King's Shadow: A Novel of King Herod's Court

by Angela Hunt

  She also refused to meet my eye. In the throne room, at banquets, and in passing, she remained a pale wraith at Herod’s side, eating nothing, saying little, and smiling not at all. She took to wearing only white garments, which exaggerated her ghostly appearance, and let her hair tumble over her shoulders like a madwoman’s.

  I understood grief—I had lost two brothers and a father, so I was well acquainted with that state of mind. But I also knew Alexandra and Mariamne well enough to understand they would not mourn quietly but would take some sort of action against my brother. What would they do? What could they do from within the walls of the palace?

  In private moments, after Zara had done my hair and left me alone, I sat and stared out my window, wondering if Herod had ordered his friends to kill Aristobulus. Given the circumstances—the sudden invitation to his friends, the free-flowing wine, the timing, the place—my brother could easily have arranged an unofficial execution. But Herod would not do such a thing unless he felt it absolutely necessary. He did not kill without reason. He had killed many men in war, and the situation with Alexandra was a war of strategy and necessity. If she had not insisted on forcing her young son to the forefront, if she had not insisted that Herod break tradition and dismiss Ananel, none of this would have happened.

  Instead, like a commanding general, she planned her strategy, she made her move, and Herod had to respond.

  I might never know if Herod had given the order for murder, but if he had, I could understand. He had been forced to act.

  Weeks passed. Herod reappointed Ananel as high priest and began meeting with certain members of his court in his private chambers—meetings from which Joseph and I were excluded. “I do not want to bother you with everything,” he replied when I caught him and asked about his reclusiveness. “In truth, I expect to make a journey soon, and I am making preparations for my time away.”

  My uneasiness swelled to alarm. “Where are you going?”

  “I expect I will be going to Alexandria.” Herod gave me a wintry smile. “Or wherever Antony is. I’m sure Alexandra’s letter has reached him by now.”

  I caught my breath. Of course she would write Antony. She had written him before, begging him to force Herod to bend to her will, but this time she would demand justice for her dead son. Her letter would be filled with accusations, false reports, exaggerations . . .

  “Will you take witnesses with you?” I asked. “Some of the men who were in Jericho that day?”

  Herod glanced over his shoulder to make certain we were alone, then guided me to a secluded corridor. “I must not look guilty.” He leaned against the wall and drew a deep breath. “I will go with a clear conscience and take gifts for Antony and his children. I have already gathered several hundred talents.”

  I gasped at the vast amount. A king’s ransom, surely.

  “I worry about you, brother. While you are away, we can do nothing to help you—”

  “Do not worry your pretty head, sister. I am leaving Joseph in charge. I will not be gone more than a few weeks. But”—he lifted a warning finger—“if you must do something, keep a watchful eye on my bride and her mother. I have heard that Alexandra is so distraught that she has considered destroying herself. We cannot have that.”

  “Why not?” The question was callous and cruel, but still it slipped from my tongue. “Wouldn’t her death solve many of your problems?”

  “Salome.” Herod rebuked me with a stern look, then caught my hand. “Can you imagine your grief if something happened to our mother?”

  My eyes welled with tears as the question hung in the space between us. My mother had always seemed as enduring as an oak. Though she was not as active as she had been in years past, she was always available to listen and give advice. I could not imagine losing her.

  “I thought so.” Herod’s voice softened. “Even so, Mariamne loves her mother dearly, and I love my wife. So we cannot let anything happen to Alexandra.”

  I clasped his hand between mine and breathed a kiss onto his fingers. “Go, then . . . and return safely. I have already lost Father and Phasael and our brother Joseph—I do not want to lose you, too.”

  “Fear not,” he said, giving me a relaxed smile with a great deal of confidence behind it. “I am not worried about facing Antony.”

  Later that night, Joseph escorted me to my chamber and dismissed the servants. When we were alone, he sank to a stool and regarded me with bleary eyes. “Your brother asks too much of me,” he said, attempting a weak smile. “I am getting up in years, and I cannot keep up with him.”

  “Reigning in his stead will not be too hard for you,” I said. “Your chief concern will be keeping an eye on the queen and her scheming mother. Yet this arrangement will only last a short time. Herod will return, you’ll see. He will not let himself be defeated by Cleopatra.”

  “Ah, Salome, you think everything is so simple.” He gripped his knees and drew a deep breath. “But that is not all Herod has asked of me.”

  I sank to a footstool and looked up at him. “What else has he asked?”

  Joseph shook his head. “I should not say.”

  “Please, husband. If it is important, should I not know? Perhaps I can be of help.”

  He drew another ragged breath. “If Herod is killed while in Alexandria, I am to kill Mariamne. Herod says he loves her so much that he cannot bear the thought of being without her in the afterlife.”

  I listened, blinking, then laughed aloud. “Is that what he told you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Herod does not believe in the afterlife—at least I’ve never heard him speak of such a thing. There must be another reason.”

  Joseph chewed his lower lip. “Perhaps you are right. He also mentioned how much he distrusts Alexandra. Apparently Antony’s letter mentioned a portrait of Mariamne—an image commissioned and sent by Alexandra.”

  My shoulders slumped as the pieces of the puzzle came together. Of course! Alexandra was dangling her daughter before Mark Antony as incentive to execute my brother. If you eliminate Herod, his wife can be yours.

  I closed my eyes to consider the situation. Cleopatra might like to know about the portrait Alexandra had sent Mark Antony . . . or did she know already? If she did know, she might want Herod to return to Judea alive and well, for not even the wealthy queen of Egypt would want Mark Antony to take another woman into his bed.

  No, Cleopatra would not want to kill Herod, at least not now, so why would Herod want to kill Mariamne? He did not care about the afterlife. No, what he wanted was to possess Mariamne and not share her with anyone else. With Mariamne dead, no one else would have her, sleep with her, or love her. Herod wanted to possess her, body and soul, and if he could not, he would make certain no one else could, either.

  Especially not Mark Antony.

  I patted Joseph’s knee. “It would be a hard order to carry out,” I said, softening my voice, “so we must pray Herod returns safely to us and his wife.”

  “He told me he has no hope of escaping with his life.”

  The words lit a hot ball of frustrated anger in my heart. I had taken a vow to protect my brother, but how could I do anything with him so far away? He should take me with him on this trip. He should let me face Mark Antony and Cleopatra. If someone had to pay for Aristobulus’s death, I would do it.

  But I could say none of these things to Joseph, who no longer had the energy for a passionate defense. Nor could I say them to Herod, who would think I was overstepping my role.

  I drew a deep breath and looked into my husband’s dark eyes. “Be on your guard with Mariamne and her mother—they bear us no love, I am sure of it.”

  Joseph gave me a look of weary indignation. “I am not a fool, Salome. If Herod believes I can rule in his place, I can certainly handle two women.”

  “I am certain you can, but be wary nonetheless.” I pressed a kiss to his forehead, then patted his shoulder and made a small gesture of dismissal, sending him on his way.

&
nbsp; Chapter Twenty-Four

  Zara

  You sent for me?” I bowed before my mistress, who was reclining on a couch while a slave offered her a tray of delicacies.

  “Yes.” She picked up a honeyed date, licked the syrup from it, and dropped it back onto the tray. “My brother is in Laodicea with Antony and his Egyptian harlot, and I believe Alexandra and Mariamne are plotting something. I hear them whispering, yet they fall silent whenever I enter the room. I would know what they are planning.”

  I frowned. “I do not believe they would tell me anything, mistress. They know I am your—”

  A flare of irritation lit Salome’s eyes. “You do not walk up and ask them what they’re planning, silly girl. You find out in more subtle ways. You hide. You eavesdrop. You question one of their slaves. Use your wits, Zara—aren’t you Jews supposed to be intelligent?”

  Her words stung, but I told myself she was upset and worried about her brother. The king must be risking a great deal on this visit, perhaps even his life.

  I bowed and left her chamber, then walked toward the building that housed the queen’s luxurious apartment. Perhaps I could visit Mava. Perhaps, if HaShem willed it, while in the queen’s chamber I could learn something that would satisfy my mistress’s curiosity.

  I slipped through the servants’ entrance at the queen’s apartment and headed toward the small room where the two young princes, Alexander and Aristobulus, slept. As I had hoped, Mava was with them. She looked up and smiled when I entered.

  “Has the wet nurse come and gone?” I asked, trying to appear relaxed as I leaned against the doorframe.

  “Yes, though I thought she would never leave. The babies go right to sleep when their bellies are full, and that’s a good thing.”

  I peeked into the small baskets that held the young princes. I did not know much about babies, never having had a younger sibling, but these two seemed robust and healthy. The little one, Aristobulus—even thinking the name brought pain—had the dark curls of his namesake.

  I turned toward the main chamber from whence came the soft sound of women’s voices. “Your mistress seems content.”

  “The ladies are always calmer when the king is away. They spend most of the day lying on their couches, eating fruit and listening to music.”

  I forced a smile. “My mistress is likewise aimless. She tries to keep busy, but I fear her thoughts wander too much. She has a vivid imagination.”

  A flicker of apprehension flowed through me when someone else entered and walked directly into the ladies’ chamber. Recognizing Joseph’s robust voice, I pressed my back to the wall, not wanting to be discovered by my mistress’s husband.

  “I have to go,” I whispered. “I do not want him to see me.”

  “Do not worry,” Mava whispered back. “He never comes into this room.”

  “My queen.” Joseph’s deep baritone echoed in the spacious chamber beyond. “And her lovely mother. How are you two ladies faring in the king’s absence?”

  I pressed my finger across my lips, warning Mava to keep silent. She shrugged, wordlessly reminding me that the important people in yonder room were not likely to call for her.

  “Welcome, Joseph.” Mariamne’s voice flowed like oil, smooth and rich. “We are well. How do you like running Judea?”

  Joseph released a deep sigh, accompanied by the creak of a couch. “Life continues to vex, the people continue to whine, and the priests continue to pray for a Messiah to deliver them from Rome. Meanwhile, I pray Herod will return safely.”

  “Do you doubt he will?” Mariamne asked.

  “I do not,” Joseph responded. “But a man’s fate does not always lie in his own hands. And my brother has charged me with making certain you are well looked after in his absence. He loves you very much, you know.”

  “So you’ve said.” Mariamne’s voice went flat. “At least ten times a day you remind me.”

  “Do you not believe it?”

  Joseph spoke in a light, joking tone, but I did not have to see Mariamne’s face to know she was not in the mood for jests. “Since my brother’s death, I do not know what to believe.”

  “I can assure you, Herod had no part in that horrible accident—”

  “How does a strong young man drown in water barely up to his chest?” Alexandra’s words sizzled with fury and indignation. “Anyone who expects me to believe the king’s story must think I am a fool.”

  Joseph sighed. “The games of young men are often rough and unruly. Many a youth has accidentally injured another, especially when they have been drinking.”

  “Most youths do not make a point of playing rough games with Israel’s high priest.” I heard the swish of garments; Alexandra must have risen from her couch.

  “I swear to you,” Joseph said, his voice gaining strength, “you must not doubt my brother’s love for your children. He needs the support of his queen in all things, especially now.”

  “You mean since Antony has summoned Herod to Laodicea,” Mariamne added.

  “Antony summoned him to account for my son’s death,” Alexandra said, her words clipped. “If there is any justice in this world, Antony will take Herod’s life in exchange for the life Herod took from me.”

  From my hiding place in the nursery, I pressed my fingertips over my lips. Alexandra was speaking treason, and if Salome or Pheroras had heard her statement, she might be arrested for disloyalty to the king.

  But Joseph possessed a more forgiving nature. “How can you say such things? Herod loves you beyond reason and would never purposely bring you pain. Why, before leaving he pulled me aside and told me he loves you so much that . . .” His voice broke off.

  “So much that what?” Mariamne asked.

  Joseph cleared his throat. “I should not reveal the confession of a lovestruck husband.”

  “Joseph, I am your queen. If you have any respect for me, you will tell me what he said.”

  “He told me something in confidence.”

  “Are confidences not freely broken when the king asks for them?” This came from Alexandra, whose voice had sharpened. “Your queen asks you to respond. If you have any respect for the king and his queen, you must answer.”

  Joseph sighed so loudly I could hear him from the nursery. Then he spoke slowly and clearly. “The king loves you so much that he cannot bear the thought of separation from you, even in death. If Herod does not return home, he has asked me . . . asked me to make it possible for you to unite with him.”

  “Unite with him? What does that mean?”

  An unnatural silence flooded the room and overflowed into the small space where Mava and I sat with the babies. Even little Alexander seemed to sense something significant was about to be revealed, for he jerked awake and stared at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

  “What did you mean?” Mariamne’s voice had gone soft with disbelief. “Has he . . . has he asked you to take my life?”

  Unable to resist, I leaned toward the thin curtain that separated the nursery from the queen’s chamber. Through the fabric I saw Joseph shift his weight, his face flaming.

  “Only if he dies. The situation sounds more dire than it is, my queen, because we know Herod will not die. I only mentioned his request because I wanted to assure you of the king’s great love. He adores you so much that—”

  “He would kill me.” The queen looked at her mother. “Have you ever heard of such love?”

  “I have not and cannot believe he would ask such a thing of our dear Joseph.” Alexandra gave their visitor a wobbly smile. “Would he steal a second child from me?”

  Stammering, Joseph stood. “The king loves you greatly, my queen—that is all I intended to say. Do not worry. I have every confidence in our king. He will have a productive meeting with Antony and return to us. All will be well, you shall see.” He turned and quit the chamber, his garments whirling as he left the two women alone.

  Realizing that I was about to witness an explosion of raw feminine outrage, I ga
ve Mava a rueful smile. “I must return to my mistress,” I whispered, moving toward the servants’ door. “May HaShem keep us—all of us—safe.”

  It was not until I arrived at Salome’s chamber that I realized I had forgotten to gather the information she requested.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Salome

  When my handmaid returned, the girl wore the look of a child who had just broken a precious piece of art. She gave me a perfunctory bow, then stood silently, her hands clenched at her waist.

  “You went to the queen’s chambers?”

  She nodded.

  “Was Alexandra with her?”

  She nodded again.

  “Speak, girl, or I shall be an old woman before I learn anything.”

  “They were together. They spoke of nothing really, until Joseph—your husband—entered the apartment.”

  I straightened. “Joseph was there? Why?”

  A flush traveled from the girl’s cheeks to the base of her throat. “He came to check on them—he said the king had charged him with making sure they remained well in the king’s absence.”

  That news did not explain the stricken expression on my handmaid’s face.

  “Did they say they were well?”

  “They said . . .” Zara lowered her gaze. “They are still upset about Aristobulus. Especially Alexandra.”

  “We are all upset about the lad. What else did they say?”

  “The queen said something about . . . well, she does not think the king truly cares for her. And Joseph assured her the king loves her deeply.”

  I chuckled. “Is that the only matter disturbing our queen?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “What else, then?”

  The girl’s chest heaved. “Joseph said the king made him promise something before he left.”