Читать книгу Delilah - Eleanor Jong De - Страница 11

Three years later

The man’s hollow, watery eyes settled on Delilah for a moment, then fell again to the track. The load of rolled blankets piled precariously on his back looked ready to crush him. Behind him was his wife, her long, bedraggled gown tugged by a sandy squall. Over her shoulder, Delilah saw the face of a sleeping baby boy. He, at least, looked content.

‘That’s the seventh family we have passed since the bend in the road,’ she said when the cart had moved out of earshot.

Her stepfather nodded slowly and glanced back over his shoulder. ‘And here comes another one.’

Delilah rearranged the shawl that shaded her head from the midday sun, hoping that anyone who took the time to look up from the dusty road into the cart would see that her features were as Israelite as the driver’s. To be travelling in such comfort stirred a vague guilt. Did they wonder what she was doing sitting on a cushioned seat beside a Philistine? For there was no doubt about Achish’s provenance; his high forehead and cheekbones were distinctive of his race.

She sighed. It wasn’t as simple as that, and she knew it.

They had not long left the vineyard when Delilah first noticed the long trail of travellers, clusters of people all along the main coastal road from Ashkelon to Ashdod. At first she’d barely looked up from the scroll in her lap. Achish was thinking of expanding the vineyard onto land to the east, and she felt honoured that she’d been the first to see the plans. But after a while the warmth of the sun had made her sleepy and the voices drifting up from the road had drawn her attention. She could tell that these people were poor, not only from the state of their clothes but also from how little they carried with them. Their journeys weren’t casual – that much was obvious from the way they lugged cooking pots and bundles of fabric, probably bedding or makeshift tents. Even the smallest child dragged some jug or basket along behind its weary feet. Times were desperately hard, she knew, and work even as labourers or servants was scarce in Ashkelon.

‘Why are they travelling south? Why don’t they turn north towards the Israelite cities, head for home?’

‘For a lot of these families, this land is their home,’ said Achish. ‘Did your mother ever tell you how long your father’s family lived on the edge of Ashkelon?’

She shook her head.

‘Five generations. Much longer than my people. It was my father’s father who started the vineyard when he first came from across the sea. Your father’s family had already been living off the land for many, many years before that. But it’s different for these people: they don’t have time to build a home and a livelihood. They need to eat.’

Delilah smiled wryly. ‘That sounded rather political. I shouldn’t let old Phicol hear you talking like that else he’ll think you’re trying to subvert his plans for the Philistine state.’

‘You shouldn’t call him “old Phicol” Delilah.’

‘I’m sorry. He isn’t all that old, I know.’

Achish gave her a small smile, to show his chastisement was only gentle.

‘But you do sound almost guilty; it’s not your fault what’s happening to the Israelites.’

‘There will always be battles for supremacy between cultures, one seeking to control another. I’ve been called a thief more times than I can remember.’

‘You’re the most honest man I know!’

Achish laughed. ‘In my business dealings, perhaps. But my people are like those bees who take over the nests of other bees, stealing their honey and their homes for themselves. The Philistines have always moved into cities built by others and grown them for their own good; for many that is theft.’ He squinted a little and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘I’ve simply tried to do what I can to make sure I don’t deny those around me a right to a home and a decent living, no matter who they are.’

Delilah reached across the cart and squeezed his arm. ‘But you can only do that if your own business is strong. I understand that.’

‘I’m glad of it. You have your father’s quick grasp of detail.’

‘And my stepfather’s eye for an opportunity. We can close this deal with Mizraim together.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of that chance.’ Achish smiled warmly at her and reached beneath his feet for the jug of water. Delilah held out the little drinking bowl to be filled, then offered it to Achish first.

‘Nor would you deprive me of the chance to see his son again,’ she said, as innocently as possible.

Achish dabbed at his mouth with the back of his hand, then laughed as he gave the bowl back to Delilah. ‘Jered is a nice young man, intelligent, energetic, and interested in wine.’

‘Which is no bad thing if you want him and his father to buy rather a lot of it.’

‘It would be useful to bring a son into the family who had a taste for such things—’

‘—and who could replace the son you have lost to Lord Phicol’s side?’

Achish frowned. She’d spoken out of turn. It had taken weeks until she’d spoken to her stepfather after he’d tried to marry her to Samson. Even Beulah had been shocked. Since that time, several suitors had made their attentions clear, but each time Achish had rebuffed them at the merest hint of displeasure from Delilah. Joshua had been a victim of their unspoken conflict. After a scattering of midnight assignations, poor Joshua had been unceremoniously moved one day to work on the port for almost eighteen months. The reason for his exile was never stated explicitly, but it could only have been Ekron’s wagging tongue that sent him on his way. And now he had returned, his desire for her seemed to have waned. He kept his distance, except when others were about, and they had developed an understanding that nothing of that sort could ever occur again.

‘I tried again last month to get Ekron to try the different vintages,’ he said eventually, changing the subject. ‘He’d always rather talk about politics than savour the tastes of the wines in his mouth. At least I have you for that.’

‘And perhaps Jered one day too.’ Delilah smiled bashfully for she knew it would make Achish laugh in that soft way of his. But did he know how her heart thudded at the prospect of seeing the handsome merchant’s son again? He and his father, Mizraim, had visited many of the Ashkelon vineyards two months ago in search of wines to sell in Ashdod, and this exclusive invitation to return with samples had the potential to build Achish’s business significantly. For not only would Mizraim be present, he’d also invited several other merchants to try the wines. That the invitation had extended to Delilah also, suggested Jered’s interest was more than pecuniary.

‘You should take a little care, though, Delilah,’ said Achish. ‘You’re apt to be less than modest about your own powers. Your skills in both flattery and argument are as well-balanced as your face, but it would be as well at least to pretend that you are not aware of that.’

‘I suppose you are talking about Hemin. You think I was mean to her last night.’

Achish arched an eyebrow. ‘Do you think you were?’

‘She does not care about the vineyard as I do. I was merely reminding her of that. She owes her marriage to old Phi – to Lord Phicol, to the vineyard’s prosperity, but she has never bothered to learn anything about our livelihood.’

‘The vines were in your father’s blood, so they are in yours. Hemin has other interests—’

Delilah scoffed. Dressing up, mostly.

Mizraim’s home was very different from the vineyard house, set as it was right in the middle of Ashdod. The building was bordered by streets at the front and back, so the eastern half of the house was devoted to the business, and the western half to living. Mizraim was a merchant in foods as well as wines, and even before the cart had pulled up in front of the business part of the property, Delilah could smell the heady fusion of spices and oils and the scents of warm citrus fruits piled up in the late morning sunshine. They had been travelling since first light, and hunger had sharpened her senses. She was so enthralled leaning over baskets of dried fruits, taking in their fragrance, that she didn’t notice Jered standing under the awning at the entrance to the house until she was almost in front of him.

‘You look like a small child, if I may say so, thrilled by their first trip to the market.’

Delilah lowered her head in the formal way, then smiled. The merchant’s son was even more handsome than she remembered, though he was dressed quite soberly and his hands were slightly oily and his nails stained dark. He saw her studying them and quickly drew them behind his back, but she only laughed and let her eyes linger on his.

‘We had a delivery of berries this morning,’ he said, ‘but they are delicate things and are likely to burst if a person doesn’t take enough care.’

Delilah peered teasingly at his face. ‘No evidence you have been eating them, though?’

He blushed. ‘I put some by especially for you and Achish to try. If you are to trust us with your wines, then you should know what good company they are going to keep.’

‘Good company, you say?’

‘Food and wine should always make a careful marriage.’

Delilah was about to respond when she noticed Achish and Mizraim standing companionably together, and remembered her promise to behave with more propriety.

‘Is there something you would like me to do, Father?’

Achish gestured to the cart. ‘Can you supervise the moving of the wines into our host’s house, please? Then we can begin the tasting.’

Mizraim – whose ample build and features showed that he ran his business and his life in equally generous portions – had turned a simple tasting into an opportunity to impress his acquaintances, and a splendid array of dried and fresh fruits, olives, breads, oils and cured meats had been arranged on tables for the twenty or more guests to enjoy. This house had a more informal feel than the vineyard house, large open rooms with wooden shutters to divide the indoor space from the outdoor, and to divide off smaller rooms if required. Being bordered by streets on two sides, the house was flanked by a walled garden at one end, and a large courtyard at the other, across which hung a large awning of woven reeds to keep off the heat of the day.

With the wines carefully arranged in a row along one of the courtyard walls, Delilah took her place by Achish’s side as he presented the different vintages to the guests. She handed out the little stoneware drinking bowls, adding water as the guests wished, and supplying her own comments about the particular taste of each wine as she did so. Beneath the careful smile she mentally noted the names of the possible clients and their preferences. And all the while she was conscious of Jered watching her from the edge of the crowd, his own cheeks growing a little flushed. She flattered herself that it wasn’t just the wine.

Soon enough the tasting was over and she retreated to the food tables to allow Achish to begin with the business. She’d have liked to follow the conversations, but being a young woman among men made this impossible. Besides, with her work done, her appetite was keener than ever. She helped herself to some cucumber relish and bread smeared with a paste made from crushed olives. Jered was talking with one of the other merchants, but when he saw Delilah he broke off with a hurried excuse and made his way across the courtyard. His straight-backed enthusiasm was almost comic, and with an inky finger he pushed aside the smooth black forelock that fell over one eye.

‘You hide your boredom well, Delilah. But I fear discussions have only just begun. Your father drives a hard bargain, but my father has stubbornness on his side.’

‘I’m not bored at all, but there’s not very much for a girl to do here. Perhaps you’d like to show me a little of Ashdod. To see if it compares with home.’

The implication wasn’t lost on Jered, who agreed it was a good idea.

Having obtained permission from Achish, who’d nodded graciously at her request, she left the front of the house with Jered at her side. Out on the street, she arranged her shawl over her head to shade herself from the sun. The mid-afternoon heat had smothered the streets with its soporific spell and after only a few steps even the babble of contentment from the merchant’s garden was inaudible. Delilah paused at the corner and looked around her.

‘Where is everyone?’

‘This is mostly a residential area, so they are probably using their common sense and lying down quietly in the cool of their houses. You’re sure you wouldn’t rather be indoors?’

‘No, I’d rather be out here with you.’

Delilah could feel Jered’s pleasure at the compliment without having to look at him, but she decided to heed Achish’s advice, for a change, and kept her eyes on the street ahead of her. ‘What is it like to live in Ashdod?’

‘I’ve never lived anywhere else, but I like it. The sea is not as close as in Ashkelon, so things are quieter. It’s half a morning’s walk to the harbour, less by cart. Most of our goods arrive there. I spend a good part of my days travelling back and forth between the docks and the warehouses, meeting the ships, taking an inventory of the goods, and then accompanying them back again to be stored.’

‘And where are those?’

‘We have two on the western side of the city – they are visible from the roof of the house if you wish to see them for yourself. But I wouldn’t take you there on my own. It’s not the safest part of town for a young lady.’

Jered’s cheeks had reddened, but Delilah pretended not to notice. He was really rather sweet, a beguiling mixture of confident merchant and attentive suitor, yet with a slight awkwardness she hadn’t noticed the first time she’d met him. He had none of Joshua’s easy charm, but those berry-stained hands and his earnest expression as he tried to decipher whether she was serious or joking, lent him an inner softness that balanced his good looks.

‘I won’t pretend otherwise, but robbery in the streets and theft from businesses are a problem in Ashdod. This is the wealthiest of the Philistine cities, and we get a lot of customers from the region, and even from as far away as Lachish and Jerusalem. I suppose that those with lots of money will always draw envy from those who haven’t any.’

Delilah thought of the Israelite families on the road this morning, but she knew she couldn’t talk about them to Jered. Achish had been right. It was possible to be pretty or clever, but not both. As they turned onto the market street she pulled her shawl a little further back on her head to show off a little more of her neck and the clusters of tiny pearls that dropped from her ears.

In the mornings or late afternoons these streets were probably very busy, but now the place was mostly empty and Delilah could see servants dozing on benches in the shade. But the array of wares was amazing and she shook her head at the sheer variety of it all – furniture and carpets, bolts of cloth, and spreads of food that rivalled even Mizraim’s stock.

One particular stall immediately caught her eye. It was piled high with plates, bowls, jugs and jars. The edges of each piece had been delicately fluted by some tiny tool, which had presumably been used to pinch the clay back and forth. The base of each piece had been fired white and painted with a geometric design in black.

‘This is so beautiful,’ she said, ‘but I’ve never seen anything like it before.’

‘I believe it comes from a land beyond Egypt,’ said Jered.

Delilah picked up one of the very smallest bowls and cupped it in the palm of her hand. The fluting would make it messy to drink from, but it would look beautiful on her dresser, full of hairpins or jewellery, or better still just empty in the centre, white and black against the pale wood. The jugs were wonderful too, and perhaps if there was time she could bring Achish here on the way home so that he might buy some for his finest vintages. That would be a nice touch, presenting the best of the vineyard’s riches in something more exotic, more memorable than the usual—

Her attention was caught by movement at the next stall, a saddler, but no sooner had she looked up than she quickly snapped her gaze back to the bowl again, her legs suddenly weak, all imaginings of the future swept away by the cold shadow of the past. It might have been three years since she’d last seen Samson, but nothing about him had changed. He still stood two feet taller than her, with thick woven braids tethered to his head. But it wasn’t his size that made Delilah’s heart thump under her breast. It was his eyes, those bright blue eyes that seemed to chill and burn her at the same time.