Read Online Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) by Ginger Garrett - Free Book Online
Authors: Ginger Garrett
Tags: Fiction, History, Temple, lion, Delilah, more to come from marketing, honey, Samson, Philistines
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lined up, listening to the Egyptian talk about his weapon, his strategy, his military prowess. I yawned, tired from the walk. We had risen so early for this. I wanted to sleep, but how could I with this suffocating weight in my lap? Though a child, when Samson sat in my lap I was sure he would snap a bone.
The Egyptian called out. “Give me your best man. We will spar. You will see why Egypt has no equal.”
A Danite stood first. Of course.
They had swords of equal length. I would have thought they were evenly matched. But the Egyptian moved with a fierce speed—like lightning, brilliant and fast. He slashed open the Danite’s tunic, an unspeakably rude act. Tunics were expensive. Often a man could only afford one.
Murmurs and low curses rumbled back toward him in response, but he only threw his head back and laughed at us. Before I could stop Samson, he was out of my lap, striding toward the Egyptian with all of the arrogance of a ten-year-old boy who knew nothing of life and war.
Samson bowed to his Danite elder and motioned for the man to bend down and listen. The man did, much to the delight of the crowd. A strange light, a shimmering like the reflection off distant water, hovered over Samson. I glanced around. No one else seemed to notice.
The Danite handed my son his sword. I jumped to my feet just as Samson whirled around, holding the sword up.
“Samson! No!”
Syvah grabbed my arm.
Samson bowed politely at the Egyptian, who looked highly amused.
“A Hebrew girl! She’s lovely!” he exclaimed. A few of our boys snickered. I gritted my teeth at the stupid joke about his hair. All our men had long hair, down to their shoulders. Of course, Samson’s now reached his waist, but they had no right to embarrass him.
“Are you a Hebrew?” Samson asked, with the tender voice of youth.
The Egyptian spat at Samson’s feet. “No.”
Samson swung the sword with a strength and power that no man was capable of. In an instant, the sword rested against the Egyptian’s groin, in a very delicate, particular manner.
Samson glared at the man. “Do you want to become one?”
The crowd roared. The Egyptian sweated profusely as Samson made him apologize and promise to pay for a new tunic out of his fee.
When Samson lowered the sword and walked away, we had all forgotten the Egyptian. We had a new hero. We yelled his name; the men slapped one another on the back. Samson’s young cousin toddled over to stand with the men, who were in awe of their clansman.
The Egyptian, though, he was not happy. He must have been an honest man, because he did take money out of his belt bag and hand it to the Danite, before lifting his sword and lunging at Samson’s back.
My scream was still in my mouth as the Egyptian’s head rolled to my feet a second later. Samson had turned and cut him down in a blinding flash. Only then did I release the scream, hearing it echo across the plains. Birds cried back in fright, flying up through the heavens.
Not a soul moved or said anything else. Samson cleaned the sword by scooping up handfuls of the pale, dry earth and rubbing it across the blade until the blood was gone. When he handed it back to the Danite, the man shook his head.
“You have earned it, my son.”
“I do not like the feel of a sword in my hand.”
I thought, on that day, he meant he would not use his strength for war. I thought he would deliver the people in some glorious new bloodless way.
But there is no deliverance without blood. This is what an old woman knows.
So now, I settled in beside Manoah and waited for sleep. My only prayer was that God, in His mercy, would stop Samson from making this mistake. If He loved my son, He would. God’s will could not include a Philistine wife for my son.
I had so much to learn about God, and my son.
The Day of Atonement had passed. Samson, Manoah, and I had suffered together, denying ourselves food and water from sundown to sundown. We had each repented of our sins.
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The Egyptian called out. “Give me your best man. We will spar. You will see why Egypt has no equal.”
A Danite stood first. Of course.
They had swords of equal length. I would have thought they were evenly matched. But the Egyptian moved with a fierce speed—like lightning, brilliant and fast. He slashed open the Danite’s tunic, an unspeakably rude act. Tunics were expensive. Often a man could only afford one.
Murmurs and low curses rumbled back toward him in response, but he only threw his head back and laughed at us. Before I could stop Samson, he was out of my lap, striding toward the Egyptian with all of the arrogance of a ten-year-old boy who knew nothing of life and war.
Samson bowed to his Danite elder and motioned for the man to bend down and listen. The man did, much to the delight of the crowd. A strange light, a shimmering like the reflection off distant water, hovered over Samson. I glanced around. No one else seemed to notice.
The Danite handed my son his sword. I jumped to my feet just as Samson whirled around, holding the sword up.
“Samson! No!”
Syvah grabbed my arm.
Samson bowed politely at the Egyptian, who looked highly amused.
“A Hebrew girl! She’s lovely!” he exclaimed. A few of our boys snickered. I gritted my teeth at the stupid joke about his hair. All our men had long hair, down to their shoulders. Of course, Samson’s now reached his waist, but they had no right to embarrass him.
“Are you a Hebrew?” Samson asked, with the tender voice of youth.
The Egyptian spat at Samson’s feet. “No.”
Samson swung the sword with a strength and power that no man was capable of. In an instant, the sword rested against the Egyptian’s groin, in a very delicate, particular manner.
Samson glared at the man. “Do you want to become one?”
The crowd roared. The Egyptian sweated profusely as Samson made him apologize and promise to pay for a new tunic out of his fee.
When Samson lowered the sword and walked away, we had all forgotten the Egyptian. We had a new hero. We yelled his name; the men slapped one another on the back. Samson’s young cousin toddled over to stand with the men, who were in awe of their clansman.
The Egyptian, though, he was not happy. He must have been an honest man, because he did take money out of his belt bag and hand it to the Danite, before lifting his sword and lunging at Samson’s back.
My scream was still in my mouth as the Egyptian’s head rolled to my feet a second later. Samson had turned and cut him down in a blinding flash. Only then did I release the scream, hearing it echo across the plains. Birds cried back in fright, flying up through the heavens.
Not a soul moved or said anything else. Samson cleaned the sword by scooping up handfuls of the pale, dry earth and rubbing it across the blade until the blood was gone. When he handed it back to the Danite, the man shook his head.
“You have earned it, my son.”
“I do not like the feel of a sword in my hand.”
I thought, on that day, he meant he would not use his strength for war. I thought he would deliver the people in some glorious new bloodless way.
But there is no deliverance without blood. This is what an old woman knows.
So now, I settled in beside Manoah and waited for sleep. My only prayer was that God, in His mercy, would stop Samson from making this mistake. If He loved my son, He would. God’s will could not include a Philistine wife for my son.
I had so much to learn about God, and my son.
The Day of Atonement had passed. Samson, Manoah, and I had suffered together, denying ourselves food and water from sundown to sundown. We had each repented of our sins.
At
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