“You’re telling me that a pair of Herod’s decedents thinks they can seize the throne of Cappadocia? That is patently absurd, Rabban. What fool would challenge the might of the Syrian Legion?”
“I believe they are waiting for the death of the current Caesar. As that seems a near certainty they will step in during the inevitable struggle for succession that will follow and then swear loyalty to the most likely winner.”
“There will be no struggle.”
“Then that will be a first. At any rate, Archelaus apparently fell out with his brothers and refused to be party to the plan or he might have had separate ambitions of his own. Either way what he knew placed him in jeopardy. When he sensed something amiss, he enlisted the help of his friend, ally, and cousin, Philip. He sent his daughter to him for protection. Philip placed her in his wife’s household, but did not reveal to anyone who she was or why she was there. When Herodias left Philip for Antipas, the girl came along as well. As with all things associated with this extended family, nothing is ever simple.”
“So she was the great-granddaughter of Herod the First. She was seen as a threat? To whom?”
“Primarily to the remaining brothers. Their opponents, and there would be many, would happily use her as a rallying point for a civil war, or in this case an attempt to reestablish the kingdom forfeited by the first Archelaus. We may never know for sure. Those who lust for power are a confusing and unpredictable lot, but one thing is certain, anyone who so aspires, must have some connection to the throne they covet. A prince is best, but a princess will do. A son of a princess would be marginally better.”
“Did she know?”
“I think it unlikely. She never knew her grandfather, and would not be the object of discussion in Cappadocia, I think.”
“So she did not have to die?’
“Without the pendant, she had no proof of her relationship and who would believe a woman and a damaged one at that? So, no, she did not have to die.”
“But one thing I do not understand. Why did not everyone know this? Surely if they saw the pendant on her neck, they would know or at least guess.”
“That is the question, indeed. They did not see it because it was hidden. Her father, to protect her, had an overlay of material put on the medallion that completely covered the inscription and the gold. He did it to protect her. Her identity, you could say, was hidden in plain sight only to be revealed later at an appropriate time and place.”
“So her uncles, acting on the information of the…you did say the captain of the guard?”
“Yes.”
“Sent this man, posing as a Greek, into Antipas’ court to relieve her of her identity.” Pilate drank from his cup. “She needn’t have died.”
“Again, no, she needn’t have died.”
“And if you, that is to say, I, hadn’t been able to capture, or at least identify her killer, it might have gone badly with me in the Senate.”
“Possibly.”
“I am in your debt, Rabban.” He drank again. “You said something about this Menahem. What did you mean?”
“Ah. I said I recognized him, yet I never met him before. I thought I had seen him recently, in fact, but that could not be.”
“But you had?”
“I had. So have you—often.”
“So you said. When? I do not attend on the king’s court.”
Gamaliel tossed a coin on the table next to the pendant. “Here, on the obverse of this coin.”
Pilate picked it up and frowned. “It is the face of the same Julius Caesar of whom we just spoke.”
“Yes.”
“And? Am I being thick headed or are you playing games with me again?”
“It is said that Queen Cleopatra’s son, Caesarion, bore a striking resemblance to his father whom Antony, among others, claimed was Julius Caesar.”
“By the gods, Rabban, you cannot be serious.”
“It is so, Prefect. Rumors of the young Pharaoh’s fate are many and varied and perhaps mythical—he escaped to India, he returned to Octavian who had him garroted, he was slain by the Nabataeans. It appears, however, that Herod, who as I said was no fool, saw an advantage in holding him. He had conquered Nabataea with the support of Cleopatra already. He had cast his lot with Antony after the death of Julius. As luck would have it, Caesarion was on his way east through Idumea and passing through Petra. I believe a servant betrayed his identity for money. Herod trapped him and brought him into his court. The man, boy really, then had no choice. Accept Herod’s hospitality or Octavian’s vengeance. Herod thought of him as an asset in the games he played. If he needed to curry the favor of Octavian, he had a die to cast. If not, he could do this one last favor for his late and former allies and protect the son. And, who knew, he might need him in the future.”
“And now that asset is mine.”
“If you have use of it, it would seem so.”
“Was he ever married? Were there children? If so, that might add another complication or advantage. He is very old.”
“I know of no offspring. If there are any, and he denies there are, and unless they sprang from a noble family, they would have little or no value, much less be in a position to make a claim.”
“That’s so. Many years have passed since Actium and with Augustus dead and Tiberius, as you just noted, failing, I doubt this asset is of much use to anyone now.”
“Yet even old coins retain value when spent in the right market, Excellency.”
“As you say. Thank you. I am impressed, Rabban. I did not take you for a solver of mysteries. How did you do it?”
“You remember our first encounter when you charged me with this business? We spoke glancingly about the Princess Salome and her alleged dance wearing only seven veils and I wondered what the Baptizer’s fate might have been—”
“Had she been wrapped in eight and so on. Yes, yes, so?”
“My mystery was like the princess, only not so beautiful. I went through all the bits and pieces. I asked questions. I thought about what I had learned from my interviews. Finally, one by one, the veils fell away. When I acquired an account of the fall of Egypt and the more recent history of Cappadocia to the north, the seventh fell away. All that was left was the business of the basement and the Greek.”
Pilate’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. “What about the basement?”
“It was where the man was hiding. I needed a means to lure him out. Once that was done, my eighth veil dropped to the floor. I saw all. And on that note, Excellency, I must take my leave.” Gamaliel slipped off Pilate’s ring and handed it to him. “With respect, Excellency, it is my sincere hope you will have nothing more to occupy my time, now or ever. As you said, you are in my debt—doubly so, I should think.”
“Be off, Rabban, I will not bother you again.”
Would he not? Gamaliel wondered and prayed it would be so.
Epilogue
Four of Gamaliel’s students waited for him when he returned to his work. He couldn’t be sure how many, if any, would be there and was gratified to still have them in place and eager to engage. His week-long absence chasing after a killer combined with the Feast of Tabernacles had disrupted the routines of both teacher and students. But he was happy to be back doing the thing he loved best. He spent the morning with them and at noon sent them away to attend to the other duties they were called to. One paused at the door as if to speak.
“So, Saul, is there something you wish to ask me?”
“Not ask, exactly. To consult, more like. I have a problem set for me by the High Priest.”
“Ah, I see. Without knowing the nature of the problem, my advice is to keep some distance from Caiaphas. I know he comes from a family proud of their ascension to the position and I have known and been a colleague of his for years, but it has been my experience that the position he holds has within it the seeds of a man’s destruction. I do not know why. It may be that it comes from the fact that the position has slipped over the centuries fr
om being held by descendants from the line of Aaron to whomever can curry political favor.” Gamaliel looked up at his student and saw the astonishment in his eyes.
“But the High Priest…how can we think of him in such a way?”
“I am sorry, my son, I spoke too soon and perhaps too harshly. I am no longer young like you and I sometimes see the world with an eye that is clouded. Experience should make it clearer, but it doesn’t. So, what is the problem the High Priest has burdened you with?”
“He has not yet burdened me with anything, Rabban. He only asks me to consider joining him as part of the Temple staff. I would have thought that was an honor and would like to accept but I am afraid it will interfere with my studies, you see?”
“Ah, so that is it. And what would he have you do as a member of his inner circle?”
“He is concerned about the burgeoning number of itinerant rabbis roaming the countryside and the laxity of their teaching. He wishes me to join him so that the older, more experienced members can launch an assault on some of them.”
“He is concerned about more than one itinerant rabbi?”
“Yes, although he seems particularly focused on one, a man from the Galilee, or someplace like that.”
“I see. And he wishes you to pursue this man?”
“Not I, no. He has set Ehud to work on that one. He has a plan to bring him down, he says.”
“Does he really? What might that be, I wonder? Did he say?”
“Not in any detail. I gather he thinks there is one of the rabbi’s number who is weak and he plans to suborn him somehow—money or a bribe, perhaps. I believe he thinks there is enough evidence of blasphemy to punish him.”
“Punish? Really, Saul, consider. If you were this rabbi and believed in what you are doing as he must, would a flogging be enough to stop you? Or jail?”
His student frowned and shook his head. “No, probably not. How brave one will be is something one never knows until tested, but no, I would not. The High Priest will have to find some other means to silence this man. And since the Romans have taken away our right to execute criminals or heretics I cannot imagine what that would be.”
“Well, as unlikely as it seems, the High Priest might attempt to provide evidence of sedition and remand him to the Prefect for crucifixion.”
“The High Priest hates Rome as much as the rest of us. Is that likely?”
“I have a rule, Saul. With the High Priest as with the Lord, all things are possible”
“Well, all this assumes there will be sufficient witnesses brought forth to testify about both. He thinks this disciple will do that.”
“But the High Priest does not want you to take that job on?”
“No. He has other duties for me.”
“My advice to you is this, do as you think best, of course, but I believe you would benefit most from another year or two with me. But if you do go to the Temple, do not allow yourself to be drawn into the High Priest’s mania about rabbis that do not meet his standard. It can only lead to trouble.”
“I don’t understand. The Law is the Law and it cannot be compromised.”
“Is that what I teach, Saul? Don’t I teach that the Law is from the Lord for the guidance of men? Too often we think we must do the Lord’s thinking for him rather than listening for what he has to say to us. The High Priest means well, but he is like a stubborn camel that has slipped its lead. Instead of following the path already charted for him, he has taken it into his head to break a new one.”
“You do not like the High Priest?”
“On the contrary, I do. I have known him most of my life. He works very hard at his job in very difficult circumstances. I would never doubt his sincerity, but in some things he can be like that camel. For example, this rabbi he is so addled about. My advice to you and to him is, leave him alone. Martyrs are always more attractive than the real thing, you understand? Let it be and it will dry up like the Salt Sea in the summer.”
“But if it doesn’t?”
“I can’t say what he should do then, or you either for that matter. I think I would ask myself if it won’t go away, what does that signify? And then, act—one way or the other.”
“You would seek him out?”
“Probably not. I will be frank with you, Saul. I have no interest in any of this. I wish only to continue to live my life and study my scrolls until I die. I have no further ambition. It is your decision how to deal with upstart rabbis and self-proclaimed messiahs as it will be your generation that will be affected by them in the end.”
“You do not think it is a good plan to pursue this man through his disciple?”
“I think it is a very stupid idea. Sorry, that is probably too strong. I think it ill-advised.”
“All this, of course, assumes something will come of it.”
“Yes, and what is the likelihood of that happening?”
Appendix
Those of us educated in the United States are, or perhaps more properly were, taught our history from a distinctly Eurocentric point of view. We know something of the royal families of England, France, and maybe Spain, and a bit about the Roman Empire and its successor, the Holy Roman Empire. We have the dates for the Norman Conquest, Columbus sailing from Spain. We learned the foibles of Henry the VIII, Louis the XIV, and secretly hoped the Three Musketeers really existed. American history veers off from its European roots but the reference points remain much the same.
Julius Caesar is a familiar figure to us because some of us suffered through his Gallic Wars in Latin I and almost all of us were required to read Shakespeare’s play by that name. We may also have read his Antony and Cleopatra. And if not either of those, saw the film with Richard Burton, Rex Harrison, and Elizabeth Taylor. (Some few of us are old enough to remember a dishy Claudette Colbert as Cleopatra—in black and white and by all accounts, in a somewhat better rendering of the story.) And Greek mythology was and perhaps still is deeply embedded in our understanding of both western literature and its culture.
However, for most of us “of a certain age,” what we know of Mid-Eastern history of that time period must be gleaned from ancient texts like Josephus, and the Bible. A very few of my generation could even spell Gilgamesh much less have read it. The Bible is generally viewed as a source from which one seeks spiritual guidance, but has only coincidental historical content, and Josephus was not on anyone’s summer reading list. Consequently, we sometimes miss the fact that these two threads of history are importantly intertwined.
Herod the Great, the instigator of the slaughter of the innocents, as the Bible reports among other things, and Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile, pharaoh, and consort to both Mark Antony and Julius Caesar at one time or another, were contemporaries, allies against common enemies, and occasional rivals for the income to be earned from tolls collected along the King’s Highway that began in Africa’s Rift Valley and ran the length of their respective countries.
Herod the Great
b. 73 or 74 BCE, d. 4 BCE in Jericho
Herod secured his place as King of Israel with sponsorship of Julius Caesar and he was an ally of Marc Antony. At his death, his kingdom was divided between his heirs, most notably Herod Antipas (the Herod cited in the Passion Narrative and the man who had John the Baptist beheaded at the behest of Herodias’ daughter, Salome—she of the infamous “Dance of the Seven Veils.”) The other mention is of Philip, Herodias’ first husband, and then we learn later of Herod Antipater and Herod Agrippa.
Herod ruled as Client King of the Roman provinces of Judea, Galilee, and Samaria. He was described as “a madman who murdered his own family and a great many rabbis.” Whatever else may be said about him, one must add that Herod the Great, once friend to Julius Caesar, Cleopatra, and Antony, and who somehow managed to retain power after Octavian’s victory, had to have been a very savvy politician.
William Barclay writes, “He murdered his wife Mariamne and her mother Alexandra. His eldest son, Antipater, and two other sons, Alexander
and Aristobulus, were all assassinated by him.” (The Daily Study Bible Series: The Gospel of Matthew, vol.1, 2nd edition [Westminster Press: 1958], 20) History records that of the two murdered sons by Mariamne, Alexander had two children by Herod’s niece, Glaphyra, from his line stemming from his marriage to Malthace. Some believe there may have been a third child, perhaps a daughter, but there is no record of her or his name. A son, Archelaus, is the author’s invention as is his history.
There is also a dispute about Philip, not just the spelling of his name (one L or two) but his marriage. Some scholars question the claims made in Mark’s Gospel that he was married to Herodias and had a daughter, Salome. Or that Herodias subsequently divorced him and married his half brother, Antipas. An alternate version has him married to Salome, his niece by Herodias’ marriage to someone else. This book holds to the traditional view and that Mark had it right, or near enough. A second problem lies with the repetition of the name itself and confusion with another Philip, the Tetrarch, a near contemporary with a similar marital history (to a niece). And finally, Salome is a name which compounds the problem further as it pops up frequently as well in the royal line and elsewhere.
The intermingled lines of the royal family begun by Herod the Great also create problems for many, particularly this author, who would sort through them in search of a pattern or a direction. Not only do the lines cross but the names duplicate frequently. Thus Philip the Tetrarch was not, it seemed the same as Philip Boethus who was at one time, also a Tetrarch along with his half brother Herod Antipas. Or, then again, perhaps he is. And it must be reemphasized not all scholars would draw up the “family tree” as shown at the front nor would they agree on the names, dates of birth and deaths, or succession.
Lest one is tempted to shake one’s head at the seemingly incestuous and tangled mess set forth in the “family tree” illustrated at the beginning of the book, one should pause a moment and consider the royal families of Europe. At the outbreak of the First World War, for example, the primary combatants were England, Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Russia. Nicholas, Tsar of Russia, George V, King of England, and the Archduke of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and Wilhelm, the German kaiser, were cousins. They were also related by blood and/or marriage to the King of the Belgians, the royal families of Greece, Prussia, and half a dozen other greater or lesser principalities scattered across the continent. Royalty, it seems, is reluctant to share power outside the family.
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