"The room needs a good cleaning," Bryn announced, running her hand over a tabletop, sending a cloud of dust drifting through the sunlight.
Lydia stared down the street at the Hasmonean Palace, situated atop a small rise behind the First Wall. Men attended to the dead and fallen on both sides of the ancient barrier. "Don't bother with the dust. We won't be here long." Kadar would come for them, unless—she searched for a blond head. Let him be alive. Please let him be alive.
"Daughter."
Lydia spun around. Bryn yelped in surprise.
Father stood in the open doorway, smoothing his robe. "I'm not through with you, Daughter."
Lydia's breath stilled. "I was tired."
Brynhild moved to her side and glared at father. "Haven't you done enough damage for one day?"
Lydia clasped Bryn's broad, weathered hand and squeezed hard. "What else did you want with me, Father?"
"Stop treating your slave like a friend."
Bryn screwed up her face. "You are the nastiest man I've ever come across."
"Hush, Bryn," Lydia said under her breath.
Father smiled, sending a wave of dread through Lydia. "My ex-steward is waiting in the atrium for your irksome slave. I've paid Goda a generous sum to escort her back to Egypt."
Brynhild paled.
Lydia slipped her arm around Bryn. "Father, don't take Brynhild from me."
"Go, woman," Father said. "Get out of my sight."
Bryn charged forward. "You miserable man."
Lydia chased after Bryn, wrapped her arms around the pear-shaped woman and dragged her to a stop.
Father stood his ground. "Go, before I have you beaten."
"Leave, Bryn, please," Lydia begged. "He means what he says."
Bryn's face crumpled. "Who will watch over my kitten?"
"I'll be fine," Lydia said with far more confidence than she felt.
Bryn hugged her and pressed her lips to Lydia's ear. "Don't do anything rash," she whispered. "Wait for Kadar. He will keep his promise." Bryn gave Lydia a parting peck on the cheek, and fled down the stairs.
Father shook his head. "Impertinent slaves are the bane of my existence."
Tears blurred Lydia's vision. She had suffered many losses, and ought to be used to them, but she wasn't. God go with you, my dear Bryn.
Father strolled to the window, looked through the lattice screen, and nodded his approval. "Come, Daughter. Come witness the truth."
Lydia swallowed, straightened her shoulders, and went to the window.
His blue robe draping like a curtain from his arm, Father pointed to the enemy soldiers pouring into the city. "Nobody is coming to rescue you. Herod and your pet barbarian are the ones in need of rescuing."
She gripped the cold stone of the windowsill. Father hadn't uttered one word of sympathy over Uncle Jacob's death, hadn't asked after her welfare, and hadn't even greeted her. She meant nothing to him. Whatever love or care she still had for him died in that moment.
Father retreated to the door. "Prepare to leave for Parthia."
She threaded her fingers through the diamond-shaped openings in the lattice and stared at the Hasmonean Palace. The door clicked closed. The lonely existence looming ahead of her in Parthia frightened her more than ten armies.
The wind shifted and carried the heady fragrance of orange blossoms to her window. Determination took hold. She wasn't going to sit around waiting for Kadar to be killed, waiting for her father to send her to Parthia, waiting for help to come. That's what she'd done when the rebels abducted her. She was no longer a helpless, quivering sixteen-year-old. No, she was a grown woman able to fight back. One way or another, she'd find a way to escape her present troubles.
CHAPTER 22
The stale smell of boiled leeks and lentils lingered in the palace reception chamber. Kadar leaned against the gold-painted wall and blew out a frustrated breath. John Hycranus sat slumped in a chair, his chubby arms clinging to his wide belly. Herod paced the room.
Four days into the war, the palace guards had beaten back two assaults on the First Wall. Matters were currently at a stalemate, but it wouldn't take much to tip the scale in Hasmond's favor.
"Sit down before you wear a hole in the floor," Phasael said, drawing circles on the polished wood table with his finger.
"Are we going to surrender?" Pheroras asked again before going back to tapping his foot and chewing his nails to nubs.
"No!" Herod and Phasael answered together.
The door banged open, and Obodas barged in looking grim as the grave. Not a surprise, since the thick-necked career soldier was the man charged with defending the thin ribbon of stone and mortar separating them from Hasmond's swarming horde.
"Our army was slaughtered on the plains below Mount Carmel," Obodas announced bluntly.
Kadar banged the wall with his fist.
The color drained from John Hycranus's face.
Herod punched the air. "Damnation! There goes our last hope."
Phasael shoved back his chair and stood. "Have our spies reported back about Hasmond's reinforcements?" Hasmond's army was made up of Jewish rebels and foreign mercenaries. If the Parthian army descended on Jerusalem, there would be no stopping them.
Obodas nodded. "That's the one bright spot. Hasmond has sent message after message to General Barzaphranes, begging him to march on Jerusalem, but Barzaphranes has set up camp in Galilee."
Herod went back to pacing. "Barzaphranes is no fool. He is waiting for me and Hasmond to tear each other to pieces."
Pheroras's foot tapped faster. "It's hopeless."
Herod came to a stop behind Pheroras and massaged his timid brother's shoulders. "Don't give up. I need you to stay strong."
Obodas held out a scroll bearing an impressive seal. "Barzaphranes sent a message for High Priest Hycranus."
John Hycranus held out his hand.
Herod reached over Pheroras's head, grabbed the document, tore it open, and scanned the contents. "The Parthians want John, and us, to go to Galilee to negotiate a peace. What a bunch of horse —"
"I think we should accept," Phasael said taking the message from Herod.
Herod grimaced. "It's a trap."
Hycranus fished a stuffed olive out of a bowl. "I'm going to accept."
"Didn't you hear me?" Herod growled. "Barzaphranes wants to flush us out of hiding."
Hycranus blinked a few times, then popped the olive into his mouth. "I don't see any other option."
Phasael exhaled heavily. "I agree with John."
Herod turned on Phasael. "You can't be serious?"
Phasael scraped his hand through his curly black hair. "Hasmond has the upper hand."
"How will turning yourself over to the enemy help?" Herod asked frustration souring his voice.
"I want to make a deal now," Phasael said, "while we still have something to bargain with."
Herod clapped his hands to his head and looked as though he was going to be sick. "Phasael, don't go. Please, I'm begging you."
Pheroras cast a pleading look at Kadar.
Kadar frowned. Nothing he could say would help. There was no right answer. Both paths held danger. Every man would have to decide for himself. If it came to it, Kadar would choose to go down fighting.
Phasael squeezed Herod's shoulder. "I'm going to Galilee. I'd like you to come."
Herod's arms fell to his sides. "Someone has to stay with the family."
Phasael glanced quickly at Pheroras, but the timid man tended to be more of a burden than a help. Phasael sighed. "I need to say farewell to my wife and to Mother."
John Hycranus rose with effort, and he, Phasael, and Obodas took their leave.
Herod turned his black eyes on Kadar. "You were no help."
"I'm still here," Kadar said. Every instinct he had told him he should get out of this country. Slipping away on his own wouldn't be overly difficult. But he couldn't leave Lydia behind. Would he stay if she wasn't a consideration? He wanted to say No. Not a cha
nce. Except he missed the company of other warriors. Missed having a people to live and die for.
The faces of those he had loved and lost flashed though his mind. A pang of guilt hit, and he realized his hand had gone to the amulet his father had given him. "What's next?" he asked. "What are you planning?"
Herod always had a plan.
***
Kadar smiled. They made quite a rescue party—a Northman, the would-be master builder James Onias, and a handful of Idumean soldiers, sneaking through Jerusalem's dark alleys to spirit highborn Jewish girls to safety. The unlikely alliance had been brought about by the news Hasmond Mattathias planned to choose five hundred women from good families to join the Parthian prince's harem. Herod was welcoming the girls into the shelter of the palace. Most of the wealthy families residing inside the confines of First Wall had accepted. Families living outside the safe haven needed assistance moving their daughters to safety. Kadar had spent the last three nights smuggling the young women past Hasmond's undisciplined troops.
More reinforcements had arrived in the late afternoon, a development which made tonight's outings a bit more interesting. This was their third trip of the night. Hugging the shadows, Kadar checked around a corner. Finding the way clear, he waved on James Onias and the Idumeans.
Old John slid in line behind Kadar. "The place we want is near the end of the lane. Supposed to be six girls waiting. Six. That's a lot of frightened, fidgety women to deal with." As usual, the grizzled man bristled with weapons.
"One look at you, and half of them will run off screaming," Kadar said.
Old John chuckled and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "That's why we have this respectable rascal along."
James Onias frowned. "Respectable is probably too strong a word."
Old John tugged on the scabbard strapped to his side. "Me and Kadar, here, would rather face down an army of giants than cajole and console teary-eyed mothers. Isn't that right?"
Kadar grinned. "Absolutely." He hadn't been happy when Herod had given James the task of quieting the fears any concerned parents might have about handing their daughters over to a barbarian and a crew of Idumean soldiers. But James had handled himself well so far.
Men's voices carried to them. Kadar lifted his hand, and the Idumean soldiers halted. Swords hissed from sheaths. Kadar's blood rushed through his veins and his nerves hummed. Thundering Thor, he missed this. Missed the heady rush of taking up arms with battle-hardened men.
A moment later a large band of enemy soldiers moved by the entrance to the alley. Everyone held their breath, waiting…waiting. The low murmur of voices slowly faded away. Swallowing his disappointment, Kadar glanced back.
Stark fear showed on James Onias's face, but still his weapon was drawn and held at the ready. James swallowed and lowered his dagger. "Fickle Fortuna! I nearly wet myself."
A rumble of laughter rippled through the group, dissolving the last of the tension. Kadar gave the signal to move out. The men crept ahead. Each of them clapped James on the back in passing and gave him a word of encouragement or praise.
Earning respect from men who made their living with sword was not an easy feat. "You did well," Kadar said when it was his turn. "Next time, remind yourself to breathe." It was the advice Kadar's father had given him when he'd gone out on his first raid.
James pushed aside the black bangs hanging in his eyes, his lopsided grin faded. "Alexandra and Lydia would be amazed I didn't curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out, which is what I did when the zealots attacked."
"You were a boy then. Young men don't always act as they should." A truth Kadar knew from experience. Try as he might, he had trouble justifying his decision to run away from his homeland. There were many who would call him a coward for refusing to sacrifice his life for the good of his people. A charge he'd be hard-pressed to refute if he came face to face with the men from his village.
Kadar clapped James on the shoulder. "Obodas is ready to knock at the Levite's door. The man is a singer at the Temple?"
"The Head Singer. A highly coveted post."
They reached the door as it opened. A bug-eyed man wearing a tunic two sizes too small for his round body waved them into the multi-storied home. Obodas, James, and Kadar followed the Levite into a lavish reception room. The costly furnishings gave Kadar a new appreciation for the importance the Jews placed on the office of Head Singer. A notion the Northman in him found laughable.
The young women awaiting rescue stood bunched together next to a table heaped with untouched food. The girls' parents gathered around James and the Levite singer.
The bug-eyed Levite pounced on James. "I can't believe your father would turn on us like this. He's visited all the members of the Sanhedrin, asking the members of the court to support Hasmond."
James stood taller. "Don't trust my father. He is a liar."
The statement earned nods of agreement.
"So far the Sanhedrin is divided," the Head Singer continued. "Some are for John Hycranus. Some are for Hasmond." The bug-eyed man patted James's arm. "I passed judgment when you left home, but your father's present actions cast the matter in a new light."
A red flush crept up James's neck and face. "Herod needs your support. He promises to be very generous to those who act as his friend."
The Levite Head Singer blinked repeatedly. "Um...ah...tell Herod I will do what I can."
The vague offer of help sounded familiar. Fear of backing the wrong side in this little war was making almost everyone cautious.
"Don't work against Herod," James warned. "Don't forget, Herod marched an army on Jerusalem after he was put on trial for murder. Just think what he'll do to those dealing treacherously with him now."
The Head Singer paled. "Assure Herod I won't lift a finger to aid Hasmond."
Kadar smiled to himself. He thought Herod had gone a bit soft in the head when he picked Lydia's prickly brother for this mission. But James was the absolutely perfect choice. He came from a priestly line, and he was the son of Simeon Onias, giving him clout and credibility among the people who mattered. What's more, James's hatred for his father made him an extra-zealous messenger.
A short time later, the young women, after shedding many, many tears, and exchanging second and third hugs, were finally coaxed out the door. Old John and the Idumeans walked ahead of the skittish girls and Kadar and James guarded the rear.
"I noticed some of the girls we've rescued making eyes at you." Kadar was careful to keep his voice low. "And not just the ugly ones. Have you seen any who interest you?"
James made a face and shook his head. "Per my usual habit of doing the exact opposite of what's good for me, I find myself attracted to the last woman in the world I should set eyes on."
"It better not be Mariamne. Herod will kill you if he catches you lusting after his intended bride."
"Wouldn't my father love to see me married to the High Priest's granddaughter?" James crowed, then exhaled heavily. "My damnable father can propose all the marriages he wants for me, and I will go on rejecting them. My poor sister doesn't have the same luxury. I expected him to choose an old, toothless groom, but he has sunk to a new low."
James wasn't the only one to think so. Simeon Onias was the only man eager to give his daughter to a foreigner. The other four hundred and ninety-nine fathers were doing all they could to avoid the sin.
Old John held up his hand a short way from a main thoroughfare. The groups halted, and a soldier crept to the end of the alley to make sure the way was clear. The young women formed a tight knot and held hands.
Kadar rubbed his tired eyes. "I've spied on your father's house every night, searching for a way to get by the guards, but the place is sealed up tighter than a drum. It's maddening. Here I am smuggling dozens of women by Hasmond's army, but I'm powerless to help your sister."
"I've given the problem some thought. I could tell my father I want to meet at my cousin's house and insist he bring Lydia along."
"Your father would be
accompanied by guards. And what makes you think he'd take Lydia with him?"
"Because he's bent on talking to me. He sends messages every day demanding my presence. I'll tell him if he wants to meet with me he has to leave the guards behind and come with Lydia, or I won't go. Then I'll make sure Lydia is in my cousin's garden, and I'll distract my father long enough for you to spirit her away."
Kadar came wide awake. "It's a good plan. I'm impressed. But it's likely to cause you a pile of trouble."
James shrugged. "A man is born unto trouble, the scriptures say. What's a little more suffering, if it enables Lydia to find a bit of happiness and peace?"
"How soon can you arrange the meeting?"
Kadar heard a whisper soft noise behind him. The hair on the back of his neck rose. He spun around and hefted his sword. A dark shadow moved toward him.
"Stop right there," Kadar ordered.
Old John and James took up a position beside him. The pre-dawn light danced over the blades of their dark daggers.
The tall form stilled. "I spy for Herod. I have vital information to pass on."
Kadar's shoulders relaxed. "Come with us. We'll take you to him."
They moved on. A few alleys away they came upon the home of a Herod supporter. Old John knocked. The door opened and the ladder they needed came sliding out. Two of the Idumeans grabbed the ladder. The rescue party continued on.
Kadar kept a close eye on the messenger. The tall man looked very grim. The news he brought couldn't be good. A moment later they reached the tricky point—a lightly defended section of the First Wall guarded by a roving patrol.
After making sure all was quiet, the Idumeans propped the ladder against the wall, then took up defensive positions. Kadar climbed up the ladder first. Reaching the top, he whistled, gaining the attention of palace guards awaiting their return.
Herod, who always seemed to be everywhere at once, showed up to help guide the women over the wall.
The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 18
