Delilah: A Novel (40 page)

Absently, I stroked the dog’s smooth white coat. Outwardly comforted, I used those moments to remember what had brought me back here, and to think what I now must do.

I must still play the game. I must not reveal by word or glance that I care whether Samson lives or dies. I must trust his faith in his own god
. His last words to me still echoed in my ears:

“We have not lost yet, Delilah. Have faith, and wait.”

“You wake at last,” the priest said. “That is good. Milchienzeek is kind.”

“How long have I slept?” I was horrified to hear the priest say that I had lain asleep for three days. But I betrayed nothing; I patted Milchienzeek’s dog one last time and then stretched and sat up.

“My thanks,” I told the priest. “But there are those who need your Lady’s dogs more than I.” I smiled; it took all the strength I had. I turned my eyes to the handmaiden who sat beside the doorway and was twice glad I had used caution in my first waking moments.

For the handmaiden who watched over me was Mottara. The High Priestess had again sent her own most loyal servant to tend upon me.

To spy upon me, to weigh what I say, and how I look when I say it
. I hoped Mottara was disappointed when I smiled at her also and said, “You
may tell High Priestess Derceto that Delilah Moondancer has returned. Tell her, too, that I await her next command—and my next dance.”

Mottara rose to her feet and bowed. “I shall do as you ask, Priestess.” As she pushed aside the door-curtain, I added, “And send Pehkah and Japhilit to me. I wish to bathe and dress.”

Mottara inclined her head—perhaps to hide the fact that she suddenly seemed to have set her teeth into a bitter fruit. “As my lady Delilah orders.” Before I could issue any more commands, Mottara slipped past the curtain and let it fall closed behind her.

The priest of Milchienzeek was kinder; he seemed truly pleased I had woken well and happy. “The blessings of Milchienzeek the Kind upon you, Priestess of Atargatis.” As if it were part of the blessing, the dog licked my hand. Smiling, I thanked both priest and dog, and they, too, went away. For a few moments, I was alone.

But I was too wise and wary to think myself unobserved. I had learned much since the day Samson had freed my hair in the Sun Partridge Dance. Now, the only person I trusted here in the Great House of Atargatis was myself.

So although I wished to weep until my eyes burned, to drink poppy syrup until I fell again into the comfort of nothingness, I did neither. As if I did not see the vial of poppy lying upon the mother-of-pearl chest, as if I felt nothing but relief at my return to Our Lady’s Temple, I stretched again. Then I yawned and lay back upon my pillows, awaiting the arrival of the servants I had ordered Mottara to send to me.

And, hardest of all, I smiled. Whoever spied upon me would see only a young priestess haughtily rejoicing that she had succeeded in the task assigned her. A girl eager to claim the rich reward she had been promised.

And I shall claim that reward. But not here, and not today
.

Today I must wait, and smile.

And have faith—and wait
.

“From Delilah’s soft arms they dragged mighty Samson, Samson whom a woman’s wiles had rendered helpless as any other man. The Philistines took him, and bound him, and because they feared him and his god so greatly, they put out his eyes—but even a blind man may see truth, and his god.”

Later, when he grew tired of conjuring reasons that mighty Samson permitted himself to be captured by mere Philistines, Orev added words to please those who listened.

“From Delilah’s soft arms they dragged Samson, Samson whose hair she had shorn, rendering him helpless as any other man. For Samson had been vowed as a Nazirite before his birth, and he drank no wine and ate no unclean thing, nor did a blade ever touch a hair on his head. But the woman Delilah beguiled him, and Samson at last revealed that his power lay in his uncut hair . . .”

Harper’s privilege, the creation of that iron vow—for those who listened wished to hear of a hero, a man unlike other men. And after all, those words held half a truth. Had not Delilah persuaded the rulers of the Five Cities that Samson might be easily taken if only his glorious mane of hair were shorn like a lamb’s?

“Rejoicing, the Philistines bound Samson with fetters of brass; rejoicing, they bore Samson to Gaza, to the Temple of Dagon. And there in that vile Temple, they bound blind Samson to grind grain for the Temple, thinking to mock him and bring him low.”

“But Samson trusted in his god, and Samson bowed his head to Yahweh’s will. And Samson ground grain in Gaza, and awaited Yahweh’s word . . .”

The Philistines took no chances; they might have blinded and bound him, but clearly they still feared Samson. A full fifty warriors of Gaza guarded the ass-drawn cart in which Samson had been chained. No one was permitted to approach the cart the warriors surrounded.

Orev did not even try to do so. He merely followed Samson and his jailers along the road to Gaza. No one seemed to object; what danger could a lame harper pose to fifty armed men, after all? Nor did Orev cherish hopes of freeing Samson; he knew it to be impossible.

And he feared more for Delilah’s safety than for Samson’s, at the moment. The Foxes had already slain one of Samson’s women, and would delight in slitting Delilah’s throat. Still, it would take a few days for the news of Samson’s capture to travel the length and breadth of Canaan. Gaza was two days’ journey from Sorek Vale at a swift pace, and Samson’s captors moved swiftly, clearly eager to hand their charge over to others. Orev felt reasonably certain that the overconfident fools who called themselves “Samson’s Foxes” would not hear what had befallen until Samson was prisoned in Gaza—and Delilah safely returned to her Temple in Ascalon.

He was half-right; by the time the prisoner’s escort was only a day’s march from Gaza, Orev glanced aside, his eyes drawn by movement. And there they were, the Foxes, watching the Philistines from the untended land beyond the road. Orev recognized the twin brothers Dawi and Golyat—no one could mistake their red hair. Now the harper scanned the sides of the road as he walked, knowing that more of Samson’s self-proclaimed allies must stalk him and his guards. A mile onward, Orev spotted Achbor and Enoch. Perhaps the rest of the Foxes lurked out of sight; Orev didn’t know.

What I do know is that if they try to rescue Samson now, all he has suffered will be for nothing
. The first thing Gaza’s warriors would do if attacked was cut Samson’s throat. Better a dead lion than one who escaped.
I would not
wish to be the captain who must tell the rulers of the Five Cities that he let Samson escape now
.

Apparently even the most reckless of the Foxes understood this, for although the Foxes gazed intently upon the Philistines and the captive Samson, they did not move. Orev felt their eyes upon him as well, and breathed more easily only when the watching Foxes were far behind them. Another danger to Samson’s mad plan averted.

Orev continued grimly on after Samson and his watchful guards.
Perhaps I should have called the Foxes down to us. A clean death for Samson might have been better than whatever lies ahead
. Orev lacked his friend’s faith in the plan concocted in the House of Ivory. But whatever awaited in Gaza, Orev would not let Samson face a dark future alone and friendless.

The first thing Orev discovered was that it was easy enough to see Samson—for his captors had set him to pushing the mill that ground grain for the Great House of Dagon. Half the city came each day to watch and to jeer; Orev was simply one more curious onlooker. If Gaza thought to debase Samson by making him labor as would an ox, the plan failed. For Samson seemed to notice nothing, ignoring the insults; obedient, he pushed the bar that turned the millstone until he was ordered to stop.

It was harder to meet with Samson privately in his cell—but far from impossible. An offering to the guard upon Samson’s door bought time alone with the blind hero.

Waiting was hard—only seven days remained until the dedication of Dagon’s Temple—but Orev forced himself to patience.
I must not seem too eager, must not draw attention to myself
. But patience did not come easy, for Orev had learned something that doomed Delilah and Samson’s plan—even had Samson still possessed eyes to see.

Three days after Samson had been set to turning the mill, Orev bribed his way into his friend’s cell. Even after so short a time, the guard was accustomed to men and women wishing to visit the famed slayer of a hundred men; Orev’s request held little interest for him. The
guard merely closed his hand over the silver ring the harper gave him and then unbolted the door and held it while Orev stumbled his way down a short flight of stairs. As Orev reached the bottom, the door swung shut, leaving him in darkness.

“Samson?” The name echoed against the cool stone walls of the cell.

“Orev? What are you doing here? Are you mad?”

Orev followed the sound of Samson’s voice, his hands reaching out, questing. A few steps, and he touched Samson’s arm. “Am
I
mad? You are the one who’s imprisoned in Dagon’s Temple.”

“Yes, Orev, I know. Have a little faith.” Despite his blindness, despite the heavy collar about his neck and the chain leading from the collar to a ring in the stone wall, Samson did not sound either desperate or dismayed. “Tell me, where is Delilah? Is she well?”

“She dwells once more in the Great House of Atargatis in Ascalon. She is hailed as a heroine, and a rich reward has been bestowed upon her. She is the High Priestess’s darling now, they say. Samson—”

“Do they?” Samson laughed, the joyous sound echoing uncannily against the cell’s stone walls. He grasped Orev’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Well, soon comes the great feast honoring Dagon, when the priests dedicate this ill-made temple. All the nobles will be in the Temple, as will the rulers of the other Great Houses of the gods and goddesses of the Five Cities. They long to see me brought low before them all. Now, upon the day the Temple is dedicated, I will be displayed before the altar as a prize won by their god, just as Delilah told them Dagon demanded—”

“Samson, be silent!” Orev used his harper’s voice to command obedience. “Listen and heed. Your plan won’t work now. Do you know what they’re going to do? They’re going to chain you to the pillars by Dagon’s altar. The chains are hanging there now. Chains of iron, Samson. Chains even you cannot sunder.” The last chance of success had vanished when those chains were forged.

For long moments, the only sound was Samson’s breathing echoing in the darkness. At last he said, “I understand.”

Orev let out his own breath, his tense muscles relaxing. Apparently Samson would for once in his extravagant life be sensible. “Good. We still have four days. The Foxes are lurking somewhere near Gaza. I’ll find them, and they can free you before you’re bound to Dagon’s Temple.”

“So those who burned my wife and daughter wish to save me now?” Samson laughed again, a sound ringing harsh against the stones, then he spoke with quiet power. “Then our plan still holds good. The chains will make it easier to fulfill my task. Yes, Orev, send the Foxes into Dagon’s Temple. They, too, must be there. But tell Delilah that she must not come here now. Tell her nothing more. Tell her—tell her I love her, and I will meet her in Ascalon, after.”

Samson wants me to lie to Delilah? Samson wants me to
lie—Orev struggled to find the words that would convince his friend to abandon the deadly scheme. “Samson, are you mad? You are blind now, and weak from turning the grindstone. You cannot do this. Even if you could—”

A clink of chain against stone; Samson reached out and laid his hand on Orev’s shoulder. “Of course I can. Turning the grindstone has only hardened my body, and I don’t need eyes to sense where a building’s weakness lies. I shall pull down this Great House of Dagon and destroy those who destroyed my family, as I swore I would. Yes. All will be as Delilah and I vowed.”

“Samson—” Orev began, only to have the man ruthlessly ignore him.

“You need do only one thing: tell Delilah what I have said to you, that I can still bring justice down upon those who have done evil. Tell her I will avenge our dead. And tell her I say she must not be near Dagon’s Temple when the Temple falls. Nor must you.”

Orev shook his head, forgetting for a moment that his friend could not see, even had there been a lamp to light the prison cell. “Samson, you cannot. Listen to me; I will think of another plan to free you from bondage—”

“Even you cannot do that, Orev. But for once, you can do as I bid you and not argue. Go to Ascalon and tell her whom my heart loves what I have said to you.”

Orev tried once more, offering Samson’s heart’s desire. “Samson, let the Foxes rescue you before the last day dawns, no matter the cost. You can escape. You and your Delilah can live in peace—”

“And you have always called
me
mad.” Samson reached out to touch his friend’s arm. “No, Orev. Even if the Foxes could save me, and even if Delilah and I could find a place we could live safe and free, I will start no war—for that is what my escape would bring. Disaster to our people. How many times must I say that we cannot win a war against the Five Cities? Or that there is no reason for such battles?”

“And you think bringing Dagon’s Temple crashing down upon you better? Assuming you can do it. If the pillars hold, all you’ve endured will be for nothing.”

A pause, then, “That is as Yahweh wills. I have sworn to do this thing, and I will do it. Now go, and tell Delilah we have not yet failed. There is ample time for you to reach Ascalon before Dagon’s Temple is dedicated—and you and Delilah must stay there. Neither of you must be in Gaza on the day they drag me to the Great House of Dagon to mock me before all the people and offer my suffering up to their false god. I would not condemn you to die with me.”