‘You persuaded me to take your daughter’s hand,’ said Samson, equally quietly, but infinitely more menacing, ‘at least offer what is due with no haggling.’ He batted the scroll from David’s hand. A murmur of disapproval rippled through the spectators, and even from the edge of the courtyard, Delilah felt herself lean back a little. ‘For a man of such wealth, you offer me a pittance—’
‘She is my only daughter, and she’ll one day inherit a full third share of my estate—’
‘How dare you insult my sister!’ Ekron appeared from nowhere and grabbed hold of Samson’s wrist. The giant’s eyes dropped to her stepbrother’s hand, but he looked surprised more than angry. His two bodyguards weren’t as relaxed and one of them, wiry and agile, immediately jumped forward and planted a fist into Ekron’s waist. He grunted and seemed to fold with the impact. Delilah felt her breath jolt.
Almost immediately one of the cousins, a man in his twenties called Ariston, came from the second row of the spectators and threw a punch at Ekron’s assailant. Chaos ensued. In just a few moments, more of the men had joined the fight, swapping blows with the Israelites, who had swelled up around Samson without warning.
Delilah had witnessed boys fighting in the fields before, scraps over games of dice or some verbal slight, but this was different. There were no rules, no grown-ups to separate the opposing parties. Chairs were tipped over as the women and older men shrank to the back of the courtyard near the gate, while the peace of her family home disintegrated. Hemin, her face streaming with tears, stood near Ariadnh. Lord Phicol disappeared through a side door, pursued by his three escorts. Shouldn’t he be trying to stop the brawl? Delilah thought. Then she saw her stepfather through a gap in the writhing bodies. Samson had snatched the neck of Achish’s gown, and was dragging him like a cat with its paws on a mouse.
Delilah ran forward, seizing the precious wine-jug that moments before had been a symbol of the union. She slipped through the cordon of screaming women who were now clustered together and ran to Achish’s side, her face throbbing with anger.
‘Let him go!’
‘Delilah, no—’ Achish gasped.
‘Let him go, you monster! What has he done to you that you would use your weight and height against him—’
Samson didn’t seem to hear her at all, so intent was he on his fury, but Delilah knew only Achish’s fear and without thinking she jumped on the bench and brought the jug down squarely on Samson’s head. It shattered, leaving only a curved handle in her fingers. The Israelite bully was slow to notice the wine that was now pouring down his face, and Delilah thought he could hardly have felt it through those thick braids on his head.
But when the realisation came to him, it came quickly and in a furious guttural roar of Philistine. ‘This is a man’s business, little girl—’
‘Don’t call me a little girl, I’m fifteen’ – in her anger she lied – ‘and I know the business of this house as well as anyone!’
‘Then let your father do your fighting for you.’
‘Only a coward would fight a man so much weaker than himself.’
A grunt of irritation exploded from Samson’s mouth, and he let go of Achish and turned on her. Delilah’s stomach rolled over and she cast around quickly for something to defend herself with. But there was nothing within reach, apart from—
With a speed that surprised them both, she yanked at one of his braids. But he was snatched from her grasp and bundled away across the room by three of the Israelite men. Ekron clung to the arm of one of them, but he was flung off like an insect, and went crashing into a low table. Delilah ran to his side.
Samson and his men barrelled through the remaining guests and out of the courtyard, set about by Achish’s male relatives as they went.
Ekron’s forehead was grazed and bloodied. Delilah looked around the broken furniture to find a clean napkin to dab at his face.
‘Are you all right?’
‘We should have known better than to make an agreement with them!’ cried Ekron from the safety of the floor.
Delilah sat back on her heels and surveyed the wreckage of the courtyard. Seats and stools had been toppled over and lay broken. Wine stained the dowry bolts of cloth and all the new napkins. Groans and whimpers came from all around. Achish sat on a bench, his head in his hands.
‘What a mess!’ she said.
‘Israelites are all the same,’ snapped Ekron. ‘Barbarians!’
Delilah dabbed harder than she needed to at Ekron’s head, making him yelp. Delilah ignored his pain and dabbed again. ‘Remind me of that the next time I jump in to save our family’s honour.’
Chapter Five
‘How could you have let it come to that, Father?’ Hemin sobbed. She was sitting on a couch in Achish’s study. Even though the brawl had not extended this far, the inhabitants of the room – the immediate family, plus several of the cousins – had turned its usual order into disarray, stained as they were with blood or wine, their clothes crumpled and torn. Achish’s tunic sat lopsidedly across his shoulders from when Samson had dropped him. His face was still pale. Unlike the rest of his family, though, he showed no anger, only disbelief and confusion. She knew he was replaying the conflict over and over in his mind, waiting for the story to end differently.
‘I was humiliated!’ Hemin continued. ‘And in front of all those people! How could you have let that happen to me?’
‘Hemin is right,’ said Ekron, wiping his own dried blood from his knuckles. He’d recovered quickly, and seemed proud of his injuries. ‘With Samson’s reputation, we should have known that something like this was possible. He probably only agreed to the ceremony to see what chance there was of stealing the dowry. He had no intention of marrying Hemin at all.’
‘I can’t see why not,’ squeaked Hemin. ‘I’m a desirable woman and would make a very good wife.’
‘So if he returns, you will marry him then?’ asked Achish. Above his left eye, the skin was swollen.
‘Absolutely not!’
Make your mind up, thought Delilah. ‘—so you must break the contract, Father,’ Hemin was saying.
‘If it still even exists,’ said Ekron. ‘I imagine Lord Phicol would be able to give a legal interpretation, but I’d think—’
‘Who cares about the law?’ said Ariadnh. ‘His brutish Israelite manners are reason enough to refuse to marry him.’
You were all for his Israelite manners yesterday, thought Delilah, remembering the conversation she’d overheard between mother and daughter.
‘But that’s the point, Ariadnh,’ said Achish. ‘That’s what I just don’t understand. Betrothal is very important to the Israelites and I cannot quite believe that Samson would back out of what was an important contract to his people and to ours over such a trivial matter as the dowry. But how else can I interpret it? He knew the conditions, and yet he took issue and left. That at least can only be taken as a rejection of the marriage.’
‘And of me!’ wailed Hemin, dissolving into tears and falling onto her father’s shoulder.
Even Ariadnh rolled her eyes at this display of hysteria, Delilah noted. She leaned back against the wall and ran the beads of her belt through her fingers. Hemin’s studied misery was rapidly erasing what little sympathy she had for her stepsister. Despite the obvious personal rejection, the slight was shared by the whole household.
‘Perhaps he thought me ugly,’ Hemin whimpered, looking up at her mother.
‘Of course not!’ reassured Ariadnh.
Delilah managed not to smile. It was tradition that the bride and groom didn’t see