The Philistine Warrior (51 page)

“I don’t understand,” I said, a little indignant. Do they mean that they think we
Philistines
are also ‘morally inferior,’ because we came from the
Aegean
?”

“No, not really—though they do seem to have a low opinion of every tribe beyond their Judaean hills. No, what they mean by morally ‘inferior’ is that the northern tribes worship Ba’al and Astarte….”

“Well, of course they do!” I exclaimed. “We all do!”

“Ah, but the Levites, you see, and some of the Judaeans…they lived in Egypt for a long time, and hence consider themselves more enlightened than native Canaanites—including us and the Danites; and other Hebrews, for that matter. The Levite King who led them out of Egypt—a man named Moses, it seems—he was himself part Egyptian. He taught his people the idea of justice, they claim; so the Judaeans believe that their god, Yahweh, is not only a war-god, but also a god of justice. And He rules over all the other deities in
Canaan
, subject only to the Great God of the Universe, whom they call El.”

“Well,” Delai interrupted, eyes flashing, “I don’t care which god they favor; but I can testify that Dagon and Astarte—and Ba’al—

are deities of righteousness and justice, too. So why can’t we live in peace with the Judaeans, if they believe in a god of justice, as well?”

At that, Ibbi nodded his head in agreement. He’d been quiet for a while—either because he sensed that, as a non-Philistine, he shouldn’t take much part in our deliberations…or because his suspicions about Akashou’s death had proven erroneous…?

Anyway, I ventured to answer Delai: “Perhaps we can live in peace with all—or some—of the hill peoples, including the Yahweh worshipers. As I say, I don’t have many hopes left; but we shall have to try.”

Amphimachus had some reservations on that subject: “The trouble is, Phicol—I mean with the Levite priests—is that they’re so damned intolerant! If it would help bring peace, we’d be glad to set up temples to Yahweh in
Philistia
. The Judaean people would like that, I’m sure—but their priests won’t tolerate the worship of any gods or goddesses other than Yahweh; they see all the other gods and goddesses as
servants
of Yahweh, and He is ‘jealous’ of them. And so they wouldn’t recognize whatever temples to Yahweh
we
might erect, since we would worship Him as only one of
many
deities of more or less equal importance; and we see Him, Yahweh, as subordinate to Dagon and Astarte.”

“Yet you say that’s mostly just the Judaean priests—the Levites,” Delai commented. “I still don’t see why we can’t live at peace with the Canaanites—I mean, even with hill Canaanites, like the Ephraimites. Well, even the Danites. They all worship the same gods we do, except for Yahweh—and we’re willing to honor Him, as you say, for the sake of peace. So why should a minority of Judaeans— the Levites, a minority within a minority—why are they able to prevent peace? Can’t we get the Judaean people to repudiate their priests’ silly notions? It’s not as if we’re utterly alien to the Canaanites, including the Danites and Hebrews. Even our language is like the Danite tongue, and our religion like that of most of the Canaanites, including the Danites, and even most of the Hebrews. Look at how easy it is for our children to pick up Danite! And Hebrew is just a dialect of Canaanite—and many of us speak a lot of

Canaanite, and many of them speak a lot of Philistine!” She finally subsided, feeling somewhat sure of herself (as a priestess, after all), but a bit exhausted by our long conversations so far.

“She’s made a lot of good points,” I commented.

But Amphimachus looked less convinced, although he gave some ground: “Well, Delai,” he answered her, “the ancient chronicles do indeed say that we Philistines, and the Danites, too—that we both lived in the area east of Troy, long before we migrated to the Aegean coast; and, of course, that was even longer before we came to Canaan. That’s why our languages and customs are rather like those of the Danites—although we’re much more civilized, of course!”

This was school-book knowledge to us all, from our childhoods. I added: “So when we migrated from Karia to
Canaan
, it was almost like a homecoming, since north
Canaan
is close to
Syria
, which in turn is east of Karia. I mean to say that we, and the Danites, and even the Canaanites, are not so far apart in our histories as one might think. Delai’s right about that. I’ll admit—I’ll proclaim, because it’s
true
—that Pharaoh’s grant of most of
Canaan
to our King Nomion gives us a better claim to this land than the Danites ever had. So that gives us the right to rule Canaanites, as well. But still, don’t we have some basis for living in peace with all the peoples of
Canaan
? We’re all cousins of a sort.”

“All right, then!” Delai exclaimed. “Religion—except for the Levite priests—language, in the case of the Danites; customs; and even history; all of it means we
are
related to them
all
in one way or another, as you’ve just said! Then why can’t we live with them as brothers and sisters?”

I laughed: “Like brothers Zaggi and Maoch, living together with
their
brothers, Adinai and Pinaruta?”

She was caught by that one, and couldn’t help but laugh with me. “Oh, you know what I mean!” she said, punching me in the arm.

Amphimachus chuckled a bit, too; but he added: “I’m afraid Phicol’s right, Delai…some of the worst quarrels ever known to history have been those between the closest relatives and ex-friends.” He sighed.

“Even so,” Delai insisted, “somehow or other, we’ve got to come to terms with the peoples who live all around us.”

“Amen to that!” Amphimachus and I agreed.

Then another thought occurred to me: “High Priest, will you come with me to
Gath
and take part in my government?”

He smiled broadly. “Thank you, Lord Phicol—Your Majesty. I appreciate the invitation. But I’m afraid not. I’m an old man now; it’s time for me to retire. I intend to do nothing more exciting than sit by the seashore—like ex-Sheren Pai—and contemplate the ocean’s tides. It’s time for a younger generation to take over….”

That little speech put us in a quiet mood, drinking our beer; yet we continued to discuss the past trials and future problems of our land.

Delai seemed melancholy. When Amphimachus left us for a few minutes, she came to stand near me, her hand on my shoulder. “It’s strange,” she began. “Here’s the ‘old order,’ passing the torch…but someday…
we
will be the old order…. Why should I think like that, when we’re just starting out?”

“Let’s hope we pass the torch, someday, more peacefully than Zaggi and Warati—more like Amphimachus, eh?” I laughed. She laughed. What else could one do? Maudlin. Trite. But so chillingly true a thought, so true a wish….

Then Amphimachus returned, having answered his urgent—beer caused—call of nature; we refrained from any more comments on the passing of the “old order,” though we’d been willing to make them with old Ibbi sitting with us, still very quiet.

Finally, I rose to my feet: “Well, I suggest we go inside. It’s dark. Is there anything else to discuss?”

Ibbi raised his hand at last: “My Lord, I know that I can never serve your country in an official position, because of my nationality….”

“We’ll always depend upon your advice,” Delai assured him.

We wandered inside while our servant cleared away plates and cups from the porch.

“Thank you for your confidence in me, Your Majesty,” Ibbi began again. “I do have a matter I hope Lord Phicol and Lord Amphimachus will think about before he—the Lord High Priest— retires. It’s about the cult of Goddess Inanna. I hope that the new regime in
Philistia
will grant full religious toleration to my sect, even if you can’t endorse it, or sponsor it publicly.”

I smiled. “Ceretainly you shall be free, from my point of view. What about it from yours, Lord Amphimachus?”

“I don’t want to be an alarmist,” the High Priest began, which statement, of course, was in fact a bit alarming. “I myself favor complete toleration; but I’m afraid there may be some problems. For instance, would Inanna’s priests and worshipers use the temples of Astarte? If so, there may be friction. But if you set up separate temples, there’s bound to be competition for worshipers, sacrifices, and so on. Even so…as I think about it…I would recommend separate temples….”

Delai protested, “But Inanna and Astarte—and Ishtar—are the same Goddess! Only the rituals differ, and even that not very much. Why should there be difficulty?”

Amphimachus shrugged his shoulders. “The similarity is precisely why there’d be competition. If They were
different
deities, there’d be no more competition than there is now between, say,

Dagon and Astarte—which is to say, none! But the devotees of Astarte and Inanna, being rival adherents of the
same
Goddess…I’m afraid, will make for friction. Remember what I just said about quarrelling relatives!”

Ibbi nodded his head vigorously. Obviously, he knew about that sort of thing.

“But I’m a priestess of Astarte—and yet a follower of Inanna’s rite,” Delai continued to argue. “And I’ve served in the temples of Ishtar, here in
Assyria
.” Her jaw set. “And, as Queen of Philistia, I shall see to it that there’s harmony among the worshipers of the Goddess!”

“Perhaps we can convoke a council of high priests and priestesses to discuss the matter,” I suggested. “Delai can do that on her own authority. But we must prepare the ground carefully, to see

to it that such a meeting really becomes a love-feast, and not a sectarian squabble.!

“That’s a good plan,” she remarked, and Amphimachus agreed.

“We can leave it at that for now, then, Your Majesties, my Lord High Priest, if you please,” Ibbi concluded. “I only wanted to mention the issue at this point. Thank you.”

So it seemed that every subject we brought up about our future policies implied pit-falls and nagging problems, not among us few that evening, but among the Philistines as the years would go by.

Delai mentioned another potential problem: “Darling, what about Warati?” she asked me—knowing this was the sorest point of all, so far as I was concerned.

“I shall offer him pardon,” I announced. “But he must give up his office. I’ll allow him to remain in
Philistia
in retirement if he promises to behave—if he doesn’t resist. Otherwise, I’ll have to exile him—with the consent of the Gazan nobility, of course.”

“No revenge—no executions?” she asked.

I shook my head no.

Amphimachus smiled: “Such magnanimity is what
Philistia
needs these days,” he approved.

Within a week, we were ready to leave
Assyria
. The Emperor granted us a farewell interview. I will give his final words, insofar as I can recall them:

“So, you’re a king now,” Tiglath-Pileser noted—with a twinkle in his eye. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you, or commiserate with you.”

“We wonder about that, ourselves, Sire,” I answered.

“We’ve been friends, and you’ve served us well,” he offered. “As a token of my esteem, King Phicol, I hereby promote you to the honorary rank of Brigadier General in my Army.”

I bowed: “Your Majesty is most gracious.”