Chapter 10

‘It’s strange,’ he went on bitterly, ‘how many strong men have been taken in by women. It hasn’t been so very long since our brave Marcus Antonius, with the applause of the Empire in his ears, traded his fame for the smiles of that scheming little Egyptian slut Cleopatra! A great man he was—until he threw himself away.’

‘I gather that your admiration for Cleopatra is under control,’ drawled Voldi, for something to say.

Mencius growled—and went on with Samson.

‘This Philistine girl, Delilah, soon had the big clown eating out of her hand. When the time was ripe she betrayed him to her fellow countrymen and they took him into camp. His cohorts made no effort to rescue him.’

‘So—that was the end of the Fifth Act?’ asked Voldi.

‘By no means!’ declared Mencius. ‘It was only the end of the Fourth Act! The Philistines went much too far in their vengeful celebration of victory over Samson. That, too, is customary. They made a thorough job of it; roped him and bore him away, burned out his eyes, harnessed him like a donkey, and made him grind corn in the King’s mill. Day after day after week after month the hapless fellow plodded round and round hauling the heavy beam, until his big, bare feet wore a path three cubits wide and two cubits deep.’

‘Tiresome occupation—for a hero,’ observed Voldi.

‘One day,’ pursued Mencius, ‘—and this was the last act of the play—the sumptuously furnished balcony of Philistia’s praetorium, or whatever they called their capitol, was crammed with banqueting royalty, generals, councillors, and wealthy tax-payers, celebrating a religious festival—in honour of Dagon, I believe, or one of their silly gods—’

‘Were they so religious, the Philistines?’ broke in Voldi.

‘Just on feast-days. I think that’s true of all religions—so far as the top layer is concerned. The influential people like to set a good example. It makes the common people more confident of their gods.’

‘And more contented with their rags and hunger,’ assisted Voldi.

‘Up to a certain pitch of starvation—yes,’ agreed Mencius—’but that is another story…The paunchy Philistines were hugely enjoying themselves at the banquet-table, when some ingenious fool suggested that they parade poor old Samson in the plaza where everybody could see him—and have a good laugh. So—the flunkeys in the mill haltered him and a small boy led him forth. Suddenly the blind giant felt a surge of his former strength, wrapped his long, bony arms round a couple of the marble pillars supporting the balcony—and pulled the whole house down.’

‘Incredible!’ shouted Voldi. ‘You don’t believe that, surely.’