The girl moaned and her hands fluttered weakly, pushing at Rivka’s. She was unconscious, horribly infected, probably near death. Without a miracle, there was not much hope. A damp rag lay beside her head next to a bowl of water.
Rivka put the rag in the water, wrung it out, and smoothed aside the woman’s hair—
She jerked back, terrified. Please, God, no!
High cheekbones. An aristocratic, razor-straight nose. A face of marble beauty. Rivka tried to get her breath back, to act normal.
This was no servant girl. This was Queen Berenike. The man had lied.
Rivka spun to look up at the man who had brought her. He had thrown back his hood. Even in the flickering light of a dozen oil lamps, the family connection sprang out, sharp and clear. No wonder he had such an imperious manner. He could only be Berenike’s brother, King Herod Agrippa. She had read all about the Herod family. The Herod men were passionate, cruel, ambitious, greedy, clever. Ruthless.
Agrippa’s eyes gleamed, hard and sharp as Damascus steel. “Something is wrong?”
Rivka did her best to recover. “N-nothing.” She put the cool rag on the queen’s face and wiped away the sweat. When she wrung out the rag in the water, it felt warm. She tried to set it aside, fumbled, dropped it. Her breath was coming in little gasps now, and her head felt light. According to Josephus and Juvenal, Agrippa had an affair with his sister Berenike. She heard a step and looked up at Agrippa again.
In an instant she saw that he knew that she knew. And she read the cold look that flickered in his eyes before the shutters closed on the windows of his soul. Rivka’s heart began thumping. I’m expendable. Now his secret was out—and he would kill her with no more thought than men gave to a cockroach.
She had to act. Right away, before Agrippa got any ideas. Oh, God, help me—I can’t do this.
I have to do this.
Rivka stood up and snapped her fingers in Agrippa’s face, then spoke to him in her best Latin, which the servant girl would not understand. “You lied to me! The queen is in mortal danger. Why did you delay?”
Agrippa’s mouth gaped open. Clearly, nobody ever talked to him like this.
Rivka pressed her advantage. “Her life dangles by a thread, but I can save her. You will do a task for me, and you will do it now or she will die. You must personally fetch a large bowl of vinegar and a small jug of olive oil, along with some clean linen towels.”
“But—”
“Go!” Rivka said. “Or else kill me now. But I swear before God that your sister will die if you raise a hand against me.” She crossed her arms across her madly pumping heart and stepped back, putting on her sternest scowl. “The seer woman has spoken.”
Agrippa hesitated for a long second, then hurried to the door and went out.
Rivka dared to breathe. She had bought herself a little time. Now Agrippa would wait until he saw whether the queen lived or died.
But it looked bad, really bad. Massive internal infection—without antibiotics, that was going to be fatal. The best she could do would be to clean out the queen’s uterus and then pray for a miracle. Right, pray for a miracle—and she couldn’t cure a headache if her life depended on it.
The crazy thing was, she knew it was going to work. Knew it as surely as the eclipse that was coming at the next new moon. The history books said Berenike would live—for a number of years after this. Which gave Rivka the confidence to act outrageous, to spit in the king’s eye if she had to. It was the only way to save the queen. But how was she going to save her own life too? Agrippa came from a family that made the Godfather look like Mr. Rogers.
Sweating, Rivka knelt beside Berenike’s servant girl and took her hand. “My name is called Rivka.”
“My name is called Shlomi.”
Rivka nodded. Shlomi. Short for Shlomzion. The peace of Zion.
“Shlomi, my friend, I can save the life of your mistress, but I need your help, please.”
Shlomi’s eyes widened. Nobody ever said please to her, you could bet on that. Especially nobody who talked to Agrippa like an angry nursemaid. Shlomi clutched Rivka’s hand. “Tell me what I can do.”
“I will need some papyrus, a reed pen, and some ink very quickly, please.”
Shlomi hurried away.
Rivka pulled back the fine linen sheet covering the queen’s body. Berenike had one of those genetically perfect bodies that any woman in her right mind would kill for. And any man would too. She covered the queen with the sheet, trembling.
Shlomi returned with the writing materials.
Rivka tore the papyrus sheet in half and laid both pieces on the marble table next to the bed. She prepared the ink and scratched out a message in English.
Ari: Queen Berenike was pregnant with King Agrippa’s child and had a miscarriage. I am in danger and held captive. Don’t try to rescue me—that will only make things worse. If I don’t return by noon, you are to spread this story throughout Jerusalem. Love, Rivka.
She waited for the ink to dry, then folded the papyrus and handed it to Shlomi. “Please, my friend, if you love your mistress, do exactly as I say. Go outside the palace through the front gate and wait there until two men arrive. One of them is called Baruch. Tell him Rivka the seer woman needs him. You will bring him here. He is a righteous scribe, and HaShem hears his prayers. He will save the queen’s life, I promise you. The other man is very tall, and his name is called Ari the Kazan. You will not allow him to come into the palace. Give him this papyrus and then return quickly, before he reads it.”
Shlomi repeated the instructions back exactly as Rivka had given them.
Rivka nodded. “Yes, correct. Go with the peace of HaShem. You must bring the man Baruch here quickly, or else the queen will die.”
Shlomi hurried to the door and went out.
Rivka returned to the table and wrote on the other half of the papyrus in Greek.
Rivka the seer woman, to Marcus Julias Agrippa, greetings. You think to do me harm, but you are a fool. By secret arts, I have sent a written message outside your gates. If I do not walk out of your palace alive by noon, your secret will be known throughout the city and you will never rule this city as king. If you spare my life, I swear by the name of the living God that I will hold your secret in confidence. Choose with wisdom.
The door swung open. Agrippa entered, carrying a bowl and a jug. Linen towels were slung over his shoulder, and his eyes burned with pure malice.
Rivka’s pulse ratcheted up. Oh good. A humble servant-leader type and a good loser. She cleared the writing materials off the table and pointed. “Put them there.”
Agrippa set them down. “Where is the servant?”
“She went to pass water.” Rivka handed him the letter and waited for the explosion.
Agrippa mouthed the words silently as his eyes raced over the lines she had written. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and he held out the letter. “You wrote this? You can write Greek?”
Now was not the time for modesty. Rivka snatched the letter and read it aloud to him, then translated it into Latin. “I come from a far country, and yet I know more of you than any of your fellow men. I know with certainty that the queen was pregnant by you. I can save her life and your honor, but I ask for my own life in exchange. Now how do you choose?”
“You drive a crafty bargain.”
“I know you will choose well.” Rivka washed her hands in the vinegar, then dried them off. She laid her midwife’s bag on the bed, draped the towel over her left shoulder, dipped the fingers of her right hand in the olive oil, and knelt beside the queen. “If you have a weak stomach, you should wait outside, King Agrippa.”
“What do you intend?”
“What it is called here, I do not know.” Rivka reached under the linen sheet. “In my country, I believe it is called a D&C.”
Within twenty minutes, Rivka finished her task and covered up the barely breathing body of the queen. As she had thought, there had been a dead fetus inside, driving the infection.
Rivka had cleaned things out as best she could. Now it was in the hands of HaShem and a wounded healer named Baruch.
One thing was absolutely clear. This was not a miscarriage. Berenike must have aborted the child. Which meant she was desperate, because an abortion was risky. That desperation meant that Rivka had read Agrippa correctly—he would not dare risk the hint of a scandal. Not his own. Not his sister’s. If people knew the child was his, even the Romans would be scandalized, and Agrippa’s political life would be over. If that happens, you’ll never work in this empire again, buddy. So you just treat little Rivka Meyers Kazan like a porcelain jar, got it?
If he didn’t get it, she was in big, big trouble.
The door creaked open behind her. Rivka turned and saw Shlomi come in with Baruch. Agrippa followed, and his decision was written all over his face.
She was going to live.
Baruch
* * *
Baruch hurried into the room. “Sister Rivka!”
Sister Rivka’s red eyes told him she had lost much sleep. She pointed to the still form of a young woman on a bed. “Brother Baruch, here is the servant girl. You must pray to HaShem and heal her.”
Baruch felt his ears turning hot. The girl was young and quite beautiful and she wore no hair covering. “Sister Rivka, you will cover the girl’s hair please.” He turned away from this temptation and waited.
Rivka said, “You may look now. Please hurry. She is near death.”
Baruch knelt beside her, but stopped. It was not fitting to lay hands on a young woman. “Where is her husband? He must lay hands on her and then I will put mine on his.”
Rivka shook her head. “The girl has no husband. It is a tragedy.” She put her hands on the girl’s forehead. “Brother Baruch, you will put your hands on mine and pray to HaShem, please.”
Baruch’s heart lurched. He could not do this thing—to dishonor his own friend Brother Ari by touching his woman.
Rivka gave a sigh and pointed to the man who had followed him into the room. “Sir, you will lay your hands on the servant girl.”
The man grunted something, but he knelt beside Baruch and put his hands on the girl’s forehead.
He smelled of perfume, and his face was shaved like a Roman’s, and he was willing to touch a woman. Would it be fitting to touch such a man?
“Please pray,” Sister Rivka said.
Baruch sighed and laid his hands on the man’s. Panic surged through his heart. He could not hear the Spirit, and so he would not know how to pray, and the girl would die.
Sister Rivka raised her eyebrows. “You may begin.”
“I ...” Baruch’s voice felt strangled. “I do not know what to pray.”
A long moment of shock hung in the air. The perfumed man tried to draw back his hands, but Baruch refused him.
“Pray this,” Sister Rivka said. “Command the evil bacteria to die in the name of Yeshua the Mashiach.”
“What are bacteria?”
“Just do it, Brother Baruch.”
He sighed. “Very well.”
Berenike
* * *
Berenike lay floating in a hot sea, wishing for death. She had been here forever. There had never been a time when she was not here. All was evil, heat, stench, vapor, death. All was—
Coolness splashed her face. It spread downward, refreshing her chest, her belly, her arms, her legs. Her body shuddered in an ecstasy of ... life.
She opened her eyes.
Four hands lifted off her head. Faces swam into view. Her brother. A bearded man with burning eyes. Shlomi. And an intelligent-looking woman.
Thirst. Had she never drunk water in all her life? “Water.” Berenike struggled to whisper the word.
Three of the faces showed astonishment. The bearded man looked ... sad.
Shlomi bustled forward with a stone cup of water. Dear, sweet, innocent, foolish Shlomi.
Berenike drank deeply. She saw the bearded man turn away, blushing. So he was one of them. One of the too-pious-to-look-at-a-woman ones. What was he doing in her bedroom? What were any of them doing here, other than Shlomi?
Memory returned. The disguise. The trip to the herb market. The pessary. The cramping. The fever. What did they know about that?
Agrippa shepherded the bearded man and the intelligent woman away. Berenike heard voices at the door. Shlomi patted her face.
Berenike closed her eyes. She wanted to rest. To sleep. To sing and shout. She had been to the valley of death, and come back.
The sound of a door. Footsteps.
“The righteous man will wait in the courtyard,” Agrippa said in Latin. “You will join him shortly, seer woman.”
The seer woman? Berenike opened her eyes again. This was the famous seer woman?
The seer woman stepped back into view. “You have until noon to let me go.”
“It is just dawn,” Agrippa said. “You have earned your freedom and you shall have it.”
“Then let me go.” The seer woman’s voice sounded harsh, demanding.
“First, you will tell us our futures.”
“I do not tell fortunes, and you are very rude.”
Berenike felt a smile curling across her face. This seer woman had a gift for plain speaking, but if she did not learn caution, Agrippa would teach it to her.
Agrippa laughed out loud.
Berenike knew this as a warning signal. A laugh meant that he wished to put his listener at ease—before the knife thrust.
“Seer woman, you have defeated me. Still, I ask a favor. Is there anything you can tell me of my future? Ask what you will, and I will give it, if it is in my power.”
The seer woman looked at Agrippa, her eyes calculating, hard as obsidian. Finally she nodded. “It is not given me to know all, but what I know, I will tell. I will name my price first, and then if you agree, I will tell you what is to come in the next five years.”
“You bargain with me?” Agrippa’s tone was light, mocking.
“I do not bargain when I hold the advantage,” said the seer woman. “You will say yes or no, but I will not bargain.”
The hiss of Agrippa’s breath told Berenike that the seer woman had scored a point. He narrowed his eyes. “Name your price.”
“You must swear a solemn oath never to name Hanan ben Hanan to be high priest.”
Agrippa laughed again, and Berenike heard real mirth in this laugh. It was a foolish request, and of course he would not grant it. He had already taken a substantial gift from Hanan in exchange for a promise of the high priesthood at the next opportunity.
“Agreed,” Agrippa said.
Berenike felt every muscle in her body tighten. Agrippa played a dangerous game, lying to the seer woman. If he could play, Berenike could also. With knowledge of the future, she could not lose in the great game of power. She would be as HaShem, knowing all. She must have this knowledge, and to get it, she would lie, cheat, do anything. Any Herod worthy of the name would do the same.
Berenike turned her head to look at the seer woman. “I also wish to know what lies ahead. And I will give you whatever you ask. Name your price.”
The seer woman told her.
Berenike found the terms insulting. “You seek much.”
“And you seek a husband.”
Berenike frowned. “Tell me something not known to every street-corner child.”
“I know of a king willing to be circumcised to marry you. Is his name worth my price?”
A husband? Berenike’s heart beat like a drum. With a royal husband, she could play the great game and ... win. And she could escape from her lecherous brother.
A smile curved Berenike’s lips. “Yes, you will tell me what you know.”
The seer woman spoke for the fourth part of an hour. When she finished, Berenike simply nodded.
Agrippa was pacing, his face tight. “Have you told all you know?”
The seer woman nodded. “Have I earned my price?”
Agrippa stopped his pacing. “Yo
u have.”
Berenike drank more water. “Yes, you may go.”
The seer woman bowed slightly and backed toward the door. “I will depend on both of you to fulfill your promises.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ari
* * *
AS IT TURNED OUT, BARUCH was wrong. Even with Ari’s backing, nobody paid any attention to Rivka’s prediction of the coming eclipse. The word of Ari the Kazan went far if you were building a pump or a crane or a wall. But what could Ari the Kazan know of events in the heavenly realms? The heavens were not the earth. After many arguments, Ari realized that nobody understood that earthly physics applied to the heavenly bodies. Isaac Newton would prove this someday in the far future, but that was no help now. Ari could not prove there would be an eclipse.
Frustration gnawed at Ari’s heart. The science was trivial, and he could have done the computations with a reed pen and papyrus and a pocket calculator, but he lacked data, lacked the instruments to acquire the data, lacked the technology to build the instruments.
He could not prove things he knew to be true. He must appeal to authority. Two thousand years in the future, men would prove these things. His situation was identical to that of his ultra-orthodox stepfather, who had likewise appealed to a far-off authority for the many customs he followed.
At the end of this month, the sun would eclipse. Ari knew it, yet he could not prove it, and he had so far convinced nobody. He had only the word of his woman, and that was not proof. If there was a panic on the appointed day, then people would believe his woman, but it would be too late for those dead.
Pesach came, bringing with it a river of discontent. The massacre in Caesarea had gone unavenged, and the streets bristled with rage. Dagger-men murdered a nephew of Hanan ben Hanan in the Temple courts during the worship hour and slipped away in the panic. A self-proclaimed “prophet” created a stir on the fourth day of the feast. On the fifth day, he was not seen in the city, and rumors swirled of a midnight arrest. Roman soldiers patrolled the roofs of the porticoes surrounding the Temple courts, a brutal reminder that Rome was overlord to Jerusalem. At such a time, who cared what a woman had to say, even a seer woman?
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