Delilah: A Novel (38 page)

“Your promise is enough.”

“But should I not vow it upon some sacred object?”

He shrugged. “If your promise is faithless, will a sworn promise be worth more? You have said you will keep what I reveal to you close. That is vow enough for me.”

“You are too good, Samson. Remember all men are not so pure.”

“That is their business, not mine.”

“And what is yours, Lord of the Sun?” I tried to keep my tone light, as if I merely played with words.

He turned his hands over so that mine lay in his palms like waiting doves, honey-soft against his hardened skin. “To live. To laugh.” He bent and kissed the centers of my palms, his lips warm against my skin. “To love.”

Tears burned behind my eyes.
Oh, Samson, do you think either gods or men will grant such freedom to any mortal?
Aloud, I said the first words that fell into my mind. “Did your mother love your father?”

He smiled. “She loved her husband. As for my father—I do not think she ever even saw his face. I think she went to the Lady’s Grove on the full moon, and lay with whoever laid red roses at her feet. The angel of the Lord said only that she would conceive a son. How—that was her riddle to solve.”

“How like a man, to load all into a basket and set it into a woman’s arms to carry!” I exclaimed. But the tale made sense. How else would an Israelite come by that sun-gold hair, those summer-sky eyes? His father must have traveled far to reach the Ascalon Grove. Achaean, perhaps, or from even farther north.

“Perhaps my father still doubted that an angel of the Lord had appeared to her; perhaps he believed every word. He has always treated me as if I were his true son. And you, Delilah? Who lay with your mother in the Grove to get you?”

“I never think of it.” Now I wondered why I had not. And now I did not wish to waste the precious time I had been granted. I knew that, after a month, Temple and City would want what I had been ordered to bring them: Samson.

I felt sorrow drag at my skin; Samson ran his thumb over my lips. “You look ready to weep, my heart. What troubles you?”

I drew a deep breath and put my hand over his, pressing his palm against my cheek. “The time for love-play is over. It is time I told you all the truth, Samson.”

“What, that the Temple set you as a snare before me? A blind man could see that.”

“But you do not know why I consented to act as bait in their trap,” I said, and Samson smiled.

“Because you love me beyond reason, of course. You see? I am no more humble than any other man.”

Above us the sky arched, a deep endless blue; the sun gilded all its light brushed. We had gone out of the House of Ivory, down to the shore of the Sorek. There we sat in silence for a time, watching the river-water ripple past like spangled silk.

Then Samson said, “I love you, Delilah. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, all ebony and gold and with your hair caught by a wreath of roses.”

“Love? I am one of Atargatis’s Doves, Samson. Can you love a woman who has been Atargatis Herself for other men?”

He did not answer at once; I liked that better than if he had blurted out his reply unthinking. “Yes,” he said at last.

“Truly? And can you love me only? I have heard that you lust after all women, Samson.”

“And if that is truth, do you blame me for my desires?”

“Not I. But you are pledged to your people’s god, are you not? I have also heard that your god does not smile upon men who run after women not of your own tribes.”

“Say rather that my people’s Judges do not smile upon such men. Truly, I do not think Yahweh cares, or He would have chastised me for my actions long since.” Samson reached out and caught the edge of my veil. “Since Yahweh made all the world, He made women as well as
men. And since He is Lord over all the earth, He knows He created women to be loved.”

I laughed again; laughter was my strength, my refuge. “So your god’s name is Yahweh? What does that mean?”

Samson smiled; sunlight stroked his hair, drew bright gleams from his sky-eyes. “It means—oh, Lord, the One. The God.”

“What a foolish name.” I chose a pearl from the gilded basket I had filled with sea-gems, tossed the pearl into the Sorek, slanting my eyes to see what Samson thought of this mad extravagance.

Rather than looking shocked, or chiding me, he smiled again and plucked a handful of pearls from the gilded basket. He flung three into the river, carefully aiming to land in the fading ripples created by the pearl I had flung, as if to give it company.

“From water they came, and to water they return,” he said. “Now, Pearl Beyond Price, tell what your Atargatis’s name means.”

“Lady of Heaven. Star—” I began, and Samson laughed.

“What foolish names,” he said. “I have traveled far, Delilah, and all the gods and goddesses are called Lord and Lady, Sun and Moon, Father and Mother. Their names mean God. Or Goddess. Don’t frown at me, Night-Hair. One should be glad to learn truth.”

“I know enough truth to last me a dozen lifetimes.” My words sounded bitter as vinegar; for all our love, our happiness veiled grief and anger unappeased.
Oh, Aylah, heart-sister. How could they have sacrificed you, and for nothing, nothing
. Tears pressed hot behind my eyes.

Samson reached out and set his fingers against my cheeks, his touch gentle as a morning breeze upon my skin. “Don’t weep, my love. Come with me. I will take you away—”

“As you took Aylah? I would be no safer than she.” I wished the words unsaid the moment I uttered them, but it was too late. Tears slid hot and wet down my face. Samson stroked away my tears; I opened my eyes to see streaks of malachite and lapis gleaming vivid upon his hands.

“Something eats your heart, and it is not only Aylah’s death,” he said. “Tell me. It is time. We cannot lie to ourselves any longer, my love.”

I drew in a breath that shuddered through my body. I knew I stood upon a spindle’s point, that the words I next spoke would spin whatever future I desired. I could say anything, or nothing. Or I could speak the truth, the truth we had both promised each other that first day Samson came to me in the House of Ivory. Always, beneath our sunlit love, ghosts and darkness had waited.

Still I hesitated, knowing what I must say would stab Samson’s heart. But Aylah’s ghost whispered on every breeze, watched from every shadow. I owed her justice. And I owed Samson truth.

“The Temple ordered Aylah slain, Samson. And it was those calling themselves Foxes who killed her.”

For a time he remained silent, as if he had not heard me. Then he glanced down at his hands, rubbed his fingertips together, smearing the green and blue eye paint he had wiped from my cheeks. At last he said, “Do you think I do not know who killed my wife and child? But who sent them—that I did not know. How is it you know this, Delilah?”

“I learned it from the High Priestess herself, and from the Prince of the City, too. I do not know why your Foxes should do Derceto’s bidding, but—”

“I know why.” Samson’s voice was so low I could barely hear the words. “The Foxes sought to turn me into a weapon against the Five Cities.”

“As the Temple sought to turn me into a weapon against you.” My mouth tasted bitter; I swallowed hard. “You are right. The time for love is over, Samson. I have sworn to avenge Aylah and her daughter. Will you aid me?”

He looked at me steadily, as if judging my strength. “You should blame me as well as your High Priestess.” Samson looked straight into my eyes, accepting that I would hate him for what he next would say. “I left her alone, with only Orev to watch over her and the child. I knew
she was troubled, fearing the Temple would punish her for failing to do as she had been ordered. I should have listened to her.”

“Yes,” I said. “But you are not to blame for the evil others do. You did not slay Aylah and her child. The Foxes killed them, with Derceto’s aid, and the City’s. And we shall make them pay for what they have done.”

He looked down at the ground, as if he found answers there. Perhaps he did, for after half a dozen breaths he lifted his head and looked into my eyes. “I, too, have vowed to avenge them. When I looked upon the ashes of my house, I heard Yahweh tell me to wait, that in time I would have justice. But when, and how? I can hunt down the Foxes, but others, too, are guilty.”

Now. The time to speak is now
. I drew a deep breath and began. “Listen, my love, for at last I have a plan . . .”

A plan that Samson’s own tales had given life. Stone loved Samson; he could set his hands upon it and it would work happily to his will. The new Great House of Dagon in Gaza had been built of stone—built, so Samson told me a master builder had claimed, poorly. They had built upon a foundation that would not hold, with stones that awaited only the right touch to free them to fall. To crush, and kill.

The Five Cities feared Samson, longed to enslave him, to destroy this great hero utterly. “They wish you forgotten, Samson. You forgotten and your people despairing.”

“Your plan, beloved?”

Love flowed through my blood, forbidden fire released. How could any woman breathing not love him? Even though I lay naked in his arms, when I spoke, his eyes remained upon my face; he heeded my words.

“Listen, sun of my heart—this is a reckless scheme, a dangerous one.” I put my hand over his mouth, silently forbidding him to speak yet. “The new Great House of Dagon is to be dedicated at the next new moon. The Lords and Ladies, the High Priests and High Priestesses of the Five Cities will be there to honor Dagon. They will stand by the great altar there. If you can bring down that part of the Temple then, it
will slay those who plot against you, who sent Aylah to her death, and her daughter with her. But—”

He lifted my fingers from his lips, kissed the palm of my hand. “But to do that, I must be there, in the Temple, on the day it is dedicated.”

“Yes.”

“And I am too well-known to go as a worshipper of Dagon.”

“Yes,” I said again.

“There is another thing, Delilah. How long will your High Priestess wait for you to accomplish your task? Already we have dallied here half a moon.”

“And yes a third time.” A full moon glowed when I first took Samson in my arms; soon it would be moon-dark. “I have delayed, sent word that you have some secret to your strength, your power, that I must beguile you into revealing what will render you helpless. That I have cozened the secret from you three times, only to find you lied to me.”

He laughed. “And she believes this?”

“She dare not disbelieve. She wants the glory of claiming you for her Temple, just as the Prince of the City desires the glory of defeating you. We will cheat both, and award the prize to Gaza. I will go to those who rule the Five Cities, and the Great Houses of the gods, and tell them that Dagon claims you for his own. That you must be displayed in His new Great House on the day it is dedicated.”

I leaned back and gazed up at Samson. “And then—”

“And then I, their sacrifice, shall give Dagon more than he ever thought to receive.” Samson smiled; for a heartbeat he seemed all sun and lion. I could believe a god had fathered him.

“Is it a good plan, my sun of all men? Tell me, is it pleasing to your god?”

“He is a god of hard justice. Yes. Tell me, my queen of night, is it pleasing to your soft goddess?”

I thought of Aylah, who had sung Her prayers and danced before Her altar. Aylah, who had not truly believed, but had done her best to
do Her honor. Aylah, who had lain with Samson in the Lady’s Dance, and borne a daughter, proof of Her favor . . .

“Yes, I think it is pleasing to Atargatis.”

“Then we must hazard all on this toss of the gods’ dice,” Samson said.

And after? Once Samson had fled Dagon’s Temple, leaving Derceto and Sandarin dead—what then for us? I was Atargatis’s priestess; I still loved Our Lady, and the Dance. But I loved Samson, too. A treacherous longing to be his and his only possessed me.
Later. I will think of that later. There will be time for us later
.

So I smiled. “So I must beguile your secrets from you, Samson, sun of my heart, sun of all men. Tell me—tell me—tell me—” I kept chanting those words until he stopped my mouth with his. I thought I heard echoing laughter.

But it was only the River Sorek, its waters rippling joyously as they carried the pearls we had cast into it down to the endlessly laughing sea.

“Now it came to pass that because of the woman Delilah and her wiles, great Samson was taken by the Philistines, taken and bound with great fetters of brass. And because the Philistines feared great Samson so, his eyes were taken from him, the Philistines put out his eyes and set him to grinding in a mill, that all Gaza might mock him who once they feared above all men . . .”

“You’re going to do
what
?” It was the third time Orev had asked the question, and somehow the answer never changed. The only explanation his mind provided was that Samson and his Moondancer priestess had both sacrificed all their wits to some hitherto unknown deity.

Samson regarded him with a serene compassion that made Orev long to strike him. “We are going to play the Philistines’ game—”

“But with our laws, not theirs.” Delilah Moondancer finished Samson’s sentence as easily as if they had been twenty years wed.

“Whatever game you plan is too dangerous to play at all,” Orev said, and wondered why he bothered to speak. Neither Samson nor Delilah heeded a word he said.

“I have made a vow.” Sparks flew upward from the hearth fire, reflected fire in the priestess’s midnight eyes. “I swore before Atargatis Herself that my heart-sister and her daughter will rest quiet.”

Samson laid his hand over hers. “And before the pyre that had been my home and Aylah’s, I swore to Yahweh that my wife and child would be avenged—and I heard Him promise I would do so.”

As Delilah twined her fingers through Samson’s, Orev stared at the two of them, trying to summon words that would act as pure water, would wash away this mad desire. At last he said only “Those are fine words. But how do you intend to achieve these vows? Those who burned the farm, slew your wife and child, slipped away like vipers. How will you find them now?”