The Philistine Warrior Read Free Page A

Askelon. Well, that’s politics, even among brothers; at least they couldn’t call Adinai a bastard—but they did manage to play upon my father’s lack of popularity among the pious…and that held back his career until the day that he died, fighting bravely at the front in the same war which claimed Delai’s father—the Judaean war of thirteen years earlier, when I was twelve years old and Delai only two.
    I hasten to add that Uncle Zaggi always acted friendly enough toward me—whatever he really felt inside—considering that I was the son of his second least favorite brother. And as for Uncle Maoch: well, he was basically an amiable man, but Zaggi had a great deal of influence over him. Therefore, if Zaggi turned against you, the best thing you could do was to get out of Askelon’s service, and seek promotion elsewhere in Philistia —unless you liked the prospect of low rank all your life. As you can well imagine, I never really enjoyed my interviews with the Chancellor of Askelon—or the Sheren, for that matter. Yet I didn’t want to leave Askelon for service in some other Philistine city; Askelon was my home.
     

     
    Zaggi’s butler greeted me at the door and brought me into my Uncle’s official chamber. “M’Lord Chancellor, Captain Phicol is here,” the man announced.
     
    “Come in, Phicol, come in,” Zaggi called out. “Welcome. How’ve things been up in the hills?” He shook my hand and led me to a couch. His table was covered with papyrus scrolls, but there was also a beautiful bowl of olives and some bread; evidently he and that unknown officer had enjoyed a working breakfast, in place of the family affair for which Delai had prepared in vain.
    “The hills are quiet, Uncle, quiet. The Judaeans slank away when our chariots appeared.” He smiled. Like most of the male descendants of King Nomion, he was rather striking in appearance, indeed still quite handsome, despite his somewhat gaunt physique and his forty-five or so years. I could tell that he’d dressed for that canceled formal breakfast, too, as had Delai: he wore a costly blue tunic, and his beard had been newly trimmed. His hair was all black; rumor had it in the officers’ mess that our Chancellor always plucked out his gray hairs before every important audience.
    “I’m glad everything’s going well on the Judaean front,” he replied. “We’ve more important things to think about, especially Ekron’s request—”
    “Uncle, do you mind if I take off my cape?” I asked. He looked a bit startled at being interrupted. “It’s warm today, and I’ve been exercising,” I explained, and flung it off before he could answer. Uncle was always one for formality, but the air felt good on my shoulders; and I loosened my girdle as well.
    “Hmm, no, I suppose not,” he conceded, after the fact, and I poured myself some water. “The point is, Phicol,” he continued, “since the Judaeans are quiet, we can well afford to lend Ekron a troop of volunteer chariot soldiers.”
    “Our strength in the guard is quite adequate,” I told him. “We could spare a troop or so—I’d like to command them myself….”
    “Give the Danites a thrashing, eh?” His eyes lit up at the thought.
    “If Sheren Maoch can spare me during the autumn, that is,” I remarked. I’d just been made chariot commander that past winter, and promoted to captain; so I liked to think that Maoch, at least, thought highly of me. He often asked me to attend Council meetings, because I was now the highest ranking charioteer in Askelon’s service—but really because I’m a member of the dynasty. “By the
     
    way,” I resumed, “that officer I just passed—is he from Ekron? Because he seemed to be wearing Gazan insignia….”
    “You must mean Major Warati,” he replied. “He is indeed from Gaza , but he’s transferring to our service. I intend to put him in command at Ziklag—with Gath ’s approval, of course; Sheren Maoch’s already agreed. I’ve