The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2)

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  Kadar and Obodas brought up the rear as they joined the jostling crowd climbing the white-marble to the theatre. Excited as a child on feast day, Mark Antony herded Herod and Pheroras to a private seating area at the front of a massive open-air amphitheatre abuzz with merriment. Antony, the second man of the current Triumvirate ruling Rome, snatched a large silver goblet from a pretty slave girl, drained the contents, and exchanged the empty cup for a full one.

  Taking a seat on a stone bench behind Herod and Antony, Kadar and Obodas exchanged dubious looks.

  Antony elbowed Herod. "What do you think of the place? I remember you used to drool over grand palaces and fortresses and aqueducts."

  "We are in for a treat, if the actors are half as dramatic as the theatre," Herod said.

  A slave boy offered Kadar a cup of wine. He refused and stared up at the impressive stage, admiring a multi-storied, columned backdrop worthy of the gods. Romans took their entertainments seriously.

  Herod hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "This is my friend Kadar's first visit to a theatre."

  Antony saluted Kadar with his silver cup. Ten years older than Herod, Antony had the papery, faded complexion of a man who didn't get enough sleep and who drank and ate too much. "The actors are staging one of my favorite comedies. The play is in Latin, but you should be able to follow the story easily."

  Impatient with the small talk, Kadar wanted answers. Would Mark Antony provide the assistance they needed? Were they wasting their time?

  Herod shot Kadar a keep-your-mouth-shut look, then turned to Antony. "I told my father Jerusalem needs a theatre. Traveling actors came to our home in Idumea a few times, but my father said Jerusalemites would never stand for a theatre in their midst."

  "Please accept my condolences," Antony said. "Your father and brother were good men. Two of the best soldiers I've had the privilege of marching beside."

  Sadness shadowed Herod's face. He cleared his throat. "You helped my father oust Hasmond from Jerusalem. I've come to ask you to do the same for me."

  Antony slugged back another cup of wine. "I wish I'd been there to stop Parthia. Though it pains me to speak ill of my dead wife, I had no choice but to return to Rome when I learned of Fulvia's plot against Octavian. I planned to wring her conniving neck, but she died before I reached Rome."

  "I'm sorry for your loss," Herod said.

  Antony slumped forward. "I had to marry Octavian's mousy sister to smooth matters." A sheepish look crossed his rugged face. "Did Cleopatra say anything to you about my marriage to Octavia?"

  "Cleopatra poured her venom upon Octavian's head," Herod said soothingly. "But she is convinced you will get the best of him yet."

  Kadar blew out an impatient breath. If this lovesick drunk was their best hope, they were in deep trouble.

  Antony straightened. "Thank you for this excellent news. I plan to return to the east once I have secured my standing in Rome, and turn my attention to driving Parthia out of my provinces. I need men I can trust ruling in places like Judea and Syria."

  Though his whole future was at stake, Herod remained outwardly calm. "If you give me funds to raise an army, I will repay your trust very generously. We've fought side by side on the battlefield. You know I won't run in the face of trouble."

  "You always were a brash pup," Antony said. "I like boldness in a man. I'll arrange for you to meet with Octavian." His smile faded. "The haughty weakling is a weight tied around my leg. I can't make a move without consulting my dear brother-in-law."

  For the first time in months, Herod smiled a real smile. "Take me to see Octavian, and I'll do the rest."

  "Is tomorrow soon enough?"

  "I see you haven't changed either. Charge in and get the job done."

  The actors took the stage and the hum coming from the tiered seats behind them died out.

  Satisfied they'd done all they could that day, Kadar relaxed in his seat.

  A man wearing a brown mask rode a donkey to the middle of the stage. Painted tears flowed down the lifelike mask. Behind him a white-masked woman and a purple-robed rich man appeared on a second story balcony. The rich man pulled the woman close and tried to kiss her. She resisted, but her ardent admirer refused to give up. The man in the brown mask beat on his chest, clearly tortured by what he observed.

  Obodas leaned toward Kadar. "The women's parts are all played by men. After seeing my first play, I wanted to kill Herod for not telling me the sweet virgin I'd been lusting after was actually a pimple-faced boy."

  "I thought this was supposed to be comedy," Kadar whispered.

  "Wait, it gets better," Obodas assured him.

  "I can think of better ways to spend my time," Kadar said pushing off the stone bench. "I'll meet you back at the rented rooms." Ignoring the unhappy look Obodas gave him, Kadar slipped into the aisle, walked briskly to a side door, and stepped out into the large garden complex abutting the theatre.

  Enclosed on three sides by long, columned porches, the airy forum contained lavish fountains and marble sculptures of famed actors. Normally he went out of his way to befriend the local merchants. Today he avoided the eyes of the vendors selling food and goods from the stalls skirting the garden, and made his way toward an impressive temple complex.

  He stopped in front of the first temple. White marble stairs rose to tall, slender pillars framing a massive statue of a god. He pulled the hammer-shaped amulet out from under his tunic, and ran his thumb over the embossed silver surface. Pondering the notion of giving up his gods while tucked up in his bed was one thing. He thought he might feel differently standing among the homes of the gods.

  He felt nothing. The gods of Gaul and Rome held no appeal. The opposite was true—the farther he went from Lydia and Jerusalem, the more certain he became his destiny was with her, and with her people, and with her God.

  He moved on to the circular, columned temple dedicated to the goddess Fortuna, wrapped his fingers around the bit of precious metal—the last link to the past, to his fellow Northmen, to his father—and dragged the leather tie over his head.

  Looping the tie around the amulet, he set the small bundle on the temple steps. An all-encompassing peace took hold. He turned for the nearest gate and headed toward his next stop.

  A Jewish house of prayer.

  Several blocks up the smooth-paved road, he turned down a narrow alley, and stopped in front of a two-storied, crumbling plaster building with a picture of a seven-branched candelabra painted above the plain wooden door.

  He lifted his hand to knock. Thundering Thor! Was he actually presenting himself at a synagogue as a convert to the house of Israel? Would they laugh in his face? Would he have to find new swear words? He banged again on the worn oak panel before his courage dwindled away.

  A moment later the door swung inward and a bearded man, similar in age to Kadar, stared back, wide-eyed. "How may I help you?"

  Kadar forced his lips into a smile, hoping it helped him appear somewhat friendly. "I would like to sit and watch you study and pray. I promise not to interfere."

  The man's brows rose, but he waved Kadar in. "Come. Come. We welcome strangers among us. My name is Enoch."

  "I'm one of you...recently, a new convert." Kadar felt his face heat. "I'm Kadar the Nor—Ah...Just Kadar."

  Enoch studied him carefully. "This is your first visit to synagogue, I think?"

  Kadar lifted his hand to his chest, vulnerable and unsure without the familiar weight of the amulet anchoring him. Coming here wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. "I've visited our Lord's Temple in Jerusalem, but I've never attended..." Bone tired, he scrubbed his face. "Maybe I should leave."

  "Stay. Stay," Enoch opened the door wider. "You've been to Jerusalem. Seen the Temple? I hope to visit the Holy City one day." Awe and jubilation showed on the man's bearded face. "Come and fellowship with us, my relations and brethren will be as anxious and delighted as I am to hear the details of your pilgrimage and conversion."

  Kadar ducked under the lintel
and breathed in the cinnamon and balsam-scented air filling the small anteroom. "I'll try not to do anything that offends you. But this is all new to me."

  Enoch walked to one of three doors and pulled it open. "First you will need to cleanse yourself in our ritual bath."

  Kadar's joints tightened. "I am...ah…circumcised. Do you need proof? Or—"

  "We are not going to inspect you. Your word is enough." Enoch smiled to himself. "You might have noticed we are a very modest people."

  In the past Kadar had mocked and laughed at the typical Jew's shyness over nudity, but today he gained a new appreciation for it. He stepped into a dank, closet-sized chamber consisting of small landing area with enough room for a bench and niches holding towels and clean tunics, and a rough-walled pool partitioned down the middle, with a set of stairs on both sides. He looked back at the bearded man. "Tell me how to do this properly."

  "It's simple, really. You walk down one side of the stairs unclean, immerse yourself in the water, and emerge out of the pool up the other side of the stairs symbolically clean, fit to say prayers and read the words of the Law and the prophets."

  "I can't read," Kadar confessed with regret. "And I don't know how to pray."

  "I will count it an honor to read in your place and to teach you to pray."

  The tightness in Kadar's shoulders eased. "Do you have a tunic large enough to fit me?"

  Good-natured laughter echoed off plastered walls. "I doubt it. The ones here aren’t used often. Almost everyone brings a second set of clothes."

  "I'll make do." Kadar sat on the bench and began unlacing his sandals. The door clicked shut. Dim light cast by a trio of wall sconces bounced over the dark water. He stood, peeled off his tunic and descended the stairs on the right. Cool water engulfed his knees, then his thighs, then his chest, and finally his neck.

  Not sure what to do next, he recalled one of Lydia's stories, one to do with a captain of the Syrian army who, after he was healed from the scourge of leprosy, gave his allegiance to the God of Israel. Kadar bowed his head. "I confess before the heavens...there is no other God in the world, but in Israel. From this day forward, your servant will offer neither burnt offering nor sacrifice unto other gods, but unto the Lord God."

  He dipped under the water, floated in place, then burst free. Climbing up the other stairs, water cascading off his body, he rose a new man.

  CHAPTER 38

  Two Days Later

  The whole mission and future hanging in the balance, Kadar watched Herod pace in front of a chest-high marble fireplace framed by four Corinthian columns.

  He wasn't used to seeing Herod rattled, but today's meeting with Octavian had Herod on edge. Kadar, Pheroras, and Obodas stood clustered in the middle of the lavishly decorated reception chamber sharing an uneasy silence.

  Carved double doors at the back of the chamber swung open, and the heir to Julius Caesar's wealth, Octavian, a young man about twenty-five years old made a stately entrance. The curly headed, soft-cheek lad walked with pomp to a blue-cushioned reclining chair perched on a small raised dais. The regal youth sat on his faux throne, and pointed at the gold-cushioned couches arranged around the low marble platform. "Herod of Idumea, I have heard much about you. Come and share your story with me."

  Kadar sat off to the side, half listening to Herod recite the events of the last few months.

  "He looks like a spoiled, pampered fool," Obodas whispered in Kadar's ear.

  Kadar nodded, but quickly changed his mind, thanks to the young man's perceptive questions, and clever eyes that missed nothing. Mark Antony had good cause to worry about Octavian, who had already trounced him on the battlefield.

  Kadar sat forward when Herod finished his story, convinced Octavian's judgment would ultimately decide matters.

  Octavian's eyes brightened. "My adopted father, Caesar, shared stories with me about the wars you and your father helped him win. He spoke of your great hospitality and what great friends you were to Rome. Your brave actions in the face of grave danger from Hasmond and Parthia prove you, like your father, are a man of merit."

  Herod flashed his white smile. "Your father excelled at all he put his hand to. His praise means much to me, as does yours."

  Octavian clapped for an aide. "I will call the senate together tomorrow and present your case to them." He turned from them to confer with his secretary.

  Herod spoke behind his hand to Kadar and Obodas. "With the weight of Antony and Octavian's full support behind us, the senate is sure to fall in line."

  "Don't allow Antony and Octavian to drag this out with meeting after meeting," Kadar said, dreading the possibility of long, drawn-out sessions where the issue would be talked to death.

  "Take my place if you think you can do better," Herod growled.

  Obodas interceded. "You have more patience for negotiations, Herod."

  "I won't breathe easy until we rescue our loved ones from Masada," Kadar said by way of an apology.

  Obodas squeezed Kadar's shoulder. "Be patient, my friend."

  Herod winked. "And try smiling. You look about as personable as a charging bear."

  Kadar scrubbed his face. "I'll take a battlefield over reception chambers and banquet halls any time."

  ***

  Two Days Later

  The Roman senate assembled with due pageantry to hear Herod's case. Kadar stood at the back of the chamber between Pheroras and Obodas, watching the solemn proceedings with his heart in his throat. Herod was seated between Antony and Octavian. Two experienced orators took turns singing Herod's praises and decrying Hasmond's actions.

  When the second orator left the podium, Mark Antony rose. "My fellow senators, after hearing of Herod's loyal service to Rome, I think you will agree with me we should throw our full support behind him."

  "Aye, aye," the initial murmurs of support grew and grew until the chamber reverberated with the senate's full approval.

  Herod inclined his head, acknowledging the tremendous honor.

  The room quieted, and Antony placed his hand on Herod's shoulder. "I propose we reward our friend, Herod of Idumea, with the title King of Judea."

  "Aye, aye," the chorus of approval was louder this time.

  Herod looked stunned, although Kadar doubted the honor came as a shock. Antony and Herod had holed up in private the previous evening. A meeting Herod had remained cagey about.

  The commotion died down. A vote was called for. The result, a foregone conclusion, Herod was named king.

  "Good luck! The gods' speed!" the toga-clad men at the back of the hall yelled.

  Herod's wide smile lit up the chamber.

  Kadar bumped his elbows into Pheroras and Obodas's sides. "That couldn't have gone better."

  The two men frowned.

  Which put a hitch in Kadar's jubilation. "What?"

  Pheroras shrugged and glanced away, then looked back at Kadar. "Almost all of Judea and Galilee will decry Rome's decision to name an Idumean half-breed king. And the zealots, who already hate Rome and Herod, will fight against us with renewed zest."

  A veteran of many wars, Obodas stared ahead blankly, no doubt envisioning past combat or battles yet to come. "If you thought our backs were against the wall before, just wait till word of this spreads. Recruiting an army will be that much more difficult. Our friends will be few and far between. I'd rather have seen Herod made king after the war was won, but he's not the kind to wait for what he wants."

  Kadar watched Mark Antony and Octavian honor Herod by escorting him to the head of a long procession. A golden crown was brought forward, and Antony placed the thin circlet over Herod's rough black curls. "When did this ambition to be king form?"

  "Herod would never admit it," Obodas said wryly, "but he came out of the womb wanting to wear a crown."

  Pheroras smiled. "My father would laugh and laugh, recalling Herod in his swaddling clothes, ordering us boys around like he was a general and we were his foot soldiers." If Pheroras begrudged his younger brother
for seeking the honor and responsibility normally reserved for an elder son, he hid it well.

  Head held high, Herod walked up the aisle ensconced in the place of honor between Antony and Octavian. Toga-clad senators came next in line, followed by lesser dignitaries.

  Kadar nodded a salute at King Herod. Yes, more trouble waited them. But Herod intended to leave Rome for the journey back to Judea in two or three days. Which was enough for now.

  CHAPTER 39

  Joppa - Two Months Later

  Working nonstop since their return home, Herod had raised an impressive army comprised of Jewish soldiers and gentile mercenaries. As the army moved south through Galilee, almost everyone threw their support behind Herod, reflecting their displeasure with the wartime atrocities committed by Hasmond and the Parthians.

  Pockets of resistance still existed, however. The anti-Herod forces occupying the coastal city of Joppa were the last stronghold standing between Herod and Idumea and Masada. The Roman army dispatched to rescue Herod's family from Masada had loitered outside of Jerusalem instead, thanks to Hasmond's bribes. Stern orders from Rome had convinced the commander to march to Herod's assistance.

  The forward scouts had alerted them the moment the anti-Herod forces had left the confines of Joppa to harass the Roman army. The midday sun beating down of their heads, Herod's untested army hunkered down next to a rutted road, waiting for the enemy to appear.

  Kadar's blood thrummed through his limbs. He gripped and re-gripped his sword and stared through a screen of green palm fronds, waiting for the anti-Herod forces pursuing the Roman army to draw closer, waiting for Obodas to give the signal to launch the ambush, anxious for the fight to be over so he was that much closer to a reunion with Lydia.

  Hunched over at an uncomfortable angle, Herod trotted up on foot and stopped beside Kadar. "The devils are almost where we want them."