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

by Angela Hunt

  Salome kept her promise. The house she bought us was larger than I would have expected and had belonged to a merchant who sold sheep at the Temple. The merchant recently died, my neighbor Huldah explained, and his wife had gone to Jerusalem to live with family.

  “It is good to see a young couple moving in,” Huldah said, her eyes fastened to my bulging tunic. She laughed. “But you are not so young, are you?”

  I hoped my grimace would pass as a wry smile. “Not so young as you might think,” I said, leaning on the courtyard wall to take weight off my swollen feet. “But not as old as Sarah when she gave birth to Isaac.”

  “Oh, yes.” Huldah nodded. “When your time comes, have your husband fetch me. I have helped birth at least a dozen babies, and I will take good care of you.”

  Ravid and I soon realized an unexpected benefit to living in a large house. Since the village had no synagogue, he could begin his Torah school in our courtyard.

  “I hope our baby can sleep through your classes,” I said, stretching out on our mattress. I pressed my hand to my belly and smiled when the baby stirred beneath my skin. “I think he is almost ready to meet his parents.”

  The baby came a month later, earlier than I had expected—on a spring night, at sunset as the shepherds gathered their flocks and the farmers trudged homeward from a long day’s work in the newly plowed fields. I braced myself for the pangs of labor while Ravid went next door to get Huldah. A moment later he came back, telling me that Huldah had gone out. “I left word with her husband,” he said, taking my hand. “She will come when she can.”

  The first pale hints of sunrise had already brightened the eastern sky when Huldah rushed in, breathless and perspiring. “What a night! Babies coming everywhere, even out in the stables.” She dropped to her knees and examined me. “You are ready. Push, Zara, and let us welcome your child!”

  Our son entered the world just moments later. Huldah cackled with joy as she caught him and wrapped him in a swaddling cloth. “Another boy!” she said, a grin overtaking her features. “This is a night for boys, praise HaShem!”

  Holding my baby in my arms, I marveled that an ordinary night could produce such a miracle. I had been present for all of Salome’s births, but as much as I appreciated the joy a new baby brings, I had never realized the depth of that joy. I looked at Ravid, searching for words to express my feelings but could not begin to describe the sense of completion that flooded my heart.

  For this I had been created. For this man, for this child, for this place.

  My soul magnifies you, Adonai! I will praise you as long as I have breath to speak.

  Ravid, never at a loss for words, must have been feeling the same emotions. He smiled at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears, then pressed his lips to my forehead and settled on the bed next to me, where we could both wonder at the beauty of our much-loved son.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Salome

  Life in Herod’s splendid new palace took a somber turn after the executions of Alexander and Aristobulus. The morning sunlight that used to pour through the windows and spangle the polished floors now seemed overly bright and painful to behold. When Herod entered the throne room at midday, the shimmering dust motes that drifted upward reminded me of dust stirring from the opening of a tomb. And at night, when we had time to sit alone exploring our memories and motivations, the dozens of torches and lamps barely pushed at the gloom, turning the high ceiling into a canopy of foreboding shadows.

  As much as I had wanted Mariamne’s sons gone, I had to admit that without them the atmosphere in the palace seemed darker, duller, and more fraught with tension. Now Antipater was the undisputed chief prince, and with every passing day he took on more of Herod’s responsibilities. But he could not help noticing that Herod, acting out of guilt and a recommitment to his paternal duties, had turned his attention to his younger sons, sending Philip and Archelaus to Rome to be educated, just as he had Alexander and Aristobulus.

  Herod also kept his promise to care for his grandsons, and those five boys were maturing before our eyes. Herod was not shy about displaying his fondness for them, and he often lamented their fathers’ deaths, openly declaring he should not have killed them. On these occasions I watched with alarm, remembering his remorse after Mariamne’s death. I did not want my brother to slip into madness as he had in those dark days, for Antipater waited like a hawk, watching his father for any sign of weakness. He had realized that Herod often changed his mind, and with every passing year, Herod was more likely to consider one of his younger sons for the throne.

  Antipater had once been my ally, but I came to see him as an adversary once I realized he wanted his father to die. Herod was not well—he had been feeling the effects of advanced age for some time, and his servants whispered that he suffered from sores and worms in his private parts, along with fever, sore muscles, and aching bones.

  Herod did not want anyone but his physician to see his weakened condition, so he tried his best to appear robust, though he would often leave meetings or abruptly send people from his chamber when he could no longer disguise the pain. Still, I knew my brother so well that he could not hide his infirmities from me. I saw pain in his bleary eyes, in his tenuous step, and in the odd way his eyelids quivered when he was overtired.

  I also noticed an increasing tension between Pheroras and Herod. We had been united for so long, all of us pulling one yoke, that I could not believe either of them would allow anything to cause a rupture in our relationship.

  One night I waited until everyone but my brothers had left the banquet room, and then I held up my hand. “We are going to talk,” I said, looking from Herod to Pheroras. “I have noticed that you two are no longer close. At times you seem barely able to endure each other’s company, so I would know what has happened between you.”

  Herod looked at Pheroras, then turned to me. “You know the problem, so do not pretend you do not.”

  “What problem?” I stared at Pheroras, who had crossed his arms and was facing the wall. “Pheroras?”

  Finally he turned and met my gaze. “Herod will not accept my wife, and I will not put her away. We have a child together.”

  I lifted a brow—I had not heard about the marriage. “Congratulations,” I said, wishing I could sound more enthusiastic. “Are we talking about the slave woman?”

  “Her name is Panphila,” Pheroras said, “and she is now my legal wife.”

  “And your slave,” Herod interjected.

  Pheroras shook his head. “I issued manumission papers years ago. She is a free woman and so is our daughter.”

  “You were married to Mariamne’s royal sister,” Herod said, leaning on the arm of his chair as if he no longer had the energy to stand. “She gave you three children. Yet after she died, you refused to marry two of my daughters. Men would kill for such an honor, but you refused my gifts as if I had offered slaves instead of my own offspring!”

  “Your daughters would not want to marry an old man,” Pheroras said, the corner of his mouth drooping. “They would have been wasted on me.”

  “So you marry a slave instead?”

  “I came to love her.” Pheroras’s expression softened, and he looked at me as if I might understand. “I love her the way he loved Mariamne.”

  “You once promised me to be rid of her,” Herod said. “Yet a few months later you were with her again.”

  Pheroras gave me a lopsided smile. “What can I say? I cannot deny love.”

  “Can you deny treason?” Herod clenched his fist, then glared at me and pointed a trembling finger at Pheroras. “Perhaps you have heard that the Pharisees refused to take the oath of loyalty to me and Augustus. I treated them gently, imposing a fine on them instead of something more stringent, and what happened? His woman—his slave—pays the fine for them!”

  I caught my breath. “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  I glanced at Pheroras, hoping for some help, but his face remained i
mpassive. “I have heard,” I said, carefully choosing my words, “that the Pharisees have publicly predicted that your reign will soon end . . . and that Pheroras and his wife will sit on the throne of Judea.”

  The muscles in Herod’s face tightened into a mask of rage. “You?” His eyes blazed as he stepped toward our brother. “Did you encourage this?”

  I approached them, my fists clenched. “Stop it, both of you! You have forgotten what Father told us time and time again. We must pull together or we will fail. We are a family. We will not survive if we do not maintain our unity.”

  “Family?” Herod’s voice dripped with disdain. “Family? This one”—again he pointed at Pheroras—“does not behave like family.”

  “Herod, stop. You have done so well of late.” When he did not snap at Pheroras again, I continued, hoping to calm him. “You have done your best to bring this family together again. You sent Glaphyra back to her father in Cappadocia. You married my Berenice to Theudion, a noble man. You have provided for the upbringing and support of Alexander’s and Aristobulus’s seven children. You betrothed Aristobulus’s eldest daughter to one of Antipater’s sons. You betrothed Aristobulus’s second daughter to your own son. You have done so much for so many.”

  I caught his outstretched hand, still pointed accusingly at Pheroras, and gently lowered it. “You understand that a family united in marriage and bound by a love of our mutual children will hold your dynasty together. What does it matter if Pheroras refuses to participate in your plan?”

  “I am sorry,” Pheroras said, giving Herod a sad smile. “For years I have watched dangerous intrigues play out beneath this roof. I have seen wives pitted against each other. I have seen brothers fighting brothers, sisters plotting against wives, and husbands turning against children. I will have no part of it, not anymore.”

  Herod’s gaze hardened. “If you side with your wife instead of me, you are no brother of mine. Leave this place and do not return.”

  “I am happy to go.” Pheroras turned to me. “Farewell, sister. May HaShem bless you. Herod—be at peace. I will not return to this palace until you are dead.”

  I stared, amazed at the words that had just spilled from Pheroras’s lips.

  Without another word, Pheroras pulled his mantle over his shoulder and left us alone.

  “Pheroras, wait!” I called as loudly as I dared while hurrying to catch my brother before he departed.

  He waited, then smiled as I stood before him, breathless and upset. “You can’t talk me out of leaving, Salome. I should have walked away from Herod years ago.”

  “What—how? You can’t leave a family. We are bound by blood, by a heritage.”

  “And that is part of the problem. Our heritage has been far too bloody.” He tilted his head. “Do you know what I heard the other day? Apparently the emperor mentioned Herod in a public forum.”

  My pulse quickened. “What did he say?”

  Pheroras snorted. “He said he would rather be Herod’s pig than his son.”

  For an instant I stared at Pheroras, uncomprehending, then the words fell into place. Due to Jewish dietary laws, a pig would live out his natural life in peace here. Not so a son of Herod.

  I closed my eyes. “Has Herod heard that?”

  “I do not believe anyone has had the courage to tell him.” He cupped my chin and lifted my head. “And if I were you, I would not be the one. Let it go.”

  “Pheroras.” I caught his sleeve. “Please, do not leave. Herod will forget all about this if you meet him halfway. Keep your slave wife, but tell Herod you are willing to marry any woman he chooses. All he asks is that you obey your king.”

  Pheroras gently pulled his sleeve from my grasp. “I promised to love my wife, and I will. She would not want me to take another.”

  “Why?” The word ripped from my throat, borne on a tide of anguish. “Why are you doing this? You have always been so cooperative.”

  “Why?” His eyes lit as an odd smile lifted his mouth. “Salome, when Herod murdered Alexander and Aristobulus, I was forced to consider why we have done the things we have done. You and I have done everything to protect Herod and his throne, but those boys were no threat to him. They had no armies, and they would not have the support of the emperor if Herod did not choose them as his heirs. Yet Herod wanted them dead. Because, I think, the sight of them bothered his conscience. Guilt nearly drove him mad once, and he worried he would slip into madness again.”

  I carefully considered Pheroras’s words. He could be right . . .

  “You know Antipater’s true nature,” he said, his brown eyes narrowing. “But I do not think you know what Antipater has been up to of late. He has confided in me because he knew I was unhappy with Herod.”

  Pheroras proceeded to tell me about his conversations with Antipater, conversations that made my talks with the young man seem mild by comparison.

  “We say we are a family of Jews,” Pheroras went on, “and though we observe the parts of the Law we find convenient, we do not take the Law to heart. We do not meditate on the Scriptures or pray apart from the rituals. We are too busy planning, plotting, and preparing for whatever Herod wants us to do.”

  “We are Idumaean. Father would not want us to—”

  “Father did not apply the writings and the prophets to his heart,” Pheroras interrupted. “But I have begun to study, and I am no longer the man I was. I was not a righteous man before, but I want to be righteous now. I want to love Adonai with all my heart, soul, and strength. Can you understand that?”

  In truth, I could not. I felt as though my brother had suddenly begun to speak a foreign language and I could not understand a word. Had he forgotten who he was?

  Pheroras moved closer, draped an arm around my shoulder, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Give my regards to your husband and children. Know that I will be praying for you. And may HaShem have mercy on Herod’s house.”

  I stood in the hallway, bothered and bewildered, as my brother turned and walked out of the palace.

  For the next several weeks, I felt as though I walked the sharp blade of a knife. Though Pheroras had been living in Peraea for some time, knowing he would not come back to Jerusalem left a gaping hole in my heart. I mourned him as if he were dead.

  Antipater seemed not to notice that his favorite uncle had disappeared from court. Instead he made broad hints to his father about a trip to Rome. He claimed he wanted to see the sights and pay his respects to Augustus, yet I knew he had more than that on his mind. He wanted to cultivate a friendship with the emperor, and then he would tell any lie and bribe any rumormonger in order to convince the emperor that Herod had lost his grasp on Judea and Antipater ought to be named king instead. The man could be charming when he wanted to be, and though he had never been as handsome as Mariamne’s sons, his attitude of self-command and studied relaxation suited him well. Herod finally agreed and sent Antipater off to Rome.

  Several weeks later, we heard that Pheroras had taken ill and was near death in Peraea.

  I hurried to Herod’s chamber, uncertain how he would take the news. To my great pleasure and surprise, Herod immediately sent his physician to Peraea to look after our brother, then made plans to travel to Peraea himself. I went with him, but by the time we arrived, our brother had succumbed to his illness.

  Pheroras’s wife, Panphila, stepped out of the room when Herod and I entered Pheroras’s bedchamber. We stood by his body, then Herod clung to me and wept bitter tears. What could I say? I patted his back and murmured consoling words as he wept. Finally he straightened and wiped his face.

  He gave orders that Pheroras’s body should travel with us back to Jerusalem, where he would be buried with great honor in our family tomb.

  Herod did not want to spend the night in Peraea but gave instructions to the servants of the household: in the coming weeks he wanted to interview them in Jerusalem, to learn what his brother had been doing during his last few weeks.

  We rode back to Jerusalem u
nder the cover of darkness.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Salome

  The first sign of our unusual guests were the camels in the courtyard. We were used to camels—the Nabataeans frequently rode them, but their camels were equipped for speed, with light saddles and long legs. The dozen or so camels gathered at the watering troughs the morning after our return from Peraea were thickly furred and stout, bred for difficult journeys. They wore heavy, padded, and decorated saddles with tassels and fringe in riotous colors. Other camels in the caravan carried deep baskets packed to the brim, probably with supplies for a long journey.

  Who had come to see us . . . and from where had they come?

  I called for Uru, who had become a capable handmaid, and told her to dress me in a simple tunic and a wig. I wanted to see my brother as quickly as possible.

  I found Herod in the central reception hall, where several people waited for an audience with the king. They bowed as I walked past, but I paid them no mind. I focused instead on the group of men standing before the throne. They wore gleaming jackets and dark, pointed beards, and their faces were deeply tanned by the sun.

  “Ah, my sister Salome.” Herod stretched out his hand to me, and the men bowed.

  I stood at Herod’s side and gave our visitors a polite smile. Then, from between clenched teeth, I pushed a quiet question to my brother: “Who are they?”

  “Wise men,” Herod said, lowering his voice. “From the East. They have come with an interesting story. They have traveled many miles in search of a king.”

  “A king.” I frowned. “Well, here you are. They have found you.”

  “It is not me they seek—they are seeking one they call the King of the Jews.”

  “And are you not the king of the Jews?” I tilted my head and smiled again.

  Herod nodded at the man who seemed to be the leader. “Please,” he said, raising his voice. “Tell my sister who it is you seek.”