Delilah: A Novel (22 page)

And not just bulls, but the Great Bulls that roamed free over Canaan’s rich plains, descendants, some said, of the Sacred Bulls from Crete. Red and white, and twice the size of a farmer’s ox, with horns long as a man’s arm sweeping forward like sword-blades—

“There.” High Priestess Derceto held her arms out, as if offering empty air. “There are the beasts you must harness. And there”—she gestured at the damp sand between the pen and the little waves teasing the edge of the beach—“there is the field you must plow.”

Not only can they not plow a field, they can’t even be yoked. They’ll kill Samson before he can toss one of them
. Orev didn’t even bother to consider the impossibility of plowing a strip of sea-strand that lay between low tide and high.

To Orev’s astonishment, Samson looked upon the huge bulls and laughed. “How many hours have I do accomplish this, Lady?”

“As many as you wish, Samson. But remember the Sun Partridge dances for only four days more. You must accomplish the tasks before that time, or forfeit your freedom.”

“A man does that when he marries,” Samson said. “A good omen, yes, Orev?” Samson clapped a hand to Orev’s shoulder, pressed hard.

Obeying the silent command, Orev nodded. “A good omen,” he echoed.

“A good omen indeed.” The High Priestess looked down upon Samson and smiled. Her eyes gleamed flat and cold, a serpent’s calculating gaze.

An omen—but a good omen for whom?

Samson smiled. “Then, since the omens are good, I will begin.” Without pause, he walked forward, towards the pen; the soldiers drew aside to let him pass. Apparently untroubled, Samson unbound the knotted rope that closed the gate and entered the bull pen. Orev closed his eyes and whispered the most fervent prayer to Yahweh he had ever uttered.

Even that sounded loud against the sudden silence. Orev opened his eyes, expecting to see Samson’s blood on the pale sand, blood on the gleaming horns.

But the scene before him was peaceful. As the circle of soldiers stared, the Great Bulls crowded each other, seeking closeness to Samson. They bent their massive heads to lick his hands, permitted him to stroke their thick-muscled necks.

Samson smoothed his hand over one of the great curving horns, turned to face the High Priestess. “They seem willing enough—another good omen. Where is the yoke and the plow?”

For all the long years of his life, Orev cherished the memory of Derceto’s painted face in that impossible moment.
Has she even brought yoke and plow, being so certain that by now Samson would have bled his life out on the sands?

As Samson continued to cozen the great beasts, the warriors looked to the High Priestess. Orev smiled, thinking how well this tale would weave into song.
“And even the beasts bowed before Samson, the Great Bulls that once belonged to gods. And so Samson triumphed over the evil plotted against him . . .”

“Take the man Samson the yokes for the bulls, and the plow to harness them to.” Derceto’s voice sounded as if she held shattered glass upon her tongue.

So there were yokes and plow after all—well, she would not wish
her scheming too plainly seen. Orev watched as two of the men pulled the yokes close to the pen’s gate, and a third dragged the plow and let it fall beside the fence. Gravely, Samson thanked them and turned his back upon the bulls, opened the gate and picked up the heavy wooden yokes, set them down inside the pen. He spoke softly to the bulls again, and again they licked and nuzzled at his hands.

As Orev watched, marveling, Samson set the yokes upon the necks of the Great Bulls, led them out of the pen, and hooked their yokes to the plow. “Which hide of sea-strand must I plow?” Samson asked.

Silent, Derceto pointed at a stretch of sand close to the sea’s edge. As soon as the tide turned, it would be inundated, wavelet by wavelet. The field Samson must plow with the Great Bulls was set off by a length of leather cut from an ox hide in one long continuous strip.

Not an excessively large field, but Orev could not believe that Samson could persuade those bulls to pull a plow. At least the sand was still firm, for the tide had withdrawn to its outermost limit. Derceto had staked all on a murderous delay as Samson endeavored to yoke the Great Bulls to the plow. Now there was time to spare to plow the plot of sand.

If the bulls would pull at Samson’s bidding.

Samson led the bulls over to the makeshift field. There he walked back and leaned upon the plow, pushed its iron blade deep into the sand. But instead of trying to order the bulls to move forward as he leaned upon the plow, Samson walked in front of the beasts, leading the way down the field, and the yoked bulls followed.

None of those watching uttered a sound; the silence was so great Orev heard the waves sigh, and a seabird call far out over the water. Samson alone spoke, and that in soft low words to the bulls that followed him, dragging the plow, turning up the sand in uneven rows.

When all the sand within the encircling hide was plowed, Samson stopped. He offered the bulls his hands again, and again the beasts snuffled and licked him. Samson then smiled and swiftly unyoked the two bulls. Freed, they nudged Samson, who merely stroked their heads. After
a moment, the bulls turned and slowly wandered off, heading, Orev supposed, for their accustomed pasture.

“I have completed the first of the tasks you set me,” Samson said. “When must I accomplish the second?”

“Now, if you dare the second task.” Slowly, Derceto pointed to a basket by her feet. “Sow what lies within this basket,” the High Priestess said, “and as your third task, reap what you can.”

As none of the watching soldiers moved, Samson came forward and lifted the basket. Holding it with care, he walked to the edge of the plowed sand. There he paused, waiting, before he pulled the lid of the basket back less than a hand’s width. Orev watched, with increasing anger, as Samson strode swiftly along the crooked furrows, pouring out what the basket held.

Scorpions.

If Samson had reached into the basket to catch up whatever seed the High Priestess had given, he would have been stung with a venom that could slay a lion.

But Samson, the uncouth, untutored barbarian, had been too canny for High Priestess Derceto; he had plowed the field named by her, with the beasts she had given him. Now Samson sowed that same field with scorpions, gently shaking the poisonous creatures from the darkness of the basket into the damp, turned sand, moving quickly so the baffled, furious creatures had no chance to sting. When the basket held no more scorpions, Samson moved away from the plowed sand and the death seeded there.

He walked up to the High Priestess and set the empty basket at her feet. “High Priestess of Atargatis, I have done all you have asked. I have plowed the field you chose, I have sown it with the seed you chose. And I have reaped my own life safely from that field. I have completed the Three Tasks. When may I claim my bride? Remember, the Sun Partridge dances only three days more.”

Derceto stared at Samson; Orev watched a vein throb beneath the skin of her throat. “When the omens for the wedding are favorable.”
Her voice sounded harsh as a raven’s. “Before festival’s end. Yes. When the omens are favorable.”

She turned and walked away, towards the Sea Gate into Ascalon. After a few moments, the soldiers seemed to decide they no longer need guard a stretch of sand, and soon only Samson and Orev stood by the pen that had held the Great Bulls.

“I hope the omens are favorable soon,” Orev said, watching Derceto’s stiff back. “I’m tired of city life.”

“I too. But I have won the wife of my heart, so I am glad we came to Ascalon.”

“I’ll be gladder to leave it. I thought you would die here when I saw those bulls. Those tasks were meant to kill you, Samson.”

Samson smiled. “I know. The Temple does not wish to part with its Dove. But truly, the tasks were not so hard after all. A little patience and care—”

“Patience and care won’t turn Great Bulls into oxen. What magic tamed those bulls?”

Samson laughed. “Orev, I have known for a day and a night that I must plow with whatever beasts the Temple decreed. It was not hard to learn what I would be given—or to go to the beasts and make them my friends. Bulls are lazy, peaceful creatures at heart. Honey-cakes and soft words taught them to follow me. True, the furrows were not straight, nor deep—but no one said I must plow well. Only that I must plow the field I was shown with the beasts I was given.”

“I don’t think honey and soft words will win over the High Priestess.” Orev remembered the flat anger in Derceto’s eyes as she realized that Samson had survived the Three Tasks. “Take care, Samson. You have lived, and won not only a bride, but a great enemy.”

“I know. So I think, Orev, that the wedding should be celebrated as soon as the omens are favorable, and that they must be favorable as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” said Orev, “and so I think as well.”

“Now, how can we ensure omens that the wedding must be soon?” Samson asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps we should toss our own lots to determine the day.”

Samson smiled. “Perhaps. And I think I will ask for those two bulls as part of my bride’s dowry.”

“And I think you are mad. Settle for the priestess, and leave the rest alone. What would you do with two Great Bulls on a farm?”

“Plow,” Samson said. “What else?”

Although she knew her heart-sister never would believe such hard truth, would laugh and try to coax her to laugh as well, Aylah lived in fear. Since she was very small, she had known herself vulnerable, her very hair her betrayer. Because of her sunlight hair, she had been thrust before the shaman who journeyed endlessly across the lands north of the Dark Sea, had heard him name her fate. She had been five years old the day she had been condemned as the Sun’s bride. From that moment, she had been pampered, given meat even before her father ate. She told no one the meat turned to ash upon her tongue, its savor burned away by her fear. Someday she would be old enough to wed the Sun, and on that day, she would die in fire. When the wild men from the south rode through her people’s camp, caught her by her pale hair, hauled her across a saddlebow, and rode away with her as one of their prizes, Aylah had been grateful to them. They rode far, so far she hoped the Sun would no longer know where to seek his bride. They took her far away, to a land unlike anything she had ever seen before. She was sold, and sold again, until at last she reached the slave-market in Ascalon.

By that time, she had long since ceased feeling grateful to anyone. Untame, she scratched and bit anyone who laid his hands upon her. Those who owned her quickly learned that beatings only fed her anger;
few wished to trouble themselves with so intractable a girl. Only her hair saved her, for there was always someone who coveted her for its gold—and always someone who sold her on quickly, once he discovered her fierce refusal to yield.

When the plump gelded man in long robes shining with silver thread had purchased her in Ascalon, and had her dragged off to a building so huge she could not see beyond it, she had sworn silently that she would never yield to those within those endless walls.

That was before she met Delilah.

Unlike Aylah, Delilah hid nothing; all Delilah thought, dreamed, believed was given freely. In Delilah’s eyes, Aylah saw not greed, but admiration and love.

I saw the snare spread before me, yet I stepped into it willingly
. Aylah would not lie to herself, although she concealed a great deal from others. The Great House of Atargatis was a pleasant place to live; she was tended and cared for, treated kindly. She could have withstood that, kept her heart guarded against the kind priestesses, the gentle life, and the sweet goddess she had been bought to serve. But she could not resist Delilah. Not because she loved Delilah, but because Delilah loved her.

And love draws love
. That was one of the first lessons New Moons were taught. Aylah had thought those words folly, until the day she discovered she cared for Delilah, who cared so very much for her.

Delilah never doubted, never feared. Delilah drew Aylah onto paths that Aylah would never have dreamed of walking. Delilah’s fierce love, her serene faith, gave Aylah the courage to be, if not happy, at least content with life in the Temple, with her favored position as Delilah’s sun-shadow.

But unlike Delilah, Aylah never surrendered her trust to those who ordered their lives.
Never trust too much—better still, never trust at all, and twice never trust those in power over you
.

“The High Priestess has asked to see me? You are certain she did not ask to see Rising Moon Delilah?” Aylah regarded the New Moon who
had served as messenger—a small girl full of self-importance in her task—but the child simply repeated the words of the summons.
So my fate has come at last. I knew it when I saw him in the courtyard, watched him seek me out. I can hide from the Sun no longer
.

She was glad Delilah was not with her; Delilah would be full of questions to which Aylah could give no sweet answer.

But when she entered the High Priestess’s outer chamber, Aylah was surprised to see Derceto smile and beckon. “Come sit at my feet, child. I have something I must ask of you—or rather, something Our Lady asks.”

Cautious, Aylah did as Derceto had bidden, looked up into the High Priestess’s eyes, eyes opaque as jade. Eyes that revealed nothing.
But I can play that game as well as you, Derceto
. Aylah remained silent, waiting.

At last the High Priestess said, “You know the man Samson came to Our Lady’s House—” She paused, as if uncertain how to continue.

“Our Lady’s House is open to all who come with loving hearts,” Aylah said. Piety could hardly be chastised. She waited again.

“Of course. And that he asked for a priestess for his wife is also no secret. And that Our Lady demanded he be tested with three tasks. I never—” Derceto drew in her breath sharply, as if distressed. “Who could have dreamed he would succeed? But he has, and now claims his bride.”