by Angela Hunt
“They don’t know?” I asked. “Where . . . where have they been?”
“With Alexandra.” Mother finally met my gaze. “And I can only imagine what she has told them. If they do not hate their father now, they will soon enough.”
I turned away to consider the situation. Someone would have to tell the boys the truth, and soon. That someone should be their father. If not Herod, then Pheroras or me. We should not leave this responsibility to Alexandra.
I faced my mother again. “Alexandra will still be a problem, and she should not have so much time with Herod’s sons. Has she done anything we could bring to Herod’s attention? If not, perhaps we could invent a story . . .”
Mother harrumphed. “We will not have to invent anything. That woman will commit treason on her own, wait and see. She is as distressed as Herod is now but in far less control of her reason. Give her time, daughter, and she will be the architect of her own undoing.”
“Good.” I managed a smile and rubbed my pregnant belly. “Because when Alexandra falls, the fault must be her own—not Herod’s.”
As always, my mother was right—we did not have to wait long.
Within days of Mariamne’s death, I gave birth to my second daughter. But Herod did not visit his new niece. Instead he remained locked inside his chamber, reportedly sick and in bed.
Costobar visited him one afternoon and returned with sad news. “His affections for Mariamne are kindled anew, even more outrageous than before.” He sat on the bed so he could hold his new daughter. “His love for her was never of a placid nature.”
“Like yours for me?” I asked, testing.
He gave me a smile. “It is exactly as you say. But now he feels he is suffering the pangs of love as divine vengeance for taking her life.”
I bit my lip, at a loss for suggestions about how to help him. But someone had to do something—a king afflicted by this sort of weakness would not remain king for long. Had not we learned that lesson from Hyrcanus? I looked at Costobar. “Did you try to help him?”
“I suggested he try to distract himself from his troubling thoughts—have a feast, convene an assembly, those sorts of things. I reminded him that he must see to the administration of public affairs. He cannot afford to remain locked in his room, calling for a woman who will not answer.” Costobar sighed. “And the pestilence is not helping matters.”
Alarm spurted through my bloodstream. “What pestilence?”
“Ah, you have been confined, so you would not know. A pestilence has come over the city—a disease that has already claimed many, including some of Herod’s most esteemed friends. When he comes out of hiding, he will be shocked to discover how many supporters he has lost.”
I glanced toward the window, where Jerusalem stretched from the sill to the hills beyond. “What kind of disease is it?”
“The people die quickly, and the doctors cannot stop it. Many are saying this is HaShem’s punishment for the injustice done to Mariamne.”
“That’s not good. Herod must not hear that.”
“He will hear it. As soon as he begins to go out among the people, he will not be able to escape the reports.”
“Then . . . let us take him to Samaria. The air is sweeter there, and my brother has always liked the city. He can recover in Samaria.”
I made plans for our immediate departure. I thought Herod would protest, unwilling to leave the palace where Mariamne had lived, but he did not protest. The next morning our retinue left Jerusalem and the epidemic spreading through the city. Once we reached Samaria, Herod went to his room and closed the door. I gestured to Costobar, urging him to persuade Herod to rejoin the land of the living.
Over the next few weeks, I watched as Herod tried to follow Costobar’s advice. He held elaborate feasts for nobles and the leading families of Samaria, yet the atmosphere at these feasts was anything but festive. He held public assemblies to discuss his plans for the region. Sadly, a noticeable lack of enthusiasm for his ideas hampered his presentation and left the people confused.
One afternoon I went in search of my brother and found his chamber empty. “Where is the king?” I asked a servant. “Has he gone riding?”
The man shook his head. “He says he’s gone hunting, though I do not think he will get anything.”
I frowned. “Why not? He is good with a bow—”
“He went hunting in the desert, lady. And he took only one servant with him.”
“Why is that so odd? I know the king’s hunting parties are usually large, but if a man prefers solitude—”
“If a hunter kills a deer, how is one servant supposed to carry it and the king’s gear?”
How indeed?
I worried for the next two days, afraid Herod intended to stop beneath a tree and command his servant to kill him. Had he become so unhinged that he cared nothing for his life? Had some dark spirit taken possession of him? Or perhaps he imagined himself haunted by the sharp-tongued ghost of Mariamne . . .
My brother finally returned, with nothing to show for his efforts but a sunburn. The next morning he woke in great pain and commanded his servants to call the physician, who then summoned me.
“What is it?” I asked, rushing to my brother’s room. Herod lay on the bed, his eyes closed. I could not tell if he slept or was only pretending to sleep.
The physician stepped away from the royal bed and drew closer to me. “He has an inflammation,” he whispered, “and a pain in the back part of his head. Combined with the madness, it is a most severe condition.”
“What madness?”
The physician shot me a look of disbelief. “Surely you know, lady, that the king calls for his queen several times a day. And when she does not come, he breaks down and weeps bitter tears.”
I waved the comment away. “This will pass. Give him medicines. Make him well again.”
“We have tried, but the medicines cannot conquer a disease of the mind. And he is not eating. He says he is not hungry, but he cannot get well until he takes sustenance.”
I paced the room, thinking, then stopped and looked at the oblivious man on the bed. “Then we will wait until his appetite returns,” I said. “For as long as it takes, we will wait.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Zara
I was surprised when my mistress told me I did not have to go to Samaria. She wanted me to remain in Jerusalem and keep her children safely confined to the palace. I was not to allow them to venture into the city, where the pestilence held full sway, but to keep myself and the children healthy at all costs.
So I found myself in charge of Alexander, Herod, Berenice, Antipater, and the newest baby girl, who had not yet been given a name. Because I wanted to call the baby something, I called her Phebe, Greek for sparkling. She was a sweet infant, whose eyes sparkled when she smiled, and she smiled nearly all the time.
Mava remained at the palace as well, because Cypros had charged her with keeping an eye on Alexandra. “I have become a spy,” Mava told me when we met outside the kitchen.
“And I a nursemaid.” I shifted Phebe in my arms. “I’m only grateful Salome’s children are small and fond of sleep. The wet nurse cares for them several hours a day.” One of the cooks handed me a basket of bread and cheese, which I slipped over my arm and turned toward the stairs. “What is Alexandra doing while Herod is away?”
“I haven’t seen her,” Mava replied, falling into step beside me, “but she has been receiving guests. At first I thought they were friends coming to console her, but yesterday the captain of the Temple fortress came to her apartment. Why would she need to see him? I still don’t know, but he did not look happy when he came out of her chamber.”
“Have you heard her say anything . . . disloyal?”
Mava shook her head. “She will not speak when I am in the room. She is always sending me out on errands when she receives guests.”
I nodded while sorting through the possibilities. Alexandra could be up to anything, arranging a monument fo
r her dead children and father, asking for news about old friends, or planning a revolt. I couldn’t read the woman—few people could.
“Mava, will you send word to Cypros?”
“When I know something certain.” Mava bit her lip and looked through the open window at the city beyond. “The air around Alexandra feels heavy, like a summer day before a storm. If the storm breaks, keep your young charges safe. You might have to hide or disguise them.”
She did not need to explain herself. Both of us knew that if Alexandra attempted to spark a revolution, the first thing she would do was have her army kill the king’s family and his heirs. Herod had killed hers, but only after he had been provoked. Alexandra, however, would strike as swiftly as an adder.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Salome
I had just come in from breaking my fast on the balcony when I saw a messenger standing near the doorway of my apartment. I groaned, annoyed that my servant—an inferior handmaid compared to Zara—had granted him entrance. But the sight of a scroll in his hand piqued my curiosity.
I gestured to the scroll. “Is that for me?”
The man bent forward in a bow. “From the lady Alexandra, in Jerusalem. She bade me bring it to you with all haste.”
I accepted the scroll, then made a shooing gesture. “You may leave me now.”
“Should I wait for a reply?”
I shook my head. “I can’t think of anything I would say to that woman.”
When he had gone, I sat on a nearby bench and broke the seal. I unfurled the parchment and immediately recognized Alexandra’s handwriting.
Salome,
I have been entertaining loyal guests in the king’s absence, among them several sons of Baba, who have been loyal to the Hasmoneans since the time of Judah Maccabaeus. Knowing that at one time the king sought their lives, I asked how they had managed to remain safe. When one of them mentioned the noble man who had given safety and protection not to him only but to his entire family, I was delighted. I am certain the king will not be delighted, for the sons of Baba have been protected by someone dear to his heart, and yours as well. Their savior is none other than your husband, Costobar.
If you wish this secret to remain safe, you will not hinder me in the coming days. For the time has come for me to protect the legacy of the Jews’ royal family, and I will stop at nothing to accomplish my purpose. So if you wish to save your husband’s life, you will remain silent and at peace.
My hands trembled as I lowered the scroll. What had Costobar done this time? I knew little of the sons of Baba, but the name evoked a sense of familiarity. Something about the fall of Jerusalem, and Herod’s frustration in not being able to find the men who had garnered quite a reputation for courage and loyalty to the Hasmonean cause.
Alexandra’s intent was clear—she was about to take action, and if I warned Herod, she would bring his wrath down upon my husband, even perhaps upon my children and me. Would Herod believe I had been unaware of Costobar’s activity, or would he believe I had placed my husband’s welfare above his?
He would remember Costobar’s foolish attempt to persuade Cleopatra to set him over Idumea. I had said nothing about it, because I foolishly believed that two men could share authority. Herod might believe I had been so in love with Costobar that I had agreed not to reveal his involvement with the sons of Baba.
I rested my elbow on an armrest and chewed my thumbnail. If Alexandra was to set a revolt in motion, I would have to decisively counter it. But how could I when I had no idea what she was planning?
I went to the desk in the room and pulled parchment from a drawer, determined to write my mother.
Once again, my mother proved prescient. She had remained in Jerusalem to keep an eye on that woman, as she called Alexandra, and a week after we left for Samaria her instincts proved true.
After hearing about Herod’s illness, Alexandra realized her time had come. She wrote me, then sent for the commanders of the two fortified towers in Jerusalem—the Antonia Fortress adjacent to the Temple, and the Phasael tower attached to the city walls. She told the commanders they had the power to control the entire city. “Especially you,” she told the commander of the Temple fortress, “for the people would be more willing to lose their lives than to leave off the daily sacrifices.”
She then told the commanders it would be right and proper for them to deliver the fortresses to her and Herod’s sons, lest someone else should seize the government upon Herod’s death. “And if the king does not die,” she said, smiling, “who could keep the fortresses safer than someone from his own family?”
She must have expected the Jewish commanders to obey her without question, but both men soothed her and departed without committing to her demands. Both were loyal to Herod, and both thought it distasteful to predict the king’s death while he was still alive. One of them, Achiabas, sent messengers to Samaria and relayed Alexandra’s request.
I learned about Alexandra’s actions later, though I was sitting with my brother when he received the report from the Antonia’s commander. By that time Herod was better, but far from well, still sorely afflicted in mind and body.
When he heard what Alexandra had done and how she intended to involve his sons in her treasonous maneuver, he gave the order to have her slain. “And I,” he said, throwing the covers off his pale, inflamed skin, “must get back to Jerusalem. The palace needs a good housecleaning.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Zara
For at least a year after the queen’s execution, those of us who lived in the palace felt as though we walked atop a sharp, thin blade. Lean too far toward either side and you were likely to be injured.
Once the king returned from Samaria, still weak but having regained the fire in his soul, he executed anyone he had ever suspected of disloyalty, including some who had proven their faithfulness time and again. Alexandra was the first to die, followed by others, even men from the king’s court. Those Herod did not kill had to swear a loyalty oath, and rumors of secret spies abounded. “They wander through the streets of Jerusalem,” Mava told me in a frightened whisper, “and report those who speak against the king.”
I had heard such things before and wondered why Salome, who counseled her brother in all matters, did not try to soothe his temper. But after returning from Samaria, she kept a careful distance from him, preferring to spend her time with her children or her mother. Because I did not have to dress and do her hair nearly so often anymore, I had time to pursue interests of my own—a luxury I had not known since childhood
Spurred by curiosity and an urge I could not define, I asked Mava to go with me to a Torah study in the city. Grateful for any opportunity to escape the palace, she agreed at once. Her brother told us the location of a home meeting where women were welcome, so we went together. The Torah teacher, I was thrilled to learn, was Ravid.
After we arrived at the modest house, I nodded politely at Mava’s brother, then moved a little closer to my friend. Except for our host’s wife, we were the only women present, and our hostess did not seem exceptionally friendly. She kept her head down as she welcomed us, offering cups of cool water for the thirsty and a basin for washing dusty feet.
By the time the lamps were lit, everyone had found a place to sit. Mava’s brother sat on a pillow at her right, leaving me on her left. I was thankful Mava’s brother was present. Mava had a tendency to talk, so if she whispered to her brother, I would not be distracted from Ravid’s teaching.
“Welcome,” he said, bouncing on his feet as he stood before us. “I am glad you have come to learn more about the time that is coming.” His gaze swung across the room, lingering for a moment on me and Mava. “I am happy to see two women have joined us,” he added, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “The Word of God is available to anyone who has a heart to hear it.”
He bowed his head and led us in an informal prayer. When he finished, he sat on a stool and opened a scroll. “What I am about to tell yo
u comes from the Teacher of Righteousness,” he said, glancing up at us. “We believe he is a prophet who has been given truth and insight into things to come. Listen and let his words speak to you.”
Heads nodded across the room as Ravid gripped the scroll and began to read. “‘We are living in a time of great turmoil,’” he began. “‘And Israel will be delivered by two Messiahs. We have seen what happens when a man is high priest and king; the power of the king corrupts the holiness of the high priest. But we look for a royal Messiah, a son of King David; and a priestly Messiah from the line of Aaron. He will bring us back to God while the Son of Man rules the nations and brings them to judgment. He has always existed, even from the time before time, and He is the Son of God.’”
I lifted my head, startled. I had never heard such teachings—not from a Torah teacher and certainly not from my father. From where did such ideas come?
“‘Our warrior king,’” Ravid read on, “‘will gather the scattered people of Israel into their Promised Land and rule them in innocence and justice, subduing all other nations. But our priestly Messiah will reconcile us to God and forgive our many sins.’”
Murmurs of agreement rippled throughout the room.
“You all know,” Ravid continued, looking up from the scroll, “how HaShem chose to enter into a covenant with Israel. But years later our fathers disobeyed HaShem, and He sent our people into exile, rejecting them because they broke covenant with Him. But HaShem has always preserved a remnant, and even though Judea is now filled with the children of Abraham, most of them do not live in covenant with Adonai. They mind the sacrifices and follow the Law with great zeal, yet their hearts are dark and rebellious and do not seek to love and obey Adonai. Even so, the remnant remains, and God will create a new covenant with them. All those who hear His voice will be the circumcised of heart, and we will recognize the Messiahs when they come.”
