A bit later we reached Micherar, a little Canaanite village. Located at a fairly major crossroads, this town supported some small industries such as weaving and tanning; but it served primarily as a center of farming, plus goat and cattle breeding. These were free Canaanites, and freeholders to boot, but paying taxes to
Gath
.
Zaggi appeared somewhat disdainful as we made our way down the main road into town. “This village was full of cut-throats,” he said. “They rebelled two months ago and chased out the Melek’s tax-gatherers. He put them down quite firmly.” Delai looked around at the unfriendly faces of the town. “But there’s no danger,” Zaggi assured her. “The Melek deported all the young men to work on the roads farther north.”
Yet even as he spoke, crowds of hardy young males streamed out of their houses and began to mill around us. “Damn it!” Zaggi swore. “The Melek must’ve let them return early! I shouldn’t have let Jaita go off like that!” He ordered the caravan to halt, and then stood up to address the crowd.
“Canaanites! I greet you in the name of Maoch, Sheren of Askelon. I am Lord Zaggi, Chancellor to Sheren Maoch. We convey to His Grace the Melek the Lady Delai, Priestess of Astarte and noblewoman of Askelon, as bride for the great Prince Ekosh.”
It was a very impressive speech, and the Canaanites would (we hoped) be pleased to hear that Delai was a devotee of Astarte, one of
their favorite deities. Unfortunately, the crowd seemed more impressed by our rich caravan—and its mere handful of guards. Three old men then approached our wagon. “These must be their elders,” Zaggi told us. “Don’t let them see you’re afraid,” he hissed to Delai.
“Such horrid people,” Delai whispered back.
“Greetings, Lord,” said one of the old men—in what came near to being a sarcastic tone of voice. “We of Micherar revere the Goddess.” The man’s eyes were fixed on the treasure laden wagons behind Zaggi. “But, alas, we’ve nothing left for a gift for the Lady, because our goods were carried away by the Melek’s tax-gatherers.”
That sounded menacing, and Zaggi was preparing a (probably) belligerent reply when Delai stood up beside him to speak—much to Uncle’s surprise, and mine! “Most venerable chief,” she addressed the Canaanite, “I do not ask for gifts, for I see that you are an industrious people and deserve to prosper—while I have gifts enough. I ask only that you pray to our Goddess; ask that my marriage to your absent Prince might bring blessings to your fields and flocks.” Inwardly, she must have been trembling; yet even Zaggi had to admire her tact.
Yet then a voice in the crowd called out: “Micherar’s already paid for your bride-price!” And another: “By the taxes and plunder taken from us!” The townspeople began an ominous muttering among themselves.
Rachel, who’d been following the conversation intently, now jumped down from the wagon. She faced the nearest commoner in the crowd and addressed him directly: “Yes, you’ve paid taxes! And haven’t you received protection from the Judaean hillsmen?” The Canaanite farmer shrank back from her glare. I kept my mouth shut, knowing that my temper would get the better of me if I spoke up; besides, a young soldier like me wasn’t likely to produce a calming effect on the villagers. But I grasped my signal horn, just in case.
“Subjects of the Melek,” Zaggi then bellowed, “the Lady Delai will recommend your excellent village to her husband the Prince, and to his brother the Melek! But now we must pass on to be in
Gath
before dark.”
Already the sun was well past the zenith, though still hot and glaring. Inspired by Delai, Zaggi’s words had sounded good enough, but something about his bearing caused a negative reaction in the crowd. The Canaanites must have sensed their advantage when Zaggi mentioned the coming of night—and revealed his anxiety to pass. They gave no sign of separating to allow our wagons through.
For all we kinew, these people had no intention of attracking our caravan. Certainly they knew well the retribution they would suffer at the Melek’s hands: at the least, the death of their elders and the plunder of their town; at worst, their village razed and the entire population slaughtered or sold into slavery, the extent of their punishment corresponding to the damage they might do to us.
Perhaps, then, they wished only to embarrass and toy with Zaggi, driving home their grievances—while doing nothing overtly treasonous. But the situation was explosive. They might feel that they’d already incurred Zaggi’s wrath, and so couldn’t back out now. In that case, they might plunder our wagons and flee to the hills, while we would be hard put just to protect Delai. Any abrupt or threatening move on Zaggi’s part could touch off their anger and fear.
“My Lord,” the elder said, his voice again bordering on mockery, “we
beg
you to stay a while as our guests. Spend the night here and bring joy to our humble town!”
“I will consult with my people,” Zaggi promised, and turned to me: “They think that night will give them a better chance to murder and steal,” he whispered. Delai overheard his words and shuddered. Zaggi now determined to do something, anything. “Sound the trumpet for Jaita and then we’ll charge into them!” he ordered.
“Better to pretend we’re staying—and gather our wagons together, as if for the night,” I replied. “The longer we stall, the more chance Jaita will arrive.” Our whispered conversation, however, was having a very bad effect on the crowd, and they appeared about ready to fall upon us. I turned to the Canaanites: “We will stay for the night after we water our horses; and we’ll pay you for helping hands in drawing water from your well.” I moved my hand away from my sword hilt and smiled at the crowd.
Suddenly, they became very quiet, and I imagined that I had succeeded in calming them down; but then I saw that they were looking past me, up the road to the west. It was Jaita and our platoon!
Axles creaking, harness jingling, the chariots came slowly into Micherar, leaving a swirl of dust behind them. My troopers were dirty but splendid in their honor guard armaments. They were tall and grim looking men—a driver and two warriors to a chariot—with daggers and broadswords dangling from their belts, round, bossed shields strapped to their backs; their feather-crested helmets added to their appearance of gigantic size. Some were archers, and others carried long, iron-tipped Karian spears, or bronze javelins. Despite the small number of them, they looked—and were—very formidable, and the Canaanites began to step away from our wagons.
Actually, as we soon learned, our soldiers weren’t grim at all. They were quite light-hearted, in fact, anticipating the wine and women of
Gath
. But they were tired from their maneuvers, and they rode into Micherar with grimacing faces because of the dust and the sun’s glare off the sandy terrain. From the Canaanite point of view, on the other handl, their faces were largely masked by shadows—and looked anything but friendly. Unaware of the drama they’d interrupted, my charioteers came in at a slow walk and began waving at us. Zaggi turned, smiling through clenched teeth, to face the elders.
Their chief stammered, “My Lord, if you’ll stay for just a while, we’ll prepare a gift for the Lady as best we can….”
The Chancellor took that as his opportunity to wax sarcastic: “Worthy Chief, in view of your recent—and let us hope unique—experience with…heavy taxes…we shall require nothing of you but a moment to water our horses. Rest assured, however, that
all
of your generous offers of hospitality will be reported to the Melek….” The elders scurried away to set up watering troughs; the crowd shrank back. “We should have Jaita run them all down!” Zaggi told me in fury.
“Don’t do anything to endanger our girl!” I snapped, just as angry with him as with myself for letting Jaita’s platoon leave us in the first place.
The Canaanites understood our situation: even with our chariots, we could hardly have destroyed the whole town without
some casualties—to our horses if not our men—and some danger to Delai. They therefore assumed that their punishment, if any, would come later, from the Melek. But they were left in uncertainty: how angry was Zaggi? They had to depend on mercy, and for that they would be obsequious, remarkably so.
Then Jaita rode up, his black curls matted with dust and sweat. He noted the dwindling crowd. “Greetings, m’Lords and Lady! Have we missed a celebration or something?” He lifted an eyebrow in question.
Zaggi replied: “On the contrary, your arrival was vital to our…celebration….” Then he walked away.
“We had a splendid maneuver,” Jaita enthused to me. “I wish you could have seen us—how well we executed platoon turns!”
“Oh, Phicol,” Delai exclaimed, “don’t let them leave us agalin. Those people might have killed us….”
I put my arm around her shoulder, then proceeded to explain the matter to Jaita.
“A close call,” he remarked, and his mouth curled up in that wry grin of his. Then he went off to rejoin our platoon.
Soon the caravan got under way again, passing mud-roofed huts and stone houses, heading for the town well. There everyone, animals and humans alike, drank mighty draughts in relief. Rachel alone seemed completely recovered from the episode. “Do you see those houses, my Lady?” she squeaked, pointing. “I was born in just such a place, like that, with a mud roof. I remember how, after the rains, grass would grow on my roof!”
“Really?” Delai exclaimed.
Rachel nodded. “And look at me now!” She flashed her finger rings. “Servant to a priestess and princess-to-be!”
“Servant, yes…and a dear one, too,” Delai answered, gazing beyond our caravan into the town. “And since Uncle Zaggi gave you to me as my possession, the first thing I want to do is give you your freedom. Rachel, you’re no longer a slave….” Rachel was stunned. Delai continued: “But stay with me and be my servant and companion still,” she concluded, tears filling her eyes.
Rachel bowed her head and clasped my cousin’s hand. “I’ll always be your slave in my heart,” she replied with emotion.
And then we heard the caravan master’s call, announcing the resumption of our journey.
Much later I learned that Zaggi had indeed reported our little adventure to Melek Nasuy. As a result, the chief elder of Micherar was hanged at the town entrance, his body left to be picked at by birds of prey.
The Road to
Gaza
Askelon, that queen of riches, Rusa claimed as his,
While Piram chose the best
Of prizes,
Gath
, the sun-baked fortress city, greatest
In the land.
“These two we’ll conquer first,” the King declared,
And
Gaza
next will fall;
Dusty
Ashdod
, too, we’ll take, and Ekron last. My
Greatest chiefs shall have these three.
Canaan
’s plain will then be ours, mountains to the sea!”
--the
Nomiad
, Stanza XXXII
With my platoon in close attendance, we reached
Gath
in five more hours. It was almost dark, and the crowds in the bazaar had been waiting for a long time. They cheered lustily as our party passed through their gates. Delai now belonged to them, and she felt almost at home. Later, she got bathed, perfumed, pampered, and fussed over, entertained and regaled; now she felt more than at home: she felt loved, though bounced around from pillar to post. That night, weary from the trip and relaxed by kindness, we all slept better than we had in weeks.
Then there were days of festival. Delai got officially presented to Melek Nasuy in a ceremony held on the portico of Dagon’s
Temple
, a huge megaron with a pillared balcony. The priestesses of
Gath
’s Astarte welcomed her, while her dowry went on display at Melek Nasuy’s palace, to the excited admiration of both nobility and commons. In the meantime, I and my soldiers sported by night, performed gallant maneuvers by day; and attended the games which honored our gods and our Lady.
On the night before her departure for
Gaza
and
Egypt
, Delai was given a banquet and an audience with the Melek at his court. It was a grand affair, with much pomp and ceremony, for the Melek had a true court rather than a mere council, and he was treated more like a king than a mere first aristocrat. Food of all sorts and plenty of wine—we Philistines are heavy drinkers on such occasions—and dancers to entertain us, while an orchestra of lyrists provided entrancing music.
The climax of the event came when Delai got summoned to the throne to hear Melek Nasuy’s words: “My child, most fortunate is our brother, Prince Ekosh. You are indeed the creature of beauty and charm whom we were told to expect.”
Delai looked up at Melek Nasuy through her heavily decorated eyelashes. He was about sixty-five years old, the eldest son of Piram, eldest son of Nomion—a living link with our Aegean past, because he’d grown up among the men who migrated from there. Twenty years older than Prince Ekosh, Nasuy’s features were still handsome, despite his age; he was somewhat overweight, yet his purple robe, his sparkling jewels, and his air of grandeur and authority impressed.
“Your Grace is very kind,” Delai murmured, while Zaggi beamed.
“Tomorrow you start for
Egypt
,” Nasuy continued. “Bear our greetings to our royal brother and to our suzerain, the Pharaoh. Take with you the gifts for Pharaoh, the Prince, and for yourself.” He spoke grandly from what was apparently a rehearsed script. “You will be a mother to our race and dynasty; carry out your duties well, and enjoy the blessings of Dagon and all the gods and goddesses.”
Then Nasuy rose and the courtiers made a path for him, standing silently as he walked by, his train carried by young noble boys. Men saluted and ladies curtsied. We watched as he slowly left
the hall and retired to his chambers. In all our stay in
Gath
, we’d gotten no closer to him than that; yet it was plain from the attention which we’d received that the Melek had personally ordered everyone to cater to our comfort.
The Chancellor of Askelon had also observed Melek Nasuy’s departure with great care. He and I were feasting on a tray of dates, figs, and small cuts of roast lamb, and feeling in top form by then. “That,” he began, “
that
is how a Philistine ruler should appear!” I raised an eyebrow. “I mean,” Uncle Zaggi went on, “that
all
the sherens of
Philistia
should have courts like this!”
“But the Melek is more than just another sheren,” I noted, and passed Zaggi another goblet of wine.
“Precisely,” he replied, looking up at the vacant throne. “And if the sherens were to rule in splendor like this, then the Melek’s court should become even grander than now. He should rule like Pharaoh, or like Tiglath-Pileser, the Emperor of Assyria!”
“Could we afford that?” I quipped, putting on Pai’s accent.
“Yes! Can we afford
not
to?” Zaggi countered, too enthusiastic to notice my clowning. “How can we rule these Canaanites without grandeur? We’re a minority; we must impress them so much that insolence will be unthinkable. We’ve held on to the crude traditions of our forefathers for much too long. We’re no longer scattered clans of farmers, or seamen and merchants. Now we’re a master race and should act like one. Furthermore, the Melek should rule all of
Philistia
with an iron hand!”
I now became a bit alarmed, though I knew that Zaggi’s words were prompted more by wine than by serious consideration. “But, Uncle, it’s a sacred tradition that each sheren rules independently, because each sheren derives his authority from election by the noble families.”
“And that’s another mistake,” Zaggi harrumphed. “The title of sheren—and the title of melek—should pass to the eldest son invariably, not by election.”
“That’s not so good,” I chuckled. “Your own father was the youngest son of Nomion; yet he became Sheren of Askelon while the middle brother went without a province.”
“Yes, and Rusa
was
great! But the principle was wrong. Nomion’s eldest son, Piram, rightfully became Melek and Sheren of Gath; Askelon, being the second largest city, should’ve gone to the second son, Bene.”
“Ah, but Lord Bene deserted his father during the migration,” I reminded him.
“True, but when they reconciled, Bene should have gotten Askelon, even though the nobles had agreed to Rusa’s tenure. What if Bene had been a disloyal brother? There would’ve been civil war—something we can’t afford!”
Zaggi was right about that, I had to admit. Luckily for
Philistia
, Bene had sought his fortune—and found his death—in the service of Jabin, a Canaanite king. Yet wasn’t it also true that, if Bene had received Askelon, the cheated Rusa might have started a civil war? And wouldn’t the principle of inheritance which Zaggi now advocated have limited the power of the reigning Melek? (Nomion had decided on Rusa, after all, to be Sheren of Askelon.)
In any case, that was all years ago, and I didn’t want to pursue our dialogue any further. Zaggi’d become excited by wine and pomp, and there was no use arguing with him. The next day would see my cousin and me on the road to
Gaza
, hence to
Egypt
, leaving Uncle Zaggi behind to return to Askelon—and I wasn’t overly unhappy at that prospect.
In search of more congenial company, I drifted across the room and finally got a chance to congratulate Delai on her splendid reception.
“Oh, Phicol, isn’t it wonderful?” she exclaimed. We toasted each other with cups of wine. But then she became wistful. “It’s like finding a new home, Phicol…but now I have to leave again….”
“Your welcome in
Egypt
will be just as grand—or more so,” I assured her, but in my heart I knew it would be different: no matter how loving Ekosh might be, Delai would be a stranger in a strange land. “I’ll write you, Delai,” I told her, and she cried on my shoulder a bit, much to my embarrassment.
After the extravaganza in
Gath
, we started on our journey to
Gaza
. The Sheren of that city had invited Delai for an audience, wishing to give her and her future husband some handsome gifts.
(Next to
Gath
, we enjoyed closest relations with
Gaza
.) Besides,
Gaza
’s satellite port was closer to
Egypt
than any other Philistine city. Stopping at
Gaza
also fit in with the plans of Amphimachus, our High Priest; he’d wanted to visit the
Temple
of
Dagon
there for some time, and so we’d all agreed that he should meet us in
Gaza
, and then we’d all take ship to
Egypt
. Zaggi, on the other hand, as I have said, returned to Askelon from
Gath
.
The journey from
Gath
to
Gaza
would take us down the road south to Eglon, then west to the coast. Our chief escort to
Gaza
was Colonel Warati, whose permanent station was at Ziklag, on the border of
Philistia
. That border had flared up on two occasions recently, once when a Judaean clan attacked a caravan heading for Ziklag, and again when a Canaanite village on the plain rose in rebellion. With these incidents in mind, Zaggi had commissioned Warati to convey Delai to
Gaza
with a sizable force of troops, and he also attached my charioteers to the caravan for added protection.
Indeed, after our experience at Micherar, Zaggi had ordered up another platoon of chariots. There’s nothing the natives fear more than the iron chariots of Philistia, and the archers and spearmen who ride them; so long as our boys and their machines remain on the plain, that is—and then only when the weather is dry. We charioteers always kept in mind how Rusa’s brother, Bene, got killed so many years ago, after his chariots bogged down during a rainy spell.
But the weather was fine for chariots when we left
Gath
. Autumn was coming, and with it dry, hot air and clear skies would soon prevail, already becoming frequent. Still, the road to Eglon enjoyed neither sea breezes nor the cooler air of the mountains which lay beyond Ziklag and Beer-Sheba. Delai, Rachel, and a handful of servants rode in covered wagons, while various gifts for the future couple followed behind, in packs carried by camels. Infantrymen trudged behind these, their loads mercifully light because their shields and weapons were carried on wagons during the day. Only at night,
when camp would be set up, were they to be fully armed—sleeping in shifts. In the daytime, there was no danger of surprise; we could see for miles over the flat plain, and my charioteers stormed around the caravan, covering all approaches, beating the bush for bandits, rebels, or invaders.