”

“The present Melek can order her what to do in a dynastic question—in a family question,” Zaggi asserted—but then he stopped short, and I knew why:

“Ah, Chancellor—but the present Melek, your own brother…he hasn’t given an opinion, much less an order, on the subject as of yet, has he? If he had, I’d’ve heard from him directly; or you would have produced a letter from him, to me, by now; am I right?” Here I’d caught him. I knew that Maoch did not possess the ruthless willpower of his Chancellor, and would likely give in to Delai’s plan—and pleading—concerning the baby. Zaggi frowned—and realized that he was losing the debate.

“Then let me see Delai,” he insisted. “I’ll try to convince her of her duty to her country.”

I exploded at that word: “Duty! Good God, Uncle, hasn’t she done enough ‘duty’ already? Hasn’t she paid enough of a price to be left alone?”

That startled him, especially to be called “Uncle” again. But he recovered quickly: “There’s never an end to one’s duty, Phicol,” he intoned.

True enough, I thought: but this “duty,” as he defined it, would mean the death of an innocent baby—and yet more misery for my beloved cousin. Ibbi’s old suspicion concerning the death of Akashou popped into my mind, and I flushed with anger: “You will
not
see her unless she consents—and not at all unless I’m there,” I snarled.

His eyes narrowed: “I won’t accept those terms.”

“Too bad for you, then,” I answered.

There was a long pause, and we both relaxed a bit. But only a bit. He got up. “I believe that there’s no more business for us to discuss, my Lord,” he said.

“It would seem so, my Lord,” I agreed, and I stood by my chair as he left the council chamber.

I never saw him again. Instead, there began a long, cold war of nerves between us—and, indeed, between Askelon and the rest of
Philistia
, for such it would come to before we finished our quarrel.

The months went by. Delai remained secluded in her palace in Askelon, seen only by me and Ibbi—and those two priestesses of Inanna, posing as the Queen’s personal servants during her pregnancy. The excuse for her seclusion was, as we had planned, that her health had taken a turn for the worse after the calamitous events in
Gaza
.

I wondered why Zaggi hadn’t proclaimed—and condemned—her pregnancy to the whole country? Public opinion would almost certainly support his determination to kill the child. Well, I soon understood why.

Then, next—in the middle of the summer it was—our beloved nation suffered yet another blow: the death of our Melek. There’d been a long illness, and then he just passed away. He was a watery old man, my Uncle Maoch—and yet he’d meant well. (Great gods, what a way to be remembered!) He’d always been a decent man, too—and, on many occasions, his mild and common-sensical ways had been the best tonic for us all. But now, after months of peace,
Philistia
again faced an uncertain future—as still another funeral pyre claimed more of what remained of our dwindling royal House of Nomion.

I felt more than sad: I was worried, for now Zaggi was free of Maoch’s restraining hand—and that meant more danger for the unborn child. Yet for the moment, at least, everything was up in the air, until our nobility could elect a new Melek. Zaggi was the obvious candidate, and he had widespread support—in
Gaza
, in Ekron, even in
Gath
;
Ashdod
, as usual, was willing to go along with the majority, but was unenthusiastic about Zaggi’s candidacy.

True. He also had a large number of enemies among the noblest families of our race—and especially among those who disliked him for his connection to Warati. The latter’s popularity, you see, was mostly among the lower classes and the newly enriched; not among the better people, especially in
Gaza
. Most of noble Askelon opposed Zaggi, of course…and disliked Warati.

Consequently, since Zaggi wanted his election to be as close to unanimous as possible, he couldn’t afford to alienate me any more than he had, because I could lead almost all of Askelon in opposition to his election. Thus Zaggi could not publicly condemn me for wanting Delai’s secret child’s survival—for such a move on his part would guarantee my opposition to his rise to the Melekship. Granted, some of my fellow citizens might see Zaggi’s point on the matter of the coming baby; yet enough would follow my lead so as to deprive Zaggi of the overwhelming mandate he wanted from the voting nobility.

It was shortly after Maoch’s death that Delai gave birth to Samson’s child. It turned out—unfortunately—to be male. (I had hoped that Zaggi might not be so determined to kill a female—who could not become a sheren or a melek under any circumstances.) The baby’s arrival was something of a surprise, because the pregnancy hadn’t reached full term, a bit unusual for a second child, Doctor Ibbi told me afterwards, while Delai rested from her ordeal.

“Let’s be thankful that it was an easy delivery—unlike in
Egypt
,” I remarked. I was with her all the while, holding her hand. She’d been very anxious because of the memory of Akashou’s birth.

“May I point out,” Ibbi suggested, “that both by his features and by his premature birth, the baby could easily be passed off as the son of King Ekosh, carried to ‘full’ term.”

“But people would wonder why we’ve been so secretive about the pregnancy,” I replied. (Hadn’t we been over this idea enough already?) “They might even think it’s a trick to elevate Delai’s status in Philistia—I mean that…well, Askelon might demand a regency for the baby, with her on the regency council, and me on it as well. Even if we elect a new adult melek, the baby could be seen as a ploy by Askelon—by me—leading to some future claim to power. There

might be accusations that someone besides Ekosh—or Samson—was the father….” I paused. “Most especially, damn it, Zaggi wouldn’t allow such a deception. It would endanger his sons’ claims to the Melek’s throne—assuming that he himself gets elected. Don’t you see: our secrecy about the pregnancy will cause suspicion…so, when Zaggi tells…the truth,
especially
because he’d be telling the truth… people would likely believe
him
, not us. He won’t let the baby live, in particular since it’s male. You already believe he may have killed Akashou!”

“Considering all that, Lord Phicol, I’m afraid Her Majesty’s hopes for the child as a bringer of peace just can’t come true. And so, once again, a veil of mystery hangs over Holy Inanna’s purpose. The poor baby…it can’t be a symbol of peace here in Philistia, certainly not for a long time—and
that
assumes he will live.” It appeared that Ibbi had long since concluded what I had concluded—and had only ‘played the devil’s advocate’ by bringing up the idea of claiming Ekosh as the father. He went on: “My feeling is, as you know, that the child should be spirited away as soon as possible, and raised…let’s say, in
Chaldea
, among my co-religionists.”

“Agreed—if Delai will agree. But it’ll be difficult, all around. You yourself believe that we cannot cheat the prophecy. Your Goddess has promised great things for the fruit of her womb—but
what
great things? Great for us—or the Danites?”

“I cannot say, my Lord,” he confessed.