After Samson was lead in chains from my home, I knew that I would not return to for former life. I had wealth now and no need to entertain men for my livelihood. But I also found it impossible to remain in my home. The ghost of Samson haunted every nook and cranny. During the days I was taunted with memories of his laughing visage and his protestations of love echoed through my mind. At night I was visited with nightmares of men with bloody orbs who sought to destroy me.
Unable to sleep, I fled to the temple for solace. In the quite there I could banish thoughts of Samson. One day as I sat, a priestess came and sat beside me.
"You spend so much time here, you might as well move in," she said.
Looking at her smiling face, I countered, "You would soon banish me. No one wants the infamous Delilah around."
"You are Delilah?" she asked. "The one who delivered Samson into the hands of our Lords?"
Glumly, I nodded.
"Then why the long face? You are everyone's heroine."
"Everyone's tainted heroine."
"Here you are not tainted. You did for a living what we do for the godess. Just as we use our bodies for Asherah, you used yours to defeat Asherah's greatest enemy. You would be welcome here."
And so I became a novice priestess in the temple of Asherah. For training, I was sent to the main temple in Gaza. Glad to be out of the place haunted by Samson, I threw myself into my new life. I relished the quite days and the religious training, forcing myself not to think about the physical assignations that would come later as a temple prostitute. Thus content, I banished Samson from my thoughts and heart until the day I was taken to the High Priest of Dagon.
Whispers buzzed around me. For the High Priest of Dagon to summon a novice priestess was unprecedented. The cold stare of the High Priestess of Asherah burrowed into my back as I followed the slave who came for me. I willed myself to walk with head held high and unfaltering step, even though I did not know what the mandate signified.
When I was ushered into the presence of the priest, I dropped my head and bowed formally from the waist to acknowledge his position. I stood, forcing my body into a relaxed pose, hoping I would not have to hold the illusion of ease for long.
"Ah, the infamous Delilah," the High Priest of Dagon greeted, his eyes seeming to devour me as I stood before him. His gaze leisurely caressed me, from my raven black ringlets to my voluptuous hips. "Beautiful," he murmured. "I can see why the Lords approached you to entrap Samson and have suggested I consider making you the new High Priestess of Asherah. Your beauty would captivate any man and draw worshippers to the temple. Your past, though, could prove a hindrance. Asherah is sometimes thought of as the virgin goddess, her promise of fertility as yet untested. Yours, on the other hand, has been tested – many times."
I tried not wince at the reference to my past. I resented the inference that it somehow tainted me. The only difference between what I did in the past and what I would be doing as a priestess was that my wages were mine to keep; I did not have to hand them over to the temple.
"The high priestess is with child and must be replaced. She can no longer fulfill the men's fantasies of bedding a virgin during the temple rituals. The appearance of innocence is now impossible. She also would prove a liability as my consort in the rituals reserved for the most devout. You might expect a fertility dance to be enhanced by a pregnant woman, but the form of a woman heavy with child would make the dance appear grotesque and remind men of the pleasures lost when their women are expecting."
He paused as though collecting his thoughts and then continued, "It is unusual for a novice to be considered as a candidate for High Priestess. I usually chose from the ranks of the experienced. Your selection would be as much a political decision as a religious one. Have you anything to say concerning your possible election?"
As I spoke, I willed my voice to take on the intimate tones of liquid honey. While my words were common, I used the sultry tones of the courtesan to caress his ears as though singling him out as the receptor of important confidences to which no other was privy.
"I am flattered that you would consider me for your consort," I said. "To stand by your side is the dream that keeps every novice devoted."
"Dangerous," he whispered under his breath.
"While it is true that I cannot pretend virginity as the High Priestess of Asherah, I offer something no other can. I exposed the pretender Samson, revealing his impotence before Dagon. Men want power. They will pay exorbitant fees to lie with the one who subjugated Samson. By bedding me, they will feel that they are besting the strongman of Israel. Beauty attracts, but power has a greater allure. Dagon's treasury will swell as men vie for the privilege of lying with a High Priestess who counts Samson among her conquests."
I covertly surveyed the priest as I spoke, trying to determine the impact of my words on this man who controlled my future. Dagon's High Priest sat in an ornate chair, his hands gripping the arms, revealing a tenseness not evident in his voice or on his calm countenance. His features were sharp, perhaps because he was clean-shaven, as only priests were. His eyes measured me, reminding me of an animal sizing its prey. An aura of power emanated from him, while an odor of musk added to the illusion.
A pregnant silence followed my statement. The priest now gazed beyond me in focused introspection. As the hush lengthened, I pleated the folds of my dress. Finally he spoke. "Perhaps you are right," he conceded, "but. . ."
I held my breath as I waited for the condition sure to follow the 'but.'
"Prove your worth. Dance a parody of the fertility dance with Samson as your partner. Demonstrate your ability to arouse the man you betrayed, and you will be my consort. Two days hence, a celebration of Dagon's defeat of Yahweh will be held in the temple. All the Lords will be present, as will others of importance. Even the masses will be allowed to stand on the lower levels. Those who see Samson's desire, even while enslaved and sightless, will pay handsomely to taste of your sweetness," the priest ended with a self-satisfied smile.
I clenched my hands convulsively as my emotions warred. One betrayal was not enough; this man was demanding a public humiliation of Samson. I had no choice. I would do what I must.
"This I can do, but I must ask your help. I need to see Samson, alone. I fear the shock of seeing him sightless and beaten would detract from my ability to play the seductress. I must face him once more before I dance with him in public," I said in a hushed timbre.
The priest leaned forward to catch my choked words.
"Done. Tomorrow, go to the prison in mid-morning. I will see to it that the guards have him cleaned and ready for a visitor."
The oppressive heat that held Gaza in its grip awakened me early. I lay languidly abed, knowing my appointment with Samson was not for hours.
Today I would visit Samson in prison. My induction as high priestess to Dagon's consort, Asherah, would take place tomorrow during the festivities to celebrate Dagon's deliverance of Samson into the hands of the Philistines.
Because of my unique contribution in the subjugation of Samson, I would dance for the gathered dignitaries, a seductive fertility dance with the enslaved Samson as my reluctant partner. My white silk skirt, held up by slender ribbons adorned with purple embroidered flowers, would leave me exposed; but this would make no difference to my sightless partner. I would have to rely on memories triggered by smell to arouse Samson, his evident desire bringing renewed ridicule, thus meeting the conditions of the high priest.
Tomorrow I would once again humiliate Samson to pacify my people. Today I wanted to make him weak with love for me. I needed to know if my betrayal had finally destroyed the only love I had ever known, or if perhaps a small cinder still remained. In my mind the cynical betrayer warred with the cowering abused child who wanted someone to love her.
Samson had awakened the child that I long ago banished to the unconscious. He forced me to acknowledge her existence and now she refused to be exiled and silenced. I would prefer to return to the days when this Delilah was buried deeply in my heart. The stone cold heart I developed to cope with my father's abuse was preferable to the one torn asunder, half loving Samson and yearning for his touch, the other half scorning him as a weakling easily manipulated by love.
The cynic cried, "There is no unselfish love. No one will care for you; you must create your own security. Love yourself, Delilah, no one else will."
The child whimpered, "Samson loved me. He told me his deepest secret. He will love me again."
Slipping the silk dress over my nude form, I ran my hands over my rounded curves before fastening a wide girdle that cosseted my waist and ended below my ample breasts. The two strips of cloth that covered my bosom left soft flesh exposed. My feminine form was clearly visible through the delicate, thin fabric.
Satisfied that a caress would entice even a blind man to partake of my feminine wiles, I carefully dipped my fingers in the bowl containing my unique fragrance. The mixture of mandrake, laurel, and a hint of hyssop was my own concoction. The mandrake was designed to arouse sexual desire; the laurel had soothing qualities that created a tranquil mood, while the hyssop added a hint of mystery.
I stroked the perfume into my cleavage, behind my ears and along my neck. Finally I rubbed the inside of each wrist over the exposed skin of the opposite bust. This sensual finish had become habit. It assured that the fragrance was not too strong in intimate places, but the real value was the effect it had on men. The very action drove insane any man present. I was counting on the smell to conjure up this intoxicating image in Samson's mind.
Submerging the ends of my comb bristles in the mixture, I carefully combed the fragrance into my cascading curls. I braided one small lock of hair on each side of my oval face, thinking of my first meeting with Samson and wishing I had it all to do over again.
A loud knock on my chamber door interrupted my reverie. Returning to reality, I leaned toward my mirror while calling out an irritated, "Who?"
The effeminate voice of the eunuch slave who had been assigned as my escort answered nervously, "It is only Jabin, Mistress Delilah. I have come to escort you to the prison."
Amused by his evident apprehension around me, I answered saucily, "Come, Jabin."
When he entered he blanched at the sight of my scantily clad form. As the pale skin of his neck and face was suffused in bright red, he stuttered, "I'm s-s-sorry mistress. I will just wait outside until you are ready."
Surveying him with a practiced sultry look, I countered, "Nonsense. I know you want to watch. You may be emasculated, but I wager they were unable to cut out your desire. You should thank them, you know. You can lay with any woman without fear of being discovered when she is found with child. They are fools to think cutting off body parts will make you immune to the charms of a woman. Men are blind. They think that because your voice is high, a woman cannot arouse you. Any female can take one look and know they did not excise your ability to lust," I finished with a sultry laugh.
As he stood glued to the wall, I turned back to the mirror and began to apply my lip-gloss. Carefully applying the color with a small brush, I rubbed my lips together slowly and sensually and then turned to the timid man who was doing his best to blend into the mud wall of my bedchamber.
Asking, "Is the color uniform?" I turned and puckered my lips as though preparing for a kiss.
"Yes, yes," he assured me. "It looks good," he added, but as he spoke his eyes strayed down my plunging neckline.
Laughing, I said, "You men are all alike. What is this fascination with the female chest? They're just teats designed to feed the young, you know."
At my crude statement, Jabin seemed to shrink even more. "Are you ready now?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, bestowing a dazzling smile on the bashful young man. Handing him my luxurious purple cloak, I reveled in the power I had over such weaklings. "Hold my mantle for me," I purred, making sure to rub my bare arms against his fingers as I slid into the garment that would cover my revealing attire. As he settled the cloak over my shoulders and shakily withdrew his hands, I turned suddenly and pinned him against the wall, with my bosom almost touching his tunic. Reaching out one hand, I languidly caressed his cheek while murmuring softly, "Thank you, Jabin. Perhaps one day after I am formally priestess I will allow you to partake of my favors without the usual temple fee."
Turning I picked up a veil made of fine lace. Neither priestesses nor prostitutes were expected to wear veils. This one was a lighter shade of purple than my cloak. It simply added to the mystique and heightened the desire of men. Up close, anyone could easily see my features through the bit of cloth. However, it protected me from the curious stares of the guards and prisoners. Today I wanted to wear the veil. I knew Samson could not see it, but I was prepared to lean close enough so he could feel it and know I was veiled, as I had been that first night in my home.
I followed Jabin out of the room and we set out on the short walk from the temple compound where I was housed until inducted as a priestess. I steeled my mind to face Samson so that I could once again lure him into a trap..