by Angela Hunt
Chapter Twelve
Zara
I sat perfectly still on the bench, minding my manners as my aunt served honey water to the Torah teacher and our guest, Etan Glaucus. Ima sat on the floor near the fire, propped up with pillows, her thin legs covered by a blanket. Her face shone with sweat, and a pearl of perspiration trickled from her hairline. She looked at me and tried to smile, but I knew she had been dreading this day.
“Thank you.” Etan Glaucus took a cup and sipped, then nodded his appreciation. He looked at the Torah teacher and pointedly cleared his throat. “Shall we discuss the reason we have come tonight?”
“Yes.” Aunt Rimonah sat on a stool. “I understand you would like to arrange a betrothal.”
Etan Glaucus nodded. “I have a son, aged fifteen years. He is a good boy, a solid scholar, and he is learning more every day.”
“What trade will he pursue?” Rimonah asked.
“Sandal making.” Etan Glaucus spread his callused hands, displaying dirt in the creases. “Already he can count goods and manage the books. When he is ready to be married, I will put him in charge of my shop and help him build a house on the roof.”
My aunt dipped her chin in a brusque nod. “And you would like your son to take my niece as his bride?”
“Not so fast, Rimonah.” The Torah teacher waved his age-spotted hand and pulled a parchment from a pouch at his waist. “I have brought the standard ketubah. It is customary to negotiate for the bride before the agreement is signed.”
My aunt took the document and stared at the writing on the soft leather. I do not know how well she could read, but I had been taught in one of the schools founded by Queen Salome Alexandra.
“Would you like me to read—?”
Rimonah cut me off with a sharp look. “Everything appears to be in order.” She turned to my mother. “Unless you have an objection.”
Mother clutched her arms so tightly that her knuckles whitened. “I do not know what—”
“Do you wish to betroth your daughter to this shoe-seller’s son?”
Mother blinked, a frown forming between her brows. “When you put it so bluntly . . .”
“Come now.” Aunt Rimonah stepped between Ima and our guests and bent to look directly into my mother’s eyes. “Without a husband, you will do well to betroth your daughter to anyone. Surely this is an acceptable match.”
“But—a shoemaker!” Ima whispered the word as if it were a cursed thing. “Zara is from a fine family! Her father was a Levite—”
“Your husband is gone, and someone must see to his daughter’s future. I am willing to help you, but only if you give your consent. I will not have you saying I forced you into this.”
“Zara is still so young.”
“So is the shoe-seller’s son, but that is customary. The betrothal will stand until they are old enough to be married.”
Mother threw me a worried glance, then slowly lifted her gaze to meet Aunt Rimonah’s. “I would not agree if I had any other choice.”
“I know.” Understanding and pity mingled in my aunt’s eyes. “But you can be at peace, knowing you have made a good plan for your daughter.”
“All will be well, Ima.” I squeezed her arm. “We must trust HaShem.”
The smile my mother gave me seemed distracted, but she nodded to my aunt. “Let us proceed,” she said, her voice quivering. “I will agree to the betrothal.”
I looked past my mother and studied the firelit face of the man who would one day be my father-in-law. How much did my future husband resemble him? I squinted, trying to mentally erase the age lines from the man’s mouth and eyes, and decided my future husband must be a very ordinary-looking fellow.
That would be fine. Because if a simple shoemaker was the only man to come knocking at our door, then I must be a very ordinary-looking girl.
Chapter Thirteen
Salome
I said nothing to my brother about Alexandra’s plan to place her children’s images before Mark Antony. Herod did not need to know his mother-in-law wanted to dangle his beautiful wife to bait another man, nor did he need to know she was doing the same thing with her attractive son. I had heard that Antony desired men as well as women, but even if the rumor were false, in the handsome face of young Aristobulus, Antony might well see a future king—a Jewish king, a Hasmonean, a king who would be a friend to Rome and have the love and support of his people.
Several weeks passed without incident, and I hoped nothing had come of Alexandra’s plan. Nada heard no news of further developments, and as far as she knew, Alexandra had not heard from Antony. All seemed calm . . . at least on the surface.
Until one afternoon when Herod sent for me. I had been sitting in my chair so that Nada could style my hair, but when the messenger said I was to come at once, I rose and flew down the hallway, leaving my handmaid with her hands uplifted and a stunned expression on her face.
As I entered my brother’s private reception room, I found him sitting at a table with Joseph and Pheroras.
“We are all here, then,” I said. I gave my brothers quick kisses on their cheeks and sank into a chair. “What is so urgent?”
Scowling, Herod gestured to a scroll on the table. The seal had been broken, and I could see the thick smear of wax that had been heavily imprinted with a signet ring.
“Antony has written me.” He glanced around the circle. “He has asked me to send Aristobulus to Alexandria. Do any of you know why he might make such a request?”
I drew a sharp breath. “He asked you to send the boy?”
Herod’s eyes darted toward me. “What do you know of it?”
I caught my breath as Joseph and Pheroras stared at me with blank faces. Clearly they were as uninformed as Herod.
“I have not said anything because I did not believe Antony would respond,” I said, locking my fingers. “But if you remember Quintus Dellius—”
“I do,” Herod snapped. “I know he came here to spy for Antony.”
“Yes, I had my handmaid follow him. After your banquet, he had a private audience with Alexandra. She told him that your refusal to make her son high priest had dishonored the family of Hasmon.”
Herod’s brow pulled into an affronted frown. “How do you know this?”
“My handmaid spoke to the maid who served wine in Alexandra’s chamber. She heard everything.”
“Your mother-in-law whines constantly.” Pheroras leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps you should send her into exile.”
Herod ignored the comment. “Go on, sister. What did she hear?”
I folded my arms. “Quintus Dellius suggested that Alexandra send portraits of her beautiful children to Antony. I know she engaged an artist, so apparently she did as he asked. Now I gather he wants to meet them—or at least he wants to meet the youth.”
Herod sighed heavily, then slammed his fist against the table. “By all that is holy, I cannot make headway with this family! Just when I think we have come to a peaceful arrangement, they meddle in my relationship with Antony. If Alexandra convinces him I cannot control Judea, or that her son would be better at keeping the peace—”
“Surely she cannot do that,” Joseph said. “She is only a woman, with no real power.”
“A woman’s chief power is her influence,” Herod said, wagging a finger. “Never forget that.”
He pressed his hands over his eyes, then shook his head and released a weary sigh. “I have to be tactful when I respond to Antony, and I cannot send Aristobulus to Egypt under any circumstance. If Antony sees how agreeable the youth is, he might well befriend him . . . and make him king the first time he doubts my grip on Judea.”
“So.” Pheroras’s thin mouth clamped tight as he swallowed. “What do we do?”
Herod tented his hands for a moment, thinking. Finally he dipped his chin in a resolute nod. “Antony said I was to send Aristobulus to Alexandria if it would cause me no trouble. I will explain that sending the boy might cause quite a bit of trouble,
especially with his mother.”
“How would . . . ?” I began.
“If I ordered the boy away, the Jews might believe I was sending him into exile,” Herod said, the grim line of his mouth relaxing. “Yes, that’s believable. I will tell Antony that the people love Aristobulus and want to keep him near. If I send the lad away, the people of Jerusalem might erupt in unrest.”
“So Ananel will remain high priest?” Joseph asked. “The people seem to approve of him.”
“He will,” Herod agreed. “Because if Antony sees Aristobulus as a possible high priest and king, we are finished.”
“May I see that one?” I pointed to a gold necklace on the jewelry maker’s tray, and the man’s smile broadened.
“A good choice, my lady. A very good choice. This is the finest gold in the world, mined in southern Egypt.”
Nada took the necklace from the man and placed it around my neck. I studied my reflection and ran my fingertips over the large pieces of gold. The necklace was probably worth a king’s ransom, yet I could not ask Herod for money now. He had been far too quick-tempered of late.
“This is lovely, Hector, only I do not want to buy it. I have already spent my allowance this month.”
The man’s face twisted. “But you alone can do it justice. I cannot imagine it around any other woman’s neck.”
“Unless you are prepared to let me borrow it indefinitely, you will have to improve your imagination.”
Uncertainty crept into the jeweler’s expression. Then he smiled again. “But of course you may borrow it, my esteemed lady! Keep it, wear it as often as you like, and if anyone asks who made such a stunning piece—”
“I will give them your name, of course.” I lifted a brow. “Unless I forget.”
His smile faded. “How can I make sure you will not forget?”
“You might want to remind me,” I replied. “Visit me every few weeks and let me look over your latest creations. And be assured, even if I do not buy these wonderful treasures, you will be honored by their appearance on my person . . . or perhaps even the queen’s.”
An even broader smile gathered the wrinkles around his lined mouth. “The queen? Do you think Mariamne—?”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t called for you herself. She and her mother both have an eye for beautiful things.”
“I have tried to see her, but they say she already has a favorite jeweler.”
“All the more reason you should let me display your creations before the king.”
“Ah, thank you, lady. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over.”
The man picked up his tray and slipped out of my chamber, leaving me alone with Nada. I fingered the heavy gold necklace again and squinted into my looking brass. “Is this too heavy? Too gaudy?”
Nada shook her head. “I saw something similar on one of the Roman women who visited last month.”
“Good.” I smiled at my reflection, then motioned for Nada to remove the jewelry. “While you put that away, tell me—have you heard any interesting news from the other servants?”
The corner of Nada’s mouth twisted as she undid the hasp. “They say Alexandra has written the Egyptian queen again. She complains about being watched and suffering many humiliations.”
“Humiliations?” I shook my head. “I should be so humiliated. What else?”
Nada pressed her lips together. “Her maid says Cleopatra wrote Alexandra and told her to come to Egypt at once, bringing her son with her.”
I laughed softly. “Are we really to be rid of her so easily? The queen’s mother is going to Egypt?”
Nada shook her head as her shoulders slumped. “There is more, but if you are to hear it, I must sit.”
I leaned forward, gripped the edge of a stool, and slid it toward her. “Sit at once. And tell me everything you know.”
Nada sighed as she sank onto the stool, resting her hands on her knees. “After receiving the Egyptian queen’s invitation, Alexandra sent a message to the cook.”
“Why the cook?”
“If you keep interrupting, you will never hear all of it.”
“That is no way to speak to your mistress, but continue. Please.”
“The cook’s husband,” Nada said, breathing heavily, “is a carpenter. Alexandra asked him to make two coffins and have them waiting at the port. Alexandra and her son planned to slip away from the palace and meet him, then board a ship while they lay in the coffins.” Nada tilted her head and looked at me. “I know it sounds mad, but it’s the truth. Can you imagine how she would have felt if they’d been discovered in those boxes?”
I straightened my spine. “Does my brother know of this? Does the captain of the guard?”
“What do you think? If the story reached me, you can be sure it also reached the captain of the guard. Yes, the king knows, and yes, the plan has been uncovered. Alexandra’s coffins were confiscated, and now she is being watched even more closely.”
“How angry is my brother? Will he—?”
“The king has done nothing.” Nada coughed and pressed a hand to her chest. She finished in a strangled voice, “The queen’s handmaid says he is trying to make peace with the queen’s mother because of the great love he bears for Mariamne.”
I rested my chin on my hand and considered this astounding news. Why hadn’t Herod told me about this? He might not want me to know such embarrassing news. He might have been humiliated by the lengths to which his mother-in-law had gone in order to escape his custody. He kept trying to protect her from herself, yet she insisted on making his life miserable. Alexandra complained to Cleopatra, who complained to Mark Antony, who complained to Herod. And Herod had so much more at stake than Alexandra. She suffered—if life in a palace could truly be called suffering—only because her seventeen-year-old son had not been made high priest. But Herod could suffer the loss of his kingdom, even his life, if Antony ceased to support him.
Alexandra’s escape plot might have been discovered, but I knew the woman well enough to realize she would not stop meddling until she had achieved her goal.
Reclining on my couch at another royal dinner, I sipped wine from a goblet and studied my brother over its rim. Herod seemed in a good mood, despite the distressing letter from Mark Antony. He had replied, of course, and made it clear he could not send young Aristobulus to Alexandria. Flying in the face of his mentor’s wish was taking a risk, but Herod was determined to take this one. Obeying Antony would be a far greater gamble than disobeying.
My poor brother—I could almost feel sorry for him. Mariamne, his greatest love, was also his greatest liability, for her family could undo him with very little effort. Alexandra, who still enjoyed favor and high regard from the Jews of Jerusalem, had done nothing but plot, plead, and complain ever since Herod appointed Ananel the Babylonian to the office of high priest. Why could she not understand why he could not appoint her son?
The boy’s age also worked against his appointment to the high office. At seventeen, Aristobulus did not meet the age requirement, for no Jewish high priest had ever been younger than twenty. When first faced with the problem of Alexandra’s determination on behalf of her son, Herod had written Hyrcanus, who had once been high priest himself, for suggestions, and Hyrcanus had nominated Ananel, a member of a priestly family in Babylon. The recommendation pleased Herod and so Ananel had been appointed.
Still, a far stronger reason lay behind Herod’s reluctance to place Aristobulus in that role, and that unspoken motive was what fueled Alexandra’s passionate desire to see her son in the lofty position. Like my brother, she knew Aristobulus would win the people’s hearts if he were placed in any position of authority. Though the Judeans had not always loved the Hasmonean kings and priests, the passing of several years had clouded their collective memory. They no longer remembered how the high priest and king Alexander Jannaeus had crucified eight hundred Pharisees on a single day, or how Judah Aristobulus had starved his mother to secure the throne.
Instea
d, they chose to recall the temperate reign of Salome Alexandra and the heroics of her ancestor, Judah Maccabaeus. They spoke wistfully of John Hyrcanus, who had conquered rich territories to the north and south, and of Simon, the first official prince of the Hasmonean dynasty.
Instead of remembering the later Hasmoneans as men who could be bloodthirsty, ambitious, and arrogant, the people memorialized them as wise, gentle, and strong. Instead of pointing out that the Hasmonean high priests had not come from the priestly line of Zadok, they told themselves that HaShem himself had chosen the Hasmonean priests and bestowed His blessing upon them.
Instead of praising Herod for bringing Hyrcanus II, Alexandra’s father and a former high priest, out of exile and back to Jerusalem, they reviled my brother for killing forty-five traitors in the Sanhedrin.
Certain my disdain was visible on my face, I covered my expression with my cup and drank again. My brother could be resolute and firm when he had to be, but he was not without feeling. Indeed, sometimes I found myself convinced that he suffered from an almost womanly excess of emotion. His love for Mariamne was dangerously volatile, and his desire to be loved by his people a constant torment to his soul.
For years I had advised him to cloak his deepest feelings. I had cautioned him yet again, just before we entered the triclinium for dinner.
I took a small loaf from a servant’s tray and nibbled at it, looking around to see who had not yet joined us. The heavily pregnant Mariamne was present, as was her elderly grandfather Hyrcanus, his remaining hair grown long to hide the deformity of his missing ears. Pheroras and Joseph had stretched out on couches facing each other. The captain of the guards stood by the door, ever alert.
I lifted my head when Alexandra entered the room, followed by a pair of servants who carried the train of her gown. They helped her arrange her garment on her couch, then backed away, their hands on their knees as they bowed before her.
I felt the corner of my mouth twist. No one else forced their slaves to bow before them, especially not when the king was present. But even now, Alexandra insisted on behaving as though she were royalty.
