Pathetic, all of it, and yet she kept on spewing, as if she could prove her worth with such a list. “And who, my lady, will sing your boy to sleep when he wakes up screaming nightmares of his murderous mother?”
Oh, this last—this last she should not have said. Even Herod seemed to take a step backward, to abandon her there on the field of battle.
Lydia had proven nothing, had won nothing. Only lashed out in pain, the desperate act of a condemned woman.
And she saw her condemnation in Cleopatra’s eyes, though the queen held her tongue. Her lips remained sealed, her jaw tight.
Lydia was empty now, empty like that dry husk waiting to be blown away in the hot wind of Cleopatra’s wrath.
“That will be all for tonight, Lydia. I have business to discuss with our new friend. If it should please you to give us privacy, that is.”
The sarcasm cut as sharply as any rebuke, but it was only the dull leading edge of what was to come.
Lydia bent her head to Herod, then to the queen, and pushed toward the door. As she passed Cleopatra, she could almost feel the cold radiating from the woman’s body.
Lydia reached the hallway alive, which seemed no small miracle.
Andromeda had spoken out of a naive foolishness and had her throat slit for the indiscretion. What would Cleopatra do with a servant whose condemnation had been calculated with intent?
Lydia hurried toward the steps, her hand stealing to her throat to feel the reassuring though unsteady leaping of her pulse.
Whatever was to come, nothing would be the same.
Four
Cleopatra watched with satisfaction as Lydia fled into the hall. The girl’s petite features and slight stature brought to mind a colorful butterfly. Indeed, she had been fluttering around the royal family for years now. If the girl weren’t such a favorite with Caesarion, Cleopatra would have rid the palace of her after Ptolemy’s death.
She slammed the door on the girl’s flight, then turned in one smooth motion to smile at Herod. “I am surprised.” She crossed to a small table along the wall, set with a jug of wine and a platter of Alexandria’s finest cheeses. “I should not have thought you a man to waste your time on servant girls.” She tossed a coy smile over her shoulder. “Especially when there are women of more—consequence—who might claim your attention.”
Herod was at her side in a moment and took the cup of wine she had poured for herself. “And you are indeed a woman of consequence.”
Were his words flattery or mockery? She studied the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the long lashes. The full lips as he brought the cup to his mouth. She could not read him, and it was unnerving.
She poured another cup and raised it to his. “To our mutual concerns.”
Herod eyed her over his cup. He had a way of holding one’s gaze for a moment longer than appropriate, then looking away with a smile, perhaps of amusement or perhaps simply pleasure. He crossed the room to the low couch. “Have we mutual concerns?”
“But of course.” She joined him on the couch, sliding too close. He smelled of all parts of the world: deserts sands and Eastern spices and even the flora of his hilly Galilee. His powerful blending of Eastern and Greek influences made him more like her than any man she’d been with, and the attraction was too potent. She pulled away, tried to focus on her objective. “I remember your father well.”
He chuckled. “I should think so. Without his help, Caesar would never have had the armies of Mithridates, nor the Nabateans, to give him success here in Alexandria.”
She sipped her wine. “Hmm, yes, well, the Nabateans are no friends to either of us now, I hear.”
Herod’s eyes flickered in surprise. “Your sources keep you well informed. I have only just come from Malik in Petra. I offered even to leave my nephew as security against my requests for soldiers and funds, but the Parthians got to him first, and he had me dismissed as a common enemy.”
She tsked and shook her head. “Unthinkable. Was not your mother a noblewoman in Petra?”
Herod’s fingers tightened around his cup. “I spent the better part of my childhood there, in protection against my father’s enemies in Judea.”
Cleopatra hid a smile. Men were out of balance when their precious pride was wounded, and she liked it that way. “Well, he is no ally of mine either, I can assure you.”
Herod leaned on one elbow along the couch, distancing himself from her. “And that is saying something, as you are a woman adept at gaining allies.”
She gave him a quick, half-amused smile. “There have been some who found it advantageous to ally with me, yes.”
“Come, don’t be modest. You are something of a legend in Rome. The way you charmed your way into Julius Caesar’s heart within hours of his landing on your shores. You put all your hopes into Caesar, I suppose? Thought perhaps your son would take the throne of Egypt and then be handed Rome as his birthright as well?”
Cleopatra stood and strolled to the wine again but, noticing the shakiness of her hand as she lifted the jug, she thought better of it and took a bit of cheese instead. She kept her back to Herod. This interaction was not proceeding well. She was accustomed to gaining the upper hand from the start of the conversation. The room was chilly, and she crossed to the single burning brazier, lifted the leather-wrapped rod with the torch end in the fire, and used it to light two more braziers. The delay gave her time to consider her next words.
“There was none more saddened than I by the brutal slaying of Caesar. His death was a loss to Rome, and to all the world.”
“Yes, no doubt Antony said much the same thing when he found himself in your bed soon after.”
“Two years!” She turned on Herod, the poker solid and hot in her hand. “It was two years before Antony . . . won my affection away from the memories!”
His smile spoke more than words. He had bested her by wounding her pride—a point scored on his side now. They were too evenly matched for comfort.
He stood and came to her, took the rod from her hand, replaced it on the edge of the brazier, but did not release her hand. “What is it you want, Queen of Egypt?”
It was time to take back the power.
She stepped closer to him, until the fullness of her diaphanous linen dress brushed his robes. “I want us to find a way to work for each other’s benefit, of course.”
He touched her lips with his forefinger. “And what would such an effort look like?”
She smiled under his touch. “Your support against our mutual enemies—Malik and the Nabateans. My support of you with Antony.”
“Hmm. Perhaps for that support I would do better gaining the favor of one of Antony’s wives.”
She laughed. “Antony’s marriages mean nothing. His latest wife is a step toward power, nothing more. It is I, and our precious twins, who hold sway over his heart.”
Herod said nothing, and she flicked a glance at the guards at his door. “Perhaps we could consummate our . . . agreement without an audience?”
With a cool smile, he ran his finger along her jawline, down to the pulse of her throat, then turned his head slowly to the guards and motioned with his chin. “Wait outside until the queen is ready to leave.”
At their exit, Cleopatra focused on her power, her control. She would not allow him mastery of this night. She breathed a prayer to Mother Isis, Queen of Heaven.
He turned back to her with an appraisal that was too cold. Too condescending. “It seems to me, my queen, that you have little to offer and much to gain by all your alliances.”
She drew back, muscles tightening. “Egypt has more grain than Rome will—”
“But Rome has Egypt.” He shrugged. “Rome has Egypt, and Antony has you, and even your people resent three hundred years of Greek Ptolemies on the throne since Alexander gave them up.”
She was shaking now, with rage and something worse: fear. But she would not surrender so easily. She pulled him to herself, to the other side of the room, toward the bed surrounded b
y tightly woven tapestries and piled high with cushions. “Come, Herod, you know there is more at stake. I have Antony’s allegiance, and you would do well to make me your friend—”
Herod yanked her to his chest, his breath hot on her neck.
She could feel the pounding of both their hearts between them.
He inclined his head toward the bed. “And what allegiance of Antony’s would I have, should I take his place there?”
She tangled both hands in his wavy hair and pulled his mouth to hers. No man had ever refused her, and this grasping governor of an uncivilized province would not be the first.
He returned her kiss, but his was a kiss of anger, of hatred, of punishment. He wrenched her hands from his head, then pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I will give you ships for Rome”—she was grasping now, and hated herself for it—“you can enjoy the winter here in Alexandria—it is no time for sailing—and in the spring Antony will hear only good reports—”
“Stop!” His chest was heaving, but not from anger nor repressed desire. No, he was laughing. Laughing! “Antony will hear reports, yes. But they will not be pleasant to his ears.”
He mocked her? He dared to mock the Queen of the Two Lands of Upper and Lower Egypt?
His refusal was like a plunge into the cold harbor waters, and it left her pulsing with fury. In this very room she had seduced Gaius Julius Caesar, the most powerful man in Rome. And this upstart Idumean who could not even gain the kingship of a tiny province would laugh at her?
She grabbed the nearest thing, a gracefully painted pot—one of that worthless Lydia’s creations—and heaved it at his head with a curse.
He dodged it easily and the pot smashed on the floor.
The guards were through the door in an instant.
“Ah yes, good.” Herod waved them in. “Please see the queen safely back to her chambers. We have nothing more to discuss.”
She resisted the urge to spit upon him as she passed. It would only make her seem weak. Instead, she stalked down the hall with his guards trailing.
No, she would find better ways to punish Herod. He could not be allowed to go to Rome with his poisonous words for Antony. She had seen already how Rome reacted to her alliance with Caesar. She could afford no ill will there. She must destroy him.
Inside her own chamber, she slammed the door on his guards and collapsed against it.
It would be a delicate business to destroy one of Antony’s closest friends without incurring her lover’s wrath.
But she had not ruled Egypt alone for nearly twelve years without learning how to make convenient deaths appear as accidents.
Five
Lydia pulled her mantle tighter around her shoulders. The weight of the woolen fabric she had chosen from the merchant who brought his goods directly to the palace served her well on cool nights, but even its heavy warmth could not calm her shaking chills.
Plunged into the dark labyrinth of the city streets, instead of watching it from a balcony above, one lost the perspective of all roads leading to distant places and the awe of grand old marble buildings. Here there was nothing but the stink of garbage and waste, the nighttime rattling of beggars searching for food in alleys, and stray cats prowling docks for the leavings of fishermen.
Why had Samuel not waited for her at the palace after they had been interrupted a second time? But she had searched and questioned, and no one had seen him. Now she scuttled through empty streets, away from the palace looming at her back, toward the nearby Delta—one of the five sectors of the city and the one dominated by Jewish people.
Samuel lived above a weaver’s shop, but its shutters were closed to traffic at this late hour. She had been here many times, learning pottery at the hands of Samuel’s wife. Until Abigail was taken from her, as those Lydia loved tended to be. Someday she would have a home of her own, and she would make it as lovely and inviting for those who belonged to her as Abigail had. But tonight, no lamplight glowed from the window above the weaver’s shop.
Lydia paused in the street, eyeing Samuel’s windows. If not here, then where? Would he be asleep when he had seemed so intent on speaking with her?
Another chill, this one full of evil omens, shuddered through her. She took the outer staircase to the second level, knocked only once while calling his name, and entered.
Moonlight filtered through the open window and fell upon a room in disarray.
She had taken her lessons in the palace of late. Had he let his possessions come to this?
A low moan at her right startled her.
“Thanks be to HaShem, He has brought you in time.”
“Samuel?”
“The lamp—in the back room.”
She dodged the obstacles strewn across the floor to reach the small doorway at the back of the room, where a faint light signaled a lamp still burning. She found the lamp on the floor, quickly trimmed the wick, and refilled its oil from a tiny jug, then hurried back to the front.
Samuel lay on his side, on a mat near the wall, half curled into himself.
“You are hurt!” She ran to tend him but tripped over a fallen chair. A broken spindle scraped her leg as she fell. She cried out and braced a hand against the floor to protect the lamp. Her hand fell upon something soft, and she rolled, still holding the lamp aloft.
A man! She gasped in horror and pulled backward, waving the lamp over the prone form.
“He is dead.” Samuel’s voice was a croak from the mat. “I killed him.”
“Samuel! What has happened here?”
“They found me. I found it, but somehow, so soon, they found me.”
More cryptic words. She crawled to his side, set the lamp at his head, and examined him with a frantic eye. “Where are you hurt? Tell me what he has done to you.”
“Not this one. I got to him first. There was another.”
The mat on which Samuel lay had been ripped open. A jagged tear or perhaps a knife cut rent it from top to bottom, and the straw that spilled from it was stained red.
“You are bleeding!” She rolled him gently to his back and gasped at the wound. A gash through his tunic, across his chest, and down to his belly.
“He must have thought I kept it hidden under here.” Samuel coughed, then moaned with the pain. “He searched everywhere else.”
“Don’t speak. I must get something to bind the wound—”
He caught her arm before she moved to search. “You must listen, Lydia. It can wait no longer.”
“It can wait until we have stopped the bleeding and found a physician!”
“No.” His grip on her arm was strong, given his condition. He would bleed faster if she wrestled with him.
“Say it then, Samuel. Say what you must and then let me help you.”
“I . . . I have been training you these years with a purpose, Lydia.”
He wheezed with the effort, and she sat beside him, stroked the tousled hair from his forehead. A bit of blood specked his white beard and brought tears to her eyes.
“I have learned much from you, Samuel, and been grateful for all you have taught—”
“Yes, you have been a good student. But I have not taught you everything. You know the writings of the Prophets?”
She nodded. His people’s prophets had been largely misunderstood and tormented in their time, but their writings were sacred and she had learned of them.
“There is a group, for many generations, who have guarded a secret. Scrolls of the prophet Daniel, not to be opened until the fullness of time.”
She knitted her brows. She knew of no such writings. “Where are these scrolls?”
He gave his head a slight shake. “First, you must understand that what is written is sealed until that time, and we must only do our duty to keep it guarded, to keep it ready.”
“We?”
“This group—in the days of Daniel, in Babylon after the Medes and Persians came—a sect whom Daniel trained in the ways of the One
God. To these he entrusted the sealed writings. Their descendants kept the scrolls hidden, guarded, cherished. Waiting. My grandfather was one of these, the Chakkiym.”
“Kahk—?”
He nodded. “Say ‘Kahk-keem.’ Yes. Aramaic. It was my grandfather and his fellow Chakkiym who lost the scrolls, to their great devastation. Each of them was assigned a different part of the world, a different path to follow, to hunt for the stolen scrolls.”
He paused, breathing hard. A trembling hand fluttered near the wound, as if he wished to press away the pain.
Lydia’s heart pounded and she searched nearby for something to bind his chest.
But he was not finished. “Should any of them succeed in finding the scrolls, they had instructions on how to return them to the Chakkiym in Persia. My grandfather was sent here, to Alexandria, to search. At his death he passed his duty to my father, who passed it to me.”
“I do not understand, Samuel. What is it that these scrolls say?” A basket of clothing had been upended in the corner, but his grip on her hand did not allow her to retrieve anything there to wrap around his wound.
“We do not know. Only Daniel knew. And the angel who gave him the words to write—and instructed him to seal them. And the Holy One.” His words were growing more labored. “We only know the writings shall become vital at the end of days when Messiah will rise. Must be kept safe until then. A task in which we failed.”
“Is this why you were attacked? Someone was looking for the scrolls? Here?”
He gripped her hand in a spasm of pain.
“Please, Samuel. Allow me to find a physician! I fear—”
His hand clenched around hers with greater strength. “You cannot leave me without hearing it all. And he may return.”
“Speak quickly then, friend, I beg you.” Her tears were flowing now, and she pulled the mantle from her shoulders and began to wrap it around his chest and belly, lifting his arms and rolling him as he spoke.
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