The Philistine Warrior Read Free Page B

just had breakfast with him, and a long talk. He’s not of good family, and a bit rough-cut, but a strong soldier, with a good record as a disciplinarian; and in combat, too. Would you believe that his father was a shopkeeper ?”
    I believed it. “But will he be in charge of the city as well as the troops in Ziklag?” It was unusual to put a commoner in a high civil position.
    “Yes,” the Chancellor answered. “The frontier needs good soldiers in government, no matter what class they come from.” He frowned a little, and I wondered if I’d offended by questioning his decision. “You’ll see Warati this afternoon,” Zaggi went on. “I’ve invited him to the Council to meet Sheren Maoch.” He was well satisfied with that piece of business. “But that’s not why I called you here,” he began again, and his expression changed completely—he’d turned quite somber. “Take a look at this,” he concluded, offering me a document from his stack of papyrus rolls.
    “From the Melek,” I noted, spying the seal of our High Lord, the Melek (King) of all Philistia—Melek Nasuy, Sheren of Gath, eldest son of Mighty Piram, the first of the sons of Great King Nomion.
    “From Melek Nasuy himself,” Zaggi pointed out. “Not from his Gathian Chancellor!”
    I began to read the letter: “Ah…Cousin Ekosh wants a bride, does he?” I noted aloud. I knew that Zaggi didn’t like to hear Ekosh—the brother of Melek Nasuy—referred to merely as “cousin.” He should more properly have been called “Prince Ekosh,” or “The Prince of Gath.” Indeed, Zaggi himself preferred to be addressed as “Lord,” or “Chancellor”; but I always called him “Uncle,” and sometimes I even called the Melek “Cousin Nasuy,” much to Zaggi’s horror—although I did so only in private conversation, whenever I felt like ruffling Uncle Zaggi’s sensibilities. But Zaggi didn’t seem
     
    alert to such niceties at the moment; in fact, he was very agitated over something.
    “Wait’ll you see whom Melek Nasuy suggests as the Prince’s bride!” he exclaimed.
    I leaned back, popped an olive into my mouth, and read on. “My God,” I swore, almost strangling on that damned olive. “He says Delai !” My heart leapt at the name, and I became just as excited as Zaggi. “This is wonderful!” I nearly shouted. “What a break for
    Delai! And for Askelon. Imagine, our Delai—wife to the Prince of Gath!”
    Yet Zaggi didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm; excited he was, but not happy. Can it be, I wondered, that he resents this elevation of his bastard brother’s child? After all these years, do old struggles mean so much to him? No, not even Zaggi could be that petty, I told myself; nevertheless, he certainly acted displeased by the proposal. He had his hands buried in papyrus rolls, a sure sign that he wished to appear overburdened by the affairs of state.
    “She is no doubt rather fair and charming,” he said at last.
    “Extremely fair, I should say!”
    “Yes, quite so,” the Chancellor conceded. “But, even so, since her father was the son of a concubine…and died without high position…Delai isn’t anywhere near the rank of Prince Ekosh….”
    Oh, you bastard, I thought. Then, aloud: “Well, since you’re her guardian, I should think you’d want a good marriage for her….”
    “But, my dear Phicol,” Zaggi replied, “remember that the Egyptians are very status minded, and so, as long as Prince Ekosh is in Pharaoh’s service and court, his bride must be very high-born…and it must be remembered that the Prince might some day be elected Melek of Philistia, our highest lord—indeed, a real king in the eyes of the world. Is Delai suitable for that kind of role?”
    “But, Uncle,” I answered in exasperation, “the Melek has himself suggested Delai—and she’s the only lady of our dynasty available. Would you rather see someone not of our family, like the daughter of the Sheren of Gaza, made wife to