by Tracy Higley
The pain in his voice took her breath away. A dangerous warmth spread through her, mixed with a dawning pity. She had not known. Or perhaps she had. She touched his arm with her fingertips, but he jerked away as though burned.
“Simon.” She whispered his name, but he would only look at the doorway.
“I will say this only once, Lydia. And then we must not speak again.”
She nodded, silent.
“What was once between us cannot exist any longer. If you still care anything at all for me, you will marry Agrippa. It is the only way I can let you go.”
As Sohemus had let go of Mariamme? What proof was there that creating the bond of marriage would dissolve all other bonds?
“Marry Agrippa and go to Rome, Lydia.” His eyes found hers at last, unshed tears sparkling on his lashes. “I am begging you to set me free.”
When Mariamme found her in her chamber an hour later, Lydia wiped her eyes with the handkerchief her friend offered.
“What did Simon say about your impending marriage?”
Lydia glanced sideways at Mariamme, but her expression held no judgment. Only pity.
Mariamme smiled sadly. “Do you think I have not seen how much he means to you? Every day you grow nobler, more royal. But also sadder.”
Lydia exhaled heavily. “He told me once that he loved me. He will not say it again.”
Mariamme pulled up a chair and sat beside Lydia, clasping her hands. “You must avoid him, Lydia. You must do all you can to stay away. Trust me.”
The way that she said trust me was an opening she had never given Lydia. “Is it still Sohemus? Do you—have you—?”
Mariamme’s hands clenched involuntarily on Lydia’s. “I have done nothing, nor will I. But it has only grown more difficult as the years have passed. I have urged him to marry, but he refuses.” She shook her head, studying the floor. “Strangely, Herod must suspect nothing, for he continues to have Sohemus as my guard. With his jealousy, Herod never would have done so if he had any idea of Sohemus’s feelings for me.”
“Or your feelings for him.”
Mariamme stood and paced. “We should not speak of it. It only makes it more difficult.” She stopped and turned on Lydia. “That is why I tell you to trust me—you must remain distant from Simon. You know it is impossible to be together in the way that you wish, and no good will come of being near him in any other way. You will think you are only assuring yourself of his love or trying to ease his pain, but it only makes it harder, until you fear that your worst instincts will overwhelm you—”
She cut off with a sob, and Lydia went to her and embraced her.
How long she had suffered. Only her goodness and piety, and that of Sohemus, kept them both chaste and yet in pain. Herod could take as many slave girls to himself as he liked, and yet Mariamme must be denied the only man she loved.
Mariamme was right. She must remove herself from this place, from Simon.
Her time in Rome years ago had been too short, and it was an amazing city. Perhaps she could be happy there.
Nothing had turned out the way she had expected. Her destiny had not been the scrolls, nor even Jerusalem.
Perhaps it was time to let it all go.
Chapter 33
Salome sat cross-legged on the floor with a circle of tiny oil lamps flickering around her and incense burning in the center. She swayed gently with the warmth and the spicy scent and the half-drowsed lethargy she had fallen into.
Her mind was open, her palms spread before her. Let the goddess fill her with knowledge now, for she needed answers.
For years she had not felt this oppression, this blocking of her powers to control the lives and fates of those around her, even though she had been unable to worm her way between Herod and his precious Mariamme, to open her brother’s eyes to the woman’s unworthiness.
But the peace had ended the day Salome faced down that servant-turned-royalty, Lydia.
Just as before, when Salome had tried to destroy the girl’s mind in the storeroom, she had found Lydia protected. But not as before, for the protection was even stronger now, and it came from within the girl, not merely from without. Although she seemed yet unaware of her own power.
Salome breathed deeply of the incense and fought to keep her limbs relaxed, her hands open. What was it about the girl? Why was she important? A Ptolemy and a Hasmonean, yes. But there had to be more than this.
She whispered yet another prayer to the goddess for wisdom. For the power to defeat her enemy. For Lydia was her enemy, there could be no doubt.
A scuff at the door opened her eyes.
“What is it?”
Riva’s pale face appeared in the crack of the half-opened door.
Salome growled. The girl was useful as a handmaid chiefly because she had no scruples. But she had little sense either. “You are interrupting!”
“I am sorry, my lady. I . . . I have heard something I thought you would want to know.”
She sighed. “Enter. Say it.”
Riva slipped into the chamber, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it as though she feared to come closer. “It is about Lydia.”
Salome hid a smile. Riva was no happier than she about Lydia’s elevation in status and refused to call the girl anything but her given name. “What of Lydia?”
“She sent for some men to come to the palace and speak with her. Rabbis.”
Salome narrowed her eyes. “Why would she seek rabbis? I have seen little of the faithful Jewess in her.”
Riva ducked her head. “When they came and met with her in a private chamber, I hid at the door and listened.”
“Well done, then, Riva. And what did you discover?”
“She asked many questions, though she got few answers. They did not seem to know much about the knowledge she sought.”
Salome waited, resisting the urge to get up and shake the girl.
“She asked about the writings of the prophet Daniel. About the copies that are held in the synagogues, but of other writings as well. Secret writings that have been lost.”
Salome’s lips parted and she scrambled to her feet.
“She also asked if they knew where to find a certain group. She called them the ‘Chakkiym.’”
Salome’s breath was coming short and shallow now—a mixture of surprise, elation, self-chastisement. How had she not seen it? All these years?
“Go, Riva. Go at once and search Lydia’s chamber. Do not return until you have found something hidden. Scrolls, most likely.”
At Riva’s hesitation, she pointed. “Go!” Then called the girl back. “Be smart. If you are caught, do not expect me to take up your cause.”
The girl fled, and Salome lowered herself to the lamp-lit circle once more, held her palms aloft, and closed her eyes in gratitude.
Of course. Of course it was her. Lydia had been in Egypt all those years ago when the seeker came here looking for the Chakkiym, and Salome had tortured him to reveal that the writings had been found in Alexandria. She had sent two of her best to find them and received only one message—that the first of her men was dead and the second following the scrolls to Rome. Then nothing more.
All of those years, Lydia had been in this very palace, the scrolls hidden somewhere. How could Salome not have seen it? A fiery hatred flamed through her limbs. She had focused her dark energy on Mariamme, but she had been blind. It was Lydia—the keeper of the scrolls—who was her greatest enemy.
She felt a power filling her, entering as she breathed deeply, filling her chest and her mind, running like silver down her veins to quench the fire and turn her hatred to stone.
It was time. Time to solidify the power of the Herodian family in this place. To rid themselves of the Hasmoneans for all time.
Her attack would be double pronged. She would destroy both Lydia and Mariamme.
She had been holding on to a valuable piece of information for many years, waiting for the right time to make use of it. And it would only take
a few well-placed words in the ear of her jealous brother to complete her task.
In spite of his fixated jealousy, he had been a blind fool. Debasing himself before his Jewish wife, groveling for her love while the ungrateful girl kicked dust in his face. Trusting implicitly the one man who was his greatest enemy. It was time to bring it to an end.
Lydia would die. But first, Herod would soon know that his closest friend, Sohemus, was in love with his wife.
Lydia spent the evening in her bedchamber. In her bed.
Perhaps she was ill. Since the encounter with Simon, nothing seemed worth rising for, not the evening meal nor Mariamme’s coaxing.
And when the morning dawned with its pale winter sunlight, she rolled away from the window and wept.
By evening, Mariamme insisted that she walk with her in the courtyard for fresh air and then join the family in the dining room. Lydia complied with a few turns around the peristyle at the courtyard’s perimeter, then hovered in the doorway of the still-empty dining room.
Mariamme sighed. “Would you rather have food sent to your room?”
Lydia smiled, grateful for her friend’s understanding heart.
Within minutes she was in the upper corridor, walking slowly to her chamber.
Was her door ajar? Lydia drew up, a tiny flutter of her heart sending a warning. The scrolls were well hidden but were never far from her thoughts.
She took a few silent steps toward the door, then slid into the opening.
“Riva!” She blurted out the girl’s name without thinking.
Riva whirled, her eyes wide and hand suspended above a near-empty basket of clothing. Its contents were piled on the floor beside it.
“I . . . I thought you were at dinner.” Riva bit her lip, then began folding and replacing the clothing.
“So you thought to borrow a robe?” Lydia arched an eyebrow.
But at Riva’s silence she glanced around the room and found many other things in disarray. Chairs moved, the bed slightly out of alignment. A favorite painted urn no longer in the corner.
“You have been searching for something!” The ominous heart-pounding was back. But no, Riva’s hands were still empty of the scrolls.
“Thievery in the palace is a capital offense, Riva. You do know that?”
The girl’s eyes widened and she stuffed the remaining clothing into the basket. “Please, my lady. I . . . I—she sent me—” Riva cut off and twisted her hands at her waist.
Salome. Salome had sent Riva to search for something. Had she somehow learned of Lydia’s hidden treasure? What did Salome know of Daniel’s secret writings?
“To search for what, Riva? What were you to bring?”
Riva’s eyes flicked between fear and defiance. It must have maddened her to find herself at Lydia’s mercy after all these years. But Lydia would use the fear to her advantage.
“Perhaps if we had this discussion before Herod—”
“A scroll.” Riva looked away. “She said to find a scroll.”
Lydia would push Riva further, find out how much Salome knew. But as she opened her mouth for another question, a horrible scream tore the nighttime quiet of the palace.
She and Riva traded confused glances, then Lydia ran into the corridor and overlooked the courtyard.
Below, Mariamme was running toward the throne room.
Lydia called over the balcony, “What is it? Who is screaming?”
Mariamme glanced up but kept running. “It is Leodes. Herod is torturing him in the throne room!”
Leodes? Why would Mariamme’s favorite eunuch have fallen out of favor with Herod?
Or was it only information that the king sought? Secrets that palace staff often held closely, with their royal counterparts unaware how much they knew.
Lydia pulled Riva from her room into the corridor. “If I find anything disturbed, anything missing, I promise I will tell Herod that you have stolen from me.”
Riva shook her head. “I swear, my lady.”
Lydia left her still shaking outside the door and ran for the throne room.
Mariamme reached the throne room as yet another shriek of pain ripped through the palace air. She burst through the doors and took in the scene. Herod, standing over Leodes. Leodes, bare-chested and on his knees, head bent. One of Herod’s guards with a Roman scourge, laced with bits of glass, hauling back for yet another strike against her poor servant’s back.
“Stop!” She ran toward the three, seeing Salome in the shadows at the last moment, with a satisfied smile. “What is this?” She scowled at Herod. His face gleamed with a predatory glow of sweat. “How dare you beat my servant without my permission!”
“Ah, there she is.” Herod’s eyes sparked. “Stay here, my sweet wife. Perhaps you shall be next.”
Mariamme took a step backward, an unfamiliar fear pounding against her chest. “What is the accusation against this man?”
Herod flicked his head toward the guard with the whip.
He raised it above his head, then cracked it against Leodes’s back. The flesh tore and blood bubbled along the line of it.
Mariamme cried out and reached toward Herod. “He has done nothing. He is a good man!”
“Precisely why I chose him.” Herod’s brow was knit together now, in anger or suspicion, she could not tell. “If anyone should know the truth about this potion, it would be him.”
Mariamme shook her head, looked to Salome and back to Herod. “What are you talking about?” Behind her, the palace doors opened again. She glanced back to see Lydia slip in, her face concerned.
“You deny it, then? Mazal has told me everything.”
Mariamme faced her husband again. “Mazal? Your cupbearer?”
“Oh, you wear the face of deceit well, my Mariamme. But Leodes will tell me, won’t you, Leodes? Who was it for, this love potion that my wife asked Mazal to create?”
“Herod, you are mad!” She drew his attention from Leodes. At least then the lashing paused. “When have I ever had dealings in potions?” She eyed Salome, still skulking in the shadows. “That is more your sister’s realm!”
But Herod would not hear her. “Come, Leodes.” He directed the guard to bring another lash across his bleeding back, but his eyes never left Mariamme. “Surely you know everything my wife does, even in secret. You hear all her whispers and treasons. How she hates me.”
She was shaking now, trembling over the horrid injustice Leodes suffered because of her. “Of course I hate you, you filthy murderer! You have drowned my brother and strangled my grandfather and chained my mother! How could I not hate you?” Tears dripped from her chin and she dashed them away with an angry hand.
Lydia took her arm with a light touch, but she shook it off.
Herod grinned, as though glad at last to have heard the truth. “But there is more, isn’t there? Perhaps I am the one you hate, but there is another to whom you have given your affections, yes?” He ordered another lash, then another. “And Leodes is going to tell me.”
If Lydia had not held her back, Mariamme would have thrown herself between the lash and Leodes’s back.
“Please, my lord.” Leodes panted, near to a faint. “I know nothing of any potion.” His gaze lifted to Herod’s with a hint of defiance. “But perhaps your orders to have your wife killed in Alexandrium have deadened any affection she might have for you.”
No, Leodes. He should not defend her, not at the risk of his own life.
Herod blinked twice and refocused on her, his lips tight and brow furrowed. “In Alexandrium? That old fool Joseph may have told you of my instructions when I was called to Antony in Syria. But who would have told—?”
He broke off and pointed to the guard. “Take the eunuch out. And bring me Sohemus!”
“No!” Mariamme shot forward, grabbed Herod’s arms. “No more should suffer! I am the one who deserves your anger!”
She felt herself being pulled backward.
Herod’s face was an impassive scowl. “That’s it,
Lydia. Take charge of your wayward cousin before she does something she will regret.”
But Mariamme would not let Lydia restrain her. She tore away and charged at Salome, blood racing. “This is you! You have done this—lies about potions— What kind of excrement—?”
Salome laughed. “Such words from a queen?” She turned her head slowly toward Herod, eyebrows raised. “You see, my brother? Have I not been telling you that she is unfit for you?”
Mariamme would strangle her. She would wrap her hands around Salome’s throat the way her grandfather had been strangled in front of the entire Sanhedrin. She reached for the narrow neck, but the throne room doors swept open once more and Sohemus was prodded through at the point of one of his own men’s swords.
“What is this, Herod?” His face blanched at the sight of Mariamme. Could he read the situation so easily in her eyes?
“I should be asking you the same, my friend.”
Sohemus batted away his guard’s sword and strode to the throne. “I am your friend, Herod, and always have been. Speak your mind if you’ve something to say.”
“Oh, I have something to say.” Herod circled Sohemus. “Yes, I do.”
Mariamme ran to the two men, tried to get between them.
Herod shoved her out of his way. “How is it that my wife learned of my instructions while under your guard in Alexandrium?”
Sohemus said nothing, only stared past Herod.
Mariamme’s stomach roiled and her face felt as though it were on fire. She reached out to Lydia for support.
“Or perhaps I should ask a different question, eh? How many times did my wife take you to her bed before you betrayed me?”
At this, Sohemus bared his teeth and raised a fist. “You would dare insult the honor of the queen? She is guileless!”
“Oh, she has always sung your praises, my friend. That is certain. She was sure to tell me how well you looked after her in Alexandrium.” He snorted. “Looked after her, indeed. I placed a eunuch at your door, Mariamme, but it appears I should have rendered your mother’s guard half a man as well, eh?”
