Samson

by Eric Wilson

  Ahead, a copse of trees draws my attention. I know this place . . .

  A guttural roar. The rushing shadow. Sharp fangs.

  My pulse races in my neck, and I remind myself it’s daytime and there’s nothing to fear. My shoulder throbs where the lion’s claws dug in. Not even Mother and Father know what happened here.

  A buzzing sound reaches my ears from the woods. I follow it. As I get closer, I realize it’s the drone of a thousand bees. They make their hives in hollow branches and stumps, anywhere secluded and within the proximity of fields and blossoms. This time they’ve settled in the carcass of the lion, and I’m drawn by the sweetness inside.

  I look over both shoulders. No one is watching, and I cannot resist. Ignoring my Nazirite vows and the pain of a few stings, I plunge my hands into the dead animal and break off a portion of the honeycomb. Thick white gold oozes around my fingers, and I put it to my mouth. The goodness numbs yet another sting, and I take a second bite.

  Until the wedding this sweetness on my lips will have to do.

  Caleb is coming toward me as I head home. He has a sheathed dagger on his belt, and this, combined with his lengthening hair and stubbled face, give him the look of a young warrior. He tells me he is meeting with some of the other men of the village to discuss tactics and defense.

  “You’ve certainly won their respect,” I tell him.

  “Whatever respect I have would be yours,” he says, “if you’d be at the camp.”

  “Call me a fool for love, Caleb. Men are fools for much worse things.”

  “I don’t trust them, Samson. I don’t trust the prince’s intentions. For you and Taren, I wish all the happiness in the world. I do. If I spy anything suspicious, though . . . ” He draws his dagger. “I’ll create a diversion, and I want you to promise that you’ll take her and make an escape.”

  “Put that away.” I muss his hair. “It’s a feast, not a fight. And where would we run?”

  “Where can any of us go? Pushed into a corner, what do they expect us to do? I’ll never be my big brother, I know that, but I’ll stand with our larger band of brothers, and we’ll keep preparing for when the time comes.”

  “So you agree with Mother and Father. You don’t think my marriage will change things.”

  “I’m not taking sides here,” he says. “I just want to be ready either way.”

  “You’re still coming to the wedding, aren’t you?”

  “You think I’d leave you alone with all those Philistines?”

  I want to hug him. “You know, Caleb, you’re the best friend a brother could have.”

  “What about your friend from Timnah?” He falls into his childhood insecurities. “You’ve never taken me along on your hunts.”

  “Pyzor? It’s been weeks since we hunted together. Next time you can join us, all right? Just be warned, he smells like onions, and his feet stink.”

  “Your feet stink.”

  “Must run in our family.”

  He shoves me again. “So why’d you ask him to be the best man, then?”

  “I had no choice; you know that. A Philistine wedding requires a Philistine best man.”

  “You’ve always had a choice,” he points out. “And each choice has led you here.”

  “Do I know what will come of it all? I admit, Caleb, I do not. But I do believe God has a purpose in it, and I’ll seize each moment as it comes. Let time be my judge.”

  CHAPTER 21

  LEATHER POUCHES

  Village of Zorah

  ZEALPHONIS SAT ON the threshold, cradling a leather pouch in her lap. She still wrestled with the idea of giving its contents to Samson. Would doing so put her seal of approval on his choices? Or could such a gift be an act of motherly love, with no other message than that?

  “I don’t like it,” Manoah told her.

  She looked up, already guessing his thoughts. She and Caleb shared in this ability, while her husband and oldest son were the task-driven types. Manoah, even now, worked in the heat of the midday sun, using a stone block to smooth the surface of a new table. He talked more openly when his hands were busy.

  “Timnah,” he said, “is no place for Samson. There are soldiers at the gate and unclean foods in the town marketplace. He doesn’t even seem bothered by it.”

  “Did you meet the girl?”

  “I met Ahar. He is a soft-spoken man, weary from his years of service to the crown.”

  “Enough with your worrying, Manoah. It’ll be over soon, and then Samson will bring his bride back to Zorah so that we can meet her.”

  “He has yet to make that decision. The young men are opposed to him bringing a Philistine woman into our midst. They’ve let that be known. The council has not spoken on the matter.”

  “I want my son nearby.” She watched Manoah run a hand over the wood surface and continue buffing. “They’re too harsh on him, I think. Where else would he go?”

  “Too harsh.” He paused. “You were here; you heard me tell him that if he followed this course, it would bring dishonor upon our tribe. Were those not my words to him?”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do.”

  “Caleb will do better,” he said, shifting his focus. “He knows the meaning of honor.”

  “You know, I’ve sought the Lord on this, and here is what I’ve come to . . . We can’t always know the mind of God.”

  “That’s right, Zealphonis. Because God gives us minds of our own, that we might think for ourselves. That’s why He wrote His laws on our hearts.”

  “But you yourself said that the heart cannot be trusted.”

  “When we leave it to our own reasoning.”

  “Maybe, in this matter, we’ve done just that.”

  Manoah huffed. “When Moses led our ancestors out of Egypt to this Promised Land, he told them not to intermarry with the people here. He did this to keep us strong. To keep us from forming alliances that would weaken our nation and lead us into idolatry. When I went down to Timnah, I saw for myself the intermingled species of grapes and vines, but we are not supposed to intermingle. That is for pagans perhaps, but not us.”

  “He and this girl Taren, they might prove us wrong. God will yet work through our son.”

  “Samson will do what he wants, regardless of our thoughts on the matter.” Her husband spotted the pouch on her lap. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “I’m going to give it to him,” Zealphonis said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She held it close. “Yes, it’s something I must do.”

  Samson arrived before the evening meal, one hand behind his back. Zealphonis tilted her head to see what was hidden and found herself pulled into an embrace. She laughed. Her son, this man who once played at her feet, still knew how to draw joy from her heart.

  “These are for you, Mother.” He presented a bouquet of handpicked flowers.

  She accepted them with a smile of gratitude.

  “What’s this?” Samson smacked his hand on the table. “We eat like kings now?”

  “Your father labored over it the past few days.”

  He ran a finger along the wood. “He did good work.”

  “You know, Son, he always means well.” Zealphonis spread out the implements for the meal. “He feels pressure from all sides and only wants to do what’s right.”

  “Or what elevates him in the minds of the council.”

  “Not true, Samson. Don’t you think that of him.”

  “What’s not true?” Manoah asked, ducking through the door.

  Zealphonis exchanged a look with her son, then turned to her husband. “Is Caleb with you?”

  “He won’t be here till later,” Samson interjected. He found a seat. “Let’s eat, I say. Look at this fine table, fit for royalty.”

  “Or,” Manoah said, “for my firstborn on the eve of his wedding.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. It’s yours.” A sly grin parted Manoah’s bushy beard. In that moment Ze
alphonis loved her husband more than ever. He gripped Samson’s arm and carried on. “You now stand on your own two feet, Son, and as I do, you must answer to God. Over the years, I’ve spoken my mind to you, father to son. From this point I will speak to you man to man. And no, I do not seek to elevate myself in anyone else’s minds. Other than your mother’s, perhaps. In the council, I speak as bluntly as I do here, even more so.”

  “I’m sorry, Father. I do know that.”

  Manoah released his hold. “I now give you unto God, Son. Just as we did nearly twenty years ago, when you were born to us in the middle of the night.”

  Zealphonis remembered it well . . .

  The agony. The unspeakable joy. The promise fulfilled.

  “I want you to take this table,” Manoah continued. “Go and make your home.”

  “Thank you,” Samson said.

  “Let it be said, though, that we cannot attend your wedding. I was in Timnah, I saw it for what it is, and not so long ago Tobias was murdered by men who’ll be in attendance there. It’s too dangerous. I will not travel with your mother to such a place.”

  “Wait. No. I’ll be there to protect you. Please.”

  “You’ll be dancing—”

  “We’ll all be dancing,” Samson said.

  “You’ll be dancing to the beat of a different drum. I’m sorry, but it’s been decided.”

  Zealphonis thought that her heart might burst. She still struggled with this decision, and her words came out in barely a whisper. “He’s right, Son. It’s not safe for us.”

  Samson pushed back from the table.

  “I made this decision,” Manoah said. “Not the council.”

  “You won’t feast with your own son at his wedding. I have nothing to say to that.”

  “You made your choice. I’ve made mine. This table here is yours, a token of my love but not of my blessing. These are tough words, I know, spoken to you man to man.”

  Samson stood to leave.

  “Wait,” Zealphonis pleaded, reaching for his hand. “I also have something for you.”

  He hesitated.

  She pulled out the pouch nestled in a fold of her robe. “I’ve held on to this since before you were born. It was given to me by my mother, and to my mother by her mother, and so on. Hundreds of years ago, when our people were in slavery, God sent the plagues so that Pharaoh would yield to Moses. The Egyptians gave of their gold and their jewels, their finest things, begging our people to go so that the plagues would cease.”

  “Mother, I know the stories.”

  “Some families held on to those treasures, and this is the last of ours.”

  She unfurled his clenched fist and turned the pouch upside down. Its contents slid from the leather confines, pooling in Samson’s palm. The distinctive turquoise necklace glistened in the lamplight, polished and ready for the finest of necks.

  “You said that she’s slim. Please, would you give this to her? It should fit your bride well.”

  “I don’t know what to . . . ” Samson kissed her head. “We will cherish this, Mother.”

  Zealphonis closed her eyes and let his nearness warm her. Though she respected him as a man, he would always be her little boy, and she wanted to hold on to this moment as long as she could. All week she’d had grave misgivings about the wedding, which was in part why she chose not to attend. She wondered if this evening would be their last meal together as father, mother, and son. She recalled the flames, leaping from the altar, taking the Angel of the Lord into the heavens. Was her son’s wedding a part of God’s calling?

  “One more thing,” Samson said. “Open your eyes.” He presented a leather pouch of his own, much larger, misshapen. “For you, Mother.”

  She peered inside. “Oh my goodness. Where’d you find such a treat?”

  “Out of the eater, something to eat . . . ”

  “Oh, Samson, I am going to miss your riddles. Can we have some now with our food?”

  “What is it?” Manoah asked. Then his eyes widened. “Honey.”

  Samson joined them again at the table, where they broke bread together, the rich honeycomb lending rare luxury to their meal. He licked his fingers and figured it was best not to tell them where he had gotten it. Or the manner in which it was gathered.

  CHAPTER 22

  A SCHEMING MIND

  City of Gaza

  IT WAS ASHDOD who brought the news. “My lord, King Balek summons you to the gates.”

  Rallah lifted his head from Delilah’s lap. “Let’s go, then. We are wanted.”

  “Only you,” Ashdod said. “The lady stays.”

  “You have no authority to—”

  “The king’s orders.”

  “Very well. Take your hand from your sword, soldier. I will be there shortly.”

  “I will wait.”

  The prince slipped into more formal robes and footwear, combed the slender lines of his beard and goatee, and kissed Delilah’s wine-scented mouth. “When I return,” he told her, “we’ll begin our travel preparations. A week’s feasting away from this squalor.”

  “I look forward to it,” she said.

  Ashdod led Rallah from the palace chambers through the courtyards and gardens, down flights of wide limestone steps to a waiting chariot. They climbed aboard, and Ashdod unhooked the reins. He drove through the city streets with no shouts of warning. Women and children jumped aside. Merchants shook their fists. Block after block they rode until the gates of the city rose in their view. These gates represented power. They were a ruler’s status symbol.

  A monument to his masculinity, Rallah thought wryly.

  “What does my king want of me?” he said as dust settled around the chariot wheels.

  “Step down.” King Balek gestured from his place beside the watchman. The traffic through the gates was suspended. “This man makes accusations, and I want to hear your response.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my king.”

  “Tell him,” Balek said to the watchman. “Tell him what you told me.”

  Rallah recognized the man now as the one who only a few short weeks ago delivered word of Samson’s arrival in the capital. For Dagon’s sake, what was all this hubbub about? He tried to read the fellow’s expression. The king rarely deigned to join commoners on the streets, and this excursion from his private chambers indicated something serious.

  “I know of your plots,” the watchman said. “Your plots against the king.”

  “You speak foolishness.”

  “The Hebrew champion was here, bunked in our city for nearly a week, and you allowed it.”

  “It is allowable,” Rallah said.

  “He ran off in the mornings with a servant of yours. A young woman. When I mentioned it to others, they said you turned a blind eye to it. This makes you party to treasonous acts, our enemy cavorting with a servant of the crown.”

  “Boys and girls, they fall in love. It does not mean the crown is threatened.”

  “You rode north last week, and you met with their champion.”

  “Samson,” Rallah offered.

  “You see, my king, he admits it. He schemes against you. He wants the throne for himself.”

  “Simply not true,” Rallah said. What he did not say was that yes, he wanted the throne, but not only for himself. He wanted a queen to share it with him.

  “How do you respond?” asked King Balek.

  “I say this man seeks the king’s approval at any cost. Look at him. He’s getting older, and he’s served at the gates for years. Maybe he thinks he deserves more for his work. Maybe he carries a grievance against the throne for the way I treated him a few weeks back. Very well, if it’s favor he wants, or reward, let him have it. I don’t have time for this finger-pointing.”

  “What grievance would he carry?”

  “It’s true, he came to tell me of Samson’s presence in the city, and I thanked him for that information. Job well done. When he hinted at a reward, I told him to leave my prese
nce. His pay as a watchman was all the compensation necessary.” Rallah shrugged. “If you disagree, my king, do as you see fit.”

  “That’s a lie.” The watchman spat out the words. “You rewarded, but I did not ask.”

  “The prince gave you a reward?” The king raised an eyebrow.

  “Actually,” Rallah said, “when I dismissed him from my chambers, he stormed off. Where he went or what he did, I do not know. I assumed that his anger would fade.”

  “I wasn’t angry,” the man yelled. “I still have the jewels you gave me.”

  “Imaginary jewels, yes. Well, let’s see them.”

  “Indeed,” said King Balek. He waved a hand. “Go, Ashdod. Search the man’s home, and we shall discover who speaks the truth. If the prince did pay this reward, it sets a troublesome precedent, and he’ll be chastised accordingly.”

  Ashdod brought the chariot around and disappeared up the road. With the rattling of axles and beating of hooves, he returned a short time later and presented his findings to the king.

  “Where was this?”

  “In a covered hole beneath his bed, my king. A bag of jewels, just as the man said.”

  King Balek shook out the bag, studied its contents, then studied the watchman’s defiant posture. “You wanted reward, and you weren’t pleased with the prince’s rebuttal, were you?”

  “My lord?”

  “Gemstones, a ring, a cloak clasp. These did not come from the prince. They came from my own chambers adjacent to his. If he wouldn’t pay, did you think you could palm a few items without anyone taking notice? No, don’t say a word, watchman. Close your mouth. As if stealing from your king was not enough, you still wanted revenge and made accusations against your prince.”

  Ashdod stepped forward, hand on his sword.

  The king unsheathed the weapon for him and gave it to Rallah. “You were the one wronged. It’s for you to make justice.”

  The watchman whimpered. “I served faithfully. I have a wife.”