Chapter Eighteen
Berenike
* * *
BERENIKE WAS NURSING HER NEWBORN daughter when Agrippa came for her.
“Give it to me now.” Agrippa reached for the child.
Berenike gripped her baby tight and twisted away from him. “No! Go away! She is mine!”
Agrippa snapped his fingers toward the door and two huge Germans barged into her quarters.
She screamed and clutched her daughter. “No! Stay away from me, you filth! She is mine!”
Each man took hold of one of her arms. Agrippa seized the child.
Berenike screamed in rage. “No!” She kicked at him with both feet, spitting, biting, screaming. He would not take her daughter! He would not!
The Germans tore at her arms.
Slowly, slowly, her fingers lost their grip.
Agrippa pried at the child. “Give it to me! It is a scandal and a disgrace, you shameless woman!”
The baby wailed.
Berenike lost her grip.
Agrippa staggered backward, holding her daughter, her precious daughter. He shook loose the swaddling, grabbed the baby by the feet, and laughed as he swung it around hard in a great arc. The child’s head smashed against the cruel stone table.
Berenike screamed …
She woke up crying.
“Mistress!” Shlomi’s soft, gentle hands comforted her.
Berenike’s heart raced madly in her chest. She felt with both hands for her child, but ... it was gone. The dream was a lie. Agrippa had not killed her baby. She had.
“Mistress!”
Berenike clutched at Shlomi’s hands and let the tears roll. It had been five weeks since she killed her child. She felt sure in her heart it was a daughter. A girl who could have been a comfort to her. Not like her noisy, mocking, ill-mannered sons, whom she had sent to Rome to “finish their education” because she could no longer tolerate them in her house. For the sake of Agrippa’s foolish honor, she had killed her own daughter and nearly died herself. Now HaShem tormented her with evil dreams, a punishment for her sin.
Shlomi dried Berenike’s face with a silk cloth. “Peace, mistress. Peace.”
Berenike sighed. Would she ever have peace? She was losing her mind, her soul. Becoming weak. Soft. Unworthy to be a Herod.
And she did not care. Perhaps it was not such a wonderful thing to be a Herod, if to do so meant to kill her own daughter. For the first time in her life, Berenike knew guilt. Shame. She squeezed Shlomi’s hands. “In the morning, you will send for the seer woman.”
“Yes, mistress. I will be glad of seeing her again. Hold my hand and sleep.”
Berenike closed her eyes and clutched Shlomi’s hand. She lay awake until dawn.
Rivka
* * *
Rivka sat quietly in Berenike’s chamber, rocking baby Rachel in her arms, admiring the exquisite tapestries on the wall, letting Berenike talk. And talk. The woman had everything—wealth, beauty, brains. Everything except peace of mind. Everything except a friend.
Rivka knew she could not be the friend Berenike needed. Their worlds were too different. She could listen to Berenike, empathize, talk about repentance and forgiveness. But Berenike wasn’t listening. She wasn’t ready to receive forgiveness yet. Berenike had a long, long way to go before she’d be ready for that. She had been trying to be a man for so long, she needed to just talk to a woman. An equal woman. And it was already clear after an hour’s talk that she did not consider Rivka her equal. Berenike desperately needed a friend, someone who could be a sister to her—
Rivka’s heart skipped a beat. Well, of course! Some things were so obvious you couldn’t see them until they punched you in the nose.
Berenike leaned forward. “What did you see, seer woman?”
“See?” Rivka felt her cheeks warming. Good grief, Berenike thought she was having a vision or something crazy like that. “I saw nothing.”
“You did.” Berenike stared at Rachel with hungry eyes. “Tell me.”
Rivka sighed. It must be nice to be a queen, able to order the little people around. “You need to visit your sisters. Have a long talk with them.”
Berenike frowned and leaned back. “I have only one sister.”
That was ridiculous. Rivka drummed her fingers on the marble tabletop. “You have two sisters, Mariamme and Drusilla.”
“Mariamme is in Rome. I have nothing to say to ... that other one.”
“Drusilla will be going back to Rome soon. You may never see her again.”
“Good.” Berenike took a sip of wine. “How do you know she is going back to Rome?”
“Because her husband is about to be recalled by Caesar.”
“Husband?” Disgust washed across Berenike’s face. “She left her husband six years ago.”
Rivka knew only a little of this—a paragraph from Josephus. “I understood she got a divorce and married Governor Felix.”
“She left her husband, the little zonah. He never gave her a divorce.”
Rivka leaned forward. That wasn’t in Josephus or the New Testament. “You’re telling me her marriage to Felix is invalid?”
“You should know that if you are a true seer woman.”
Well, I’m not. All I know is what I read in the newspapers. I don’t have a pipeline to God. Rivka tried again. “I know that Governor Felix will be replaced this summer. He and Drusilla will be leaving for Rome soon after that. You must visit her. Talk to her.”
Berenike scowled and threw a small brass mirror across the room. “I would sooner kiss a cobra.”
Rivka said nothing—just looked at her.
Berenike’s eyes hardened. “You will stop looking at me in such a way! I will not visit her!” Her cheeks pinked. “I refuse to talk to you anymore. You will leave at once!”
Rachel woke up and began screaming.
Good grief, I really punched her buttons, didn’t I? Rivka stood up, shushing Rachel. “I’m sorry if I offended—”
“I do not wish to see you again. Now I know that the rumors are true.”
Rivka turned to stare at her. “What rumors?”
Berenike smiled. “If you do not know, then you are no true seer woman, and the rumors are proved true.”
“What rumors?”
“You will leave at once or I will call for the Germans.”
Rivka backed toward the door, wondering how she was going to stay on her feet when her head felt like somebody had spun her around for half an hour on one of those crazy rides at the fair.
Rivka
* * *
An hour later in the New City, Rivka rapped on a wooden door. Midwife Marta had to be home. She just had to be. Hana had refused to speak about the rumors when Rivka asked. All of her friends had dodged the question. But Marta would not dodge. You could always trust an old woman to tell the truth.
No answer.
Rivka gently rocked Rachel in her arms. The tiny face dissolved into a blur. Rivka turned and stumbled blindly toward home. She collided with somebody.
“Oh! Child, is it you?” Marta’s voice, very old and tired.
Rivka couldn’t see a thing. “Savta?”
“Come inside, out of the sun, child. The little one should be at home.”
Marta opened her house and slumped inside. “It was a difficult birth today. I should have sent for you, but ... that was not possible.”
Not possible? Rivka realized that it had been a whole week since any of the midwives in the city sent for her on a hard case. Not since ... before the eclipse.
“Child, let me look at Racheleh!” Marta led Rivka into the sitting room and guided her to a seat on one of the wooden couches. “She looks more like you each day. Such a delight. Would you like a drink? Some beer?”
“Beer would be fine.” Rivka could just hear what her mother would say about drinking beer while she was nursing Rachel. But what was she supposed to do? The alcohol might pass through to Rachel, but was that worse than drinking tainted water a
nd maybe getting diarrhea or some weird intestinal bug?
Marta hurried to bring her a stone cup filled with the local ale. “Child, how have you been? Gamaliel told me about ... what happened in the Temple.”
Rivka looked her straight in the eye. “Savta, is there something I should know? About what people are saying about me?”
“It is only an idle rumor, child. Tell me about that little terror, that Dov. What has he broken lately?”
“Savta, I need to know.” Rivka clutched her arm. “What is the rumor?”
“Nobody believes it. Foolishness, that is what I call it.”
Rivka wanted to shriek. “What is foolishness? If nobody believes it, why won’t you tell me?”
Marta took Rachel and rocked her gently, pacing back and forth in front of Rivka. “There is a rumor—a very foolish rumor—that you have a familiar.”
Rivka gasped. “A ... what?” Understanding came in a rush. A familiar spirit. There were two kinds of false prophets. One claimed to hear from God when he had heard nothing. The other claimed to hear from God when in fact he heard from a lying spirit.
“They are calling you ... the witch woman.”
Cold sweat leaped out on Rivka’s face. They thought she was ... some kind of a witch. Like the woman of Ein Dor whom King Saul visited. A medium.
Which was crazy. Do I look like something out of Harry Potter?
But of course, nobody was claiming she was a black-caped, cauldron-stirring, spell-casting, broomstick-riding witch. That was so ... medieval—so Eurocentric. A witch in this culture meant something different—a medium, a spiritist, a consulter of the dead, a diviner of the future.
Rivka put her face in her hands. She had to stop this lying story. She had a lot to give to this city. As a midwife and as a seer woman. But how could she help if everybody thought she was a witch woman? Hanan ben Hanan had to be behind this lie. Just wait till she got her hands on him. She’d—
“Child, nobody believes these rumors.” Marta handed Rachel back. “Pay no attention to—”
The outside door opened. “Savta! I am home!” Gamaliel’s voice. Footsteps in the kitchen. “Savta, did—” The sharp intake of breath.
Rivka turned to look at Gamaliel.
His face had turned a pale shade of green.
She walked toward him.
He backed away. He was one of Ari’s best friends and he was scared to death of her.
Frustration welled up inside Rivka’s heart. “I’m not a witch woman!” Oh great, the lady doth protest too much.
Gamaliel held up his hands, palms outward, and looked to his grandmother. “Savta—”
“Gamaliel, you silly goose!” Marta advanced on him, her finger jabbing holes in the air. “Are you also listening to this foolishness? Does Rabbi Yohanan think she is a witch woman? Does he?”
Gamaliel pursed his lips. “Rabbi Yohanan ... does not know what to think.”
Rivka felt like somebody had stuffed her head with cotton. If even Rabbi Yohanan had doubts ...
“Shame, shame!” Marta wagged her head. “What would your father say? Or your mother?”
“Or your uncle Saul,” Rivka said. She clapped her hand over her mouth. What an idiot thing to say.
“Or your uncle Saul—what would he say?” Marta tapped her finger on Gamaliel’s chest.
Gamaliel’s face turned hard, cold.
Rivka decided to tackle this thing head on. What did she have to lose? She strode up beside Marta and jutted her chin at Gamaliel. “Go ask your uncle!” she said in a quiet voice. “Your uncle Saul gave me a blessing once. Ask him about it. Ask him if I’m a witch woman. But you’d better hurry. He’s still in prison in Caesarea, but he’ll be sailing for Rome at the end of the summer and you’ll never see him again.”
Suspicion narrowed Gamaliel’s eyes. He scowled at Marta. “Has HaShem told her what my uncle will be doing next fall—as he told her about the sun?”
Rivka swallowed hard. There was no way to back out of this swamp. She would either have to drive through, or sink into quicksand. “HaShem has given me to know much about your uncle. This summer, the governor will ask him to speak before King Agrippa and Queen Berenike and—”
“The governor?” Gamaliel gave a harsh laugh. “Savta, she speaks foolishness. The king and queen hate Governor Felix, on account of his stealing their sister from her lawful husband. This woman has not heard from—”
Rivka stamped her foot. “No, no, not Governor Felix. He will soon be deposed. Caesar will send a man named Festus to replace him.”
Marta put a hand on Rivka’s arm. “Child, you are overwrought. You will upset Racheleh. Please—”
But Rivka was not going to be timid here. “No, Savta, I know what I’m talking about.” She pointed at Gamaliel. “Two months from now, you will hear that Governor Festus has arrived in Jerusalem, and then you will know that I have heard from HaShem. Then I ask you, take me and Ari the Kazan to Caesarea to meet your uncle Saul.”
Gamaliel shook his head. “Savta, this is foolishness. I have never heard of this Festus, and therefore I will not—”
“I said, when you hear,” Rivka said. “In two months, when you hear that Festus has arrived here in Jerusalem, then you will take us, please.”
“I—”
“Please!”
Marta cackled. “What do you fear, Gamaliel? If there is no Festus, then she asks for nothing. But if this Festus comes here ... will that not be proof that Rivkaleh has heard from HaShem?”
Gamaliel’s eyes danced with uncertainty. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. I do not see how such a thing could happen, but yes.”
Hana
* * *
Hana paced in front of her door, her heart pounding almost as loudly as the rapping on her front door. She did not wish to face Sister Rivka in her hour of shame.
“Hana!” Rivka shouted again from outside. “I know you’re home. You will let me in, or I will beat the door down!”
Hana could not think what to do.
“Hana!” More pounding. Little Rachel began wailing outside.
That was too much. Hana unlatched the door.
Rivka stood in the street, tears leaking down her face, blindly rocking Rachel.
Hana threw her arms around her. “It is a lying tale.”
Rivka looked at her through bleared eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hana saw people staring at them in the street. “You will come inside, please. The sun is hot.”
Rivka came in and Hana shut the door on the horrible stares. They were fools to believe Rivka was a witch woman, but they were also her neighbors. When Hana had lived as a zonah, the worst part of her life was the neighbor women who spit at her feet in the street.
Rivka quieted Rachel.
Hana brought two wooden stools and they sat.
Rivka smeared the sleeve of her tunic across her eyes. “They say I have a familiar.”
Hana patted her arm. “You will pay no attention and this lying tale will die.”
“Hana, this is going to ruin everything!” Rivka’s eyes glowed with anger. “Nobody is sending to me for help in midwifing. And ... I have things to tell this city. A terrible time is coming soon. I have to warn the people!”
“Only wait a little,” Hana said. “Then they will forget.”
“I don’t have time to wait! This is important! If I don’t warn people, nobody will!”
Hana reached down and touched Rachel’s tiny, delicate nose. “All is in the hands of HaShem.”
“Well ... of course.” Rivka sighed deeply. “I guess I believe that, but ... I also think HaShem sent me here for a reason. You know—for such a time as this. Like Queen Esther. I don’t have time for some stupid rumor. Who has familiar spirits these days, anyway?”
Hana felt her jaw drop open. “But ... Rivkaleh, have you forgotten? When you first met me, I had a familiar.”
“You ... what?” Rivka gave her a disbelieving smile.
“You will no
t look at me like a child, please.” Hana folded her arms across her chest. “I told you about the truth-tellers.”
“Yes, but ... I thought that was all a figure of speech.” Rivka’s eyes sank to the table. “I thought maybe you were just making things up, or ... hearing voices.”
Hana did not know how such an intelligent woman could be so ignorant. “But of course I was hearing voices. The truth-tellers. I had a spirit of rage and a spirit of lust and a spirit of fear. And a familiar—she warned me of danger many times.”
Rivka’s eyes widened. “Hana, that’s dangerous! A familiar spirit—if you really had one—was there to lie to you, to lead you into deception.”
Hana could not look at Rivka’s eyes. “You will not be angry on me, please, but ... the truth-tellers made me lie to you once.”
Rivka put her hand on Hana’s arm. “When?”
“On the day we met, you asked me the name of the high priest. I said it was Ishmael ben Phiabi. My familiar told me to say this name, and so I said it, though I knew it was a lie.”
“Why?”
Hana shrugged. “I do not know. One does not ask a familiar why. Baruch made her go away, her and all the others.”
“You don’t hear them anymore?” Rivka sounded frightened.
“No.” Hana took Rachel’s tiny hand in hers and studied the fingers intently.
“Hana, you do, don’t you?”
Hana closed her eyes. “Only sometimes. The shade of the wicked man.”
“Damien.”
“Yes. I wake sometimes in the night and hear his voice. He torments me, but he has no hold.”
“Hold? What do you mean, no hold?”
Hana curled her fingers into a fist and raked them lightly over Rivka’s arm. “You see? Here, I have no hold.” She opened her hand and gripped Rivka’s arm. “Here, I have a hold. Just so with the spirits. They have a hold, or they have no hold. The wicked man has no hold on me.”
“But ...” Rivka shook her head. “How do they get a hold?”
“Through sin, of course.” Hana wondered sometimes how Rivka was such a child. “If rage is found in you, then a spirit of rage will find a hold. If lust, then a spirit of lust.” Hana stood up and went to the window. She looked out at the shining blue sky, so pure, so clean. It was like the sky, to live free of the spirits. She lowered her eyes to the white stones of the city. These stones were not pure, not free. “There is a spirit of rage on this city.”
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