Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) (22 page)

Hannibal called to her, and she turned, unafraid. “Tanis, Lord Marcos has arrived.”

“I am ready.”

She came down the steps, smiling at the men. Whatever they would be discussing, it was clearly not the first time. Tanis moved with ease, perhaps even joy. She took Lord Marcos’s arm, and the three went out the main doors. Lord Marcos’s home was in that direction, the seat of the city government, and the empty bed. A cattish laugh caught my ear; Parisa was awake too, dressing for her evening, perhaps her last one among us.

I had no choice. I had to do it now, before the services began, before Parisa collected her things and left.

I crept from my hiding place and ran across the cold floor to Hannibal’s chair. Lifting the lid, I saw dozens of locks of hair, all tied with cords that were looped in the center, each marked with a clay seal. I did not read the language of Ashdod. Turning the locks over, I looked closely at each in frustration. One had an image that I knew at once: a young girl with a swollen belly. I held the lock up to my own hair. It was mine. Placing it inside my belt, pulling it tight against my waist, I again turned over the locks, one by one. Each seal had an image of the girl or woman. They must have been images of the woman as she was when she first came here, as mine was. I turned them over, frantic now. The women in the next room did not need much more time to be ready.

Then I found it. An image of a thin woman, ragged hair, in chains. It had to be Parisa. Her expression, even in a clay seal, was one of defiance. She would wear another expression after today, one of bewilderment, wondering why she could not conceive, why she could never have the one thing she needed when her beauty faded and Marcos had moved on: a son.

“What are you doing?”

A hand caught me by the back of the neck. I jumped, frightened, trying to turn and see who had caught me. As if I didn’t know. Parisa’s grip grew tighter, her fingernails digging into my neck.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry! I was only trying to help!”

“By stealing my hair?”

“I have heard rumors! Someone is going to put a curse on you, so you can never bear Marcos a son!”

Parisa dropped her grip on my neck and wrenched my arm toward her, prying the lock of hair from my hand.

“You’re nothing but a liar. And a thief.” She smiled, her lips pressed together, gloating. “Now, if you want to keep your hands, give me your own lock of hair. Perhaps I will keep your secret.”

I removed it from my belt and handed it to her. Thieves get their hands cut off.

She grinned. “Or perhaps I won’t. Girls like you deserve everything they get.”

She turned to take a step down from the chair, and I threw myself on her. We fell down the steps, and I landed on top of her as she screamed and tried to throw me off.

She was fierce, much stronger than I had expected. I fell to the side, and as I scrambled to get up, she lunged at me, knocking me back down, pinning me flat to the ground. She sat on me as her hands went round my neck, shaking my head up and down as she choked me. I did not want to die this way.

I tried to scream, but everything stopped under her hands—my screams, my voice, my breath. My face was swelling with trapped air as black spots swam in my vision. Through this swirling haze, I did not see clearly what happened next.

Parisa was knocked off of me. There were grunts and a dull, wet drumbeat.

I tried to raise my head but fell back into darkness as I heard shouting and running footsteps. I do not know how much time passed before I was on my bottom with my legs spread out before me, as I retched into my lap, coughing, trying to breathe again as a woman stroked my hair.

“Did she hurt you? Are you all right?”

Blinking, forcing myself to see and to think, I looked up. Tanis lay on the ground, her expressionless face turned to me, her eyes open wide. A dark pool spread out from under her head, moving toward me. Above me, Hannibal stood with Parisa, who was in chains. Two guards from the city flanked her.

Lord Marcos parted the women clustered all around, searching for someone. When he saw me, his expression changed to one of relief, and he rushed to me, helping me to stand, one hand around my waist.

“Get her a chair!” he commanded. A chair was brought, and he helped me sit, then kneeled before me, reaching up to stroke my hair. His hand came away clean. My skull had not split as I thought, though that was a miracle.

“Better now?”

I nodded, trying to peer around him. My head hurt too much to move it far, but he moved to block my view of Tanis.

“I should have come sooner,” he said. “This is not your fault, Delilah.”

“What happened?” I did not know how Tanis had died. What had I done?

“Hannibal said you caught Parisa stealing your hair and she attacked you. Tanis tried to stop her, and Parisa killed her. Hit her head on the floor. Tanis died to protect you. She must have truly loved you.”

“She brought me here.” I meant it as an argument, but he only nodded in agreement.

“She saved you twice, then. I have heard stories of your family.”

My mind cleared more with every passing moment. I looked around, my breathing coming fast. I tried to stand, but Marcos caught me by the shoulders. “Shh,” he whispered. “Wait until she is gone.”

Parisa was glaring at me, one cheek red and inflamed, the mark of a handprint visible. She spat on the floor, leaving a red spot. The guards dragged her backward, and she went limp, her mouth set in a snarl, her eyes never leaving mine.

“But what is happening? Where are they taking her?”

Marcos watched her go, disgust evident on his face. “All that beauty wasted.”

I heard a guard giving directions to the others. Parisa was to be jailed. A former priestess, imprisoned with men awaiting punishment or execution … condemned men would relish the distraction. Marcos saw her fate as well as I, but he did not see the truth, not all of it. She had acted for herself, always. She loved no one more than herself. All people were like this, I knew. Just as there were no real gods, there was no real love.

Hannibal turned his attention to me. I shrunk in my chair, drawing my shoulders up, cringing away from certain punishment. Marcos stood and faced Hannibal, nodding. Hannibal held something out to me in his hand. I glanced at it.

It was my own lock of hair. I stood.

“I requested it be given to you,” Marcos said. “I do not want you to serve me in fear.”

“What?”

Hannibal tried to force a smile. But something was broken inside of his spirit. I could see that in his eyes. I looked down at his hands. They were shaking. “Lord Marcos came here today to request that you be made his permanent consort. You will serve no other man.”

I froze, aware that Marcos was watching, that everyone was watching. No one laughed. It was not a joke. The irony made my blood cold. If I had known the truth, Tanis would still be alive. I had been made a fool, again. My hope was in one man now, one man I did not want or love. He had only been a means to hurt Parisa. And now, he was all mine.

I smiled weakly and felt his arms slip around my body as my knees went soft and I fell.

Two days later, my hands trembled. I could not tie the sash around my waist. Rose rushed to my side, crooning my name, helping me sit back on the couch.

“I know how you are grieving. We all miss Tanis.”

I clutched her hand to my chest, nodding. I wasn’t grieving. I had no time, no will for that. I was terrified.

Tonight, Marcos would come for me.

“You look beautiful, Delilah. Do not be afraid.”

I looked at Rose as if she spoke a new language. What hope did beauty offer anyone, especially me? Anyone who thought me beautiful had hurt me or hated me. Beauty was no blessing.

Because of this curse, I would attend Marcos, and when he desired, he would take me to one of those curtained rooms upstairs. I did not want to go. I did not want this man! I had two long nights to consider what I had done. I thought hurting Parisa would sate my thirst, that justice would give me peace, but it did nothing. Justice was a dead thing, perhaps, and no use to the living. And vengeance was not a perfect art.

Now I had a dead friend, a man I did not want, and a night ahead of me that made me sick to think about. My tutor had taught me of governments and gods, not of all the necessary deceptions that had to take place when the curtains were drawn. No woman could want to do those things with a man. I did not know how I would disguise my feelings when he reached for me.

None of the other women would even look at me, and certainly they would not welcome me into their secrets. Whatever tricks they used to hold down their meals when a man touched them, they would keep those secrets from me for one more night at least.

I was alone in my ironic little disaster.

I tilted my head, letting my hair fall to one side. Running my hands through it, my fingers remembered what to do, braiding it into one long, strong rope. I remembered the wool I had hoped to weave, to make something beautiful and earn my place. I had been unhappy, but in those days I had understood what must be done.

I knew the cold was there but did not feel it. I had already exhausted myself in my preparations, which never seemed enough. How could I have allowed this to sneak up on me?

By the fourth hour of the afternoon, the sun had begun to fade and night encroached, with purple shadows and cold winds from the sea. I had just released my braid and was preparing to redo it when Hannibal entered our sleeping chambers.

“Lord Marcos has arrived.”

Everyone stopped their grooming and watched me as I stood, bowing slightly to Hannibal. As my eyes swept downward, I saw my tunic shaking violently over my knees. I had to open my mouth and draw the deepest breath I could before I straightened up. It didn’t work.

“Are you all right?” Rose asked.

“I will do what I have to do.”

Hannibal helped me walk to the door leading to the portico, and with one hand on the door to push it open, he leaned to my ear.

“Please Marcos, or do not return to these chambers.” He pulled away and smiled, nodding for me to smile as well.

I did, drawing one last breath before I entered Marcos’s life and became his consort.

Marcos stood when I entered, pleasure in his eyes, as if he did not know what this night had cost me. Perhaps he didn’t. I did not yet know him. Hannibal presented me with a silent flourish and then backed away, leaving me alone with my lord.

He sat and motioned for me to join him. I clasped my hands together in my lap so he would not see them shaking.

The temple was going to be busy tonight; I knew beyond these walls that the wheat had been planted and the barley was coming near to harvest. Men would be coming from nearby villages to plead their case to Dagon, to make love—and life—with a priestess.

I flinched as I thought of the couples soon to drift up the stairs. Lord Marcos noticed and put an arm around me. Perhaps he thought I was cold.

The high winter rains had made the air cold, that was true. A fire burned in the center of the portico, and a few couples stood over it for warmth. Men pleaded in soft tones for blessing and wealth. My womb was empty. I knew what it was to be given blessing and wealth. I knew what it was to lose it all.

Marcos seemed to be content to sit and watch the flames with me. I considered things to say, gracious or learned things. I knew I should entertain him, or impress him. I edged my body at an angle to look at him, removing his arm and setting it in his lap as I cleared my throat.

“I have conditions.”

“Conditions?” He seemed amused. I bit my cheek to keep from crying.

“First, no one may serve you wine but me. I don’t want to be surprised by another woman taking my place someday. And I will not go upstairs like the others. You must take me from here when you want to do those things.”

“I did not agree to these conditions when I asked for you.”

“I did not ask for you.”

He laughed, not taking his eyes off me.

“I will agree to your conditions if you will agree to mine.”

I narrowed my eyes, searching his face for a clue to what he wanted.

“First, no more conditions.”

I nodded. “Agreed.”

He leaned over and grabbed my leg. I squealed without meaning to, and turned my face down when another woman glared at me, as if I was delighting in my stolen fortune.

He ran his hands down my calf and then kneeled at my feet. My heart began thundering, fast and loud. I froze, praying for some quick clue as to what I must do in response. He paid me no attention and removed my sandal, running his hands over my feet. His fingers rested on the cuts and scars, tracing them as he looked up into my eyes.

He replaced my sandals and tied them before sitting again.

My whole body began to recoil. There was no way to conceal my shock. He held me there with one heavy palm now resting on my thigh.

“That is my second condition. Do not harm yourself anymore. Whatever troubles you, come to me with it.”

I stared at the fire. “How did you know?”

“You flinch when you walk. But not every night. And I know that you have suffered.”

I did the strangest thing, without meaning to. I lifted one arm and placed my hand on his. He smiled, putting his other hand on top of mine. He was warm and strong. Relief flooded my body, making my knees weak.

“As long as I live, I promise, Delilah, you will be loved.”

Lord Marcos kept his word. He did not take me upstairs on that night, or any night after. He visited nightly, after his business had finished for the day. He told me of the cases he had tried, of the decisions rendered, of the fortunes won and lost in the city. He told me stories from his childhood and legends from the people.

These were the tender years of my life, when stories were told for amusement and instruction and their lessons learned at a distance. Suffering was no longer my teacher.

When the night came that he took me outside the walls of the temple, I cannot say I was ready. That would be a lie. But I had less fear. He placed one arm around my waist and led me out of the portico, down the steps into the city street.