by Angela Hunt
“And you are beautiful.” He kissed my ear, my neck, and the hollow between my breasts.
And as he made his intentions clear, I clung to my husband and prayed this would be the night Adonai worked a miracle and gave us a son.
Chapter Forty-Four
Salome
Antipater!” I strode toward my nephew with open arms, but his disgruntled expression did not soften. I gave him a hug, then stepped back. “How you have grown! How is your mother?”
His smile was as thin as barley water. “She is well.”
“It is so good to see you. I am glad you accepted my invitation—I have been wanting to introduce you to your cousins. And my new husband.”
“You have married again?”
“For two years now. The marriage was your father’s idea. I was opposed at first, but now I am glad of it. Alexas is a good man.”
“I hear—” Antipater paused and looked around—“that Pheroras’s wife died.”
“She did. I’m sure he is still grieving her loss.”
“I also heard Father offered him my sister Salampsio as a wife, and Pheroras refused her.”
I drew a deep breath, not wanting to wade into troubled waters so soon. “Pheroras has a mind of his own. Perhaps he is not ready to remarry.”
“Is that why he also turned down my sister Cypros?”
“I cannot read my brother’s mind, nephew. As I said, perhaps he is still grieving.”
The young man’s mouth dipped into a frown. “He is brave, turning down the gift of a king’s daughter.”
“Pheroras is your uncle. Surely he deserves a measure of understanding.”
Antipater sighed, then glanced over his shoulder. “Has Father . . . does he care that I have come?”
“Of course he cares! But he is away now, off with his engineers to discuss one of his many building projects. I thought it would be good for you to meet my children while we are together. Later you will have time to meet your father’s new wives and children. Come, let me take you to my chambers.”
I babbled thoughtlessly as we walked through the palace courtyard, speaking of my children and their mediocre accomplishments and talents. In truth, I had summoned Antipater to the palace for his sake, not for the benefit of my children. My offspring, lovely as they were, were not the sons of a king, yet Antipater was. As long as Herod lavished his love and attention on Mariamne’s sons, I would focus on Antipater. If neither Alexander nor Aristobulus could inherit Herod’s throne, then Herod’s firstborn ought to be king.
I linked my arm through my nephew’s, and for the first time I realized I was not speaking with the boy I remembered but with a man of twenty-seven years. And what a man he had become! He had finally developed his mother’s good looks, and his shoulders had broadened since I last saw him.
“How you have grown! The last time I saw you, you barely came up to my shoulder. But now you are as tall as I am.”
“Taller.” He gave me a tight smile. “I believe I am the tallest of Father’s sons.”
I did not think he was right, but I did not want to invite comparisons. So I smiled and changed the subject. “What do you hear from your brothers in Rome? Surely Alexander and Aristobulus write you on occasion.”
“They do not. They have never written me.”
“Really?” I pressed my hand to my chest, feigning horror. “I would have thought they had better manners. Their mother was always adamant about the way things should be done.”
“I still do not understand why they live with the Roman emperor while I live in exile with—”
“Your mother?” I finished his sentence with a sweet smile. “Think no more about it, Antipater. Your father never sat for lessons in Rome and look how clever he is. He enrolled in the school of life, and his natural abilities helped him rise. You have those same abilities and will rise, as well. As for being in exile, are you not in the palace now?”
“Am I?”
“You are, and I am going to make certain you stay. It is only right. You are the firstborn, after all.”
He stopped and turned. “Father has probably forgotten I exist. He has not sent for me in years, and yet he sends Mariamne’s children to Rome. He does not write my mother or inquire after her health—”
“You must be patient.” I looked him directly in the eyes and lowered my voice. “These things must not be rushed.”
He stared at me, an almost imperceptible note of pleading in his expression, and for a moment I glimpsed the little boy inside him.
A wave of maternal feeling swept over me. “Did you know you have always been my favorite nephew?” I patted his arm. “Come, let us find your cousins and my husband. Then we will talk about your future.”
I smiled at Zara, who bowed before Antipater, and I breathed in the aroma of the roasted chicken and vegetables she set on the table. “Ah, that smells wonderful. Thank you, Zara. You may go now; Antipater and I will take care of ourselves for the rest of the evening.”
Zara gave me a quick smile, then hurried to grab her head covering and depart.
“Your servant leaves every night?” Antipater asked, reaching for a chicken leg.
“She is married now. Rather than lose her, I asked her to stay until she has her first child. After that, I will have to find another handmaid, though good servants are hard to find.”
“If you say so.” Antipater took a bite of chicken and looked around as he chewed. “Must be pleasant to live in the palace.”
“You could live here too, but you cannot be so contentious.” I leaned forward, determined to talk sense into the young man. “I’m glad you have come, Antipater. But you must understand—the invitation came from me, not your father. He is infatuated with his sons by Mariamne, but I do not believe it is fair for him to ignore you. So I want to bring you back to court, perhaps with your mother. Before I do, I need you to promise you will make a genuine effort.”
Antipater’s face twisted. “What makes you think I would not?”
“Your countenance, for one thing. You have grown into a respectable young man, strong and attractive, yet your face sours every time your father’s name is mentioned. You will have to work hard not to let your countenance reveal your bitterness. And you will have to learn how to get along with Alexander and Aristobulus . . . for a while, at least.”
At the mention of those names, his face twisted in a scowl.
“See? Anyone who saw you at this moment would know you despise your brothers.”
“Half brothers.”
“Brothers. For your sake, you had better learn to see them as close kinsmen. Right now your father is surrounded with babies and young wives, so I am sure he would welcome the sight of his mature firstborn. You have an advantage—Mariamne’s sons are in Rome, but you are here.”
Antipater chewed slowly, his eyes narrowing as he considered my words. After swallowing, he folded his hands. “You really believe you could restore me to favor?”
“Everything will depend on you,” I said. “But yes, this was your grandmother’s dying wish. She made me swear I would do all I could to prevent the throne from falling back into Hasmonean hands.”
His brows lifted while a trace of softness came to his eyes, and for the first time I saw hope there. “Grandmother always loved me.”
“She did. And given time, I know I can persuade Herod to invite you to resume your place at the palace. After that, you must win his heart and his confidence.”
Antipater chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then smiled. “Then, dear Aunt Salome, plead my case before the king, and I will do all I can to be a model son.”
“That is all I ask.” I leaned back and felt tension leave my shoulders. The promise I gave Mother had been weighing on me for months, and at first I had no idea how to weaken Herod’s love for Mariamne’s sons. Then I remembered Antipater—if he rose to the challenge, he could sway the king’s heart and ensure a Herodian dynasty.
“There is one thing you must do to pr
epare for your future,” I said, studying his expression. “You must marry a suitable wife.”
“And who decides who is suitable?”
“I do, for I know how your father thinks.”
Antipater’s lips curved in a sour smile. “Do I have no say in the matter?”
“Not if you want to be king of Judea.”
He blew out a breath. “Have you found a suitable candidate?”
“I have. She is not yet old enough to marry, but we could arrange a betrothal. Her royal father is dead, and her mother will be eager to make a good match.”
Interest flickered in Antipater’s eyes. “Is she beautiful?”
“You are so much like your father.”
“But is she?”
“She is. And her name is Mariamne, the third of that name in her family. Her father was Antigonus, the Hasmonean king your father defeated when he took Jerusalem.”
Antipater made a moue of distaste. “You want me to marry one of them? I thought you despised the Hasmoneans.”
“Your father will be charmed by the girl’s name, and you will appreciate her beauty. The Hasmonean connection will win the approval of the people. Besides”—I reached for the pitcher and poured more wine—“the king rules the kingdom, not the queen. Never forget that.”
Antipater held out his cup. “You have done a great deal of thinking about this.”
“Of course. I had hoped Mariamne’s sons would do something to displease their father, but they have been in Rome and out of reach. Still, the king is growing older, so it is time to make preparation for the future.”
“How old is Father now?”
“He is fifty-five, but life is a fragile thing. One must always be prepared.” I picked up my cup, held it aloft, and smiled at my nephew. “Let us drink to Judea’s future king. May he be true to his father and his father’s heritage.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Salome
Antipater proved as good as his word. Over the next several months he met and married Mariamne, daughter of Antigonus, and wrote his father often, stating his willingness to serve in any way, no matter how humble the service. While Herod approved of this, he did not invite his firstborn to live in Jerusalem, despite my urging him to. His head and heart were too full of Alexander and Aristobulus, for they had finished their Roman education and were ready to come home.
Herod invited me and Alexas, my husband, on the journey to bring the young men back to Judea. We would travel with the king’s retinue, which now included a new wife, Elpis. I was allowed to bring my children, who were delighted to finally visit Rome.
Alexander and Aristobulus had been away only five years, yet those years had been formative. Mariamne’s sons were now educated, steeped in Roman and Greek culture, and far more sophisticated than even their father. They were wealthy, intimate with the emperor and his family, and known for being of royal blood.
Five minutes after I greeted them, I felt the first frisson of fear. Standing on a marble portico with Augustus and his wife, these two young men outshone their father and all their siblings. Anyone who spent more than three minutes with them would see it. Though Augustus and Livia took great pains to make us feel welcome, I felt like an unpolished schoolgirl in their presence, and Herod seemed a blustering and bellicose pretender.
Mariamne’s sons, on the other hand, seemed to have been born into nobility. They laughed easily with the emperor, joked with Livia, and spoke of hunting with Marcus Agrippa, now co-regent with Augustus. They treated Herod with respectful civility and embraced me as a beloved aunt, yet my skin crawled at their touch. The six of us exchanging pleasantries and greetings felt wrong somehow.
I sighed with relief when we boarded the ship that would ferry us back to Judea. We carried not only Mariamne’s two living sons but also her third son, Herod, who had died in Rome. We would bury him in the same tomb where his mother and grandmother lay.
I stood on the deck and stared at the sun-spangled sea, which slapped rhythmically against the barnacle-covered timbers of the docks. I knew I would feel like myself again once we were away from Rome and I would no longer have to worry about the appropriateness of every word and gesture. But would I have to worry about my nephews?
Mariamne’s sons had been only six and seven when their mother died, but they were older now, and surely they had asked Augustus about their mother’s trial. They must have learned about Herod’s breakdown after her death, and they might have heard rumors that my mother and I were instrumental in seeing her brought to trial.
Now that they were older and on the verge of attaining power, would they seek revenge? Did I need to worry about them? Did Herod?
The illusion of peace in our family began to fray as soon as we stepped off the ship at Caesarea. As Alexander and Aristobulus walked through the streets, people stopped and cheered, just as they had shouted praise for Alexandra’s son Aristobulus after he conducted the Water Ceremony at the festival of Sukkot.
A thrill of fear rattled me, carrying me back to that dark day. I could almost hear Alexandra laughing in anticipation of the revenge that would be hers when Mariamne’s sons held the reins of power in Judea. With Herod gone and Augustus as their friend, what wouldn’t they be able to do?
I did not see much of Mariamne’s sons once we returned to Jerusalem, but I could not help but wonder what they were about. Herod embarked on his plans for them. First on his agenda was marriage, so he arranged the marriage of Alexander to Glaphyra, the Gentile daughter of the king of Cappadocia. He married Aristobulus to my daughter, Berenice.
I had mixed feelings about becoming mother-in-law to one of Mariamne’s sons. Did Aristobulus secretly hate me? Would he make my daughter suffer on my account? I would have begged Herod to find Aristobulus another wife, except Berenice was thrilled by the thought of marrying her handsome cousin, and Herod had made up his mind. “The best for the best,” he had said.
And my brother, once set on a course of action, did not waver.
As time passed, however, Herod’s joy over his sons’ return faded, replaced by uneasy trepidation. Though he had appeared confident when he welcomed his sons home, he began to ponder what action the young men might take to avenge their mother. Insistent rumors did not help, as his spies reported that certain people were predicting his newly arrived sons were merely waiting for him to display a moment of weakness. Then they would turn against their father because of what he had done to their mother.
While Herod spoke of his concerns to me, he did not speak of them publicly, nor did he share them with Pheroras, of whom we saw little in those days.
Herod’s affection for Mariamne’s sons began to wane. Not everyone could see it, but I certainly could. This stirred odd feelings in me, for while I wanted Antipater’s star to rise, I did not want Mariamne’s sons to suffer unnecessarily.
When I suggested that perhaps it was time we brought Antipater and his wife to live at the palace, Herod quickly agreed. “I would like to get to know my firstborn son,” he said, his countenance brightening. “And why not invite Doris to return to Jerusalem, too.”
I bowed my head. “Antipater would love to have his mother close. They have become quite attached through the years.”
“Hmm.” Herod’s eyes grew thoughtful. “I haven’t seen her in so long . . . do you think she has changed?”
“We all change,” I reminded him. “But she was a beautiful woman. I’m sure she is still lovely.”
That night at dinner I nearly dropped my wine when I heard Herod tell Alexander and Aristobulus to beware—their succession was not certain.
Alexander gaped in bewilderment. “But, Father, I have seen your will. You named me as heir and promised another role to Aristobulus.”
“Augustus has given me the power to name my own successor,” Herod said, hunkering over his dinner as he stared at his son. “I will write as many wills as I choose.”
Alexander cast a worried look at his brother, while Glaphyra, his bride, appeared
close to tears. Berenice glanced at me, her face a study in confusion, and I shook my head slightly. Do not worry, love.
“Brother,” Pheroras said, unsteadily holding his wine cup, “I heard something disturbing in the street today.”
Herod lifted a brow. “What did you hear?”
Pheroras turned to Alexander. “I heard that this one has employed a man to interview all who were present at Mariamne’s trial.”
Herod’s face went ashen. “Why . . . why would you do such a thing?” he stammered, glaring at Alexander. “What is on your mind? If you have a question, you have only to ask me.”
“I did not employ anyone.” Alexander’s square jaw tensed. “If I am lying, may HaShem strike me—”
“We know you would never do such a thing,” Antipater interrupted, standing. “You are a noble son of a noble father. You would never resort to such dealings.”
Alexander frowned and nodded. “You are right.”
I stared at Antipater, perplexed. Later, when we had finished eating and the king had retired to one of his wife’s chambers, I caught Antipater in the hallway.
“Why did you defend Alexander?” I asked. “If he has employed a man to uncover the details of his mother’s trial, this could be just the thing we need to turn your father’s favor—”
“He did not hire anyone.” Antipater grinned. “I know he did not.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “Have you spies of your own now? How do you know this?”
“Because I started the rumor.” Antipater’s eyes danced. “I paid a man to talk to Pheroras and two or three of the king’s other spies. In the days ahead my father will be hearing all sorts of things about Mariamne’s sons. Each time they are confronted, I will emphatically defend them.”
I stared at him in bewildered wonder, and for a moment I couldn’t speak. Then I finally found my voice. “You have your grandmother’s spirit in you. She might have done the same thing, if she were here.”
Antipater smiled and tossed a grape into his mouth. “Sleep well tonight, Aunt. You said the future would depend on me.”
