by Eric Wilson
Zealphonis rose from her loom and pulled on a cloak, and they walked the path to the main dirt road. Manoah and Caleb met them there, along with others who had been alerted.
“What’s all the hubbub?” the widow wanted to know.
“Prince Rallah,” Manoah said. “And his thugs.”
Caleb’s nostrils flared, and Zealphonis rested a hand on his arm.
From a nearby home a group of armed men emerged, with Rallah and Ashdod leading the way. Their eyes swept the faces of those gathered. When the large, bald-headed soldier stepped closer and pointed a finger, Manoah eased himself in front of his wife and son. Zealphonis had never known her husband to be a fearful man, and she only wished he would avoid conflict now. Neither of them knew Samson’s whereabouts, and Caleb was silent regarding the last few days.
“Give Samson to us,” Rallah shouted to the crowd, “or your entire village will burn.”
“Samson’s no longer one of us,” someone replied.
“We will answer for Zorah,” another said, “and Samson will answer for Samson.”
The words cut Zealphonis to the quick. Had it come to this, their own friends and neighbors wanting nothing to do with her son? Didn’t they realize that she and her husband also wrestled with his choices and their aftermath? Regardless, they did not cut him off, though in truth Manoah had considered it a time or two.
Rallah said, “If Samson thinks he can torch Philistine towns without repercussion, he is a fool. His actions will bring down the wrath of King Balek, and the king has no mercy. I, on the other hand, give you this chance to avert disaster. Spare yourselves, your village, and tell me where he is.”
“He is not here,” Manoah said.
“You.” The prince stepped closer. “You’re Manoah, father of Samson, are you not?”
“I am.”
“All you need do is tell us your son’s whereabouts.”
“And I tell you again, he’s not here.”
Rallah snapped his fingers, summoning soldiers to his side. In response Caleb moved to his father’s side, where a soldier’s drawn sword held him at bay.
Zealphonis had never seen such intensity in Prince Rallah’s eyes. On the day of Tobias’s death, the prince had looked bored. Now he was a man possessed, and it frightened her for the safety of her boys. Samson’s hopes for peace had spiraled downward into this man’s whirlpool of animosity. Was there any hope for the peace of Israel?
Manoah met the prince’s glare and said, “Are you sure that you want to bring all of Israel and Judah into war against you?”
“If Samson does not show, he will find himself without a father,” Rallah said.
Zealphonis held back a gasp.
“And you, the people of Zorah, will find yourselves without a village.”
Ashdod and his men took hold of Manoah and dragged him toward a waiting chariot. Manoah gave them no help, only closing his eyes and muttering prayers through his beard. Once he was secured, the prince stepped into the chariot and faced the crowd a final time.
“You are wrong,” he told them. “You do answer for Samson because he is one of you. For every day that Samson delays and does not appear, two of you will be taken and beheaded. This is what comes of angering the king. If need be, we will carry out executions till there are none of you left.”
The chariot rattled forward, with the soldiers following, and Zealphonis tried to catch Manoah’s eyes. As the wheels spun past, he did look her way for a fleeting moment and offer a slight smile, as if to say all this nonsense would pass and he’d be back soon and he was sorry for the trouble.
Then he was gone.
Caleb’s arm wrapped around her and kept her from collapsing. How had this come about? What would they do to Manoah? She thought of this morning, how the two of them in the light of dawn had shared quiet, intimate conversation as husband and wife.
“Come on, Mother.” Caleb turned her back toward their hut.
The neighbor widow joined them, abnormally silent. She reached out and took Zealphonis’s hand, knowing better than anyone the emptiness left by a missing husband, and they walked this way until reaching the split in the path.
“He’s a brave man, your Manoah,” the widow said. “We need his type now more than ever.”
Zealphonis thanked the woman, then leaned upon her son the last steps along the trail. He seemed ready to burst beside her but kept his mouth closed until they were alone in their home, where words were muffled by mud, brick, and thatch.
“I think I know where he is, Mother.”
“Hush,” she said. “Don’t tell me. Just go to him, Caleb. Go.”
CHAPTER 35
CONFESSIONS
Caves of Etam
THE CAVE FLOOR is cool. Flat on my back, I stare out the opening at wheeling vultures in the pale blue sky and imagine I am up there with them.
Floating. Circling.
Carried on the breeze, while waiting for death below.
I tell myself to sit up and tighten my belt and walk out of these hills. I don’t do anyone any good in this hideaway, feeling sorry for myself and asking questions of the Lord on high. He’s not saying much these days, and I’m not sure I could hear if He did speak.
The moment my eyelids drop shut, victims of exhaustion, I pry them open again. In the darkness behind closed eyes, memories plague me.
Robes swirling in free fall.
Flames snapping.
Bodies charred beyond recognition.
Keep your eyes open, I tell myself. Open, you fool.
No matter how much I want to blame Prince Rallah and his Philistine horde, I know I am also at fault. My refusal to heed my parents’ warnings. My blindness to the prince’s schemes. My bull-headed insistence that the peace between one man and woman could serve as a balm to all others. Ultimately my conviction that God will honor my every choice because I am chosen.
He has no need of me. What am I that He should require my help?
The sun rises higher in the sky over Etam, and I roll onto my side close to the cave’s lip, letting the rays warm my back. Now it’s the cave that fills my vision, a dark empty space. Against its backdrop the images form again in my head, and my chest heaves in a single sob.
Taren . . .
The wave of emotion washes over me, and somewhere in the tumble of its power I sink beneath the surface and find sleep.
“Brother?” The voice comes at me from far away. “Are you there?”
Daylight still warms the mouth of the cave, and I don’t know if I’ve been out for only minutes or an hour or a day. My hair is sweaty. My robes are wrinkled and torn. My legs and back ache.
“Samson?”
“Please . . . leave me.” My voice cracks with dryness.
Caleb’s outline appears at the cave’s entrance, looking more like a man than I remember. He’s a good kid, a loving brother, a faithful son. Let God use him in my place. He’s better suited for the tasks of service and righteous living.
He sits beside me without saying a word, and I pull myself up, shaking my head.
“I’ve broken my vows, Caleb. Maybe that’s why God took her from me.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“My Nazirite vows, I broke them. The wine that flowed during our feasting, I let Taren talk me into trying some. It was made locally, a proud tradition of the town, and she convinced me it would help me relax. I liked it,” I confess. “I drank it more than once with her. It was sour at first, but . . . I also touched a dead body. Even you didn’t know of that.”
He turns to look at me.
“In the woods on the way to Timnah,” I explain. “A lion sprung upon me, and I killed it.”
His eyes widen.
“I went by later, and bees had formed a honeycomb inside the carcass. I craved that honey. I don’t know what came over me, but I reached into the beast and took the honey for myself and for Mother and Father. We all partook of it. I never said a word.”
“So God arranged Taren’s death,�
�� he muses. “To punish you, I guess.”
“I don’t know.”
“He didn’t, Samson. Ashdod threw her from the wall.”
“Into . . . ” I swallow hard. “Into the very fires I started.”
“You didn’t kill her. God didn’t kill her. The Philistines did that, and what you do from here will define you. Moping in this cave is a death no better.”
“I loved her.”
“She loved you,” Caleb says. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“She betrayed me.”
“To protect her father’s life—that’s what you told me.”
“I don’t even know what to think, Caleb. I’m so angry. It’s like this fist right here.” My palm thuds twice against my chest. “It makes my jaws tight and my neck tense. It’s a pain that won’t go away, all this pent-up rage. At Rallah, and Ashdod, and myself. Nobody made me violate my vows. I did that all on my own, and it’s over. If Mother found out, it would rend her in two. I’m done.”
“There’s one vow you haven’t broken.”
I push my fingers through my matted locks. I still have my hair, in all its grime-and dust-ridden glory. Truly a razor has never touched my head.
“Is your strength still with you?” my brother wants to know.
I shrug and nod.
“Then it’s not done, Brother. Summon that strength once more.”
“What? Caleb, that’s what I’m telling you. This anger has already caused too much pain and death, and I don’t wish to stir it up again.” His silence gives me pause. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“They took Father.”
My legs thrust me into a standing position. “Who? Prince Rallah?”
“He’s waiting for you. He demands that you turn yourself over to him.” Caleb rises to his feet as well and moves to the cave’s lip. “Come, you need to see this.”
Together we gaze down over hundreds, even thousands of men in the valley below. These are the men of Mahaneh-dan. Our tribal warriors. I see Treus, Wadesh, and Orum. All are armed and ready to throw off the fetters of our oppressors. Though their swords and spears are crude, their shields wooden, the expressions on their faces are unyielding and fierce.
Someone points up, and a great roar rises. “Give us Samson,” they chant. “Give us Samson.”
“They’re here for you, Brother.”
“To kill me or make me king? Difficult to tell.”
“They’ve come to make sure that you are handed over to Rallah,” Caleb explains, and the continuing chants give me no reason to doubt it. “You’ve brought down the king’s wrath, and soldiers are going through our towns making threats and wreaking havoc. If you give yourself over, they can save Zorah from being burned to the ground.”
“They want me to go as their prisoner, then.”
“As a ransom. For our village.”
“Why so many? Did thousands of men need to come to see this through?”
“They’ve heard of your exploits,” he explains. “They want to be sure they have enough bodies to detain you, if it comes to that.”
“And say I cooperate. What then? Does the prince promise to release our father?”
“Do his promises count for anything, anyway?” Caleb faces me. “Please think about this. Surrender is not the only solution. You should do what you do best and make these men your army. Lead them. They want to follow you, but—”
“I think that day is past.”
“No, Samson.” He clutches my robes. “They do. You just have to give them a reason.”
His passion is persuasive, but I’ve already shown that I’m no leader to be trusted. Why put myself in that position again? To let more people down? Taren and I dreamed of peace and love, not war and hate. It was an ideal that’s been torn from me now, and bitterness fills the hole the way pus fills a wound. It’s a sickness I cannot tame.
“Give us Samson,” my tribesmen shout.
“You’re right,” I tell my brother. “These hands will save our people today. Not like this . . . ” I make two fists. “But like this . . . ” I cross my wrists as though bound by shackles.
“Forget that. Stand and fight. You said it yourself, you have your strength.”
I push my hair back over my shoulder. “I’m done fighting. I’m done with all of this.”
“My big brother.” Caleb speaks softly. “I never thought you’d be the one to let me down.”
His words hurt, and I look away. Mother’s and Father’s expectations have weighed on me so long that I always knew I would disappoint them. My brother, though, his expectations have been less demanding. He just wants to be near me and share work and activities. Realizing that I’ve disappointed him is a weight I never expected. Then again, it should come as no surprise.
“I’ve let everyone down,” I reply. “This way, at least, I save Father and our village.”
“Until they come to oppress us again. No, let’s put an end to it.”
The warriors are still chanting my name.
“You lead them, Caleb. They admire you. They trust you. Earn their respect now, and be the one to bind my hands.”
“I’ll do no such thing. You’re speaking nonsense.”
“Do it, Caleb. Or they will. Either way, I’m going down there. Bind me in fresh ropes, and make them promise that they won’t kill me before delivering me to the prince.”
“That much I can guarantee.”
“Very well, then.” Avoiding his eyes, I pull him into an embrace, and we thump each other’s backs. We are in full sight of those below, and I make a show of crossing my wrists and surrendering myself. “I’m ready, Brother. Take me down to your men.”
“This feels wrong.”
“All of the things that felt right landed me in this mess.”
As he leads me down over rocks and scrub, the chants of the mob turn to cheers.
Heights of Lehi
The ropes bite into my wrists and ankles as I shuffle between a dozen or so of my tribesmen. The others have gone back to their homes now that my surrender is secure. Treus leads our small procession, his enmity toward me never in doubt. Orum and Wadesh are on either side of me, allies from the start, and I wish them well, no matter today’s outcome. Caleb’s in position at the rear, hating that I am bound like a common prisoner.
Our progress is slow. The heat intensifies. We stop for sips of water from a goat’s bladder.
“Just about there,” Treus tells us. “The Philistine camp is on the other side of this hill.”
The din of milling soldiers meets our ears moments later. Atop the closest ridge sentries monitor our progress around the slope, and we arrive on a lofty promontory at the encampment of a thousand men. Most wear tunics like the ones I paid to the prince.
Then I see him. He looks dusty and tired.
“Father,” I cry.
He too is bound. He gives me a slight nod, and the flicker of appreciation in his eyes is all that I need. Disappointed as he may be, he still accepts me as his own.
“Here he is,” Prince Rallah proclaims. “Mighty Samson has been found at last.”
The troops shout their approval.
“Your loyalty to your king is acknowledged, Hebrews. Your village shall be spared.”
With that, my tribesmen slip away through the crowd. Only Caleb lingers to watch. Ashdod is still at his prince’s side, and I wonder why he hasn’t come forward to oversee the exchange of prisoners. They can put me in chains, lock me in a dungeon, just so long as my father goes free.
“Golian, he’s all yours,” Ashdod says.
A swarthy soldier stomps into view, his bulk casting a shadow over me. He carries a large ax.
“I came as you requested,” I say hurriedly. “Now release Manoah.”
“The old man, he’s your father, isn’t that right?” says Rallah.
“The best a son could hope for.”
The prince sneers at that. “I know of the relationships between fathers and sons. In the end each of us
stands alone.”
“Let me stand here alone, then. Please, let my father go.”
“Have you forgotten what happened the last time you made demands of me? Do you think you deserve special privilege? Kneel, Hebrew.”
Golian clamps his hand onto my neck. His strength rivals even that of the Egyptian giant, and each of his fingers tightens like an iron band as he shoves me down. My knees hit the dirt before a tree stump, and he presses my face into the whorls of grain. My breath stirs dust, wood chips, and scents of resin. Even though I can’t see it, I sense the soldier’s ax nearby, yet I remain calm.
Is any of this really a surprise? I suspected this would be my end. I’ve killed their soldiers, burned their fields, scorched their walls, and it was only a matter of time till King Balek and Prince Rallah decided to make an example of me. Here it is, they’ll say. Samson’s head. Look upon it, and know that this will also be your fate should you even think of defying the throne.
Lord, have mercy, I pray silently. I confess that I’m a strongman who is weak.
At the edge of my vision I spot scattered bones and raw meat from the Philistine soldiers’ latest meal, and then I see that my father’s still here. He has not been released. I beg again that our agreement be honored. “He’s no threat to you,” I tell the prince. “Please let him go.”
He utters his response into my ear. “Before your head hits the ground, Samson, every Hebrew village will be awash in flames. And where you are going, your father will be waiting.” He gives the slightest gesture to Ashdod.
The soldier takes one step and thrusts his spear through my father’s back.
“Noooo!” Caleb screams from the back of the crowd. “You promised he could go.”
Golian rises to full height, pulling his ax over his head for a swing at my neck, and already my hands are trembling. Though they are tied at my back, I feel the strength of my unbroken vow.
CHAPTER 36
THE OLIVE PRESS
Village of Zorah
THE SHARP PAIN started in her back and moved into her belly. In the sunshine on the bench outside the hut, Zealphonis doubled over and gasped.
