James's mouth went dry. He grabbed up his cup, sipped, and chose his words with care. "My disdain is for Hycranus and his cronies. They need your father's army and protection more than ever, now that Hycranus's rat-faced cousin Hasmond has aligned with Parthia. I admire your father and brother for taking advantage of the situation. The alliance can only help your family. I am pleased for you." Running out of platitudes, he drained his cup.
Phasael's smile was twice as frightening as his grimace. "It's good to hear you find the engagement agreeable. My father has a strategic marriage in mind for you."
James choked. "Marriage? For me?" He coughed some more. "Who does he have in mind?"
Phasael pointed to the opposite end of the table. "My mother's neice, Kitra,"
A petite girl with the same dark, exotic beauty as Antipater's wife batted her eyes at James. Fickle Fortuna! Marrying her was out of the question, but he was going to dream of the flirtatious siren for months to come. "She's a pagan," James said.
Phasael grinned. "If you consent to the marriage, Kitra will convert, just like my mother did before marrying my father."
"I'm a priest. I can't marry foreign women. Moses' Law is very clear on the matter."
"Kitra's father has enough riches to build a city full of marble palaces."
The purred words curled around James like the sinful scent of a harlot luring him to delicious, delightful destruction. "I, uh...I need to think about it."
Phasael tore another chunk of bread from the rye loaf. "Of course. Of course. In the meantime, Kitra's father would like to speak to you about the Roman-style amphitheater he hopes construct."
James scrubbed his face. Damnation. Antipater and his sons knew him too well. Were fully aware of his weaknesses. They'd probably already made his wedding clothes.
"Do you want to hear more?" Phasael asked.
The sinking feeling James had lived with in Rome came back threefold. He nodded and added another bit of self-loathing to the festering pile within him.
CHAPTER 6
Jerusalem - One Week Later
Kadar strode through a smallish atrium of the ancient mansion, past a white marble side table holding a vase bursting with yellow flowers. Lamplight from gilded fixtures reflected off the silver-gray flecks embedded in the black stone floor. The vivid colors almost hurt, due to eyes grown sensitive from too many years in the dim confines of the copper mine. This gem of a mansion was one of Antipater's recent purchases.
Deft at handling people and money, Antipater continued to prosper. Impressive. Very, very impressive, considering the personable statesman needed eight sets of eyes just to keep up with the stream of plots aimed at his demise—the Hasmoneans, the religious zealots, Simeon Onias—they all would love to send Antipater back to Idumea like a whipped dog.
Antipater had earned a life of luxury with his sword. Gaining riches and costly goods was what drove many men to pick up the sword, but not Kadar. He'd always fought for the sheer joy of it. Would he ever experience that roaring joy again in the future? Or would hate be all that drove him?
Kadar stopped before the tall double doors leading outside. His hand curled into a tight fist. He wanted to dig up Sabu Nakht and kill him all over again.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"Antipater called out as he came through the archway to the north wing of the house.
Tempted to ignore the inquiry, Kadar cursed under his breath and turned around. "I need to stretch my legs." He'd learned Lydia Onias took the same walk every day. He planned to observe her, assure himself she was whole and well, before approaching her.
Antipater smiled and folded his arms across his wide chest. "You could wring John Hycranus's neck for me if you happen to see him. The High Priest sent a servant by with a message informing me he is hosting a small banquet tonight and he expects me to attend. Tonight! He couldn't have told me this a week ago?" Antipater rolled his eyes. "Now I have to postpone my meeting with my new master builder. Have you seen James Onias? I stopped by his room, but he's not there."
"I haven't, but I'll give him your message if I come across him," Kadar promised, not mentioning he’d already planned to have a word with the Onias boy. Lydia's fate would be in her brother's hands once Simeon Onias was dead. If the spineless boy had become even half as sour and hateful as his father—
"I don't want you to kill him," Antipater said, amused.
Kadar swallowed back the foul taste filling his mouth. "Do you have any idea where James might have gone?"
"We discussed making repairs to the southeast tower of the Baris."
"Good, I had already planned to go by the citadel." Lydia walked that way going to and from her cousin's home. Kadar nodded goodbye and pulled the door open, only to interrupt a lively conversation between the two guardsmen.
"How does it go?" Kadar asked politely as he walked between the soldiers. They looked away and mumbled a greeting.
He exhaled heavily and descended the stone stairs. Heading to the right, he walked by the small barracks housing Antipater's personal guard. Soldiers sat on benches arranged in a circle, shining their swords and swapping stories.
Silence descended. The men eyed him uneasily.
What was their problem? Kadar knew most of the men, and had been on good terms with them years ago. Surely they weren’t behaving this way because he'd been a slave. Slavery was rampant in the Roman world. And freedmen were as common as cattle. Rich households might have two or three hundred slaves or more seeing to a family's every need. Fear of a slave uprising made for poor sleep in many wealthy households. Masters dangled the promise of freedom before slaves as one of many methods used to pacify them. Yes, noblemen and the aristocracy frowned on freedmen and women, but on the whole freed slaves vanished comfortably into everyday life.
Kadar stopped beside the captain of the guard. "I hear your boy is the healthy and hearty image of you."
"Thank you for remembering," the captain said, his eyes aimed at Kadar's chest. "Let me know if there's anything I can do. I have connections in Rome and Athens...if you need someone to put in a good word for you...or anything."
Was that pity he heard in the captain's voice?
Old John jumped up from a nearby bench. Armed to the teeth as usual, he held out a knife. "Take it. I have plenty more." The grizzled soldier studied Kadar’s sandals instead of looking him in the eye.
Kadar flinched. Was the hate tearing up his insides so obvious? The men were treating him the way soldiers treated the gravely wounded—everyone pretending the man would be going home to his family when they knew his next stop was the grave. "Keep it. I have everything I need," he replied, his voice gruff.
Old John grabbed his arm. "I want you to have the knife. And if you decide to stay, I'll be happy to fight again by your side."
Old John reminded Kadar of his father and the Northman warriors he'd loved like brothers. It had stung soul-deep when he was forced to leave his life and everything beloved and familiar behind.
John's friendly gesture made Kadar painfully aware of the lonely life awaiting him once he departed Jerusalem. But he wouldn't be welcome here after he killed one of the city's elite. The sweet taste of revenge when he watched Simeon Onias die at his hands would go a long way toward soothing that pain.
Kadar took the knife and slid it under his belt. "Thank you, John."
"Be sure to keep the blade oiled and sharpened."
He clapped the career soldier on the back and resumed his walk. Lengthening his stride, he turned down the first alley he came to, then weaved his way through a series of narrow, crowded lanes.
Work-worn tunics hung from the edges of the flat roofs, drying in the sun. Men and women rushed about their daily business. Children's chatter drifted out of the small homes and apartments. The sounds of everyday life pricked at Kadar.
Was there any place in the world for him? The memory of Lydia Onias tucked against his chest came back.
He walked faster, turned corner after corner, and bur
st out of a narrow alley at the foot of the northwest tower of the citadel Hasmonean Baris. Halting under its long shadow to catch his breath, he squeezed his eyes shut.
Stop. Cease your useless daydreams. Lydia Onias could never be his. Two immovable objects stood in the way. Jewish women didn't marry pagans, and Lydia wouldn't want anything to do with the barbarian responsible for her father's death. He should walk away now. Leave the city immediately.
He ducked down an alley, stopped next to the side entrance to Hasmonean Baris, and slipped a couple of coins to the guards to gain entrance. Once inside, he took the stairs two at a time, exited the tower and hurried to an opening in the crenellated parapet.
The stone citadel served as the second residence of the High Priest of Israel. An underground tunnel connected the Baris to the Temple. The order of men called Levites manned the citadel towers, watching to make sure nothing and no one defiled the sacred ground set aside as holy to the God of Israel.
The north tower overlooked Jerusalem. The city hadn't changed much in the six years he’d been gone. Shabby yellow, white, and light-brown stone buildings in various stages of disrepair leaned on each other for support. A city a thousand years past its glory, Jerusalem had seen better days. No matter what its inhabitants believed. A lowly people with no army or wealth to speak of, the Jews nonetheless believed their God would establish an everlasting kingdom on this very spot, wherein all the nations of the world would bow down before their God.
Kadar shook his head. He admired the Jews' bravado. It was part of what had drawn him to this place.
He sobered the moment he spied James Onias trudging up the wide stone street, followed by two women. The taller, slimmer one's shoulders were squared proudly and her head was held high.
Kadar's gut tightened.
Lydia Onias.
He would recognize her anywhere.
He gripped the waist-high stone wall, and, like a man half dead of thirst, he drank in the sight of Lydia. She appeared healthy and strong. Was she still a beauty? Would looking into her large, sad eyes still slay him? He wanted to strip away the veil covering her face, loosen her hair, and watch it fall about her shoulders. What would become of her? Another marriage, most likely. He growled and ground his teeth, wanting to strangle the fortunate fellow.
James Onias stopped and turned back to Lydia and the other woman. They exchanged words. Then James pointed at the tower. The women looked up. Kadar hesitated. Lydia's eyes swept over the tower and paused on him. His hand rose and he almost waved. Heart pounding and breath short, he ducked out of sight.
What next? He'd seen her. But it wasn't enough. He'd made a promise to her, promised to protect baby James as though the child was his firstborn. He needed to find a way to speak to her. Once he could be sure Lydia and the boy were happy and safe, he'd depart from Jerusalem and never come back.
CHAPTER 7
James shook Lydia's arm, but his sister continued to stare up at the tower. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Lydia bit her colorless lips and shivered. "I would like to visit with you at Antipater's today, after you finish inspecting the tower."
People veered around them. Some pointed and gawked.
James glanced over at the other woman with them, Elizabeth Onias. His father and hers were cousins. Lydia was staying with Cousin Nehonya, waiting for word from Father, who reportedly was in Parthia. Parthia? The family had distant relatives in the east, but James doubted his father was there for a friendly visit.
Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "I hope you plan to do your duty by your sister."
James shifted in place. With his father gone, Lydia’s care and well-being had become his responsibility. He had failed her when she needed him most—when the bandits attacked them. This time he would do better by his sister.
A desperate look came into Lydia's brown eyes. "Please take me to your home. I want to see where you live."
Antipater's house was no place for her. There was no telling what evils his sister would encounter. Worldly pleasures, drunken revelry and lewd behavior were regular visitors among the Idumean half-breeds. "Take you...to Antipater's home?" James made a face. "Are you mad?"
His sister flinched as though he’d struck her.
Elizabeth wrapped a protective arm around her. Black eyes flashing, she said, "Why do you always have to be so hateful and mean?"
James’s instinctive reaction—and more, the way he’d expressed it—had been thoughtless. Lydia had been held captive for months by those same wicked bandits, and the family had feared she might never recover from the strain—but he hadn't meant to insult her. James's shoulders hitched. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
The reprimand stung. Once again, Elizabeth Onias was seeing him at his worst. She had already witnessed James’s cowardly behavior during a time he tried hard to forget. Plus, she was his father's ex-wife—his pretty, young ex-wife.
Originally, James was supposed to marry Elizabeth. The proposed alliance had been part of an elaborate scheme designed to elevate his ambitious father to the position of High Priest of Israel. Disgusted with his father’s incessant, manipulative scheming, James had refused the match, so his father married Elizabeth himself.
James's mouth twisted. The age difference between Elizabeth and his father was obscene. At the time, Elizabeth had been a thirteen-year-old girl, and Simeon Onias had been fifty-three. It was an accepted practice among the Sadducees for old men to marry young girls, but most Israelites frowned on the practice.
Elizabeth crossed her arms. "Well?" she prodded. Spirited and confident, Elizabeth had become a breathtakingly gorgeous woman.
James swallowed. Though modestly dressed, her shapely body would make a fertility goddess appear demure. Large breasts. Small waist. Round hips. And he could be bedding her if he had accepted her as his wife.
"James Onias," she scolded, "don't you shame me with your eyes."
His face burned hotter than Hades. "Why... why aren't you remarried?" he sputtered. "You should have long since married. You've been divorced for six years."
Elizabeth paled.
Lydia revived, and put her arm around their cousin. "It's unkind of you to speak of Elizabeth's sorrow."
James frowned. "Sorrow? What are you..." A faint memory floated up. Something about Elizabeth being unclean. "You still bleed?"
Both women blushed. Elizabeth clutched her stomach while her eyes filled with loathing.
A woman's monthly flow made her ritually unclean. Eight days after her bleeding stopped she was free to go the Temple and offer sacrifices for atonement. A woman with a continual discharge was always impure. A husband would be defiled every time they had marital relations. She couldn't go to the Temple. Others shunned her.
James could bite his tongue off for throwing Elizabeth's shame in her face. Men didn't discuss such matters with women. Whatever he said now would only add to everyone's mortification. He turned and fled. It was the kindest thing he could do for all of them.
But, damnation, he could feel Elizabeth's eyes on his back, watching him play the role of coward. Again. They had both been taken captive by Judas the Zealot. Elizabeth had remained strong and brave, but he had blubbered like a baby and curled up into a frightened ball.
Lungs burning from holding his breath, he stopped at the first available entrance to the Hasmonean Baris. He'd have to cut through the citadel to get where he needed to go, but he didn't care. The sooner he escaped Elizabeth's judgmental glare, the better.
The Levite guarding the thick wooden door inspected him head to toe. "Did you purify yourself at a ritual bath?"
The religious pomposity grated like dirt between James's teeth. He wished he was still in Rome. "I don't plan to go anywhere near the Temple. I'm here to inspect the southeast tower."
The guard made a disgusted noise. "Why do you continue to shame your family by eschewing the Temple?"
Not in the mood for lectures, James slipped past him. Ignoring the l
oud complaints behind him, he hurried through the entryway. The dark, cold, airless confines of the ancient fortress closed around him.
***
Elizabeth's stomach churned as she watched James Onias flee down the road. The spineless snake.
"I apologize for my brother's callous remarks," Lydia said.
"I've had more bothersome flea bites." But the hurt lingered. Suddenly weary, Elizabeth looped her arm around Lydia's elbow. "You look frighteningly pale. Are you ill?"
Lydia glanced up at the tower. "I'm a bit tired. Would you mind if we turn back?"
Elizabeth patted Lydia’s hand. "I hope what your brother said didn't upset you."
Lydia shook her head. "James was a gangly, awkward boy when I left Jerusalem to live in Egypt, and now he is a handsome young man. I'd hoped he would outgrow his prickliness and learn to tame his sharp tongue."
Elizabeth's eyes told her James was fine-looking, and he might be beautiful as a soft summer sky or stunning as a mighty oak tree or striking as an eagle taking flight; it didn't matter. He ruined his attractiveness every time he opened his hateful mouth. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "James is like your father. Simeon’s sourness has rubbed off on your brother."
Lydia sighed. "I fear you are correct. My father has no inkling of how to be happy. And James seems to be headed down the same path."
A knot of Pharisees came around the corner.
Elizabeth's spine stiffened.
The religious men's lively conversation came to an end. Distaste warped their faces. They crossed the street lest they pass too close to her.
It took every bit of Elizabeth’s strength to keep her chin up.
After so many years enduring all the ramifications of her defilement, she should be used to the ignominy, used to the whispers behind her back, used to the pain. She wasn't. The monthly bleeding her mother had warned would come had arrived a month before she married Simeon Onias. Once the cursed blood came, it never stopped. The affliction was a grievous fate for a woman born in a nation dedicated to the worship of God…and worse still for those living in Jerusalem, a city devoted to ritual cleanliness…and particularly onerous for the wife or daughter of a priest, whose life revolved around the Temple.
The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 4
