Desired The Untold Story of Samson and D - By Ginger Garrett Page 0,3
seemed not to miss them, though, judging from the way he surveyed the city unfolding before him, stopping to buy a stick of roasted pigeon from a vendor.
Timnah only had one prostitute, an ugly old woman who sometimes picked up business from those too tired to walk all the way to the temple, and she made great efforts to stand up and address him.
“Are you new to our city? Care for a moment’s comfort?”
He laughed and fetched the vendor, a young boy, giving him a coin. The boy returned with another stick of roasted meat, which the man handed to the hag. She sneered at his big, grinning face but flopped down on her haunches and ate with ferocity. He moved on, seemingly unaware of all the eyes upon him. To him, we were the spectacle, the evil Philistines who had not departed his sacred land.
Long ago, the legends say, the Hebrews had a god they took with them out of Egypt. This god “gifted” them our land. All the Hebrews had to do, the god said, was kill us all first.
It didn’t happen, of course. We were the people of iron, the people who could forge spears and knives to fillet a Hebrew down the middle and cut through his shield, too. They had no hope of conquering us. Technology was not our god, but it did deliver us from their god. And we worshipped in better ways, embracing pleasure instead of shunning it, welcoming all gods and denying none.
Astra jumped back and ran over to the fire. I assumed she was frightened by the strange sight of this man, with his thick, braided hair pulled back into one huge mane and a red scarf wrapped around his head. His black beard was long too, hanging down to his stomach. Despite his loose tunic, I could see that he was as broad through the shoulders as an ox’s yoke, with legs of granite. The sight made my stomach contract with a feeling like excitement. He was handsome, as much as any Hebrew could be, with dark, wide eyes and lips that were soft and red, turning up at the edges in a sly smile. His hair drew my attention again, though, that mass of black fur stunning me. He looked very much like a man-lion, a miraculous, wild beast.
We had heard of him before but had thought the stories were just more Hebrew mythology.
Timnah rested between two popular trading sites, so we often saw oddities pass through our village. Men charged a small fee and lifted a veil on a cage, and we got a glimpse of a turtle with two heads or a monkey that wore a tunic and drank wine from a bowl. We were savvy customers. But this man was a shock to the system, a shock I felt all the way down into my thighs. No sight compared to him.
I retreated from the roof’s edge to check on Astra. I was too late.
Astra dashed past me, clutching a stick from the edge of the fire. She ran right to the roof’s edge and launched it, pegging the giant in the forehead. She fell flat against the roof, holding her breath in absolute terror as I stood there, my mouth hanging open in outright horror.
“Astra! What did you do that for?”
She giggled. “He’s a Hebrew. He doesn’t belong here. They have their own festivals.”
I peered down into the street, my heart as still and cold as stone. The man was looking straight up at my roof. He was going to kill us.
“I’m sorry, my lord. It was an accident,” I said.
A strange shimmer passed over him and was gone. A trick of the moon, perhaps. But when I looked again at his face, he was smiling at me.
“What is your name?” His voice was calm and even. I saw a red bump beginning to show itself on his forehead. I glanced back at Astra, narrowing my eyes at her. If he didn’t kill her, I would.
“I cannot answer that, my lord. I have apologized. May you have a good night.”
I stepped back out of his line of sight, my hands trembling. “He asked for my name,” I hissed at Astra, who had fled to crouch by the fire. We sat very still, our ears hoping to catch a noise from the street, wanting to know what he would do next.
Astra’s eyes were wide. “But you did not give it, did you?”