The Philistine Warrior (42 page)
promised Zaggi I’d keep up the pretense until he could answer my note.
Then, as I approached Delai’s chamber, I heard a scream—and I ran to her room. Right behind me came Ibbi, bursting out of his chamber next door. We met a ghastly sight: Rachel, knife in hand, leaning over the bloody form of the new-born child! Delai, still in bed, eyes wide open, hand up to her mouth…staring at the horrible scene, frozen in fear, stunned by the murder of her child.
Rachel saw us enter, and she spun around to face us. We stopped dead in our tracks, because she still had that knife—and she was between us and Delai! Rachel turned to her again, and spat out her hatred: “Yes, now you see, Princess—
all
our heirs are dead, and we’re both widows!”
We moved closer; Ibbi had only to look at the child: “He’s dead,” the priest whispered. “He’s
dead
!” I steeled myself, ready to spring upon Rachel if she moved toward Delai.
But she turned to me again, brandishing her knife: “I was in
Gaza
,” she exclaimed, “and I heard what you Philistines did to
Samson! You’re all murderers; you’ve slaughtered us for ages—and you killed my husband!” A gasp from Delai caused Rachel to look at her once more: “And you, fine Princess!” she sneered, “you, who paraded your Philistine belly up to Samson! Oh, yes, Lord Zaggi told me about that, too—taunting Samson because he’d die without an heir—his
prick
cut off! Taunting him with your Philistine-filled belly!”
She was relishing her revenge—but we were close enough now to grab her if she made a lunge for Delai. Then, suddenly, I knew what to say: “Rachel,” I began, quietly, “this was a child of Samson….”
It took a moment, but the words finally sank in; her mouth dropped open—but in a second more, her hatred returned: “Liar!” she snarled.
“It’s true,” Delai told her in a chilling whisper. “It’s not at all like you think….”
Again, doubt overtood the Canaanite girl: “But….”
“Samson raped her when he took her captive,” I explained. “You must have heard about that, too…unless Zaggi didn’t want you to know about it…and the child got born a little early, that’s all….” My words trailed off, and I felt a lump in my throat.
Rachel looked at the slain baby again, as if to gauge its size. “Lord Zaggi told me,” she started to say—but at the sound of his name, I struck the hilt of my dagger and grit my teeth.
“Fool!” I shouted. “Why should he want the birth of an heir to Ekosh kept secret? Because he feared Danite assassins might try to get at Delai and the baby? All right, not likely, but possible. Yet why trust
you
with such a secret, to be carried from
Gaza
to Askelon? You’re not even a Philistine! Didn’t you even think about it? Who do you think are the worst enemies of your people? Warati and Zaggi, of course. So he wouldn’t trust
you
with such a secret—he wanted the child, Samson’s child, killed; but I told him I’d
protect
it!”
“How…? What? But,” she interrupted, “
you
told me the baby’s father was Ekosh, the King!”
“Yes, to my sorrow, I played into Zaggi’s hands. Of course Zaggi and Warati wanted the child killed, and so they inflamed your hatred with thoughts of Ekosh having an heir, of Delai having a baby to replace Akashou; but your child, Menena’s child, died, and you had no hope of giving your dead husband an heir. Zaggi wanted to work his will through you!” Yes, it all made sense, now…and I had called
Rachel
a “fool”!
Now Rachel understood, too, and it sank into her soul, what she had done: “He promised…he said I should do what Menena’s shade required, revenge against King Ekosh…he said that you’d use the child against him in dynastic politics, against his heirs some day,” she stammered.
My face was red—I choked with rage: “I was right! He knew you would want to kill the child—the baby he couldn’t get at because of my protection! And maybe you’d kill Delai, too. He
used
you!”
“Oh, my Goddess,” Delai whispered, touching the crib. “Uncle Zaggi did this, after all….”
Rachel looked like she might try to justify herself: “How was I to know…?”
“And I asked Delai to keep up the pretence,” I admitted, angry with myself. “The birth of Samson’s child was the greatest secret in all Philistia, so I asked her to keep you from knowing, just for a while….”
Delai spoke: “I was about to tell you, Rachel, about to tell you the truth, despite what Phicol asked of me, when….”
Rachel hung her head in shame. “Princess….”
“But you didn’t give me time to speak,” Delai concluded, weary in voice and eyes.
My own glance was to the floor; I, too, had helped create this tragedy….
Rachel murmured, “Then, I…I’ve killed the hope of
Canaan
,” a touch of irony came to her voice. “I was going to wait until it was born and kill it in secret, and escape—Lord Zaggi said he’d help me get away, with plenty of money…but when I saw it lying there, already born, I killed it…and I might have killed my Princess, too….”
“Give me the knife, Rachel,” I commanded. I’ve never seen such anguish as I beheld in Rachel’s eyes when she looked up at me.
Then she bolted past me, past Ibbi, through the door. I started after her, but was stopped by Delai’s cry:
“Phicol! Don’t hurt her!” Then she fell back upon her pillow, eyes closed, and Ibbi took her hand.
“She’ll be all right in a minute or so, my Lord,” he assured me.
I stood there for a few seconds, holding Delai’s other hand. Then I went to the hallway and shouted for a soldier to come stand guard at Delai’s door. “Did you see a Canaanite girl running down the corridor?” I asked the man. He replied in the negative. I posted him and told him to allow no one except me and Ibbi into the Queen’s chamber.
Next, I walked down the corridor, not knowing, or caring, where I was headed. By that time, Rachel could have reached almost any area of the palace—she knew it well, after all—or even, perhaps, she’d gotten outside, into the anonymous crowd. I located another soldier and told him to alert the palace guard, search for Rachel, and bring her to me without harming her.
She might, even as I spoke, be outside, spreading the story…that the Philistines had tricked her into killing the son of Samson…spreading the story, I mean to say, among Canaanites, since a Philistine audience might think her crazy—or applaud her for murdering the child! For that matter, Canaanites friendly to us Philistines—and there were many such within Askelon—might also applaud her, and cheer for the Philistines who had so “tricked” her into doing the deed. But other Canaanites might doubt the idea of a “trick” and turn on her, as she had turned upon herself for killing the “hope” of Canaan.
No matter what, the fact would remain that I had failed Delai yet again, and I could comfort myself only with the thought that…perhaps…it was all for the best…an idea that I dismissed as soon as it popped into my head.
Ibbi caught up with me then. “We must summon the two women who have served Her Majesty all along—she must have female servants now, and the body must be removed.”
“Yes, of course.” Was there any way of keeping the secret now, even if Rachel had not already told it? We would swear my guards to secrecy, naturally—but perhaps we should concoct an official explanation of what had happened, and give it out
before
rumors started flying. “How’s Delai doing?” I asked the priest.
“She’s resting, my Lord; she’ll be all right,” he said again. We went back to her chamber and stood outside the door, discussing the matter in whispers. The afternoon shadows were already long on the hot pavement outside.
“Was this—this, too—Inanna’s ‘Will’?” I inquired, more in irony than in anger. “What
hasn’t
been Inanna’s Will? And what about the prophecy?”
He answered me in the same way, quietly resigned to the dictates of Fate: “The Goddess has taken our Queen to Her Heart…beyond that, I don’t know Her Holy Will. But you’ll see,
Lord Phicol…one day, the prophecy will be fulfilled. We should have known that the prophecy could not apply to a child of Samson….” I wondered if even this priest of Inanna might be having
some doubts now about that cursed prophecy—his assurances to me didn’t sound all that convincing, after all, not to me or…even to him?
We were silent for a long time. Then a guard came up to us. “Pardon, my Lord,” began, whispering, not wishing to disturb the Queen. “Please come see something….” I followed him, with Ibbi tagging along.
Not far away, in a little, unused storage room—right next to where Zaggi and I had held many a conference, back when he was Chancellor of Askelon—we found Rachel, hanging from the rafter by a rope, agony in her face and hands, her tongue protruding from her mouth. A thin beam of light came into the room through a crack in the wall. I noticed a spider making its web in the crumbling plaster, and I watched that scene—until the guard’s uncertain shuffle recalled my attention to Rachel’s corpse.
“Cut her down,” I ordered. “Get some more soldiers to help. Treat her body with care. Bury her in the courtyard, in the Canaanite fashion. But remember—no Canaanite is ever to learn what’s happened here today.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, himself still stunned by it all.
After he had left to find help, after the stiffening corpse got carried away, I turned to Ibbi: “The infant…you’ll see to it that he, too, is buried in the Canaanite manner?”
“Yes, Lord Phicol,” he answered, and left me there staring out a window toward the sea.
Gods and Goddesses of Philistia, I asked, why have You damned the House of Nomion to such tragedies? Why do You torture this land? Why did You pick that wretched Canaanite girl to work Your will—if it
was
indeed Your will? Then I wondered: have I, too, been a plaything in the hands of the deities? If I hadn’t decided to keep up Zaggi’s lie about the baby’s father, perhaps both he and Rachel would still be alive. Or would they have died some other way? Is it the gods of
Canaan
—or of the Danites—who torment us so? Dagon and Astarte, answer me: WHY?
I wasn’t surprised when I received no answers in return.
Chapter XII:
Assyria
Scowling chieftains shook their heads: “What’s this? Our
Fatherland forget? Our hearths forsake?
We’d rather fight and die,” they said. The King’s dark eyes
In anger flashed,
In somber scorn he spoke: “Such gallant blood! But would it
Quench the fires
Burning still in Karia, or resurrect her corpse? You’d die
For what is dead!
Phrygian slaves your wives would be, or To vultures fed!”
--the
Nomiad
, Stanza IX
After the murder of the infant, events moved swiftly to their wretched end. I sent word to
Gath
that Askelon would not recognize Zaggi as Melek if he were elected. I sent letters to all of my friends in the nobility, informing them of my suspicions concerning the death of
Prince Akashou—and urged them not to vote for Zaggi. Yet my accusation was pitifully weak, because I honestly had to admit that I had no proof about Akashou. I couldn’t present to them the new evidence of Zaggi’s murderous character—tricking Rachel into
killing Samson’s child—because I didn’t dare even to admit that such a child had ever existed. Hatred for the dead “Judge” was still so high in
Philistia
that public opinion might very well have regarded Zaggi as justified in having the child killed—most especially if the prophecy were made public knowledge. Nor would it have done any good to tell a lie by announcing tht Ekosh had gained another son—but now dead through Zaggi’s schemes. Who would have believed such a lie?
Therefore my objections to Zaggi’s election carried little weight. Why, it was asked of me, had I kept my suspicions about Akashou’s death to myself until now—that is, now, when I needed a reason to oppose Zaggi’s elevation to the Melekship? Did I intend to put myself forward as a candidate for that office? Was I acting out of personal spite? My answer to the former question was an instant NO! I was not in the running, and would accept anyone except Zaggi—and excepting Warati—as Melek, I promised.
Of course, in making that sort of commitment, I might find myself having to swallow Ittai of Ekron as Melek, since he was now the senior sheren in terms of time in office. Well, even that I could allow. But, alas, it soon appeared that Ittai was supporting Zaggi! So I suggested that a regency be set up for Melek Nasuy’s grandson, despite my record as opposing such an arrangement
Well, then, my friends demanded, make your accusation against Zaggi in public (rather than in a series of private letters); or drop your anti-Zaggi campaign altogether. They were right, of course. In a moment of anger, I’d written what I couldn’t back up with proof. And now I was regarded, by my friends, as a well-meaning but overly suspicious and excitable young man; my enemies, naturally, branded me a vicious slanderer. (Such enemies had, not surprisingly, gotten wind of my accusation.)
I talked it over with Priest Ibbi. He still stood by his statement that he
suspected
foul play in the death of Akashou; but he reminded me that he’d always admitted that nothing could be proved—and he was disturbed and displeased when he found that I’d written those goddamned letters. He urged me to retract my accusation and admit that I’d written in anger and haste. Ibbi even suggested that I admit, in public, that I’d tried to save the life of a monster’s offspring…but
explain how Zaggi had arranged
that
child’s murder…. At least I could thereby present a reason for my hasty accusation against Zaggi. Yet that just wouldn’t work:
“What?” I asked him. “And then say I was acting out of loyalty to Delai, who wanted the baby spared? In other words, hide behind her skirts? Give Zaggi a chance to drag her name through the mud, because
she
would have allowed the kid to live?”
He relented: “My Lord, you’re right about not involving the Queen by mentioning Samson’s child. I spoke in haste myself. It will be enough to retract the accusation; you don’t have to bring Her Majesty into the debate….”
Nor could I defend myself by making public Ibbi’s “suspicions” about Akashou’s death. He was a foreigner, and not many people would take his word over that of a great Philistine aristocrat, Zaggi himself; besides, Ibbi had
himself
voiced only a vague “suspicion,” not an accusation.
It was a bitter pill to swallow—one of the patterns in my life: I vowed to myself that in the future I’d look before leaping! Bitter, but a retraction, humiliating though it would be, could not be worse than maintaining my accusation—hence losing even more support, even among my best friends. And so I swallowed the pill.
By this time, it was necessary to tell Delai about Ibbi’s suspicions concerning Akashou. He explained it all to her and she was, quite predictably, upset—both by his suspicions, and by the fact that we’d kept them from her for so long. Ibbi gallantly—and truthfully—explained that he had put me up to it; but I admitted that I’d made no objection to hiding his suspicions from her.
Delai then forgave us. She knew that we’d had her peace of mind at heart; yet she’d have much preferred to know what was on our minds. I wondered if she would ever again feel quite the same about her priest and doctor. His prophecies had failed—or been impossibly vague—too many times, and now he had failed to take her into his confidence. Yet I’d misjudged her again. Ibbi remained her close friend, still loved and listened to—though I believe Delai had, perhaps, learned to question him more closely than she’d ever done before.
And how did she feel about me after our confession? Remarkably, her feelings for me didn’t seem to change; if anything, she appeared to love me more than ever. Somehow it was fitting, she seemed to think, that I should—however misguidedly—have kept something from her out of concern for her health and peace of mind; my love for her touched her heart, however wrong-headed that affection had motivated my behavior. On the other hand, she was inclined to believe that Ibbi’s suspicions about the death of Akashou were probably correct.
Nevertheless, she agreed with us that I should withdraw my letters of accusation rather than endure the ridicule of my enemies—and a loss of confidence among my friends. And so the initiative remained in Zaggi’s hands.
I was puzzled to find, as the weeks went by, that Zaggi had not, and apparently would not—even after my aborted accusation concerning Akashou—would not reveal the truth about the existence and death of Samson’s child; not to the people of
Philistia
; not even to the nobility. Perhaps he doubted that he could prove that there had ever been such a child; perhaps he felt that he would be condemned for dragging Delai’s name into our political quarrel—she was, he knew, still regarded with affection throughout Philistia. Or perhaps he feared being condemned for murder-by-stealth instead of bringing the matter of the baby before a public tribunal, or something like.
Of course, a public airing would also mean telling the Danites that Samson had produced a posthumous son—and the baby’s death by murder might then set off another Danite war. Zaggi was counting of a peaceful interlude wherein he could get elected and build his power base;
then
he would seek another war, as he himself had admitted to me. He might therefore withhold the story of Samson’s “heir” until a more appropriate time. Meanwhile, he portrayed my opposition to his election as nothing more than a species of crude jealousy and spite.
Naturally, it occurred to me that, if Zaggi did not want the truth to be known, it must be because he suspected that the truth would harm him more than it would me. Should we therefore tell the truth to the world? We’d been over that before: the public would probably take Zaggi’s side and approve the murder. Yet it seemed that Zaggi had concluded otherwise. And, if I—and Delai—told the true story to the public, at least I could then make a case in support of my suspicion that Zaggi had killed Akashou; so maybe I wouldn’t have to withdraw my letters of accusation after all.
Unfortunately, the path of candid truth was somewhat blocked: how could we prove that Zaggi had brought about the murder of Samson’s child? All we had was the word of a half-crazed Canaanite girl—and she was dead now, unable to testify. There was no other evidence. And no one, other than Ibbi, to testify that Rachel had killed the child, and had implicated Zaggi. Zaggi had not answered my letter; and not even my messenger knew what had been in that note to begin with. As for Delai’s testimony: Zaggi would certainly label her, along with Ibbi, as co-conspirators with me in my effort to defame him. Zaggi, my messenger reported, had kept my letter—and doubtless had immediately destroyed it. Moreover, even if my letter
could
be produced, it would still be Rachel’s (as reported by us) word against that of the Chancellor. A Canaanite versus the grandson of Nomion.
No, it was no good…better to remain silent and withdraw my letters to the nobles….damn it all….
The only comfort I received—other than from Delai, Ibbi, and my friends in Askelon—came from the older nobility of
Gaza
. They were furious at Warati for his tyrannical and vulgar ways, and they now demanded his removal from the office of Sheren—unless he agreed to mend his political fences with them. They, too—like me—threatened to boycott the election for Melek, unless Zaggi did something about Warati’s politics. Some of them even stopped
paying taxes, refusing to do so until Warati either resigned or came to terms.
In past times, this sort of thing would have forced a compromise between the factions. But not in this new, bloodstained, booty-glutted
Philistia
. Warati had fed the mob’s greed for glory and land; they, and the merchants—similarly satiated—were now all under Zaggi’s spell…and they idolized their hero, Warati. Most of the nobility outside of Gaza and Askelon, seeing which way the wind was blowing—and not understanding my motives—followed behind Zaggi’s bandwagon.
I heard about the propaganda against me from Major Jaita, who’d just returned from a trip to
Gaza
. Seated on the porch of Delai’s seaside palace, we talked man to man: “My dear Major Jaita,” I said, offering him a drink, “what is the news from
Gaza
?”
He leaned forward, his wiry frame glowing with a deep tan: “Lord Phicol, it isn’t good. All sorts of things are being said about you. Nobody objects to your opposing Zaggi’s election—that’s any nobleman’s right, especially a sheren’s right. But they’re deeply shocked and troubled by your announcement—your statement that you won’t recognize his election, if it occurs.”
“You didn’t tell them the secret?” I asked. “About Samson’s child?” I’d trusted Jaita—as always—with my innermost thoughts and secrets.
He shook his head no, and then went on: “So your position is misunderstood, you see. Perhaps you should bring it all out in the open….”
“No…not yet, anyway,” I replied. “We’ve been over that a hundred times in our talks here—Priest Ibbi, the Queen…and we all think it’s best to remain silent about that. I’ve already written to our friends, telling them that I’m retracting my accusations against Zaggi; and I’ve agreed to recognize him as Melek if he’s elected. But go on—tell me more….”
“Well, it’s being said that you’re too young to know just what you’re doing; that you’re threatening
Philistia
with civil war at a time when the Danites and Canaanites are just beginning to settle down. Of course, they won’t be able to say that sort of thing any more, now
that you’ve retracted—but your letters of retraction to the nobles hadn’t arrived before I left
Gaza
….”
“No, I just sent them,” I said.
“Still, the retractions will only calm their fears of civil war. They won’t do much to overcome your reputation as a trouble-maker; your reputation among Warati’s people, I mean; but even his
enemies
will wonder what could possibly have made you fly off the handle like that, if you’ll pardon me for putting it that way—I mean,
they
will put it that way! In any case, that’s why I think you should speak out publicly about that Rachel business.”
