by Angela Hunt
“I did.”
“Well then, do not worry. As you can see, I have the situation well in hand.”
I did not know how to feel about this new Antipater living in the palace. I had told him to comport himself like a prince, like his father’s son, but the zeal with which he rose to the task unsettled me. I meant he should be responsible and win his father’s trust, but Antipater’s methods more closely resembled Alexandra’s than those of a noble king. If he thought nothing of paying a man to falsely accuse his rivals, what sort of king would he be? And even more troubling, what sort of behavior—if any—would he consider unthinkable?
I told myself he would learn; he would be better in the future. He would watch his father and learn that one resorted to certain tactics only when nothing else would do.
When he was not plotting against his brothers, Antipater helped his father and was particularly active in the king’s construction program. Now that Judea was at peace with its neighbors, Herod began to build. He loved building the way other kings loved war.
His first project, begun when he served Mark Antony, had been the Antonia Fortress, remodeled and renamed after his benefactor. The fortress had been known as the Baris, but Herod added apartments, cloisters, a bath, and porticoes to connect it to the Temple.
His palace was a marvel. Even our cosmopolitan travelers, Alexander and Aristobulus, were impressed with it. Herod’s new palace consisted of two main buildings, the Caesareum and Agrippeum, with banqueting halls, one hundred guest rooms, cloisters, courtyards, and several pools. Along with the three observation towers named Phasaelis, Mariamne, and Hippicus, he built our family tomb north of the Damascus Gate. He also built a theater, an amphitheater, and a hippodrome near Jericho.
Not all of his projects were designed to glorify his benefactors; many were designed to aid the people. Solomon’s pools, located south of Bethlehem, had aqueducts that carried water to Jerusalem and Arrub. The Pool of Mamillah serviced western Jerusalem, as did Hezekiah’s Pool and the Sheep Pool. The Antonia Fortress had the Struthion Pool, and the Pool of Israel lay outside the north wall of the Temple Mount.
Nor did Herod confine his building program to Jerusalem. Alexandreion, Hyrcania, and Masada received new structures, fortifications, barracks, baths, and cisterns. The old city of Samaria, where Herod married Mariamne and recuperated after her death, was renamed Sebaste in honor of Augustus, and there Herod built walls, gates, fortifications, and colonnaded streets. There he constructed a public forum and two temples, one to the goddess Roma, and the other to the divine Augustus.
With endless enthusiasm Herod went on to build in Phoenicia, Syria, Greece, and Asia Minor. He might have been trying to turn Judea, particularly Jerusalem, into a marble edifice to equal the glory of Rome. Though an impossible task, given our climate and history, he was determined not to be ashamed of Jerusalem when Augustus came to visit.
Day after day I watched my brother work with his architects and travel to the various building sites, usually with one of his sons by his side. I did not know what Alexander and Aristobulus were learning on these journeys, but I hoped Antipater would watch, listen, and learn how to be a good king.
Chapter Forty-Six
Salome
Any man ought to spend his latter years in peace, enjoying the fruits of his labor, but as Herod entered his sixtieth year, family dinners became a battlefront, complete with traps and combative warfare. With all his sons and wives present, meals were fraught with tension. As Herod tried to pretend all was well with his household, the sons and wives watched the aging king as if counting the days when he would take his last bite, his last breath.
I could see what they were doing, yet I was powerless to stop it. I attempted to talk to Herod, to convince him to choose Antipater as his heir and end the suspense, but he refused. “I will write as many wills as I choose,” he repeated for what was surely the hundredth time. “And my sons will wait until I am gone before they survey their kingdoms.”
One night at dinner, Alexander whispered something to Aristobulus and made him laugh. Herod noticed. “Something funny, Alexander? Perhaps you would like to share your thoughts with all of us.”
Alexander tossed a pheasant bone over his shoulder and smiled. “No, Father. It was a private joke.”
“Even so, I would like to hear it.” Herod’s eyes hardened. “Please share it with the family.”
Alexander glanced at his brother, then let his gaze rove over the assembled wives and their offspring, ranging from mature men to toddling children. “I said—” Alexander hesitated—“I said the king’s hair has turned alarmingly black. It now matches his boots.”
The room swelled with silence. The younger children wore puzzled faces, unable to comprehend the meaning behind Alexander’s statement. But those of us who understood sat like stones, amazed by Alexander’s brazen tongue. Mariamne’s saucy spirit had definitely passed to her sons, because no sooner had Alexander spoken than Aristobulus began to laugh.
I stared, wanting the floor to open and swallow both of them. My brother was sensitive about his appearance, and he had asked me to have Zara mix up a dye to cover his gray hair. He had refused any experimentation, insisting that black was black, and Zara’s concoction had left Herod’s hair a shade darker than was natural for any man.
I saw a flash, like light caught in water, when Herod’s gaze crossed mine, and I knew he was deciding how to respond. Should he let the brothers see the royal temper fully unleashed, or should he respond with humor to lessen his embarrassment?
Antipater decided the matter for him. Glowering at Alexander, he stood and faced the king. “Father,” he said, his eyes fixed on Alexander, “I wanted to say that you are looking very well today. I have never seen a man so fit, not even among the Olympic champions we saw in Rome. They did well to name you perpetual Olympic President. You are an example of fitness to us all.”
Herod’s expression softened as the memory sank in. “Thank you, Antipater.” He gave his firstborn a broad smile. “We will have to go to Rome again—as soon as it suits the emperor. The two of us will go, as I believe Augustus would like to spend more time with my firstborn.”
I glanced at my husband and heaved a sigh of relief. Thanks to Antipater, Herod had defused a tense situation and still managed to put his impertinent sons in their place.
Later that night, as Alexas readied for bed and I sat at my dressing table, he came up behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Was your brother really an athlete?”
I lowered my hair comb and smiled at his reflection in the looking brass. “In his youth, few could match his accuracy with a javelin or a bow and arrow. He has always been interested in athletic games.”
“I did not know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, then squeezed my shoulders. “We were fortunate tonight. I saw the look on the king’s face—for a moment I thought he might have Mariamne’s sons arrested.”
“I would not have been surprised.” I caught his hand and pulled it to my cheek. “The tension between them grows more palpable every day.”
Alexas nodded. “I am sorry to say it, but I have heard that . . . Alexander has been cavorting with some of the eunuchs who attend the king.”
Was he teasing? I turned to examine my husband’s face. “Cavorting?”
He flushed to the roots of his hair. “They have been pleasuring him.”
I grimaced. “Surely not. That sort of thing should not be done in Israel, and especially not in the king’s palace.”
“But they have been influenced by the Romans, and everyone knows the Romans think nothing of such things—”
“We are not Romans. We are Jews.”
“Are we?” His question was curious, not spiteful, but I had no answer for him. In Jerusalem we were Jews—we worshiped at the Temple, we observed the festivals and the Sabbath—but in other cities Herod built temples to Roman gods and furnished citizens with gymnasia and theaters and other entertainments many Jews frown
ed upon.
“I hope—” I swallowed hard—“I hope that story does not reach Herod. He would be furious.”
“You are right,” Alexas said. “But you know that Herod hears everything these days.”
I did not respond, yet I knew very well what he meant. Herod heard everything, because Antipater made sure of it.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Zara
In the seventh year of our marriage, around the time of Sukkot, I did not bleed at the appointed time. For the next few mornings I woke with anticipation in my heart and remained overly aware of my body as the day progressed.
Was that a wave of nausea or simply the smell of rotten eggs? Did my breasts feel tender? Was the bulge at my belly a sign of new life or gluttony? Perhaps, I told myself, this was the month Adonai had chosen to bless me with a child.
I counted three days past the usual time, then four, then five. I did not speak of my hope to anyone, especially not Ravid, because he had been wounded by false hope far too many times. Neither did I mention my hope to my mistress, who conceived as easily as a cat. She would not understand.
Six days past my time and no sign of blood. I looked at the tidy cotton rolls in my basket and prayed I would not need to use them for at least a year. Maybe HaShem would bless us with a second child soon after the first. I would not mind having two children close together, and neither would Ravid. Or—a wave of giddiness swept over me—perhaps HaShem would bless us with twins! Like Jacob and Esau, two babies would grow in my belly. They would become men in this amazing time of waiting for the Lord’s anointed king, and perhaps they would walk with our future Messiah.
On the seventh day, I decided I would tell Ravid at sunset. I had never gone a full week past my appointed time, and he might be wondering why I had not observed the traditional rites of niddah. Soon he would ask why I had not remained at home instead of going to the Temple. Or perhaps he would casually remark that I had not taken my mikvah, so did I have some unusual news to share?
At midday I took a nap, for expectant mothers needed their rest. When Salome’s voice woke me, I got up and noticed a tight feeling at my center. I slipped off the couch and walked to the jar in the corner of a back room, then squatted to relieve myself. Once I had finished, I reached for a cloth, cleaned, and stared at the blood blooming like a flower at its center.
I drew a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to inhale air that had gone thick with the heaviness of despair. I had seen blood before—in the streets, when Jerusalem fell to Herod and the Romans. On my mother, when she suffered from the blow that ultimately killed her. On Mariamne’s neck. On Costobar’s . . .
And every time it signaled the same thing—an end.
My plans for a joyous announcement vanished like the morning dew, and my heart contracted in silent anguish.
No child lived within me. We would not be having a son. Not this time. Perhaps not ever.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Salome
You sent for me, my king?”
I bowed before my brother, because something in the messenger’s posture had warned me that this would not be a casual meeting. Herod was sitting in his chamber, alone except for his adviser, Nicolaus of Damascus, who had only recently come to court. The man had once been tutor to the children of Antony and Cleopatra, and I hoped he was wise enough to give my brother good advice.
“Yes, sister. I have questions and need answers.”
I straightened and wondered what had spurred this sudden need for a meeting. No one could predict the direction of Herod’s thinking these days, not even me. Over the years I had watched him turn against so many he loved—Mariamne, Alexander and Aristobulus, even Pheroras. Would he one day despise me, as well?
I forced a smile. “I will do my best to answer, brother.”
I hoped he would gesture to the empty chair in front of him, for I would feel a great deal more relaxed if I were sitting, but he did not.
When he began with “I have heard,” a suffocating sensation tightened my throat. What had he heard this time, and from whom had he heard it? I hoped he would not ask me to ascertain the truth of a matter, because I had no way of knowing what was true and what was one of Antipater’s falsehoods. The palace had become a den of liars and schemers, and no one felt safe anymore.
“I have heard a great many things,” he repeated, his faint smile shrouded in sadness. “Some things are unfit for a woman’s ears. But this one thing concerns me, and I wondered if you have seen any evidence to support or disavow it.”
I spread my hands. “When you tell me what it is—”
“I have heard that Alexander and Aristobulus are plotting to kill me in order to avenge their mother’s death.” Without warning, his gaze rose and locked on mine. “Have you heard the same rumor? Have you harbored the same suspicion?”
In truth, I had heard that rumor for years, but nothing had ever come of it. So why was he asking about it now?
“If I thought you were in danger, brother, I would have done everything in my power to protect you. I always have.”
“But what of Mariamne’s sons? Do you know any reason why I should fear them?”
What to do? Wavering between the vow I made my mother and what I knew of Antipater’s falseness, I took the safest option available—I told the truth.
“Brother, I admit that I worried about reprisals when the boys returned from Rome. Their mother and I did not get along, and everyone knows I bore her no love. I was relieved when you made Antipater your heir, because I dreaded to think what Alexander or Aristobulus might do when—if—one of them became king.”
Herod’s brow wrinkled, and something moved in his eyes. “It distresses me to think you would have any cause to fear my own sons. I would not have you worry even a single hour, so I have decided to take them to Rome and accuse them before Caesar. Augustus is wise, and he will be the judge of their fate.”
I swallowed hard, wanting to protect my brother, but not wanting to punish innocent men. “Are you certain this is what you want to do? Do you have evidence of their plotting together to harm you?”
“How can we have peace in Judea when the king’s palace is filled with such dread?” He lifted his head, and in the hard light of the winter sun I saw the face of a fearful, aging king. “Yes, I have decided. We will leave matters in the hands of the emperor.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Zara
Herod’s palace did not lie far from the Essene Quarter where Ravid and I lived. Depending on how many wagons crowded the streets, I usually managed to walk through the upper city in less than an hour.
But now that the king and his sons were away, life had slowed in the palace, and Salome had not been in a mood to entertain. She fretted in her apartment, took long walks through the courtyards, and frequently wept into her pillow. I did not know what troubled her, and she would not tell me. Her husband seemed unable to ease her mind, and not even the jeweler and dressmaker could distract her from her troubling thoughts.
One afternoon I left the palace early and walked east toward the Temple. Though the sanctuary had been completed for ten years, the forecourts had only recently been finished. Artisans, masons, and stonecutters still clustered around the structure, adding porticoes, streets, shops, gates, even a bridge to the upper city. On all days but the Sabbath we had to ignore the sound of chisels and grinding stone.
Whenever I visited the Temple, I thought of Hannah—of how she wanted a son so desperately she made a promise to HaShem: if He would grant her request, she would dedicate her son to Adonai’s service. The Lord heard her prayer and gave her a son, Samuel, who served as high priest in the time of King David.
I was not Hannah, but perhaps I, too, could bargain with Adonai. I had certainly prayed as long and fervently, perhaps even longer. I had wept and fasted, pleaded and begged, and thus far HaShem had chosen not to answer. Ravid said HaShem always answered, but not always in the way we wanted Him to. If I pressed my husband for an answe
r as to why we were childless, he would say HaShem had answered my prayer with no, or in an attempt to be gentle, wait. But my heart could not be content with either of those responses.
I felt like Rachel, who clutched at her husband, Jacob, and said, “Give me sons. If there are none, I’ll die!” I had not yet been driven to clutch at Ravid and make the same demand, yet he probably saw the same desperation in my eyes and heard it in my voice.
I walked along the ancient wall that once marked the boundary of Jerusalem until I reached the new stones surrounding the mount on which the Temple rested. I skirted the area where workers carved and polished stones, then clambered over a pile of rubble and found a path leading to the Temple courts.
I walked through the Court of the Gentiles and entered the new Court of the Women. I breathed deeply of incense-sweetened air. I studied the trumpet-shaped chests along the wall. Ravid and I regularly deposited tithes and offerings into those chests, but I would give anything, even my life, if HaShem would answer my prayer.
I walked to the center of the open space and knelt, then spread myself on the floor, arms outstretched, forehead to the dusty stones. I cannot believe, I prayed, that you brought me to the palace to spend my life in service to the king’s sister. I have plaited her hair, helped her dress, and listened to her complaints, but what does that do for you? How can I be useful if you keep me in a palace where no one is happy and no one seeks after you?
If you care for me as a woman, as a person, then use me, Adonai. Take my life and let it be something more than it is by giving me a son who will do great things for you.
I would die now if you wanted my life. Ravid says I should speak to you as a friend, but what sort of friend would ignore my earnest prayers? I have asked only for a child, Adonai, a little son to love. If you want my life, take it now; but if you want me to live, give my life meaning by giving me a son. If you do, I will raise him to honor you in everything he does. And I will give you the glory for all things, even if I live only long enough to see my son’s birth.
