The Jewel of Inanna

The Jewel of Inanna

Introduction

When I began this project, I originally only intended to clean up the research I had done while writing the original Jewel of Inanna, then called the Jewel of Belatu, which consisted of the last 20 pages or so of the current draft. My ultimate goal was to keep everything as historically correct as I could with limited time and resources, and to show that the Bible was full of untold stories. After all, how many of the great women of the Bible have ever been given a voice? For this reason, the majority of the names have been reverted to what was most likely their original form, or as close as I could come to it, i.e. Samson is Shimshon.

Delilah drew me. So little is said of her, but literally hundred of pieces (songs, movies, books, paintings) have been done revolving around the theme of her betrayal. We know where she came from, and that she was tempted by silver. However, we know nothing of the woman, her upbringing, who she really was, or where she went. Only that she betrayed one of the many great judges of Israel. And by great we mean horribly flawed and full of sin, like his ancestors.

The project took on a life of its own from the very first day. Delilah had spoke, but the other woman wanted their moment as well. I started writing more, first with Shimshon’s mother coming to me in a daydream, later with the untold story of the nameless wife, whom I named Aja, meaning “sun” in Sumerian. Oddly enough, she came to me after reading a horribly cheesy and delicious novel by Stephanie Meyers in which she tells the story of a wife’s ultimate sacrifice-her own life. The wife’s name is forgotten, like many of the wives of the Bible. I went to work the next day on Aja’s story. After all, she paid for her husband’s crimes with her own blood.

Like the New Testament Jesus, or Yoshua as he was most likely called by his mother, Shimshon’s story is untold between his birth and in the future I believe I may just walk that path. For now, I hope you enjoy this piece of historical fiction piecemeal-ed together from research, Christian and Hebrew theology, and dreams. Their stories are only half told, but rest assured, someday I will get them all down on paper for the world to read.

Part I

Shimshon

The Book of Hazzelelponi

And there was a certain man of Zorah, of the family of the Danites, whose name was Manoah; and his wife was barren, and bare not. And the angel of the LORD appeared unto the woman, and said unto her, Behold now, thou art barren, and bearest not: but thou shalt conceive, and bear a son. Now therefore beware, I pray thee, and drink not wine nor strong drink, and eat not any unclean thing: For, lo, thou shalt conceive, and bear a son; and no razor shall come on his head; for the child shall be a Nazarite unto God from the womb: and he shall begin to deliver Israel out of the hand of the P’lishtim. Judges 12:2-5.

She had been a young bride, like most, but she had not borne her husband, Manoah, the son which he so richly deserved. He was a kind husband, a loving husband, and a Godly husband and she loved him well, but the child never came. It was together that they had wept over the bareness of her womb. Unlike the husbands of many of the other women, Manoah shared her grief, both for his loss and hers. She considered herself unworthy, unclean. What wife could not produce for her husband a child, even a daughter, for her husband? Her good, kind husband. 

She bore no fruit for Manoah, but he would never complain. He loved her still. This knowledge had sustained her, and she endured life for it. She had released the hope of having a child from the bindings of her heart many summers past. She would survive on love alone.

In the fields of Zorah her husband’s God would call upon her and change everything.

“Behold now, you are barren, but you shall conceive, and bear a son.” The terrible man boomed as Hazzelelponi trembled before him. He had not the face of man, but of one greater than man, and she was afraid for her life. She had not seen him come upon her, nor had she heard even a whisper among the grasses surrounding her. She was merely alone, and then not, and this terrible man stood before her until her knees had given out in fear and she knelt before him trembling. “Now beware, I pray , and drink not wine nor strong drink, and eat not any unclean thing; For, lo, you shall conceive, and bear a son; and no razor shall come on his head: for the child shall be a Nazarite unto God from the womb; and he shall begin to deliver Israel out of the hand of the P’lishtim.” 

And as suddenly as he had come, he was gone, and Hazzelelponi was alone with echoes, dust and grass, her face wet with the tears of her own fear.

“Manoah, my husband, I was sick with fear, but it has brought us great joy.” Hazzelelponi sputtered, trembling still as she came upon her husband in the fields. He looked upon her, waiting patiently as she chattered at him half in fear and half in joy, unable to organize her own thoughts. “A man of God came to me, and his countenance was like the countenance of an angel of God, very terrible: but I did not ask him where he came from, neither told he me his name: But he said, Behold, you shall conceive, and bear a son; and now drink no wine nor strong drink, neither eat any unclean thing: for the child shall be a Nazarite to God from the womb to the day of his death.” 

Hazzelelponi waited for some reaction, waited for him to call her a blasphemer or worse, but Manoah starred at his wife in silence, thinking. She knew what he must be thinking. Surely, she was mad. Was not this the speech of mad men and women in the market streets? Hazzelelponi knew this, but she also knew that he would have to pray to his God. He would go through the movements, whether he believed her or not, or he would not be appeased. She would have time to run if there were signs of Manoah turning against her, anger or disgust. Yahweh would give her that.

And late into the night, when only the sounds of the wind and the animals of the dark, she heard Manoah praying to his God when he thought she was sleeping. “Oh my Yahweh, let the man which you sent come again to us, and teach us what we shall do with the child that shall be born.” He muttered and mumbled well into the late part of the night, and Hazzelelponi knew she was safe. Her husband had taken her at her word, but needed a sign that the man was from God, and not the other one.

Hazzelelponi was not surprised when the terrible man appeared in the fields before her the next day, radiant and terrible in the sunlight. She had her suspicions, but she was a woman and would keep her counsel to herself. She looked upon him, turned on her heel, and ran across the fields to her husband, as quickly as her feet would take her.

“Manoah, you must come. He has returned!” she said, breathlessly. Her husband arose, and followed her back into the fields. She saw the shock on his face as he gazed upon the terrible man before him. “Are you the man that spoke to the woman?” asked Manoah, waiving towards her, and the man said, “I am.” Manoah stopped for a moment, assessing the situation, his eyebrows furrowed. “Then let you words come to pass. How shall we order the child, and how shall we do unto him?” said Manoah. The terrible man replied, stonily “Of all that I said to the woman let her beware. She may not eat of any thing that come off the vine, neither let her drink wine or strong drink, nor eat any unclean thing; all that I commanded her let her observe.” “I pray, let us detain you, until we shall have made ready a kid for the alter.” Manoah said. Hazzelelponi watched as the terrible man considered. “Though you detain me, Manoah, I will not eat of your bread; and if you will offer a burnt offering, you must offer it unto Yahweh. “ Manoah considered this, and assented, grunting as men are aught to do. “What us thy name, then, that when your words come to pass we may do you honor?” The terrible man looked at Manoah like a father would an inquisitive son, “Why ask after my name, seeing it is secret?” Manoah nodded, turned on his heel, and returned to his home.

Hazzelelponi stood by, unsure of her place as her husband walked across the fields into the direction of her home, watching the terrible man watch him. Just when she thought she would go down to her husband, Manoah appeared, bringing a kid. Together, he and the terrible man offered it upon a rock unto Yahweh as a meat offering. And, while Hazzelelponi and her husband stood by, side by side, the offering smoldered and ignited, flames licking towards the heavens. The angel of Yahweh ascended in the flame of the author and Hazzelelponi and Manoah looked upon it, and fell onto their faces, lips to the ground. Hazzelelponi tasted the dust and sweat upon her lips, the heat on her back, and then, as suddenly as he came, he was gone, and Manoah and Hazzelelponi knew he was an angel of Yahweh.

“We shall surely die, because we have seen Yahweh.” Said Manoah to his wife, but Hazzelelponi thought on it, and carefully chose her words. “If Yahweh were pleased to kill us, husband, he would not have received a burnt offering and a meat offering at our hands. Neither would he have shown us these things, nor at this time would he have told us such things as these.” Manoah looked over his wife, for a moment considering her for the first time as something more than wife and realized she was a clever creature. He nodded, helped her to her feet, and together they returned to their home.

It came to pass that, in time, Hazzelelponi gave birth to a son, and they called him Shimshon, and the child grew, and Yahweh blessed him.

The Book of Shimshon

Hazzelelponi stood aside as her son, carefully and with the guidance of his father, chose what he would take on his journey. Now a young man, Shimshon had decided he would leave the hills of his people to see the cities of the P’lishtim. Neither Hazzelelponi or Manoah much liked it, but he was a man, and who were they to stop their son when he was so marked by Yahweh for success. Only yesterday he had been a small child toddling in the grasses. She worried for her son though. He was a spoiled thing, made much of because of his miraculous birth and the mark laid upon his head. They had tried, however, to raise him up properly. Sometimes though, she felt he lacked a certain something, which his father had. She could not put her finger on it, but she feared her son was lacking, and that it would, someday, lead him to hardship. Perhaps it was only her own fears of inadequacy she was laying upon the shoulders of the young man in heated conversation with his father before her. They were old now, and much was different in the world. She shook her head, as if to clear it, and went back to her motherly duties.

Chapter One

Shimshon came one day upon Timnah, in the Valley of Soreq. He spent many days in the city, but it was on the seventh day that he saw her in the vineyards, with rich, flowing hair and sun-kissed skin, she had smiled at him and he had lost his heart there in the green sunlight of the vineyards. He had gone to her, and she had looked upon him with favor, but she was of the P’lishtim, and he knew his mother and father would disapprove. He also knew he would get his way. His father had never denied him anything within reason, and while she was not of their chosen people, they would be able to find no other fault in her.

“I have seen a woman in Timnah of the daughters of the P’lishtim, now get her for me as a wife.” Shimshon said to his mother and father soon after returning home. Both had starred at him, gaping for a moment. “Is there not a woman among the girls our people? Do you have to go get a wife from the uncircumcised P’lishtim?" his mother said, the tone of disgust upon her tongue. His father nodded in agreement with her, although she had spoken out of turn. Shimshon only said to his father, "Get her for me. She's the one I want, the only one." And he knew it was done.

The next morning, his mother and father went down to the Valley of Soreq and into Timnah with Shimshon. He left them behind at the inn, and went again to the vineyards, but as he approached a young lion came at him, roaring fiercely. For a moment, Shimshon was terrified. The hungry animal circled him, growling, hackles raised. It was sizing him up, readying to pounce, and then the Spirit of Yahweh was upon him. He had never felt more fearless, more alive. It was a heady rush, the rush of victory. It tasted of lightening and earth and filled his ears with all of the sounds of the earth. The lion attacked him, and he ripped it asunder barehanded, like tearing a young goat. Then the Spirit lifted, leaving him alone and dizzy. He vomited, and in a nearby brook he cleaned the sweat, sick and blood from his skin carefully and rinsed his mouth with the sweet water before walking on. He had to find her. He had to see her again, to know she was real and that he wasn’t mad, and then she was before him, smiling in the sun. He knew she was the one as they told stories in the sun, his head in her lap.

Some days later, he returned to retrieve her from Timnah, but he was curious and took the path on which he had battled the lion. He felt as if it was a dream, and he had to see again for himself what Yahweh had made of him, and there, before him was a wonder. A swarm of bees had made their home inside of the carcass of the lion, and there was honey to be had. He scooped the honey out with his hands, starring at it in wonder and fascination for a moment. He tasted it, and it was good. How sweet victory tasted upon his lips! He walked on, but she was not in the vineyards that day, so he returned to his mother and father at the inn, and he shared his honey with them. He did not tell them where he had come from, or how he had found it. They would call it unclean and refuse it.

When his father went down to make arrangements for the bride, Shimshon prepared a feast, but the people were afraid of him, so they arranged for thirty men from the family to meet with him and join him in these festivities of marriage, as were the ways of his people. Shimshon was feeling mischievous, like young men are wont to do on their wedding day, and he said to them, "Let me put a riddle to you. If you can figure it out during the seven days of the feast, I will give you thirty linen garments and thirty changes of fine clothing. But if you cannot answer, then you will give me thirty linen garments and thirty changes of fine clothing." The man who was obviously the leader said, "Put forth your riddle. Let us hear it." Shimshon smiled. 

“From the eater came something to eat, From the strong came something sweet”.

Three days later, they still had not solved his riddle, and so on the fourth day the men went to Shimshon’s bride and said, "Find the answer to your husband’s riddle, or we will burn you and your father's house. Have you invited us here to bankrupt us?" 

Chapter Two

Aja was terrified. The men in her family were not happy. They would destroy her home, her father, and her husband. She was unsure of Shimshon. He had seemed nice enough in the vineyards, but there was something cold and hard about her new husband that made her afraid of him. She tried to make herself hard when she went to him, or playful, when she asked him for the answer to the riddle, but he would not tell her, and she became more and more terrified every day of the feast. One evening she asked him, and when he refused she burst into tears. "You hate me. You do not love me. You've told a riddle to my people but you won't even tell me the answer." But Shimshon only answered, "I haven't told my own parents—why would I tell you?" Aja knew she was being unfair, but she was afraid to tell her husband of the threat. If he retaliated, they would come upon her house and kill them all.

On the seventh day, she became panic stricken, and burst into tears once again. Shimshon was tired of her wheedling and weeping, and so he told her “What is sweeter than honey. What is stronger than a lion” and told her of the lion and the fight on the day they spent in the sun talking of their sisters and their childhoods. She thanked him, kissed his feet, and ran off to tell her people. He would be angry, she knew, but he would forgive her, and she would see that her father assisted him in the price of the goods. It would all be well, and they would all be happy and free now.

Just before sunset, the men of the town came to Shimshon and the leader said in a mocking tones, “What is sweeter than honey? What is stronger than a lion?” Shimshon, in a  rage said,  “If you hadn't plowed with my heifer,  You wouldn't have found out my riddle”. And the Spirit of Yahweh came on him again in all of its ferocious glory. He went down to the town and killed thirty of the Ashkelonites, stripped them, and threw their clothing at those who had solved the riddle. Stalking out in anger, he went home to his father's house, leaving her behind. Aja wept herself to sleep in her sister’s bed, and smelled the trouble brewing on the winds.

Chapter Three

The clouds were dark and ominous above and there was no sign of sunlight anytime soon. Rain was coming, but she could not smell it on the air yet. It would be good for the vines, but she did not like it. It smelled of prophecies. Her father was speaking to her in harsh tones. He thought she was ignoring him, or that she might challenge him. He knew he was wrong, and it whispered across his tongue against his own will as a man. This could not be real. This was not her life.

“You will marry Lev, as Shimshon has left you and killed many of your kinsman. He could not possibly love you as he has said, and I will not have my daughter in a marriage without prosperity. If he loved you, I could ignore it, but here you sit. Married and sharing a bed with your sister still. I will not have it” Aja stared at her father. He must be mad. She had already been married to Shimshon. It was a done, and the Gods would not be pleased if she married another. And yet, she could not go against her father. He would not kill her, though it was his right, but it was that he would not that she owed him so much for. He had not been a bad father. Girls she knew had fathers who beat their mothers and sisters. Her father never lifted a hand, not even to the naughty goat that frolicked and caused mischief in the vineyards. Therefore, she hung her head in submission and shame. She would do this. He was right. Shimshon did not love her. 

Aja sighed and went to the vineyards to hide her tears in the leaves and wash away the pain in the rain.

It was late one evening during the wheat harvest that Shimshon returned. With him, he brought a young goat. He said, “Let me go in to my wife, into her room.” However, his father-in-law stuttered and yammered in fear, for he knew now that he was in the wrong. He stood in the doorway so Shimshon could not enter the house and tried to explain. "You killed our kinsman and left. “ I really thought that you thoroughly hated her; therefore, I gave her to your companion. Is not her younger sister better than she? Please, take her instead.” Shimshon glared, his face turning red with anger and he stammered. “This time I shall be blameless regarding the Philistines if I harm them!" Shimshon roared with rage.

Lev heard that Shimshon returned, and feared for his life. He sent Aja home to her father and would not have anything to do with her. “You have brought death upon us all. I do not want you in my bed.” Aja was terrified. She had tried to be a good daughter, a good wife. It had done her no good. Here she was again in her father’s house, waiting for Shimshon. But this time, she did not expect him to come with love and honey on his lips. Instead, she waited in the vineyards for the killer of monsters.

Chapter Four

Shimshon lived on the countryside for many moons. Some days he remembered he was a man and tried to remember who he was and from where he had come. Other days he was possessed by the Spirit of Yahweh and he tore rocks from the heart of the earth and crushed them to fine powder in his anger. His ears buzzed and his head ached when he was empty. His mouth was dry, and he could not remember his mother’s face. All the while, he caught the fox. A few here, a few there. They, like Shimshon, were heavy with the Spirit and did not leave as he gathered them home. When there were three hundred, he put the foxes tail to tail and put a torch between them. Then he set their tails afire and let them loose, into the fields of the P’lishtim. The terrified and pained animals ran through the crops, setting fire to all they touched as their fur burned and they screamed. As they died, so too did the fields, as well as the vineyards and the olive groves of his enemies.

“Who has done this?” the men all said to one another, and someone answered “Shimshon, the son-in-law of the Timnite, because he has taken his wife and given her to his companion.” The men came together, and in their anger, they decided to take from Shimshon what he had taken from them.

“Father?” came a young voice from the hall. Aja and her mother and father were together in the main room, watching the looming lights on the countryside, flickering against the nighttime sky. Lev had brought them news of the destruction, and they were planning to make a run for it, with all of the family, for the hills. They were too late; they could see the torches and hear the voices now. Aja pulled her younger sister close and looked upon her mother and father as they came closer. “Come out and see what your son-in-law has wrought upon our land.” They heard a man yell. Aja pulled her sister to the ground and guarded her, afraid of the flying rocks. Her mother gasped, and fainted when she saw the torches. Her father looked grim as the crowd rained down on their small home.

Their screams could be heard across the valley as the men burned them alive in their home. And then there was silence and smoke, the smell of cooking meat on the wind.

When Shimshon saw what they had done, he wept with grief and shame. He remembered his wife in the morning sun, and the sweet lilt of the baby’s voice. Shimshon went down to the village, and stood above them, and the Spirit was upon him. He could be heard throughout the country. “Since you would do a thing like this, I will surely take revenge on you, and after that I will cease.” He roared, and fell upon them with the frenzy of a berserker. 

Then he went down and dwelt in the cleft of the rock of Etam, where he intended to remain for all of his days. 

Chapter Five

The P’lishtim were angered. They refused to accept responsibility for any of their own crimes, only accused Shimshon of his. Encamped in Judah, they deployed against Lehi, and the men said, “Why have you come up against us?” The men of the P’lishtim army answered, “We have come up to arrest Shimshon, to do to him as he has done to us.” Terrified by the size of the army, the men of Judah hunted for Shimshon, and they found he was at cleft of the rock of Etam living as a hermit. He stunk of rot and filth. “Do you not know that the Philistines rule over us? What is this you have done to us?” they asked. Shimshon looked upon them, ash in his hair and mud on his face. “As they did to me, so I have done to them.” 

He did not move against them.

 “We have come down to arrest you, that we may deliver you into the hand of the Philistines.”
Shimshon sighed. “Swear to me that you will not kill me yourselves.”
“No, but we will tie you securely and deliver you into their hand; but we will surely not kill you.” So, Shimshon let them bind him with two new ropes and bring him up from the rock to stand before the enemy with ash in his hair and mud on his face, the stink of mourning on his torn robes. When he came to Lehi, the P’lishtim came shouting against him. Murderer. Thief. Shimshon listened to their accusations, and thought of their crimes against him and his and the Spirit of Yahweh came upon him; and the ropes that were on his arms became weak and his bonds broke loose from his hands. In his raging madness, he found the fresh jawbone of a donkey, reached out his hand and took it, and killed a thousand men with nothing but the rotting meat of an animal.

He laughed like a madman on the hill and sang, “With the jawbone of a donkey, Heaps upon heaps, With the jawbone of a donkey I have slain a thousand men!” Lehi’s men starred in fear and curiosity. What was this dangerous man before them? Shimshon threw the jawbone to the side. “This place, from today, will be called Ramath Lehi!” he screeched, and Lehi’s men agreed.

Then he became very thirsty; so he cried out to Yahweh and said, “You have given this great deliverance by the hand of Your servant; and now shall I die of thirst and fall into the hand of the uncircumcised?” So Yahweh split the hollow place that is in Lehi, and water came out so near his face that many said it had spring forth from his teeth, and he drank; and his spirit returned, and he revived. The spring washed the mud and ask from his skin and robes and he laughed in the water. Therefore he called its name En Hakkore, which is in Lehi to this day. 

And he judged Israel twenty years in the days of the P’lishtim.

Part II

Delilah

The Book of Delilah

Chapter One

It was said he had torn an enormous beast from limb to limb with bare hands, and drank of its blood mixed with honey on his wedding day. Old wives whispered that he had slain thousands of the P’lishtim with no other weapon than the jawbone of a lowly jackass. Shimshon came to Nahal Soreq a hero of the Nazarites. Filled with the spirit of his Yahweh he stood before us, a miracle child born of a fruitless woman whom the Gods had lain a great destiny upon. We quaked before him, the enemy who had walked away with the gates of our city on his shoulders, and who yet played friend with our children. Spoke to them of a forbidden God and poisoned them with words against those who had given them life from their sacred wombs. I was barely a woman when Shimshon first laid eyes on my bronzed flesh and panted with lust, but while he was a violent tempered warrior, he was also a patient man and my father had paved the path to his prize with gold dust and precious gems.

My father was a weak, ugly man with ambitions greater than his place in society allowed for. Like most under the reign of the King of the P’lishtim, he was also a poor man. He was a fool and a drunkard, and a violent man of passion. His firstborn was a daughter who had died before the first breath was drawn, the umbilical cord tight around her little neck. He blackened my mother’s right eye for bringing death into his house. His second born was a son, whom he named after himself and showered with great affections and gifts he could ill afford. My mother bore three other children before me, all taking leave of this world at a young age earning my mother brutalization instead of the love and sympathy of a good husband. It was when she became pregnant with me that the family held their breath, praying to Dagon for another boy-child, as my mother was aging.

The received only a small, sickly, mewling girl-thing. My brother often told me the story of how my father warned my mother “If this monster lives, whom you have born me, I will most likely kill you and leave you to the waters.” Unlike the other children, I was no heir, I was no blessing, and my death would bring more disease upon the house. They prayed I would not survive through the first moon, but I did, and I began to thrive. My father was too drunk to take notice of my presence.

It was clear before my fifth summer that I would grow strong, and had in fact, been gifted with rare beauty. And so, instead of drowning my poor mother in the waters of the sea, on the eve of my seventh birthday I was sold into service as a temple girl of Inanna.

The priestesses came through the villages choosing children only of the most exceptional beauty, male and female alike. Some children were given into service by fanatics pleased to gift their children unto the Gods. Others were the children of slaves, unwanted by their owners, ripped from their sobbing mothers’ arms, and taken away. While it would undoubtedly be a better life for the child, one with hot foot and warm beds, this rarely consoled their grieving mothers. A few, like myself, were sold by our mothers and fathers, unwanted or unloved. Just another mouth to feed.

My father gained great prestige and wealth for my sale. A girl of such beauty only beginning to bloom pleased the Goddess. My mother wept as the eunuchs of the temple carried me away while my father chided us. I was to be a holy woman, why would I weep so and displease the Gods? Why would we encourage their wrath? It was far too late for tears, I was promised, and tears would do us no good. My mother knew; if I was lucky, I would be one of the girls women whispered about behind their hands and pointed fingers at with steely eyes. A necessity, but unloved for their services by their sisters. If I was not, I would die young. A broken sacrifice on some violent man’s spear.

This was the way of the temple girls of Inanna.

Chapter Two

I lay weeping on the sanded floor for two days, inconsolable. I dreamt of my mother and brother looking for me in the vineyards where I used to play, but they were unable to find me, even though I stood before them waving my arms and calling to them. I dreamt of lions and honey, and of the tumbling seas gorged on blood. I dreamt of darkness where there had been light, and I screamed in my sleep shattering the peace of the temple. The eunuchs and younger priestess would try to move me, try to comfort me, but I would hiss and spit like a wounded animal. They were at a loss, and were beginning to fear I would starve to death on the temple floor, untouchable in my rage and fear.

On the third day, a young woman came and knelt beside me. In soothing tones, she whispered, “Little one, is it so bad to be here among us?” I looked into her eyes and I saw nothing but love. Seas of love roiling, and it was mine. I knew I did not speak to another priestess, but to Inanna herself and in all of her glory. Her voice was deep, water filled caverns and the midnight stars. I quaked before her in fear and mistrust. “Lady…” I whispered between hitching breaths, “I want my momma.” I sobbed, burying my face in the sand to hide my tears, lest I anger a goddess. “Ah, child.” She said, pulling me into her lap and wrapping her long arms around me while drying my tears with her silken, ebony hair. “I am, and always have been, your true mothers, and you have much work to do in my name.”

Unquestioning, I knew it was so. I could feel all that is good radiating from her, like the soft caress of the ocean in the hottest months. No child could resist the lilt of a mother’s sweet voice, and as the goddess of love Inanna was the living embodiment of quiet words spoken in lullaby singsong. No child could bare that safe voice filled with rage and thunder. Love has a sharpened edge that drives men to kill their women out of jealousy, while young women sicken and pine away for untrue lovers, and this was the echo of Inanna in her fury. There was a promise on her lips though, as she kissed my forehead, and a moment layer it was only the priestess and I sitting on the cold floor in twilight’s last light; staring at the stars and searching for something we both felt was missing from within our mortal coil.

I began my training on the morning of the fourth day. An eunuch, with face carved deeply in lines speaking of his great age, came for me at sunrise and guided me to the baths where he scrubbed me as if I was one of the precious gold figures left upon the temple altars. Tarnished, but soon shining bright as the moon, I stood naked in the cool morning air. My rough little feet were smoothed with stone and sand. My skin was rubbed and kneaded, softened under learned hands with scented oils. I was dressed in a simple shift and my rich, cascading hair was dressed in careful plaits and knots and wound on top of my head. Finally, I was guided to the room where I would begin my education as a sacred whore of Inanna.

It would be seven years before Shimshon would come to our valley.

Chapter Three

“Child, have they told you of Yahweh, in his greatness and glory, and the creation of the earth in seven days?” I pursed my lips and tried to think of a polite way to avoid the man sitting exactly where I needed to step to fill my water jars. This was the feared warrior of the Nazarites preaching to me of his God while I tried to go about my daily chores, and I trembled as I tried my best not to encourage his drunken wrath. The stench of wine was upon him. He had been lately staying with one of the cities harlots, a former priestess of Inanna whose lordly lover had gifted her with riches aplenty, allowing her to buy her freedom from service. His mother and father had refused to let them marry, and he would not risk the lost of his father’s lands, even for love. She was left to trade in her skills for survival, and did so smiling. He would not lose his father’s lands, but he did love her, and every man she allowed to visit her bed was another silken stab to the heart.

Temple children were sent to the wells to remind the people to pay homage unto Inanna, as well as curb the young snobbery of those whom they would bring to Her. We must be as comfortable with the farmer as with the King in our service. The locals called us the Jewels of Inanna. Untried in the ways of our goddess, we waited to be called upon as we ripened with age. The picture of virgin innocence, we gracefully glided to the wells to fill our jars, showing off lithesome bodies and gold-dusted skin. We would bat our eyelashes at old men and young women, and sneak coy smiles to the young lords and ladies, silently praying that when we were called to serve we would also be called to court to perform for these spoiled creatures of wealth. We also served as the eyes and ears of the temple, bringing news from the outside world to those who rarely ventured forth.

I would not look this troublesome guest in the eye. He was an affront to my religion, and to his own with the stench of the forbidden on him. A drunken Nazarite -a slothful, lusty man who did not abide by the rules of his own people. Excusing myself, I attempted to fill my jars despite his broad shoulders blocking my way. I had heard men say those shoulders were sixty ells wide, and had imagined a veritable giant among out people. They said his braids would stand up and clash together with lightening when he was possessed by his God, but I saw none of this myth in the man before me. I was only slightly disappointed, as Shimshon was still a very intimidating man of size despite the obviously overblown legends that circled the man like flies on a carcass. I struggled and nearly dropped one of the earthen jars before he finally moved, taking over and filling my jars while preaching of mans fall from grace and the temptation of Eve by the serpent. When the jars were full, I balanced one on my head, and the other I held in my arms. I thanked him demurely, and gracefully turned to return to the temple, but I could feel him come close behind me. He grabbed my free arm, tight enough to hurt, but lightly enough not to mar the skin. I would not turn to look him in the eye. His breath was hot on my neck and stunk of wine. 

“Your false gods will damn you harlot.”

I skittered back to the temple, unnerved by this giant man who wore the anger of his god for all to see. He who had slain so many of my people for merely angering him in the name of the violent god of the Nazarite.

***

The pattern continued. On the day I would go to fetch water, he would be waiting for me at the well, spewing his religious venom. I would silently allow him to carefully fill my jugs, his fingers brushing against mine both when he took the jars, and returned them to my small, delicate hands. Then I would turn and leave with his words buzzing angrily on the winds behind me like locusts. The people of the village watched and whispered. The great man of the Nazarites was infatuated, they would say. He was lusting after a pretty temple girl. He loved sea girls, the old men would whisper. Had married one before, but she had been murdered as revenge unto him. One of the Jewels of Inanna, the mother’s would titter. Not just any one, no, but the High priestesses' favored girl.

It was true; the High Priestess did show great favor to me. I was not raised to be vain. Beauty was a simple part of life for the children of the temple. The most beautiful boys and girls were taught to entertain pharaohs, kings, lords, and lordlings, princesses and queens, while the lesser were taught only the arts of copulation and worship. Unlike those temple servants, I could read and write, and perform complex acts of arithmetic. Many a night I memorized stories, which I would tell merchants and lords when they came to pay their respects to the Goddess of Love. Even before I was called to serve, they would ask that I be the child to weave the priestesses’ amulets and seashells into their hair, so that they might bathe in the beauty of Inanna. I did as they bade.

I lived to serve.

On the day of the seventh meting with Shimshon, I dreamt of building crumbling under a bloody sky, of being seeped in blood stained waters. Inanna stood before me and spoke in gibberish and riddles as the moon drifted on an ocean of gore.

Night shall become day, and day night, when the seven skeins fell the walls of Dagon.

***

Chapter Four

I was bed ridden for six days. On the seventh, I went to the temple priestess and spoke in the voice of Inanna. From my lips poured prophecy, mixed and muddled, but coherent enough. Dagon would fall, either way, but Inanna had a debt to claim. Her children had been wounded and murdered in cold blood. And I, Delilah of Nahal Soreqa, daughter of Inanna, was called to serve and collect from the Nazarites. 

***

“I do not want to hear of your angry God, Shimshon. I am temple girl sworn to the goddess of love, fertility, and war. Your threats of bloodshed mean nothing to me.” It was the first time I had spoken to him. He stuttered, both shocked and angry before answering in a stormy voice. “I care not for your false gods and false sensibilities girl.” “Sensibilities be damned old man, I have none, nor do I care to. Who is this God of yours that enslaves his own people and smears the hands of his followers with the blood of women and children, while telling them murder is a sin? What God says to bring death is damnable and then commands his followers to shed blood in his name? I am not impressed by your God, Shimshon, nor am I afraid of the likes of you.” I nearly spat at his feet. He looked startled for a moment while he starred down at me before shaking his head and murmuring. “Ah child, it was never me you had to fear. In the end, your reckoning is with Him. I am but a lowly servant, and a poor one at that” He turned and stormed away. 

It was a full moon cycle between our first conversation and our next. Another girl now took my place at the wells while I was summoned from court to court as oracle and priestess, and occasionally as a whore of Inanna, to the lords and ladies of the P’lishtim. The King in particular was taken with my charms, and I spent many a day within his walls entertaining him with stories from far off lands and the little fortunes, which spilled frequently from my lips, as well as the arts of the bedroom. He was a young king, fair of face, and he fancied himself in love with me. He brought me golden trinkets and dressed my hair and fingers with priceless gems of all cuts and clarity. I was given skirts in fabulous colors and patterns from far off lands. My breasts were dressed in rare shells from far off lands, strands of pearls dusted with gold, and trinkets and rich spices from the western lands. The King Abimelech listened to my fantastic stories of Shimshon, and was delighted and disgusted by the man. He became equally fascinated with him. And so it came to be that Shimshon was invited to the court of Abimelech. 

Chapter Five

Even across the table, I could feel his eyes burning on my skin. Abimelech was a foolish boy, not much older than I, and did not understand the dangerous game he willingly participated in. At his table, bedecked in finery like no other, I could feel the lust of the men of his court simmering as I brushed a hand or arm. But Shimshon boiled with desire even when I merely locked eyes with him. In the grand hallways, he would corner me breathing heavily, and I would taunt him and run away, my laughter echoing down the halls. The sound of my golden anklets jangling, fading as I locked myself away in my own rooms waiting for my heart to stop beating like a frightened bird. All he had to do was ask. I was a Priestess of Inanna, obtainable by all who asked. I could refuse no one. Even my constant lover understood this, and while he was a jealous boy, he contained that jealousy lest he seek the wrath of Gods. It was seven moons before Shimshon displeased his God, and asked. 

By this point Abimelech kept the man at court more for his own safety than his amusement. Shimshon had angered every man of religion, every man of the court, with his zealous ranting. Abimelech feared that if he sent Shimshon back out into the villages, Shimshon would be provoked into a murderous rage. King Abimelech was not a smart man by any means, which was why he kept aged advisors and a Priestess of Inanna at court, but he understood the price of a life lost to his people. A father’s death meant the whoring of a daughter, the starvation of a mother. Abimelech had a special love for women and did his best to keep peace with the surrounding territories, knowing to go to war was to diminish his people. But Shimshon would goad and spit like an angered cat, and mock the lords for their weaknesses. 

And this Abimelech did stand for. 

On the night of the seventh moon Shimshon cornered me in the hall while the other men were meeting with the merchants come early that morning from across the sea, with their skin as dark as night, and clothes in shades not unlike the petals of a flower. There were only servants and slaves afoot that day, none of which cared about courtly intrigue. We had played our game, taunting and goading each other, and I had run as I always ran, but this time Shimshon gave chase, and before I could close my doors he was inside them with me, shutting them behind me, and upon me like a hungry animal. I would not touch him. I would not spread my legs for him until he begged. And before the sun rose in the east, the mighty warrior begged at my feet. 

And this Abimelech did stand for. 

I spent the next moon only with the King. I understood the ways of men, and I could feel the jealousy seeping from his heart. He had only to pay my dower to the temple and he could take me as wife or concubine, but he did not. He was afraid of his advisors. This display of weakness disgusted me, and I found that I no longer loved, nor respected the man even as I brought him to climax night after night with unspeakable acts of my devotion. His touch began to sicken me, and when the next season changed, I found myself less in his room and more in that of the other lords and ladies. At night, Shimshon would come to my rooms, call me fornicator, and a harlot as he crawled into my bed and made love to me until morning. 

And this Abimelech would not stand for. 

One afternoon while I lazed outside in the gardens three hard faced guards came upon me, and before I knew it, I was standing before Abimelech in all of his Kingly glory. 

“Daughter of Inanna, I have loved you as well as I could, but I have come to understand that while you serve your Goddess, you no longer serve me as the man of your heart. Is this true?” His eyes, once warm were now two pieces of glittering coal. “Yes, my Lord, it is true. Shall I return to temple?” I near whispered, nervous, and frightened. “No, instead, I have a proposition for you Delilah.” He had my attention. “I realize I may not have been the best man for you I could have been, and that your interest in me only died when you were sure I would not buy you your freedom. I can understand why a woman of your position would yearn to have her own soul to offer up to the Gods. I have been a bad lover, but I have been a worse friend. As such, I will offer you the continued use of your rooms, only asking that someday you will consider me more than a petitioner of Inanna.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he raised his hand and I fell silent. “I will also buy your dower from the temple.”

 I began to weep with relief and collapsed at his feet. No longer would I be the tool of men, I would be free to live as I would. To love as I would and to marry if I so chose. “Oh, thank you, thank you my King for taking pity on me.” But a guard lifted me to my feet roughly and I saw that Abimelech's eyes were not filled with compassion, and his hand was again raised for silence. I cringed, under that fearsome stare. He sized me up then, with those chillingly dead eyes. “In return, all I ask of you.” He paused. "Is to entice him, and see wherein his great strength lies, and by what means we may overpower him, that we may bind him to subdue him; and we will each give you eleven hundred pieces of silver, the lords of this court.”

“My King, to find Shimshon’s weakness is to hand him death. So, I must ask. Is this a query from a friend, or a demand from my King?”  “ I am, before all other things, a King of the P’lishtim.” 

The words were booming, angry, and final. I was again on my knees, weeping before the king, but no guard moved to support me. “Please, take pity on me King, for I once loved you as I loved no other. You ask me to kill my lover, old friend. You ask me to kill.” Abimelech’s eyes softened, only for a minute, as if the friend and the king were at war with one another. “For you, Delilah, I will take pity. If Shimshon shows his love for you in three days, by bestowing upon you the knowledge of his weakness, then Shimshon will live and you will be free to use the money I have given for your dower to escape my lands, to be banished, but together. However, if he does not, you will return to court each day after to report until you have obtained this knowledge, and his life will be forfeit.”

 I crawled to Abimelech like a peasant, begging for some other way, but his eyes were hard again, and before his final pronouncement, I knew his decision had been made. “If his love for you is true, he will be saved. If not, I will have my revenge, for mine has never faltered.” He choked on his own words as he touched my face gently, and fled from the room. 

Chapter Six

That evening I lay in bed with Shimshon telling him fanciful stories for hours, quaking inside with fear, before asking him. “Do you love me Shimshon?” “Damned I am, but I do my lady.” “Then tell me some sacred truth as I have told you many. Tell me the secret of your great strength and how you can be tied up and subdued.” He laughed, not realizing the true dangers behind the question. “If anyone ties me with seven fresh thongs that have not been dried, I'll become as weak as any other man.” He said, and took my mouth for his own. 

And so the men brought me seven fresh thongs that had not been dried, and the next evening I tied Shimshon with them while he slept, silently praying to Inanna as well as his vengeful God that he had not presented me with falsehoods. A eunuch of the court lay hidden in the room as witness. I took a breath and jumped out of bed screaming.

 “Shimshon, the P’lishtim are upon you!”

Shimshon leapt from the bed, snapping the gut thongs, and eyed me warily. I summoned my courage and did my best to look like a petulant lover, testing her man. “You have made a fool of me; you lied to me Shimshon. Come now; tell me how you can be tied.” I trembled inside with fright. He had failed the first trial. Laughingly, he pulled me into bed and said, “If anyone ties me securely with new ropes that have never been used, I'll become as weak as any other man.” And he took me savagely for his own. 

The next evening, while Shimshon slept, I tied him with new ropes that had never been used. Again, I prayed to Inanna, and again the eunuch lay hidden in the room as witness. I took a breath and jumped out of bed screaming. 

“Shimshon, the P’lishtim are upon you!” 

Shimshon leapt from the bed, snapping the new ropes just as he had the gut the evening before.  He had failed the second trial. I bit my lip to keep from crying out and pointed angrily at him from across the room, shaking. “Until now, you have been making a fool of me and lying to me.” I fair shouted. “Tell me how you can be tied!” Shimshon just laughed, and pulled me into bed, running his fingers through my tresses, soothing me. “If you weave the seven braids of my head into the fabric on the loom and tighten it with the pin, I'll become as weak as any other man.” He said. And he made me wholly his own.

The next evening, while Shimshon slept, I wove the seven braids of his head into the fabric on my loom and, holding my breath, tightened the pin. I stood on the side of the bed watching my lover’s chest heave as he breathed in and out. The eunuch lay hidden in the room as witness, and once again, I took a breath, praying to Inanna that this last night he had spoken truth. For if it was a lie, we were both damned. I began screaming. 

“Shimshon, the P’lishtim are upon you!”

 He awoke from his sleep and pulled up the pin and the loom, with the fabric, and I collapsed, sobbing, on the floor. “How can you say, 'I love you,' when you won't confide in me?  This is the third time you have made a fool of me and have not told me the secret of your great strength.”

That evening my lover picked me up gently from the floor and made sweet and sensual love to me like he never had before.  I hated him for it. He did not love me, like the others, he only used me. I had listened late at night to the tales of his first love, his first wife.  I soothed him when he spake of her terrible death in the flames of the angry, sinful P’lishtim. I knew the riddle that was the cause of all this bloodshed by heart. 

Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness. 

In his heart, I now knew, I could not replace his beautiful, dead wife whom he talked of in his sleep. He never talked of her when his eyes were open, but late at night he called her name. And so, he would grow to loathe me. He would hate me as he hated all of my people. Shimshon would repay in full the debt he owed Inanna for the lives of thousands of P’lishtim he had slaughtered in the name of a beautiful wife and his wrathful God.

Every night he came into my bed I nagged and pleaded. “Tell me the secret of your great strength and how you can be tied up and subdued.” Every day he bestowed me with falsehoods or sermons. Every day I reported to Abimelech that I had nothing to tell. 

Until one night, he told all.

“Tell me the secret of your great strength and how you can be tied up and subdued.” I said, grazing his manhood with my teeth viciously. Shimshon sighed even as he sucked in his breath. “No razor has ever been used on my head," he said wearily, "because I have been a Nazarite, set apart to God since birth. If my head were shaved, my strength would leave me, and I would become as weak as any other man.”

And I knew, by the lack of laughter and the cadence in which he spoke, that he spoke truth. Inside of me, a Goddess howled in dark victory. 

Chapter Seven

I went to Abimelech that day. “He has told me everything with all of his heart.” Abimelech waived, and I was handed a coffer of silver, which I sat next to his bed. I was in truth, now more than ever, a whore for my King, and I meant to show him what a whore of Inanna was capable of. I took Abimelech to bed that day and made him beg for forgiveness. That evening, while Shimshon slept, his head in my lap, I called to the eunuch to shave the braids from his head. I leaned foreword and whispered into his ear. 

“Shimshon, the P’lishtim are upon you.” 

Shimshon woke as the guards moved in and took hold of him, and he tried to shake himself free. Angry and confused, he fought and fell, bloodying his knees. I both sobbed and howled in near madness as Inanna filled me, witnessing the fulfillment of her debt from my dark corner, as they gouged his eyes out with their neat daggers and dragged him off through the halls kicking and screaming in nothing but bronze fetters. “Whore!” He screamed in pain and fury. “Harlot!” He half sobbed. “Delilah.” He whispered in betrayal as his own blood stained his lips and he was taken away to Gaza to be imprisoned. I collapsed on the floor, screaming. In pain, in fury.

In denial of the deed I had done.

Chapter Eight

King Abimelech was good upon his word. The silver was counted at temple and fifty-five hundred pieces lay upon the table like a sacrifice to the Gods. Half of this blooded silver paid my dower and bestowed upon the temple a fair patronage sum. Abimelech married me, making me third wife. I did not love him. I did not try. This he knew, and in part, I believe he mourned using me as an instrument, for now I performed only as a tool of pleasure in his bed. Our friendship, once pure, laid cold and dead among blood and silver.

Outside of the necessary wifely duties, I was allowed to do as I would. This was more freedom than would have ever been allowed another woman, let alone one raised among the temple priestesses. In the shadows, I prayed to my Goddess, but I found only silence. I slipped deeper and deeper into a quiet, filthy despair. I had betrayed my lover. I had betrayed my heart. Now I knew I was only a tool, an instrument of revenge for my King and my Goddess. Finally, one moonlit evening while I wept cold and alone in the gardens, I appealed to Shimshon’s God. 

“Lord of the mighty Shimshon, who I have all but slain, hear this wretched soul cry out. Those I would follow have made me unclean. I have been made unworthy by my actions. My King has used me, in revenge, upon a man I loved. Even in anger I swear some small piece of me still loved. I pray for revenge, oh angry God of the Nazarite.” I howled. “I pray for vengeance.” I screamed. “I pray for forgiveness.” I wept.

In that moment, there was only silence, but I felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from my heart. I felt a promise on the breeze, and tasted prophecy and honey on my lips. By the next moon, Shimshon had lived his final legend, felling the house of Dagon in a final act of his angry God, as prophesized by my own lips years before.

“And he said unto his God ‘Let me die with the P’lishtim.’ He bowed with all his might; and the house fell upon the lords and upon all the people that were in it. So the dead whom he slew at his death were more than those whom he had slain during his life.” 

I tell stories of a man of legend to my son, the new King of the P’lishtim, and hope his God takes pity on me as I rear the child in the way of the Nazarites. The true God of his blood.