Delilah: A Novel (15 page)

That is all this mad tale lacks—a boy who wishes to be a harper and exalt murder in song. Next he will be asking for the loan of my harp, that he may immortalize this great triumph of theirs against two merchants and half a dozen asses
.

Samson stared at Terach, who faltered and fell silent. “I never willingly killed any man. And what are these great deeds I am supposed to have done?”

Now it was Terach’s turn to stare, wide-eyed. “Many! Everyone knows that Yahweh granted you the strength of ten men—that a score of Philistines fled when they only heard your voice. That you carried off a cart laden with iron blades—”

That every hero and outlaw has been renamed Samson in every song
. Orev sensed Samson had already lost his first and most important battle.
Easier to defeat a hundred good men than to silence one good song
.

Samson turned his gaze back to Ichavod. “If you will not do as I ask, and help me carry these men you have murdered to be buried with the proper rites, then there is nothing more to say.”

Ichavod met Samson’s gaze unflinching. “They deserve no more
than any other dead beast. Farewell, Samson. You will see us again, when you need us.”

The Foxes had remained silent, some staring at the ground and others gazing in awe or bemusement at Samson. Now, at a sign from Ichavod, they retreated, moving with more silence and skill than Orev had expected. A few breaths, and they had vanished into the rocks and brush beyond the dry streambed.

A moment later, Orev heard the
yip-yip
of a fox, the sound faint and far-off.
But not, I am afraid, far enough. At least they are gone now
. He sighed and set down his harp. “Samson, my friend, I agree these men must be decently buried. Shall we go to the nearest village and seek aid there?”

Samson did not answer; for a heartbeat he did not move. Then he bent and grasped a stone the size of a man’s head, hurled it to smash against the outcropping of rock. As Orev stared, Samson reached out to the overhanging branch of a young oak and ripped it from the tree. Orev did not wait to see what else Samson would break with the makeshift club.

“Samson.” Orev spoke softly, as if to a wounded beast. “Samson, the Foxes are gone. You should have shown this anger to them.”

Samson stared at the branch in his hands, unclenched his fingers, and let the weapon fall to the dry streambed. He drew a deep breath, and slowly the lines of his face eased, the flat brightness vanished from his eyes. “No. If I touched one of them, I would have killed him. I will not wield anger as a weapon, Orev. I will not.”

If you had killed one of them, perhaps the rest would have feared you too greatly to defy you
. Or perhaps not; the Foxes seemed to love the scent of blood more than they honored Samson. Samson already carried the guilt of one man’s death—
And that death was sheer mischance, not a thing done in rage. Samson fears his own anger as other men fear fire
.

Orev spoke calmly, as if Samson had said nothing. “These men must be buried, Samson. We cannot leave them for the vultures and jackals.”

“Their deaths lie at my feet; it is only right that I bury them. I will gather stones, Orev. You see if either carries a seal or a letter. They must
have kin who will grieve for them. At least we can tell them that they were buried, and where they lie.”

That was their first encounter with Samson’s Foxes, but it was not the last. Having tasted blood, the Foxes grew bold, hunting the roads for easy prey. Orev had long wondered what it would take to anger Samson; now he knew.

Injustice.

The Foxes—Samson’s Foxes—hunted and killed, and Samson’s name, already ill-hearing for the Philistines, became a fearsome thing. That Samson loathed the Foxes and refused to command them—save to order them to cease their banditry, a command the Foxes ignored—was unknown to the Philistines. Orev doubted the Philistines would have believed it, even if told.

No one could truthfully claim Samson did not try to stop the Foxes. With a self-control hard as Philistine iron, Samson chained his anger, then sought out Enoch and begged him to disband the group. Enoch merely said, “You do not understand yet, Samson, but in time you will embrace your destiny. The Philistines must be driven from our land, killed if they will not flee before the power of Yahweh’s people. Your Foxes know this.”

“What can
your
Foxes do against the might of the Five Cities?” Samson asked, and Enoch laughed.

“We can bring them fear. And there are many Foxes now, Samson, and more come to join us with each moon that passes.”

When Samson returned after that meeting, Orev almost hesitated to ask what Enoch had said, for his friend looked weary and sad. But when Orev asked, Samson told all that had passed between him and Enoch.

“He would not listen,” Samson finished. “It was as if I spoke to a—a talking statue who could recite only one speech. And do you know what he said, as I left him?
‘You are our hero, Samson. In time, you will lead us to glory.’
”

As Samson recited those words, fear coiled about Orev’s heart like a
cold serpent.
I was right; no one cares what Samson is, only what they wish him to be in their eyes
. But he kept his words light; Samson needed nothing more to trouble him.

“Glory? Not riches?” Orev, practiced in seeming to be what he was not, shook his head and sighed ruefully. “If only you were to lead us to riches, Samson, you might be of some use yet.”

Orev gained his reward; Samson smiled, if only for a moment. But the trouble had not passed, and they both knew it.

For the Foxes only grew bolder—and less merciful. During the Time of Ripening, when grain shone like heavy gold in the fields, the Foxes set upon and slew a dozen women traveling to the ancient shrines in the hills west of the Salt Sea, and left the bodies for the jackals and the ravens. Orev feared what Samson might do when he heard of that massacre; feared that Samson must burn hot with anger at such news, and rage and murder in his turn.

But Samson listened, silent, his face smooth as a funeral mask. After, he sat quiet for long hours.
“I will not wield anger as a weapon, Orev. I will not.”
Samson’s vow seemed to echo in the still air as Orev waited, patient; watched the fire and added twigs as the sun set and the stars rose.

At last, when the Huntress had risen above the eastern horizon, Samson said, “Orev?”

“Yes, Samson?”

“I cannot permit these Foxes to slay travelers—”

“And to claim the crime yours,” Orev reminded him.

“No. But how am I to stop them? I cannot tend all roads between Dan and Beersheba.”

“No, that is beyond even you. But there must be something you can do. Let me think upon it.”

Samson waited patiently; at last Orev said, “Could you tend one road, Samson?”

Samson frowned. “One road? Which?”

“Whichever you choose. But on that road, travelers of the Five
Cities—any travelers—must know themselves safe. And they must know that safety comes from your care of them. So I ask again, can you tend one road?”

Silence, and sparks flying from the fire up into the hungry night sky. It was Orev’s turn to wait, patient, for an answer.

“Yes,” Samson said, “I can tend one road. And I can keep it clear of Foxes, too.”

“That is as much as men can ask.”

Samson laughed, the sound oddly bitter. “They can ask more than that, Orev—much more. Still, that is all I can do. It is not enough, but it must suffice.”

Even the gift of a safe road, the highway Samson had chosen, after much discussion with Orev, as the best to place under his protection, might not be enough to protect Samson himself from the anger of the Five Cities. As Samson said, he could guard only one road. And Orev helped ensure that those who traveled that road knew whom to thank for a safe journey.

The Lion’s Path, Orev called that high road, knowing the name would catch men’s fancy. The evil done by the Foxes and those who emulated them weighed heavy against Samson. Orev hoped the Lion’s Path would tilt the balance in Samson’s favor.

“Samson strode the high road like a lion, master of beasts of and men. Stronger than a lion, swifter than a leopard, Samson emerged always victorious. And all men feared to face him in battle or to stand before him for judgment . . .”

The day had dawned fair and hot; the rains had ended two moons ago, and the road lay dry and smooth beneath the summer sun. Samson sat upon the crest of a low hill overlooking the road from Shawafir to Gath, watching to see that all was well and tossing small stones for Ari to chase. Just as Orev dared hope the day would remain as serene as the silver dawn had promised, the half-grown lion froze in midpounce. Ari
stared down the hill and growled. As if the growl were a signal, Samson rose slowly to his feet.

“Trouble?” Orev set aside his harp, awaiting Samson’s word.

“A trader’s caravan on the road.” Samson bent and put his hand on Ari’s tawny head. “And beasts of prey lurking beyond the rise—see there, the dark shadows?”

Orev stared, but saw nothing, save some rocks. “I must trust to your senses, and the lion’s. What now, Samson?”

His friend smiled. “Now I rid this road of vermin. Of your goodness, go down and warn the merchant to halt and wait. Take Ari; I do not wish him hurt.”

“Or me either, I trust. Put the tether on your lion, or he will not stay with me.”

Samson looped a length of leather about Ari’s neck, handed the end of the lead to Orev. “Come along,” Orev told the reluctant lion. “Your master needs no help from a lame harper and a lion too lazy to hunt his own meat.”

Orev made his way to the road and walked down the rise to the merchant’s caravan. He held up his arm, a silent order to halt, only to realize the train of donkeys had already stopped.

The man who led the caravan stared. “Come no closer,” he said, and Orev paused, pulling Ari to his side.

“I come to warn you,” Orev said. “I am Orev, a harper, and I walk with Samson, who guards this road. He tells you to await him here, for thieves have set a trap for you where the road passes by those rocks.” Orev gestured, and the merchant stared at the rockfall where the road curved.

“Why should I believe this tale?” the man demanded, and Orev shrugged.

“I could say ‘because it is truth,’ but that, too, could be a lie. You can forge onward and chance meeting thieves, or wait and move on again when it is safe to do so.”

The merchant hesitated, glanced from Orev to Ari. Orev said nothing,
merely scratched Ari behind the ears. At last the merchant said, “I will wait. But do not come any closer.”

“The odor of asses is no joy to me,” Orev said. “I will wait here, with Samson’s lion.”

They all waited, tense, stretching their ears for the sound of battle ahead. Only silence for long minutes, then a faint clattering, the sound muted by the rocks between them and danger. The merchant’s men stood tense, daggers drawn.

“Look, someone comes!” The warning rose shrill into the bright air; Orev turned and looked, and smiled.

He unbound the leather leash, freeing Ari. “Go to your master,” Orev said, and the lion padded off to Samson.

Samson greeted Ari, stroking the beast’s broad forehead, then strode up to Orev and the staring merchant. “I greet you, men of the Five Cities. The road ahead is safe now.”

The merchant regarded Samson skeptically. “So you say. I saw no thieves, and doubt I shall see any now.”

“If you doubt, come past the bend, to the rocks, and you will see those who awaited you lying dead.”

To Orev’s surprise, the merchant agreed—although he ordered the caravan he commanded to turn back if he did not return within a quarter hour.

Past the curve around the outcrop of rock lay a small hollow; that the thieves had waited there was clear from the swords upon the ground, and the three men lying dead among the rocks.

As the merchant stared, Orev asked, soft-voiced, “Three men, Samson? How?” Samson smiled grimly and said, “I hurled rocks down upon them, crushed their skulls. That one, wearing the fox pelt, was the leader. With him dead, the others panicked and fled.”

“They carried swords, and still you triumphed over them?” The merchant looked upon the dead men, made his decision. “I thank you, Samson, and will offer dogs to Dagon in your name. What do you ask,
Samson, slayer of the Champion of Gath, for keeping my men and beasts and trade goods safe?”

“I need no dogs slain on my behalf, and I ask no payment for doing what any man should do,” Samson said, and the merchant stared as if doubting the evidence of his own senses.

Then he rallied, and bowed to Samson. “Perhaps you need no payment, but I would anger my gods did I not honor your service to me. Choose whatsoever you wish that is in my power to grant you, and it is yours.”

Samson glanced over at Orev, who nodded. The favor Samson had given must be balanced by a favor taken; Orev only hoped Samson would choose wisely among the merchant’s wares.

But Samson did not ask to go and look upon the goods the merchant carried. Instead, he walked over to the sword the leader of the bandits had carried. The weapon lay where it had fallen when stealth had proven more powerful than armed men, and stone stronger than bone. Samson caught up the weapon, gazed upon the dark glint of the iron blade, the flash of wild asses’ teeth set into the hilt.

“I claim this,” he said, and Orev smiled as the merchant tried to hide his relief that Samson’s choice cost him nothing.

But, as a clearly honorable man, the merchant asked, “Is that all? You may claim anything that is mine to give.”

“This suffices.” Samson swung the sword, testing its weight and balance. “A worthy gift, and one that will aid in keeping the road safe for men of goodwill.”

The merchant stared, then bowed. “If that is all you ask, then take it with my goodwill and my thanks.”

“It is all I ask.”

Orev sighed inwardly, but said nothing. Standing beside Samson, he watched as the merchant and his servants and pack animals took to the road again. They moved hastily, with many looks back over their shoulders. Clearly they could not believe their good fortune. When the small caravan passed from sight around the next hill, Orev turned to Samson.