King's Shadow: A Novel of King Herod's Court

by Angela Hunt

  “Like a manservant?”

  “At first he was in charge of the treasury. But the king was gentle and unassertive, so he allowed Antipater to control the soldiers, too. Antipater helped Julius Caesar in Egypt, and he rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem. So his sons—Herod and Phasael—were made governors of territories in Judea, and after that they became even more powerful.”

  I nodded, but only the name Herod meant anything to me. “I’ve never heard of Phasael.”

  “Probably because he’s dead.”

  “Or Antipater.”

  “Murdered.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “One of the Jews close to Hyrcanus did not like Idumaeans. So one night, while at dinner with the king, he had a servant put poison into Antipater’s wine. He died later that night . . . in your mistress’s arms.”

  I gasped as my mind filled with the image of a frantic Salome with her dying father. “Who was that horrible man?”

  Mava looked around before answering. “Malchus. He’s dead now—also murdered—but no matter. After all that, the Romans gave Herod and Phasael the authority to rule, and now Herod rules Judea alone. So his family did not start out as royal; the Romans made them so.”

  I told Mava I had to go, as the hour was getting late. Climbing the stairs to my mistress’s chamber, I felt nothing but sorrow for Herod’s beautiful sister. She was about the same age as my mother, yet she had no children. Her brother had married her to an old man who rarely spent time with her, and though she lived in a house filled with people, she often seemed lonely. What sort of life did Salome want? Did it differ from the life her brother had arranged?

  I did not know, but I found myself praying that somehow HaShem might use me to bring my mistress a measure of happiness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Salome

  I propped my chin in my hand as I watched Joseph follow my handmaid out of my bedchamber. I was not certain what my husband had in mind when he engaged her. I winced to think he wanted to give me the Jewish girl to command because I could not command my sister-in-law. Regardless, I found myself liking the child. How could I not? Zara was still innocent, and thus far my heart felt nothing but tenderness toward her. She always seemed agreeable and willing to please, and what woman would not appreciate someone who honestly wanted to help?

  I rose from my stool, wrapped a himation around my unsettled hair, and went in search of my brother. Despite Herod’s brilliant renovations, the palace that had served several Judean high priests and kings seemed small and dilapidated, and I could not wait to be away from it.

  Time enough for the new palace later. First Herod had to solidify his grip on the throne, make himself indispensable to Mark Antony, and father enough sons to ensure a dynasty. My job was to help him do those things by making sure no one stood in his way.

  I walked to the wing that housed the king’s apartment, climbed the curving staircase, and paused outside the door to Herod’s bedchamber. Another woman stood there as well, and my spine stiffened when she turned—Alexandra.

  “Salome.”

  Since she greeted me without a single extraneous word, I responded with the same economy of speech. “Alexandra.”

  “Today is a day for celebration.” The woman brought her hands together. “Today my son will be anointed as high priest. Surely this will endear the king to all the people of Judea.”

  My mouth twisted in bitter amusement. “A day for celebration indeed.”

  The woman was right about one thing—the people would be thrilled to have Aristobulus as high priest because he was handsome, with curly dark hair, snapping eyes, and a well-formed body. The people were accustomed to seeing old men in the office of high priest, and to see a youth with only the merest suggestion of a beard . . .

  “The people will be pleased,” I admitted. “Though I’m not certain the Jews will love the king any better. Some might believe this was your idea.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “I daresay Mariamne suggested it to the king first, and he granted her request on account of his great love for her. Ananel is no longer high priest, and Aristobulus holds the post he should have inherited months ago.” Her smile broadened. “Such is the power of love.”

  A sharp retort sprang to my lips, but at that instant the door flew open and Herod walked out of the chamber, his head down, his eyes intent on the stairs. He did not pause to speak to me or his mother-in-law but hurried down the steps, his sandals slapping the polished stone.

  Leaving Alexandra to gloat with her daughter, I hurried after my brother.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zara

  Summer eased into fall, the farmers went into the fields to collect the harvest, and the Feast of Tabernacles began. The priests offered up seventy bullocks for the seventy known nations of the world, and on the festival’s first night the Levites lit the four golden candelabra that stood on bases fifty cubits high. Each candelabrum had four branches, and each branch supported a large basin in which rested a twisted wick made from holy garments the priests had worn in previous years. When the great wicks were lit, the intense light brightened much of the city, including the courtyard of the king’s palace.

  I stood in the courtyard and pressed my hands together, remembering Sukkot celebrations with my mother and father. The city streets were always crowded at the Feast of Tabernacles, for Jewish pilgrims came from all over the world to celebrate with other Jews. Makeshift booths lined the streets, propped up by walls, sticks, and carts, all of us leaving our homes for temporary dwellings lest we forget how we once wandered in the wilderness.

  Herod’s household kept the commandment, but their tents were nothing like the ones I used to make with Ima and Abba. My mother had used rough cloth or a lambskin, and Salome instructed her servants to create tents of colorfully striped fabrics and hang them from elaborate systems of poles and ropes. By the time they had finished, the tents were works of art, and even Mariamne was impressed. For a week the royal family moved their chairs and beds into the Sukkot tents, where they feasted on delicious fruits, roasted lamb, and the finest wines.

  As the week of celebration drew to a close, my mistress said she would not need me on the last day of the festival, though I was welcome if I wanted to join her for a trip to Jericho. I bit my lip and considered briefly, then said I would like to visit my family while she was away. She nodded, apparently pleased with my answer.

  I left the palace before sunrise on the last day of the festival and walked briskly through the cobbled streets until I reached Aunt Rimonah’s home. I knocked on the door and let myself in, waking them. Ima and Rimonah were startled to see me, but after exclaiming over my fine clothes and my generally healthful appearance, they hugged me through happy tears.

  “We have missed you,” Aunt Rimonah said.

  “But here you are,” Ima added, pinching my cheek. “Growing tall and looking as rosy as a sunset.”

  The words seemed out of place in this house, for Ima did not look rosy or well. She was thinner than when I had last seen her. Her legs were like branches and her arms like twigs. Her skin seemed to hang on her bones, and when I looked up and saw Rimonah studying me with an intense expression, I realized my aunt was waiting for me to see what she did not want to tell me: Ima was dying.

  “It was good of you to come,” Rimonah whispered, bending close as she squeezed my arm. “You have answered your mother’s prayers.”

  My heart had contracted so tightly I could barely draw breath to speak, yet I forced the words over my tongue, “I am glad I could come.”

  Ima would not want me to be sad on what might be our last day together, so I shoved my sad thoughts into a corner of my mind and determined to be cheerful on this festival day. Aunt Rimonah had procured the citron, palm, myrtle, and willow branches for the Sukkot celebration, so we bound the branches together for our visit to the Temple.

  “You have come just in time,” Rimonah said. “We are going to the water-drawing ceremony. This will be the first time we see th
e ceremony performed by our new high priest.”

  My heart began to race. “Aristobulus?”

  Rimonah nodded. “We have not seen much of him. Either I have no one to carry your mother inside or the crowds are too large and we find ourselves in the back of the sanctuary. I am hoping things will be different today.”

  I nodded. “I might be able to help.”

  Rimonah tilted her head. “You?”

  “My mistress . . . I could use her name. Perhaps we could go through another entrance.”

  Rimonah’s eyes glowed. “We would be grateful if you would try.”

  Our neighbors, Rachel and Reuben, agreed to travel to the Temple with us. Reuben, whose broad shoulders and thick arms were used to carrying sheep, carried my mother as we joined the stream of worshipers on their way to the special service.

  We knew what had already transpired on this holy day. Before daybreak, as I was walking to Aunt Rimonah’s house, a group of Levites and priests had gone down to the spring of Siloam and filled a large golden ewer with fresh water. After the morning sacrifice, the high priest would pour the water on the altar to cleanse it. If we timed our arrival perfectly, we should enter the Temple about the same time as the Levites’ procession. Aristobulus should be with them, so we might see him . . .

  All around us, the people buzzed with happy congratulations and whispers. “At last! We will celebrate Sukkoth with a priest from the royal family!” “A true Jew, not a foreigner!” “Salome Alexandra must be smiling to see her great-grandson carrying the golden ewer!”

  We did not see the Levites, but when we reached the Temple I pointed to a small door near the front of the sanctuary. While no crowds stood outside it, I knew it opened to an area near the altar. It would be a good place to observe the water ritual, and from there we would all see Aristobulus.

  A Levite at the door frowned as we approached. “Who are you?” he asked, looking at Reuben.

  “Please, sir,” I said.

  He looked down at me, a suggestion of annoyance marking his face.

  “I am servant to Salome, sister to Herod the king. This woman is my mother, and she would like to see the water ceremony.” I lifted my chin, daring to look directly at him, and something in my words or attitude must have worked on his heart. After only a moment’s hesitation, he stepped aside and opened the door, allowing us—me, Ima, Rimonah, Rachel, and Reuben—to enter.

  The area before the altar was already crowded. Reuben shouldered his way through, with the rest of us following in his wake. Finally we stopped at a place where we would have an unobstructed view of our new high priest, our cohen gadol.

  We had just settled in our places when the trumpets sounded and the Levitical procession entered the Temple. The people burst into enthusiastic shouting, their lulavs waving as Aristobulus led the way to the altar, carrying the widemouthed pitcher of gold.

  I knew I ought to appreciate everything—the musicians, the gleaming candelabra, the other Levites—and yet I could not tear my eyes from our handsome high priest. Never had such a beautiful man filled out those robes, I was certain of it. His cheeks glowed with youth, his curls clung to his forehead, damp with perspiration from his walk, and his teeth shone whole and white against his tanned skin. The crowd roared their approval as he came in, which only broadened his smile, and when he climbed the steps to the altar, the sound of the adoring people nearly drowned out the musicians, which were playing with all their might.

  Then the high priest stepped forward, his eyes sparkling above his dark blue robes, his height making him easily visible over the altar. He offered the prayers, lifted the laver, and poured the water onto the sacred stone. But instead of responding with prayers of their own, the people chanted his praises: “Blessed be Aristobulus of the Hasmoneans! Blessed be the heir of Judah Maccabaeus! May HaShem make you fruitful as a tree planted by living waters!”

  The young man responded with a smile that only enhanced his natural appeal. I gasped and studied his face, marveling that any man could appear so pleasing even from a distance. He looked very much like his sister, and no wonder. At only seventeen, his face had not yet developed the paunchy flesh and heavy jowls that marked most older men.

  But his beauty was more than external. I had seen him up close, and from living at the palace where I talked with those who served him, I knew him to be kind and good, a student of the Torah, and a youth devoted to serving HaShem.

  All things were still possible, and my mother’s dream might yet come true. One day Aristobulus and I might meet. We might like each other. We might marry . . .

  I lifted my voice and joined the chorus of praise that echoed against the timbers of the Temple ceiling. Only after Aristobulus departed, a train of jubilant Levites and priests following him, did the supportive shouting subside.

  I turned, about to lead our small party home, when my eyes happened to glance at the balcony where the king and his family sat. They remained in place, their faces stiff and pale, and though Salome and the brothers wore awkward, unnatural smiles, the look on King Herod’s face was anything but joyful or supportive.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Salome

  With one glance at my brother, I realized he had not been pleased by the events of the morning. He had hoped Aristobulus’s appointment to the office of high priest would placate the people and help them love their new king, but their noisome praise at the Temple service was for Aristobulus alone. Their shouts were salt in an open wound. My brother wanted nothing more than to be loved by his people, who looked upon him with scorn while openly adoring the boy. And what had the boy done to merit such adoration? Nothing. Nothing but to be born handsome, tall, and Hasmonean.

  We left the balcony where we had observed the water ceremony and walked out to where our litter-bearers waited. The king’s guards kept the crowds away, and I was glad Herod would not have to hear the praise spilling from Jewish lips.

  I looked up when someone nudged my arm. Alexandra, her face wreathed in a smile, was glowing as she walked up with Mariamne. “Did he not do an outstanding job?” she said, her voice pitched a note higher than usual. “Your brother seemed so at home next to the altar, Mariamne. HaShem obviously intended him to be our high priest.”

  She inclined her head toward Herod, who walked ahead of us. “You were wise, O king, to remove Ananel and appoint Aristobulus as our cohen gadol. And I am delighted to continue our celebration at my palace in Jericho. The pool will feel lovely in this heat, and my servants are preparing a grand feast.”

  Mariamne left her mother’s side and walked to Herod, her eyes shining as she took his arm. “Please say you will ride with us, my husband. I would love to talk about Aristobulus.”

  Herod sighed as he glanced over his shoulder and caught my gaze. “What can I say?” Then he looked at his wife. “I will attend your mother’s feast, Mariamne, and I will go to Jericho. But I will ride with my men.”

  I steeled myself for the afternoon to come. At Alexandra’s house, which felt like enemy territory, I would have to pretend to have a good time while Alexandra and Mariamne flaunted their success, their wealth, and their family nobility. My brothers and I would bear their subtle barbs without comment, but by the end of the day, we would all be snappish and ready to return to Jerusalem.

  Perhaps I would skip the feast and nap in my chamber instead. Zara could bring me something from the kitchen when she returned.

  After all, what was it Solomon once said? “Better a meal of vegetables where there is love than a fattened ox where there is hatred.”

  When I told Joseph I wanted to stay behind, he responded with unusual curtness. “You cannot,” he said, giving me a look of disbelief. “Your absence would be noted, and we would never hear the end of it.”

  “What if I had a headache?”

  He shook his head. “You did not have one this morning.”

  “They can come on suddenly.”

  “And they can fade away. Gird up your courage, Salome, and r
esign yourself to the journey. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return.”

  I thought we would depart for Jericho almost immediately, but Herod had other plans. While Joseph and I waited in the entry, impatient to be under way, Herod decided to invite some Idumaean friends to join us in Jericho. He sent runners to fetch those young men, and once they arrived, breathless and sweating in the heat, he summoned them to his chamber for wine and food before the journey.

  “He feeds them before we leave for a feast?” I asked Joseph, who was nearly as impatient as I. “Does he intend to spend the entire day in Jericho?”

  Apparently he did, for the sun had reached its zenith by the time Herod and his friends left his chamber and headed for the stable. The men would travel on horseback, flanking Herod in his chariot. I would follow in my coach, accompanied by Joseph and one of the female slaves. I found myself wishing I’d asked Zara to return early, for her quiet company soothed me. She was still with her family, however, and it was too late to send someone to bring her back in time.

  At least I would not be traveling with Mariamne, as she and her mother had gone ahead to oversee preparations for the feast. Herod might be missing his beautiful wife, but I was grateful for her absence. During the journey, at least, I would not have my ears burdened with excessive praise for the boy priest.

  As I climbed into my coach, I realized the fledgling priest had probably already reached Jericho. With his head full of accolades, the lad was probably lapping up his mother’s and sister’s adoration. By the time we arrived, he would be sour with the stink of flattery.

  Once Joseph climbed into the carriage and shut the door, I sank back on the cushions and closed my eyes, hoping the day would pass quickly.

  Alexandra’s winter home had been known as the twin palaces of Jericho, the two identical palaces Salome Alexandra built for her sons, Hyrcanus and Aristobulus. Her sons had been rivals in everything, and despite her efforts to deal with them evenly, the young men were never satisfied with what they received from her. Even at the queen’s death, her chosen heir, Hyrcanus, was attacked almost immediately by his brother, who coveted the throne.