Page 13 of Samson


  “Samson,” she whispered. “Look at you. Lay down, and let me help you.”

  “Later.” He turned to his brother, who had already thrown aside his coverings. “Come on, Caleb. Before Father awakes.”

  “I’ll wake your father now,” Zealphonis warned. “You tell me what’s going on.”

  “They took her from me.” Samson’s voice caught, and he blinked twice. “They gave my wife to another. To Pyzor, the best man. My very own friend.”

  “What do you mean, Son? What happened?”

  “I love her. That is real. All along, though, the prince was playing me for a fool. Now,” he said, his voice jagged as flint, “they will see how I play their game. I’ll return to you, I promise, but I have things to do. Come on, Caleb, this’ll take the both of us.”

  Before she could respond, her sons vanished from the hut.

  CHAPTER 31

  BROTHERLY BONDS

  Caves of Etam

  I HAVE NO PLAN of attack. I have only my brother.

  And for me that is enough.

  Caleb and I rush from our parents’ mud-brick home, the same structure in which we grew and learned and played together, and we hide among the rocky clefts near Etam. As we build a fire in the mouth of a cave, I relate all that happened in Ashkelon and Timnah, and he is as furious as I am. He nods as I insist on revenge. What else is there?

  My bride is now with my former friend, and Prince Rallah is behind it all.

  I will not let it go unpunished.

  “Are you ready for this?” Caleb asks. “It’s going to hurt.”

  “I’m ready.”

  He pulls a firebrand from the flames and presses it to the wound in my side. Its heat sears my skin, closing and sealing the gap. My teeth bite down on leather, the very leather pouch that holds the turquoise necklace once meant for my bride, and I scream.

  Later, from the high lip of the cave, I spot a fox slinking through the dry riverbed below. It stops and looks at me, moves on, then stops and looks again. It seems to want my attention. A type of small jackal, these foxes are numerous between here and the coastline, overrunning orchards and vineyards. Many villagers consider them a pest, and Pyzor and I used to hunt them for their furs.

  “Brother, I have an idea.”

  “Oh no,” he says. “Your ideas always worry me.”

  “What?” I feign ignorance. “Why would you say that?”

  “Mother wasn’t too thrilled when she discovered where her chicken broth came from. She said you stole those birds from some poor old men.”

  “Those poor old men love their vicious games. Mother is naive.”

  “And that’s what we love about her.”

  A lump forms in my throat, and I look again for the foxes below. I don’t want to talk about our mother any longer. I’ve caused her only heartache and disappointment. My brother is the one person who remains safe to me now. Between us are bonds that cannot be broken.

  “Whether you like it or not,” I tell Caleb, “here’s my idea.”

  He listens, then grins as I finish.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I like it.”

  East of Timnah

  We work through the day, into the night, and through the next day again. We use the nets and snares that Pyzor and I have used on previous occasions. We set traps. We move through the valleys and along the slopes, gathering and tethering our prey so that we can herd them westward through the lengthening shadows toward Timnah. By the time we reach our destination, we have three hundred foxes in a makeshift pen, all yelping to get loose, and the only things keeping them from doing so are the ropes and bonds that my brother and I have wrapped around their tails, tying them off in pairs. They nip at the ropes, then yelp and snarl at each other, but our knots hold firm.

  I gaze down at the town walls silhouetted by the setting sun. Sentries pace the perimeter, and one of them stops and cups his ear in our direction.

  “We can’t wait too long,” Caleb says.

  We agree on that and go about our next task without a word, building a fire and creating thick smoke with damp brush, twigs, and pitch. Soon we’ll have the town’s attention. What happens from this point depends on Prince Rallah.

  “Stay here on the hillside,” I tell my brother. “This is between me and the prince.”

  “You can’t do it on your own.”

  An alarm sounds, and archers appear on the wall. The sentries have spotted our fire.

  Four hundred paces separate us from the town below. The area in between is a patchwork of woods, orchards, grapevines, and acres of barley and wheat. It’s a fertile area, one King Balek and his prince rely upon for the good of their people and the bloating of their own storerooms.

  “Stay hidden, Caleb; that’s all I ask. Watch for my signal. If Rallah won’t cooperate, you’ll light the foxes’ tails and send them into the orchards. We’ll burn every last bit to the ground.”

  “Better go,” he says as the alarm sounds again. “You’ve got their attention now.”

  CHAPTER 32

  AN ENEMY FOR LIFE

  Town of Timnah

  DELILAH GAZED ACROSS the town square, now empty after a weekend of scrubbing and cleaning. Darkness was falling, and in the morning she and Prince Rallah would make the return trek to the palace in Gaza, where they would pretend that life was back to normal and nothing had changed. In fact, everything had changed. The groom was missing, the bride was bedded with another, and the prince was still fuming that his prey had eluded his soldiers two days ago and escaped.

  The feast for the ages was a royal disaster.

  Delilah had avoided most of the week’s feasting for fear that her own thoughts and lust might betray her. If she was to be queen, she must stay true to her prince and to her course.

  No faltering. No distractions.

  And no Samson.

  While mere mention of the man caused her heart to race, she had to know more about his recent activities. “It’s been confirmed, then?” she asked Rallah.

  “They say he never entered Ashkelon at all. He simply stood outside the gates and killed dozens of men as they fell upon him. When he was done, he stripped their bodies clean. Thus his payment in bloody tunics.”

  “What weapons did he use?”

  Rallah’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “His fists alone.”

  “Where does such strength come from?” She tried to conceal her admiration. “If only we knew his secret, we might apply it to our soldiers and make them unstoppable.”

  “Unstoppable? No, Delilah. Don’t let that lie take root in your pretty head. He’s inhumanly strong—that’s certain—but no man is unstoppable.”

  “You should’ve gone along with my schemes,” she said.

  “To wed him to one of our own? To form a lasting peace?”

  “It would’ve worked. You know for yourself the love he feels for the girl.”

  “Forget all that,” he said. “Love spoils, and—”

  “You seem fond of that concept.”

  “It’s the truth. Lovers as we may be, we don’t ride along on a chariot of bliss and false realities. We are driven by deeper desires and motivations. We accept that about each other, and it allows us to pursue those goals together.”

  “Hand in hand,” Delilah purred, twining her fingers through his.

  “If the situation calls for it. Don’t worry, Samson will change his mind and accept the younger sister. Ahar offered her once he realized I left him no choice.”

  Kissing Rallah’s hand, she peered up into his eyes. “Time will tell.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I believe Samson will haunt you, my prince. You’ve created an enemy for life.”

  “What do you know about these things?” He disentangled himself from her. “You’re wrong. We’ll ride back to the capital, and King Balek will reward us for not succumbing to this strongman. The king never wanted a truce. He wants his tributes. He likes the people underfoot, where he can
use them as stepping-stones. In the end we’ll reap more benefits from this course of action.”

  “Is that smoke?” Delilah pointed over his shoulder. “It is. I’m sure of it.”

  He pivoted to take it in for himself. Darker than the night, an inky, black plume rose from somewhere beyond the walls, and the first acrid smell of it stung their nostrils.

  “My lord.” Ashdod lumbered into the square. “There’s trouble in the fields and orchards.”

  “Is it an actual fire?”

  “It moves on its own, my lord. We don’t know the cause of it.”

  “Well, alert the townspeople, and you and your men may help if you feel so inclined. Remember, though, we leave at the crack of dawn so that we can arrive at high noon in Gaza. All of us together, soldiers, priest, family members, we’ll make a glorious procession through the city.”

  “You might first want to come see this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Go on,” Delilah urged him. “I’ll head up to check on the new bride.”

  “Bring her down,” Rallah said. “If this is Samson’s doing, I want Taren to see it.”

  She agreed to do so and watched Rallah dash off through the shadows with Ashdod. On the distant slope flames were visible and growing higher, spewing forth noxious billows.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE PITS OF SHEOL

  THE HEAT OF the bonfire, only two paces from me, stirs the pain in my seared abdomen. It’s a reminder of the enemy I face, who would like to steal all that is precious to me. I light a branch. Lofting the fiery implement, I march down the incline past woods and fields toward the hometown of the one woman I’ve ever loved. If Prince Rallah, Jodel, Pyzor, Ahar, or any of Timnah’s citizens have any wisdom at all, they will heed my warnings and respond to my wishes.

  A few evenings ago I was to be in private chambers with my bride. Now I arrive in public to set things right. Is that too much to ask?

  As I pass an acre of wheat, I decide to make my intentions clear. They will know that tonight I do not play games, that this is no time for riddles or jokes. I pass my firebrand through the wheat closest to me, and flames crackle through the golden stalks.

  I continue my march. The blaze at my back throws my shadow ahead of me, where it grows monstrous and large, reaching for the walls.

  Here I come. I am Samson.

  Fire bringer.

  Tunic taker.

  Foe.

  Appearing as only dark shapes, soldiers and archers ready themselves along the perimeter, and sounds of chaos issue from behind the gates where the townsfolk are surely scurrying for shelter. Even among the Philistines, it’s the regular working men and women who get caught between forces larger than themselves. They, like my countrymen, are fodder for the whims of military might and palace intrigue.

  No, the people of Timnah are not my enemies. That distinction goes to the man who stands atop the wall near the gate. Even in the darkness and smoke I recognize his profile and bearing.

  Stopping beyond reach of the archers’ arrows, I point my torch at Prince Rallah.

  “Samson,” he yells. “What is this madness?”

  “You know why I’m here.”

  “You escaped my soldiers once, but not again. They will hunt you without relenting.”

  “Do you think I fear them, Rallah? Ask the men of Ashkelon if I showed fear.”

  The fire in the wheat has run along my right-hand side, scorching the stalks to their roots and edging close to the town. In daylight I’ve seen harvesters come through the gates to work here. Now flames do all the work and lap thirstily at the base of the wall.

  “The field and the wall, they’re burning,” the prince says. “All because of you.”

  “Because of you,” I fire back. “Release Taren to me—that’s all I ask. If you do not, more than this field and section of wall will burn. This entire hillside, all its produce and profit for the king, it will all be set ablaze and turned to ash.”

  “My men will pursue and kill you before you can do so.”

  He thinks that I act alone. This is good, for my brother’s sake.

  “Send them,” I challenge. “Let’s see how they fare.”

  “It’s Taren you want? That’s your demand, is it?”

  There’s a hint of resignation in his voice, and my heart skips a beat. Perhaps he will surrender. “Yes, Prince Rallah. Bring her to me, and this will end.”

  He waves a hand. Moments pass. Then I see my love shoved into view, held in the clutches of Ashdod. Her face is pale, her hair bedraggled. She is joined by her father, Ahar, and the priest, Jodel. All three are put on display. Ahar looks resigned, Jodel confused.

  “Here they are, Hebrew,” Ashdod calls out. “They are released.”

  “Taren . . . ” I drop my torch and extend my hands. I want her more than anything.

  It strikes me suddenly that I just gave Caleb the signal to send out the foxes, and the fires will spread quickly in all directions, their destruction both devastating and complete. I must claim my bride back now, before it’s too late. Risking the archers, I rush forward.

  Prince Rallah lets me get close enough to see his eyes, ringed in charcoal, reflecting the flames at the base of the wall. He raises his hand and gestures forward. Without hesitation, Ashdod hurls Taren from the heights into the blaze, followed by her father and the priest. Not one of them makes a sound as they fall, and they are lost to the fire, their voices sucked dry by the wavering heat.

  “Noooo!” A sob bursts from my lungs. I am staggered. “No . . . ”

  I rush into the conflagration, but the heat is too much, and the fire forms a red-hot barrier. I can’t even get close to the burning bodies, and they are devoured as though by a demon from the pits of Sheol. Retreating, I cry out till my throat is hoarse. What have I done? What has the prince gained? Peace was at our fingertips. Why this?

  I gasp. Drop to a knee.

  My hair drapes over my face, and I weep.

  Through tears I scan the hillside and see that the fire is spreading in random patterns as the foxes tug and pull through the orchard, into the woods, past the grapevines. If I stay and wait for the blaze to come for me, I can also depart this land of sorrow and join my beloved Taren. We can be together.

  My tragic notions are interrupted by the cold slice of an arrow. It grazes my shoulder, draws blood, and jolts me into action. The time for mourning will come later.

  I take five steps up the incline before I am faced by a handful of soldiers. More arrive in moments through the gate, completing a circle about me. I will not go quietly. The longer I keep them here, the less chance they discover Caleb at the fox pen up the slope. For now he is hidden by clouds of smoke, and the world is aflame.

  My heart too.

  I can scarcely breathe.

  From the wall Ashdod commands the soldiers to take me captive. They step forward, shields raised, swords drawn. The feathers on their helmets remind me of the roosters forced to fight each other to the death. With outstretched arms I lock hands on two heads and bring them together in a clash of metal that drops both men to the ground. I aim to escape through the gap just created, but others step in to block my way.

  Will they not learn?

  The power that takes hold is not nearly what it was at Ashkelon. My hands do not tremble, and the whirlwind never comes. I am Samson, though, and I am strong. My hair snakes about my face and neck as I throw men down, toss others aside, catch one man’s arm and use his Philistine steel to slash the throat of another. My knuckles turn bloody as one by one they pile at my feet.

  With the armored men no longer standing about me, I present an unobstructed target, and the archers string their bows. I am already running, chased up the hill by the hiss of their arrows.

  My mind rages. What’s happened here tonight will shape the destinies of our peoples.

  CHAPTER 34

  FATHERS AND SONS

  Village of Zorah

  YOUR BOYS, THEY’RE all the ta
lk, Zealphonis.” The neighbor widow poked her head into the hut. “They were spotted, I’m told, chasing foxes about the countryside. Really, as if there’s nothing better for our youth to do these days.”

  “Hello, neighbor,” said Zealphonis. She was at her loom, weaving a new blanket.

  The widow stepped over the threshold. “Here, I’ll just let myself in. I won’t stay long.”

  “If you want information, I don’t know a thing about fox catching.”

  “Well, your boys certainly do.” The widow lifted the pot’s lid on the hearth, sniffed, and pursed her lips in appreciation. “You’re industrious as always, aren’t you? So what happened to Samson? A prophesied birth. Strange tales of angels. And what’s come of it? He’s gone soft in the head, or in the heart. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.”

  “You’ll leave it to me to correct my sons. I’d appreciate you staying out of it.”

  “But I only—”

  “You only want to help, I’m sure. Here, hold this strand while I pull the loom. There now. Thank you.”

  “I’ll admit,” the widow said, “you do nice work.”

  Far-off cries brought Zealphonis’s head up from her labors.

  “Nice work,” the widow repeated. “Mind you, it might look better if you threaded—”

  “Mercy, would you hold your tongue a moment?”

  “Why, I don’t expect such rudeness, from you of all people.”

  “Listen.” Zealphonis tilted her head. “Something’s happening in the village, some sort of trouble.”

  “Really?” The widow perked up. “We best go investigate. People will want to know what all the fuss was about, and they’ll expect me to fill them in on every sordid detail.”

  “And I’m certain you will.”