by Angela Hunt
“If ever we needed our Messiah, this is the time.”
I could not see outside the walls, but I knew the attack had begun when all the fathers and sons in our neighborhood went out to fight atop the walls or to stand guard around the Temple. I had heard enough to know what the invaders would do if the walls collapsed, or if they managed to dig a tunnel beneath the mighty stones. The enemy would enter the Holy City with swords in their hands and murder on their minds. One of the neighbors said they would make their way to the Temple, stabbing anyone who stood in their path, because like so many invaders before them, they would be determined to steal the precious gold and silver vessels we had dedicated to Adonai.
“It has happened before,” Ima told our neighbor. “Pagans have come to the Holy City and ransacked the Temple. Our men must be strong, and we must ask HaShem to gird them with courage. It is the best way we women can help.”
So we prayed, and Ima helped in other ways, too. Every day, after our prayers, she made me sit beneath the table while she covered it with a woven blanket. Then she packed a leather pouch with bread, cheese, and water flasks. She would peer beneath the table to tell me good-bye and to warn me not to come out until I heard her return.
“The men have to eat,” she told me every time she packed a bag. “And we women have to make sure they remain strong.”
While Ima was away, I waited beneath the table and tried to be brave. Sometimes, when the wind shifted and the thumping sounds of the war reached our house, I pushed my fingers into my ears and prayed so loudly the sound of my voice drowned out the noise. Ima said the thumping came from Roman battering rams, and though I had never seen one, I imagined them as great hairy beasts with horns the size of tree trunks and hooves as big as a house. On the nights Abba was able to come home, he was always grimed with sweat and dirt, which the huge rams must have kicked up as they struggled to knock down the walls.
On such nights, my father would sit on a stool while Ima bathed him with a wet cloth. “Never worry, little Zara,” Abba would say, smiling. “HaShem is with us. Though Herod and the Romans have armies that far outnumber ours, they do not have God on their side. And they do not have His promise to send a Messiah to deliver us.”
“What will the Messiah do, Abba?”
“He will defeat our enemies,” Abba said, looking to my mother. “He will restore justice and demonstrate mercy. He will bind up our wounds and bring peace to the earth.”
I believed my father. And as spring warmed into summer, I continued to believe and look for the Messiah, even though the sound of the fierce Roman rams sent me scurrying under the table every time I heard them.
Chapter Five
Salome
Any word from the battle today?” My gaze caught Nada’s in the looking brass. “Have we breached those cursed walls yet?”
My handmaid clicked her tongue as she braided my hair. “You should not care so much about what happens in war. It is unfeminine for a woman to know about such things.”
I chuffed in disagreement. Nada was old and had outdated ideas about what women should and should not do. And she had not been reared with four brothers.
“I care about my family.” I lifted my chin. “Father always said we should pull together, so if my remaining brothers—” my throat tightened as fleeting thoughts of Joseph and Phasael passed through my mind—“are at war, then so am I.”
Now that Herod had his Jewish bride and two Roman legions at his disposal, he decided the time had come to take the throne the Romans had promised him. The Roman commander Sosius had positioned his legions on the northeast side of Jerusalem where the Temple sat behind thick walls. Before his wedding, Herod had dispersed his fighting men around the city and directed them to build defensive walls with lookout towers.
Roman reinforcements had arrived by the time Herod rejoined his men. From reports Joseph shared with me, I knew my brother’s force consisted of two generals, eleven divisions of foot soldiers, six thousand cavalry, and hundreds of Syrian auxiliaries. The Parthians had supported Antigonus, but in the face of Roman opposition they vanished from the region.
“If rumors can be trusted,” Joseph told me over dinner, “the Parthians consider Jerusalem and Antigonus a lost cause.”
“Are the Romans doing all they promised?”
Joseph nodded. “They have brought up battering rams and catapults. The Romans are skilled at siege fighting; the legionaries know how to wield a hammer as well as a sword.”
“But the men inside—how can Herod rule a city if he has killed hundreds of its people?”
“The men of Jerusalem do not have to die. All they have to do is surrender Antigonus, and the siege will end.”
“They will never surrender. They are fighting for the Holy City, for the Temple, for HaShem. They are fighting for the man they believe to be their rightful king.”
Joseph’s brows knitted. “I thought we were fighting for HaShem, the Holy City, the Temple, and the rightful king.”
“The legal king. Rome has given Judea to Herod because the Hasmoneans could not stop making war against each other. But the people in Jerusalem will never accept Rome’s decision.”
“Distance . . . brings a balanced perspective.”
“But the Jews do not have the benefit of distance. They have been living with the situation for generations.” I reached for a slice of salted beef and chewed it slowly, then swallowed. “So how goes Herod’s siege?”
Joseph snorted. “Exactly as you would expect. The men of Jerusalem stand on attack platforms on the walls and pick off Herod’s men at their leisure. Others crawl through hidden tunnels and appear in the middle of the Roman camp, swords swinging.”
My mouth twisted in a reluctant smile. “You have to admire their spirit.”
“Yes. A shame Herod will have to kill the bravest of them.”
“As our enemies have killed our family’s bravest, as well.”
“Ouch!” Nada’s heavy hand brought me back to the present. “My scalp is tender there.”
She widened her eyes in pretend innocence. “Did I hurt you? Sorry, my lamb.”
I glared at her, but as always she ignored my displeasure. She had tended me since the day I came into the world, so she probably felt as if she owned me. Perhaps she did. She had certainly spent more time with me than anyone else, including my own mother.
“Where is my husband?” I asked, certain he would not have ridden out to watch the battle. He had told Herod he was too old to mount a horse, so he would oversee operations from Samaria.
“Your husband is with a Roman messenger. I understand your brother is to meet with them.”
Herod was leaving the siege? I could not imagine any reason for him to depart from an ongoing battle.
“Finish quickly,” I told her. “I want to see why Herod has come.”
“Is it such a mystery? The man has a beautiful bride waiting here.”
“Bah! It has to be more than that, so hurry.”
“Would you go half dressed? I need to choose a chiton and the proper himation—”
“Do what you must, but be quick about it.”
I found my husband, Herod, and the Roman commander standing in the center of the reception hall, a map of Jerusalem on the table between them. The Roman stood with his jaw set and his arms crossed while Herod faced him, a look of implacable determination in his eyes. Joseph wavered between them, one hand fluttering helplessly.
Perhaps I could help solve this obvious impasse.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” I spoke in a soft tone, with a feminine lilt Nada would have approved. “How goes the siege of Jerusalem?”
While the Roman’s scowl deepened, Herod’s face brightened. “Salome! Perhaps you can talk some sense into our friend Sosius.”
“The commander?” I gave him one of my brightest smiles. “I was so pleased to hear Mark Antony had decided to send you to Judea. Your brilliant reputation, sir, has preceded you.”
The commander flushe
d at the flattery.
“I have just suggested,” Herod said, noticing the sign of weakening in his opponent, “that we stop bombarding the walls and furnish the Temple priests with herds of oxen, bulls, and lambs. Pigeons too if we can find enough.”
I shot him a puzzled look. “Are the priests starving?”
“The daily sacrifices,” Joseph murmured, tactfully reminding me of the rituals I had forgotten. “We received word that the priests are about to run out of animals for the daily sacrifices.”
“Ah.” I tilted my head toward my brother. “And you want to supply them with the appropriate beasts.”
“Are we not Jews?” He arched a brow. “These things are important to us—and to our people in Jerusalem.”
“Of course.” I ran my fingertips over the table, admiring Herod’s strategy. Though I knew he personally cared nothing about daily rituals, he would need the support of the priests when he entered the city. And if he had taken great pains to ensure that the Temple rituals would not be hindered, the priests would be more likely to support him. They might even be grateful.
“When you retreat from a siege,” the Roman countered gruffly, “you give your enemy time to rest, eat, and renew their courage. How do you know our enemies will not devour these cattle and oxen and lambs? How do you know they will not launch a renewed attack an hour after we pull away from the wall?”
“We do not have to pull away,” Herod answered. “We have only to let a few shepherds drive the beasts through our lines and into the city. The risk is small, but the potential benefit is great. We need the goodwill of the people, Sosius—especially the priests and religious leaders.”
The Roman scowled again, but when he turned from Herod to me, I knew he had decided to relent.
“All right,” he finally said, uncrossing his arms. “Have some of your people commandeer an appropriate number of beasts and assemble them behind our lines. But we will not allow the shepherds to enter the city—we cannot afford to enlarge the number of defenders on the wall. Your men will herd the animals through the gate. At that point, your priests will have to take charge of them.”
Herod bowed his head. “A good point, Sosius. As you have said, so it will be done.”
I gave the commander a grateful smile, hoping my brother’s gamble would not make him appear foolish in the eyes of the Romans.
“Why do they refuse to surrender?” Herod tossed his gnawed chicken bone over his shoulder. “I sent the animals they wanted. The people have to see I am one of them, that I care about the Temple and the rituals.”
“They do see,” Joseph replied, ever the peacemaker. “They are simply too stubborn to admit it.”
I said nothing, but sipped from my goblet as the men complained about the length of the siege. A month had passed since Herod sent animals for Temple sacrifices, yet the defenders of Jerusalem were as resolute as ever.
I was growing impatient with the siege too, for while the men waged war, I had nothing to do. After the whirlwind of wedding preparations, I found myself pacing in my room, desperate to go riding, to argue, to pick a fight with someone.
But I could not, as Herod had ordered me to remain in Samaria with Alexandra and Mariamne. I had to sit and smile and ignore their many provocations and insults. Whenever we three were together, the mother and daughter complained about the food, the weather, and the accommodations. I would not be surprised if Mariamne complained about her inattentive husband when I was not around.
The Romans had also grown irritable with waiting. The defenders of Jerusalem had resisted far too long, and delay would not work to their advantage. Sosius reported that surly soldiers were apt to be merciless when they finally entered the capital city. “Sensible defenders would realize they were surrounded and surrender,” he said. “Anyone with half a brain would try to save lives and resources. But the fools behind that wall seem determined to waste every life and spill every drop of blood for a city that has been conquered dozens of times. The place is not impregnable, so why do they keep fighting?”
“Because they are stubborn.” Herod pressed his lips together, then lifted his finger. “And blind. But primarily because they believe their God will save them.”
Sosius’s jaws wobbled. “Their God? Is He not yours, as well?”
“He is.”
“Then how can a God be on both their side and yours?”
Herod sighed and leaned forward on the table. “Years ago, the Jews—under their high priest John Hyrcanus—invaded Idumea. He told our fathers and grandfathers that we had become Jews so we could be part of his kingdom. But a good many of our people continued to worship Qaus, the god our people had worshiped for generations. We learned how to worship one god in name and another in practice.”
Sosius picked up his cup. “And you?”
“I worship—” he lowered his voice—“the god of the realm. In Rome, after the Senate declared me king of Judea, I left the chamber with Octavian and Mark Antony and went immediately to a Roman temple to offer sacrifice. If I had refused . . .” He shrugged. “But that was Rome, and this is Judea. Here I worship HaShem, the God of the people behind the walls of Jerusalem. You would too if you wanted to rule over the Jews.”
Sosius finished his wine, then set his cup on the table and smacked his lips in appreciation. “If you expected their determination to waver after you sent in the animals,” he said, “your ploy did not work.”
“I had hoped it would.” Herod gave me a wry smile. “I did not expect. One never knows what to expect of the Jews.”
“Arrogance,” I said, the word slipping from my tongue. “One can almost always expect arrogance, particularly from the Hasmoneans.”
“Salome.” Joseph shot me a warning look. “Let us not forget our queen.”
“Herod knows how I feel about her people,” I said. “They believe they are more important than anyone else.”
The Roman glanced at Herod as if he expected my brother to explode in anger, but Herod and I had always understood each other.
Now he sighed and leaned toward me. “I understand how you feel, sister, but consider my feelings. One of Mariamne’s uncles stands in Jerusalem now, encouraging his men to kill me. If I can tolerate him, surely you can tolerate the women who have become part of our family. Mariamne is your sister now. Love her as I do, Salome. For my sake. Please.”
I drew a deep breath and slowly shook my head.
Herod gave the Roman a resigned smile. “If Salome were a man, I would send her over the wall to personally open the gates of Jerusalem for us. She has the unflagging heart of a warrior.”
The Roman’s gaze fell to the open expanse of my neck, and my flesh warmed beneath his admiring attention. I glanced at Joseph, but my husband seemed to be studying the dew-drenched grapes in his hand.
I met Sosius’s gaze and smiled.
In June, only four months after my brother’s wedding, we celebrated Herod’s entry into Jerusalem. Joseph and I marked the occasion in Samaria because Jerusalem had been heavily damaged by the fighting and Herod wanted to restore order before bringing his family to live in the royal palace.
My husband gave me a complete report when he returned from a visit to the siege camp. “It was only a matter of time,” he told me, reclining on his couch while I poured him a cup of wine. “Some of Herod’s elite fighters scaled the walls and crept into the city under a cloak of darkness. They found their way through the twisting streets and killed anyone they met. When they reached the city gates, they threw them open and”—he grinned—“the siege ended.”
Over a light supper of bread and cheese, he told me the Roman commander sent squadrons into the city, effectively cutting Jerusalem in half and scattering the defenders. Some of the fighters for Antigonus took shelter in the Temple while others hid themselves in the upper section of the city. After the Romans entered, they found a weakened, exhausted populace—they had only to search for and destroy those who resisted.
Joseph lifted a warning fin
ger. “But Herod had underestimated the fury of the Roman legionaries. He wanted to enter the city and claim it as his capital, but the legionaries wanted rewards for all they had endured in the siege. They stormed through the streets, slaughtering anyone who got in their way.”
“Even innocents?”
Joseph shrugged. “The legionaries are paid a paltry wage, but they are usually allowed to loot conquered cities. Herod did not want the city looted. He called off his men and pleaded with Sosius, begging him to restrain the legionaries before Jerusalem had been routed. He said—and I have never heard him say anything wiser—he wanted to rule a kingdom, not a desert. He then offered to pay the commander and his men if they refrained from looting the city and the Temple.”
I caught my breath. “Did he . . . did Sosius agree?”
Joseph nodded. “He called off his men, and the rioting ceased. Most important, Herod stopped the Romans from going inside the sanctuary. That would have been an unforgivable sacrilege.”
I sank onto a nearby couch and felt a knot of tension fade from my neck.
“Fortunately,” Joseph went on, “Antigonus was captured before he could escape. As he waited with guards in the tower, Herod went to meet him.”
“Herod cannot let him live.” I spoke with quiet, resolute firmness. “He is a Hasmonean, a descendant of the Maccabees, heroes to the people of Jerusalem.”
“But Herod cannot kill him,” Joseph countered. “The Jews would never forgive such an act. And what about Mariamne? How will she feel if Herod kills her kinsman?”
I blinked. “So what—?”
“Herod is clever enough to know his throne will never be secure as long as Antigonus lives.” Joseph lifted his cup. “So he is sending him to Mark Antony.”
I took a moment to absorb the news. “That is good. The so-called king will be far from Judea, far from his supporters. And Herod will not be guilty of his murder.”
“But what of Jerusalem?” Joseph asked, tilting his head. “The city has not welcomed Herod as king. They prefer the king he is sending away, and they will not like having a Roman legion stationed here.”
