by Angela Hunt
“Next week he will leave us,” Joseph said. “He and Doris will be well cared for, but Antipater will not be regarded as the heir apparent. Today Herod begins a new chapter in his reign. He has his Jewish queen, and soon he will have Jerusalem. Already our men have surrounded the city, and the Romans are on their way to support us.”
“I hope nothing happens to Herod,” I whispered, hardly daring to speak such ominous words at a wedding. I should not even hint of such a dark possibility, but I had watched my brother ride away too many times and take too many risks. One day, surely, the tide would turn and he would not be victorious . . . or so lucky.
I had already lost two of my brothers. I did not want to lose another.
“Nothing will happen to Herod,” Joseph answered, his voice brimming with confidence. “He has a gift for being in the right place at the right moment.”
“But so did Phasael. And Joseph.”
My husband shrugged. “Then, considering the world we inhabit, our new queen should produce a son as soon as possible.”
I brushed the troubling thought of Herod’s death aside and peered across the crowd to where our mother sat on an elevated chair. She held her chin high, a silent rebuke to all those who thought our family unworthy of marriage to a Hasmonean, and then her gaze crossed mine.
Yes. Her eyes sent a silent message. Your brother will be pleased with your efforts here.
I sighed and felt the tension leave my shoulders for the first time in a week.
Chapter Two
Zara
Come, Zara. Show your abba what you have learned today.”
I left my clay doll in the corner and hurried to greet my father, who had just come through the doorway. I lifted my arms for the usual hug, but his dark eyes were shadowed, and his mouth did not curve in his customary smile.
Not to be put off, I embraced his knees and felt his hand drop to my head.
“They are building war machines,” he told my mother. “Outside the walls, an entire camp of carpenters. Towers and battering rams.”
I glanced up in time to see Ima place a finger across her lips, and then she gave him a tight, false smile of upper teeth. “Let Zara show you what she has learned today. You will be so proud of her.”
As my mother sank to a low stool, I kept my eyes on Abba, who had not looked at me since coming through the door. But when his gaze crossed mine, his mouth relaxed. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “I am watching, little one. What did you learn?”
“This.” I turned to my mother, who had untied her hair and let it tumble down her back. Biting my lip, I separated the long hair into three sections, then drew them into my fingers and began to lift and cross, cross and lift, lift and cross. “See, Abba? I’m braiding!”
My father lowered himself to my level. “Ah! You are, and you are so young! How did a seven-year-old girl learn to do that?”
“She taught herself.” Mother turned her head, nearly pulling a section of hair from my hands. I made a tsking noise with my teeth—the same noise Mother made when I was too restless on the stool—and Mother obediently stilled.
“I suppose she’s been watching me all these years,” Ima went on. “Still, I’ve never heard of a child learning how to braid on her own. But then I never taught her to tie her apron, either. One day she just did it.”
I shook my head. “Tying is not hard. It is easy.”
“Not for everyone,” Abba said. He caught my arm and squeezed it. “HaShem has given you quite a gift, Zara. I wonder what He will have you do with it. Perhaps you will braid my hair one day.”
I gaped at him. “Your hair? It is not long enough.”
“It might be—soon. I will not want it getting in my face.”
I frowned, confused, while Abba stood and gave my mother a serious look. “I have decided to join the men, who will defend the Temple Mount. When the time comes, I will probably stay there for the duration. I may not see you or Zara for days, even weeks.”
Mother stood too, gently pulling her hair from my fingers. “Then let us not waste a single moment of our time together.”
Chapter Three
Salome
As tribal leaders, senators, and courtiers stood to congratulate Herod on his marriage, my attention shifted to the empty chairs behind the newly married couple. Those seats should have been occupied by Phasael, firstborn of our father, and Joseph, our father’s third son. They should have been celebrating with us. Instead, they lay moldering in their graves. Joseph, whom we lost only a few months ago, had not been returned to us, so we had no idea where his body was buried or if it had been buried at all.
My husband followed my gaze. “I miss them, too,” he said, his voice a low growl beneath the murmuring of the restless crowd. “They should have been here.”
I dashed a tear from my cheek. “I cannot believe we have lost both of them.”
“They both disobeyed Herod. If they had not—”
“We should not blame them for doing what they did,” I interrupted, settling my elbow into the curve of our couch. “The people were starving when Herod went away, and Joseph was desperate to procure food. And if Phasael had not taken his life, the Parthian commander would have used him as a pawn . . . which would have placed Herod in a bad situation.”
Joseph lifted his cup toward the empty couch. “Phasael was probably the most honorable of us all. And the most pragmatic.”
I searched the crowd for my eldest brother’s wife. I spotted her sitting with a group of highborn Idumaean women, a baby at her breast. The child, a boy, bore his father’s name. “May Phasael’s son live to follow in his father’s footsteps,” I said, lifting my cup.
We drank, then looked toward the platform where yet another visiting dignitary had stood to congratulate our brother with a speech. I did not catch the man’s name, who unfurled a long scroll, the sight of which made me groan. Would this day never end?
“Live forever, King Herod of Judea.” The man lifted his voice to the high oratorical pitch the Romans favored. “Know that your friend and my master Mark Antony sends his congratulations and best wishes. Antony congratulates you not only on your marriage but on your future victory in Jerusalem. You will eliminate Antigonus, the king who would bleed his people dry, and his Parthian allies.”
“Antony would have done better to come in person,” I whispered.
“Antony would do better to send the promised reinforcements instead of congratulations.” Joseph lowered his cup and crossed his arms. “I grow weary of these long-winded messengers. Surely we are near the end.”
“You know Herod.” I dropped my hand to Joseph’s shoulder. “He never tires of hearing how much he is loved. But look.” I pointed to a richly robed and bearded man in the back—a Pharisee, by the look of him. “At least some of Herod’s future subjects have come to celebrate with him.”
Not many Jews were among the crowd, and only two or three Pharisees. Then again, we were celebrating in Samaria, and the few Jews who had joined us were probably consoling themselves with the knowledge that none of their friends would know they had attended the wedding of their unpopular Idumaean king.
“Samaias.” Joseph grunted. “I know him. He is a leader among the Pharisees.”
“So did this Samaias come here to congratulate Herod or to curse him?”
“Let us see.”
My husband and I waited as the old man walked toward the dais, where Herod and Mariamne reclined on the bridal couch. He did not carry a scroll like so many others but simply folded his hands and bowed his head. “My king,” he said, and at those words a stunned silence filled the tent.
I lifted a brow and looked at Joseph. This was the first time we had seen or heard a Pharisee acknowledge Herod as king. Our brother had won more than a bride today—he had won an ally among a group that could hold the keys to the kingdom. Unless this man would later prove false.
I leaned back on an elbow and surveyed the room, studying the faces of the guests who
watched Samaias. The Nabataeans and Idumaeans wore expressions of pleased surprise, but the religious Jews . . .
A clutch of them huddled near the doorway—another Pharisee, a man who might be a Sadducee, and a white-robed Essene. What were they, a representative body of religious leaders? They did not seem surprised by Samaias’s greeting, unless they had donned dour expressions to hide their astonishment.
I sank back and reached for a bowl of figs on a nearby tray. “For a moment, I thought Herod had won the day,” I murmured, keeping my voice low. “But apparently Samaias speaks for himself alone.”
Joseph fingered his beard. “Or he does not speak honestly.”
I peered over Joseph’s shoulder to study the sour-faced men at the back of the tent. Was it not bad enough I had to suffer the arrogance of my new sister-in-law and her overbearing mother? Must Herod suffer the same from every leading citizen of Jerusalem? Herod had earned every honor Rome had bestowed on him, including the crown on his head. None of the Jewish kings had been able to accomplish as much as he had, and once he took Jerusalem, he would accomplish more.
“Will the religious leaders ever accept our brother?” I looked at my husband. “He would be a good king if they but gave him a chance.”
“The key to holding Judea,” Joseph said, his eyes crinkling as he looked over the crowd, “is subduing the Jews, and that cannot be done overnight. Herod has a long road ahead of him.”
“The religious leaders forget we are as Jewish as they are.” I crossed my arms. “We keep their Law. We study their Torah. We circumcise men before we allow them to marry into our family.”
“Oh, they know those things,” Joseph answered. “But they forget, just as they have conveniently forgotten that your grandfather served their esteemed Salome Alexandra, and your father served her son Hyrcanus. They look at all Idumaeans as though we were rats who should not be allowed to tread on the tiles of Hasmonean palaces.”
I sighed. “Sometimes I wish I did not bear Salome’s name. When I meet the people of Jerusalem, I know they will hear my name, think of her, and decide I will never be as pious as their beloved queen.”
Joseph pressed his lips together. “You must be patient, dear wife. Herod has yet to take Jerusalem, and the city will experience the pangs of adjustment after he does. But the people of Judea will grow to love their king, and they will come to admire his siblings, including his sister. And when he saves them from annihilation by the Parthians or some other enemy of Rome—”
“An annihilation they would have already experienced if Herod had not interfered on their behalf!”
Joseph lowered his chin in an abrupt nod. “One day they will appreciate him. That day, however, is not likely to be today, tomorrow, or even next year.”
Again I eyed the group of bearded religious leaders, who continued to drip disapproval and disdain. “You may be right,” I said, sighing, “yet that day had better come quickly, because our Herod is not a patient man.”
Finally, the enthusiastic praise for Herod ended. Though I am certain Herod could have listened to a stream of compliments for hours more, his young bride appeared to be falling asleep at his side.
Seeing that Mariamne was weary, Herod stood, took her hand, and led her out of the tent, vanishing into the garden beyond. They would spend their wedding night in the finest house in Samaria, as the king had no official residence in the city.
I sat up, shook off the stupor of lethargy, and placed my hand on Joseph’s arm. “Shall we go to our chamber or do you need to speak to some of the guests?”
A small smile creased his face. “Someone might need to speak to me, but they can find me later. I can tolerate this crowd no longer.”
We left our couch, and I sighed with satisfaction as small groups of people parted and bowed as we made our way toward the exit. Though the Jews might not approve of Idumaeans, they dared not show their disapproval to our faces.
As Joseph and I strode through the crowd, a deep and quiet joy filled my heart. Yes, I wanted to shout, I am a daughter of Esau, not Jacob, and yet tonight you look to me for recognition and approval.
The feeling soured, however, when I realized the men and women around me would soon return to their homes, where they would stop smiling and start criticizing. Though Joseph seemed optimistic, I feared the people of Jerusalem would be like Mariamne and scorn their new king. Their unwillingness to accept Herod might lead them to find fault with all of us—my husband, my brother, and even my mother, who had watched the day’s proceedings with wary eyes. Our mother, Cypros, had dressed in somber colors and worn no jewelry, for she was still in mourning, having recently lost a son.
My heart constricted in pity. The past few years had held far more sad than happy occasions for our mother, but I hoped this day had brought her some comfort.
We had not taken ten steps outside the wedding tent when I noticed a woman—a Jewish woman, for she was with one of the Pharisees—whose features hardened in a stare of disapproval when she realized who I was. I had done nothing to earn her disdain, but there it was nonetheless. I should probably become accustomed to such looks.
How I wished I could show the Jews how I felt about their superior attitudes! Herod was fortunate—he could freely speak his mind, though he was wise enough to hold his tongue when he needed to placate the Jews on some point. But Rome had invested him with power and authority, and most of the Jews who came to him had realized he could—and would—execute them if they proved treacherous or disloyal. I, on the other hand, did not hold or desire such power, and yet I would be deeply pleased if I were granted an opportunity to tell the Jews exactly what I thought of their attitude, starting with my new sister-in-law . . .
“You seem perturbed.” Joseph leaned toward me, intently focused on my face. “Was this not a happy day for you?”
“Happy?” I barked a laugh. “How can I be happy when I spent the day worrying about the Levite, the guests, the slaves, the food, the musicians, the men who cared for the horses and camels at the stable—”
“Let me rephrase,” Joseph said, cutting off my words. “Was this not an occasion for celebration?”
“How can I celebrate when my brother has married that girl?” I snapped. “Now she and her mother are part of our family.”
“Herod hasn’t married the mother—”
“He might not sleep with Alexandra, but Mariamne speaks Alexandra’s words, voices her desires, and acts upon her wishes. Mariamne is yet a child; the mother controls her. In time she will seek to control Herod, as well.”
“You control me,” Joseph said, his voice light. “You know I would move the sun and stars to please you.”
I blew out a breath. “I do not control you any more than I control Herod or Pheroras. Besides, I have never wanted to control my brothers.”
“If you had the power, who would you control?”
“The Jews!” I spat out the words. “Particularly the Hasmoneans. Alexandra and her kind despise us. And Herod is so in love, he cannot see it.”
“He is not as blind as you might think.”
“Isn’t he? Then why did he pull me aside last night and forbid me to be sharp with Mariamne? I am commanded to bite my tongue and bridle my thoughts, swallowing them until I choke, if necessary.”
Joseph patted my hand. “You do not have to swallow them in my company.”
I halted and turned to him. “I cannot allow this girl to come between me and my brother.” I frowned as I considered the ramifications. “I did not believe it possible, but Mariamne, that imperious child . . .”
“Herod would never allow anyone to come between you two. You are his only sister, and Herod is devoted to you. But hear me in this, Salome: be kind to his new wife and wait patiently, for the bloom will fall from the rose. Time will solve your problem. You have only to exercise a little patience.”
“Patience does not come naturally for me.”
Joseph chuckled. “Of course not, my impetuous wife.”
H
e caught my hand and led me to the house he had rented for the wedding. Before we crossed the threshold, he planted a kiss on my forehead. “You are so like your brother. Your passions run high, and your patience is shallow. But Herod has learned self-control. If you want to be happy in your brother’s palace, you should follow his example.”
Chapter Four
Zara
I remember childhood as a time of sweetness, gentleness and laughter, joy and love . . . until death arrived with Herod’s army. One day I was the happy daughter of a mother and father; the next I was cowering beneath a table with my mother, praying HaShem would send angels to hide us beneath their wings.
If I had been older, I might have discerned more portents of the disaster to come. But even as a child, as the days grew longer and the buds on the trees burst into golden leaves, I noticed that Abba spent more time away from home and Ima stopped smiling, even when she spoke to me. When the neighborhood women leaned over the courtyard fence, they did not talk of the weather or Shabbat baking, but murmured secrets in the tone reserved for dreaded things. Whenever this happened, my mother would tell me to go practice my braiding, so I did. I braided straws from the broom, Abba’s leather belts, and the spun wool my mother used for weaving.
While I practiced braiding and tying knots and anything else my hands found to do, I overheard things:
“They say our Antigonus has been declared an enemy of Rome. That will prevent Roman generals from coming to his aid, no matter how much he offers to pay them.”
“Who needs Romans when HaShem is on our side?”
“How can HaShem be for us when Herod now has a Hasmonean wife? Antigonus, Mariamne—are they not sprung from the same tree?”
“Herod is the king, not his wife. And Herod is an Idumaean, a half Jew.”
“He will fight hard to win Jerusalem. He cannot rule Judea without its capital.”
“Our people will fight harder to defend it.”
