Rivka felt wonderful. Yes, her body was exhausted, but her mind felt exhilarated, alert. Within a few minutes, she was nursing baby Rachel. She vaguely knew that Hana cut the cord, that she expelled the placenta. All her heart was focused on the child. Nothing could be better than this—being finished with labor and nursing her own baby. She had seen all this many times, but ... experiencing it was a very different game.
Hana went downstairs to tell the men the good news.
When baby Rachel finished nursing, Marta washed her and wrapped her in a soft cloth and gave her back to Rivka.
Hana returned, her face shining. “Rivka, Ari the Kazan wishes to see the baby.”
Marta stood up straight, massaging herself in the small of the back, grimacing. She emitted a disapproving cluck. “Rivkaleh, we must cover your hair.” She gathered Rivka’s filthy hair into a sweaty knot, binding it inside a scarf. “Hana, child, call the men, but for a very short time. Rivkaleh must rest.”
Hana took the baby and pulled open the door and called down the stairs. “Ari the Kazan! Come and see your daughter!”
Footsteps thudded up the stone steps.
Hana stepped back, laughing.
Ari burst into the room, his face shining.
Hana gently put Rachel into his arms.
A look of wonder spread across Ari’s face.
Rivka felt her heart leaping inside her body. She wanted to laugh, cry, shout, sing, dance.
Ari picked a path across the room with exaggerated care, looking scared to death. “Rivkaleh.” His voice broke.
Rivka was so happy she could hardly think. She reached toward Ari.
Ari knelt down and smothered her hand with his. He kissed Rachel’s tiny, perfect, rosebud face. “Rivkaleh ... thank you.”
Rivka felt peace singing through her soul like a chorus of angels. The labor had been horrible. Terrifying. Gut-wrenching.
Wonderful.
To know this joy, to give her man a child, yes, it had been worth it.
From a great distance away, Rivka heard the sound of Hana staggering down the stairs.
Weeping softly.
Part 2: Seer Woman
Spring, A.D. 59
* * *
Woe unto me from the House of Boetus!
Woe unto me from their lances!
Woe unto me from the House of Hanan!
Woe unto me from their whisperings!
Woe unto me from the House of Qathros!
Woe unto me from their reed pens!
Woe unto me from the House of Ishmael ben Phiabi!
Woe unto me from their fists!
For they are high priests
And their sons are treasurers
And their sons-in-law are overseers
And their servants beat the people with clubs!
Lament of Abba Saul,
Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim, 57a
Chapter Twelve
Rivka
* * *
WHEN I GIVE HIM ANOTHER son, then he will love the first also,” Hana said, stubbornness etched across her pinched face.
“Of course.” Rivka closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. As far as she knew, there were only two rocking chairs in the world, and she owned both of them. Rivka didn’t know what Ari had paid for them, except that he ordered them specially from the best wood craftsman in Jerusalem, and the sum was outrageous. And worth it.
It was a fine spring day two weeks before Pesach. Rivka and Hana sat in the two rocking chairs, holding their babies, talking. As always before one of the feasts, the air felt heavy with dread. In the streets, there was talk of discontent with Rome, of trouble between Jew and Gentile in Caesarea, of bad blood between the feisty Galileans and the irritable Samaritans.
Rivka desperately wanted to get out, to find out what was going to happen next. Fat chance of that. Between mothering Rachel, midwifing difficult pregnancies across the city, and commiserating with Hana, Rivka had no time for politics.
This thing with Baruch had gone on way too long. He still refused to touch the boy, barely looked at him. Baruch admitted he was wrong, but claimed he could not love what he could not love. All of that would change, Hana insisted, when she could give Baruch a second son. Then love would awaken in his heart, and surely some of that love would spill over onto her firstborn son.
That was Hana’s plan, anyway. Apparently, Baruch was cooperating fully, whether he knew her motives or not. Rivka thought it was only a matter of time. Hana was fertile and Baruch eager, and that was pretty much a guarantee of success, wasn’t it?
Rivka smiled over her precious Rachel, a small baby with black hair, deep chocolate brown eyes, and a smile that could melt steel. Dov had grown into the fattest baby Rivka had ever seen. Not obese fat. Big-boned fat. He had inherited Damien’s thick build and Hana’s gorgeous good looks. His blond-at-birth hair had darkened a shade to a light brown. He had laughing eyes the color of champagne and a quick smile. A lady-killer under construction, as Rivka’s father would have said.
The door downstairs slammed. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Ari burst into the sitting room, his face twisted with rage. “There has been a massacre in Caesarea.”
Rivka gasped. Rachel opened her eyes and started crying. Dov belched magnificently. Hana began rocking faster.
Rivka leaned forward, shushing Rachel gently. “Tell me what happened.”
Ari paced the length of the room, clutching at his beard. “I heard it in the market square near Herod’s Palace. A merchant convoy just arrived with the news. Three days ago, there was a riot in Caesarea. Apparently many goyim live there.”
“You knew that, didn’t you?” Rivka rocked Rachel gently. “Caesarea was a Gentile settlement before King Herod made it his capital. They called it Strato’s Tower. It’s probably got more Syrians living there than Jews.”
Ari’s eyes narrowed. “How was I to know that? You are the one having the photographic memory.”
Rivka leaned back, stung. “Eidetic memory. But—”
“And with your eidetic memory, I suppose you knew there was to be a riot but conveniently forgot to tell me?” His tone was harsh, sarcastic.
Rivka wondered what she had done wrong. “Ari, please. I know only a little of what’s going to happen, and the dates are fuzzy. Josephus says there were some riots in Caesarea about this time. At one point, the Jews got the upper hand on the Gentiles, and Governor Felix sent in the army to cool things down. A bunch of Jews got killed. That’s all I—”
Ari slapped his open palm against the wall. “A bunch? You call them a bunch when over a hundred of our brothers were murdered?”
It hit Rivka’s heart like a hammer. Josephus hadn’t said how many. Only that the episode got Governor Felix in a lot of trouble. “A ... hundred?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
“Yes, a hundred.” Anguish shone in Ari’s eyes. “Murdered by the man appointed to keep order.”
Tears ran down Rivka’s cheeks onto Rachel’s face. She hadn’t known. Hadn’t seen it coming. Josephus was so ... brief. A paragraph or two. Rivka brushed madly at her eyes. “Thank God Felix won’t be in office much longer. Nero’s going to kick him out.”
“When?” Ari knelt in front of Rivka’s chair, his face eager. “What else is to happen?”
Rivka wondered what had happened to her dispassionate physicist. Did he think he could change the events to come? Hadn’t he lectured her on the impossibility of all that? She mentally opened her copy of Josephus. “I’m afraid there isn’t much in the books. This is the spring of the year 59. Felix is going to make the two sides send delegations to Nero. The Jews will lose, but Nero will replace Felix with Governor Festus.”
“That is all? Nothing more for this year?” Ari clutched the arms of Rivka’s chair.
“Not in Josephus.” Rivka switched to the New Testament. “The new Governor Festus will hold a trial for Renegade Saul this July in Caesarea. Oh, and Tacitus says Nero’s going to murder his mother in March. Maybe that’s
happened already. Are we in March or April? Anyway, Rome is going to wig out, especially after the eclipse—they’ll think it’s a sign.”
“Eclipse? What eclipse?”
“The eclipse of the sun. Let me think. I’ve got a date for it—April 30 in the Roman calendar. I don’t know when that’ll be in the Jewish calendar.”
“The end of the month Nisan,” Ari said. “Two weeks after Pesach. A month from now.”
Rivka shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“It is certain, if your April 30 is accurate. A total eclipse?”
Rivka concentrated. Ninety-one percent. That was the number she remembered. That was a total eclipse, or so close you couldn’t tell the difference. “Yes, it was total.”
Hana had been following this exchange with a bewildered look. “What is this word—eclipse?”
“When the sun goes dark for a time,” Rivka said.
“And you know this will happen after Pesach?” Fear lit up Hana’s eyes.
“Hana, there’s nothing to be afraid of. The moon passes in front of the sun for a few minutes. Darkness covers the earth. The birds go to bed and the ... cows come home. Then it’s all over.”
“I have heard of this thing,” Hana said. “Once in Babylon this happened, and the people fled to the temple of an idol to call on his name. Many ten thousand were trampled.”
Rivka narrowed her eyes. That must be an exaggeration. Tens of thousands? No way. She’d never read of any such thing in Babylon. What did Hana know about Babylon? For her, it was a distant land of fable and legend, a galaxy far, far away.
Ari began pacing again. “Rivka, you know for certain that there will be a total eclipse on April 30?”
Rivka nodded. She never forgot a date. And the eclipse had been widely seen. There had been reports in both Rome and Armenia. One source said it was also visible in Jerusalem.
Ari leaned against the wall and twisted a strand of his beard between his fingers. “Does your Josephus mention any panic here in Jerusalem on account of an eclipse?”
Rivka shook her head. “He doesn’t even mention the eclipse. If there was a panic, I’m sure he would have. That’s just the kind of thing he’d report in every lurid detail. He’s living here now—you may very well see him every day without even knowing it. He’d be about twenty.”
Ari’s face relaxed. “Blessed be HaShem. For a moment, I feared there would be trouble.”
Hana’s eyes were very bright. “Rivka, if this thing is to happen to the sun, you must warn the people.”
Rivka looked down at her daughter. Rachel slept at peace, secure and content. Because Rivka kept watch over her. Rivka had an obligation to watch over her child. Was she likewise obligated to her city? If so, how far did that obligation go? She wasn’t a prophet, whatever people thought. She didn’t have a pipeline to God. All she had was a few books locked away in her brain—a few pitiful snatches of fact, easily misinterpreted.
But an eclipse. That was pretty close to a slam dunk, wasn’t it? Astronomy was astronomy, and you could compute the position of the moon to the inch, right? Somebody could. Somebody had. That eclipse was coming on April 30, around three in the afternoon. Ready or not.
Rivka began rocking, feeling a surge of excitement in her veins. “Ari, maybe there’s a reason nobody was killed.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “What reason?”
“Maybe the same reason Saul of Tarsus is still alive.” Rivka gave him her biggest smile. “Because dear little Rivka Meyers came prancing through a wormhole and changed something.”
“Rivka, you changed nothing. All that you did merely ensured that it would happen as you had read in your books.”
“Exactly!” Rivka leaned forward. “Don’t you think—”
“Rivka.” Ari gave her an exasperated look. “You can change nothing.”
Rivka stood up and laid Rachel in her cradle. She turned and put her hands on her hips. “Ari, you’re going to have to decide what you want. A hundred people are dead in Caesarea, and I did nothing to prevent it, because I didn’t know. And you yelled at me—”
“You could have done nothing.” Ari came and put his arms around her. “Rivka, I am sorry for shouting—”
“But for this eclipse, I know everything. I know the event. I know the date. I even know the time. The books say around 3:00 p.m.”
Ari studied her, his eyes skeptical. “What do you wish to do?”
Rivka tried to think. What could she do, anyway? “Warn people. Just ... let them know what’s going to happen. So they won’t be afraid when the lights go out.”
Hana rocked quietly. “All will believe the seer woman, Ari the Kazan. The people believe your woman. If she says this thing will happen, they will trust in her word.”
Still Ari looked uncertain.
Rivka clutched his arm. “Please, Ari. What harm can it do?”
Ari’s eyes turned inward, distant. “None, of course. You will change nothing, and we know that no harm came of the eclipse.”
Rivka put her arms around him and kneaded the small of his back. “So ... I can warn the people?”
Ari gave a deep sigh. “Yes, but it is foolishness. You may do as you will, but nothing will come of it.”
Berenike
* * *
After her midday meal, Queen Berenike retired to her chambers, pleading a headache. She had no headache, but she desperately needed to be rid of her stupid servant girls. She could not get rid of Shlomi, her principal servant—even during a midday nap, propriety required that she have at least one servant attending her.
But that was fine, because her plan required Shlomi.
Shlomi was Jewish and unmarried and the servant of the queen, and therefore she wore a costume that covered her thoroughly—a loose-fitting tunic of fine bleached wool, a cloak of thick goat’s hair to keep out the late spring chill, and a veil that gave no hint of her face or her hair. Most important, Shlomi was the exact same size as Berenike.
That was the only way in which Shlomi resembled her. Shlomi was fifteen years old and still unmarried. Berenike was on the wrong side of thirty and had been widowed twice. Shlomi had a plain and simple face and dull wits. Berenike was beautiful—she could pass for a woman ten years younger—and she had the razor mind of her papa, Marcus Julias Agrippa, also called Herod, formerly the Great King of Judea, Samaria, Perea, and parts of the Golan, and for the past fifteen years, dead. While he lived, Papa had been the best player in the world at the only game that counted.
Power.
The game Berenike loved more than life. It was simply ... delicious to exercise naked power. If only she were a man! Then the world would see what a player she was. Or if only her brother Agrippa had a decent level of ambition. He was king of a small and insignificant territory to the north. Not the Great King of Judea. Not yet. Agrippa was happy—actually happy—living like a swine, eating, drinking, keeping company with empty-headed women. Agrippa had little interest in the great game, other than to keep the status quo.
Whereas Berenike loved the game, adored it, lived to win, hated to lose. If she were a man, she would already be ruler of the world. Therefore, HaShem had made her a woman—strictly to make it a fair fight for all the others.
If she were to win the great game, Berenike needed another husband. Her first had died untimely in his youth. Her second—crusty old Uncle Herod—had died a couple of years later than Berenike would have liked, leaving her with two sons, a modest fortune, and no throne. People still called her Queen Berenike, recognizing her status as the widow of a king, but it was an empty title without lands and subjects. And without power. She must marry again, as soon as possible, but her prospects grew dimmer each year, and Agrippa was doing nothing to find a suitable match for her.
Berenike had now lived ten years without a husband, and that was extremely inconvenient, because this morning she had admitted to herself that she was pregnant.
Pregnant! Ridiculous! And her a mistress of every
herb, flower, root, bark, and stem known to the civilized world. An expert in poison, she took a small dose of arsenic daily to build her tolerance. In her chambers she had a chest full of potions against pregnancy. Silphium, from northern Africa. Rue. Leukoinos. Pennyroyal.
Any of these should have prevented this unfortunate occurrence. But they had not. Now she needed an herb not found in her chest, and she must have it today. One must act quickly in such matters. She must buy the herb, and she must do it in secret. One word of this pregnancy, and all would be lost. All. A woman could survive many evil chances in the great game, but not scandal.
At the door of her chambers, Berenike turned to her servants and put on an appropriate pained scowl. “I shall sleep for three hours. I require Shlomi to attend me. The rest of you are free to do as you will, only do not create a noise!”
The servants bowed and backed away with terror in their eyes. The fools would not disturb her even if the palace burned.
Shlomi opened the door and Berenike swept through into her chambers. She marched to her window and pulled back the ivory shutters. The Temple Mount spread out before her at a distance of little more than a furlong. The outer courts swarmed with many ten thousand of her people. Foolish people, yes, but her people. They loved her, their beautiful, wise, and learned Queen Berenike. None of them would guess that she could possibly be pregnant. They must never know.
Today, she could not risk being seen. Her veil would not hide her identity if she went out surrounded by palace bodyguards. Berenike turned to Shlomi. “Take off your clothes.”
Shlomi gasped. She was a modest little fool, and had perhaps never undressed in front of anybody.
Berenike had never dressed herself in her life, and therefore felt no shame in being seen naked. And furthermore, she had no time to waste. She snapped her fingers. “Quickly, quickly. I need your clothes. You may wear something of mine while I go out.”
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