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

by Angela Hunt

  I glanced at Mava. Was she as bewildered as I? I had never heard such things. Was Ravid a rebel or was he one of the few teachers who actually spoke the truth? I had no idea, but my father used to say that many of the religious leaders, even the priests, did not follow the commandments of Adonai.

  I looked around the room and wondered if Ravid’s madness was contagious. Most of the men appeared to be listening intently, while skepticism gleamed in two or three pairs of eyes. The sight comforted me. I would not want to remain if these people were following a false teacher.

  “When our earthly lives come to an end”—I looked up and focused again on what Ravid was saying—“we do not disappear. Our bodies turn to dust, yes, but our souls live on. A bodily resurrection will occur after the final war has been settled by HaShem. Then a new kind of communion with Him and the angels will begin. We will worship HaShem in a new Temple in a new Jerusalem, and death and its shadows will disappear, never to torment us again.”

  My thoughts drifted to my last memory of Mariamne, who had quietly, stoically surrendered to the executioner. Of my father who sacrificed his life to a losing cause. Of my mother who had wasted away, her body but a shell of the strong woman she had once been before the fall of Jerusalem. How wonderful to think death could be defeated! Herod might even welcome a new king, if it would mean the end of parting and pain.

  But Ravid said the end to death would not come until after a final war. I did not know when that would be, yet such bliss would probably not come in my lifetime. Like so many others, I would have no choice but to live and wait and hope for this better future.

  Ravid lifted his hand and swayed in the rhythm of his closing prayer. After he finished, I took Mava’s hand and firmly pulled her out of the house and into the night.

  “Why are we in such a hurry to go?” Mava asked, irritation in her voice. “I wanted to ask my brother about something.”

  “Ask him next time,” I said, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. “I am not sure about this teacher. I have never heard such things, and his ideas seem . . . dangerous.”

  “All the more reason why we should go again. Perhaps we will begin to understand.”

  “Understanding will not help us if Herod hears we went out searching for a new king.” I released her hand and felt my shoulders relax. “I will go with you again, but I will not take these teachings to heart.”

  Mava frowned and drew her cloak over her head. “Do not worry—I will not ask you to.”

  My mistress sat on her dressing stool, facing the looking brass, as I heated the calamistrum.

  “So,” Salome said, studying her nails, “is anything happening in the servants’ quarters? Any gossip I might find interesting?”

  I pulled the calamistrum from the fire and, careful not to let my fingers touch the heated rod, wrapped a strand of Salome’s hair around it. “Not about the servants. But I met an interesting man yesterday.”

  One of Salome’s brows shot up. “My young handmaid has met a man?”

  My cheeks heated beneath her gaze. “He is a Torah teacher at the Temple. He has unique views about HaShem, and about the future.”

  Salome stifled a yawn. “They always do. What does this one say?”

  “He says”—I pulled the cylindrical rod away and let the steaming curl dangle freely—“the Teacher of Righteousness has prophesied that we are to expect two Messiahs in the future: one who will be our high priest and reconcile us to God, and another who will be a king from the line of David.”

  Salome lifted her head at the word king. “The line of David no longer exists, so why would he say such a thing?”

  I used a comb to smooth another hank of hair. “Because the Teacher of Righteousness says the Messiah will be born into the House of David, but he will not be born until the House of David has returned to the poverty it experienced during the days of David’s father, Jesse. The Messiah will be born in lowliness but will have the sevenfold fullness of the Holy Spirit.”

  I wrapped the hair on the calamistrum, then released it. When I glanced at my mistress again, her eyes had gone cold and sharp. “Zara,” she said, an edge to her voice, “if you value your life at all, you should guard your tongue when you speak of a coming king.”

  For an instant my blood chilled, but then I forced a laugh. “Oh.” I smiled as if I had been prattling foolishness. “This Messiah will not come for generations, mistress. How could he? The coming king will rule the earth, and how could anyone do that with Herod on the throne of Judea and Octavian ruling the world? Do not pay any attention to my rambling thoughts. People like the Teacher of Righteousness have been making such predictions for years.”

  “I know about the Essenes and their prophet,” Salome said, relaxing in her chair. “They were calling for the advent of the Messiah when my grandfather served Alexander Jannaeus and Salome Alexandra. She studied the Scriptures and looked for the coming Messiah too, but she died without ever seeing him.”

  I set the calamistrum on the glowing coals and combed out another section of my mistress’s hair. “Would you like me to prepare another henna rinse? The color is fading, and you might want it freshened for some special occasion.”

  “Remind me when I must attend a special occasion,” Salome replied, and when her eyes met mine I knew she’d seen through my attempt to change the subject.

  I returned my attention to the curling instrument, but beneath my calm exterior my heart was beating as fast as a bird’s. I should learn to keep quiet. Sometimes, especially when I was feeling relaxed and content, I trusted my mistress far too much.

  I should know better than to trust King Herod’s sister.

  Mava and I went back to the Torah study. The second time we visited, another man taught the lesson, and he was not nearly as provocative as Ravid. On our third visit I was delighted to walk in and discover Ravid standing in the center of the room. As I sat with Mava and our hostess, I hoped he would not notice the blush heating my cheeks.

  “Consider our nation from the beginning,” he said, his gaze catching mine. “HaShem made a covenant with Abraham, to bless him and make a great nation out of him. Indeed, many nations have come out of Abraham, through Ishmael and Isaac. Isaac had two sons: Esau, father to the Idumaeans; and Jacob, father to the Jews. And Adonai wrestled with Jacob, and blessed him, and promised his seed would be as the dust of the land, and he would burst forth to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south. And in him all the families of the earth would be blessed—and in his seed. And so our people have come from Jacob, and from us will come a priest and a king who will rule the world.”

  I glanced at Mava, who seemed more interested in a man across the room than in Ravid’s teaching.

  “And God made a covenant with the people under Moses,” Ravid went on. “He gave us the Law and promised blessings if we would keep it. But if we disobeyed it, He promised curses, warning us that we would be forced from the land He had given us. These things came to pass when our forefathers followed after other gods and married foreign wives, who turned the hearts of the men from the worship of Adonai. After seventy years, when HaShem brought us back to our land, He said, “‘Do not remember former things, nor consider things of the past. Here I am, doing a new thing; now it is springing up—do you not know about it?’”

  The owner of the house stood and interrupted, declaring that the hour had grown late. Ravid bowed his head as other men stood and began moving toward the doorway.

  But I remained where I sat, my heart stirring with unexpected and unfamiliar longing. Once again I had been astounded by the words that poured from Ravid’s mouth. I had never met a teacher who claimed to get his information from a prophet who spoke to HaShem. Everyone else spoke of the Law and tradition.

  When I turned to look for Mava, Ravid stood behind me, his dark eyes studying my face. “Do you plan to stay all night?”

  I drew a breath to answer, but then I saw the dancing light in his eyes. He was teasing.

&nb
sp; My cheeks burned as I scrambled to my feet. “I was . . . thinking.”

  “About your friend?”

  “About what you said.” I forced my stubborn feet to turn toward the door, even though I wanted to remain exactly where I was.

  Ravid walked with me. “You live at the palace, do you not? Let me escort you and your friend to the palace gate. Two women should not be alone on the streets at this hour.”

  I looked away, afraid to let him see how much his offer pleased me. I thanked him, then found Mava and tapped her on the shoulder. “Come, it is time we were away.”

  She bade our hostess farewell, smothered a yawn, and gave Ravid a look of weary resignation. “I’m sorry I did not listen better. I was up before dawn with one of the princes. Royal toothache.”

  Ravid gave her an understanding smile, and soon we were all making our way down the street. Mava trudged behind us, blaming her tired feet, while Ravid and I walked side by side. “Tell me, Zara—”

  “You know my name?”

  He chuckled. “I asked Mava’s brother. He said you were handmaid to the king’s sister.”

  “I am.”

  “Then I will continue to pray for you. That job cannot be easy.”

  “You have been praying for me?”

  “Of course.” His answer was so natural that I wondered how many other girls he mentioned in his daily prayers. After all, he was a Torah teacher and so had an interest in his students.

  “I have seen you at these meetings,” he said, “and wondered why you were coming. It is unusual to see a girl of your age studying Torah.”

  “I am not so young.”

  “Yet you are not so old.” He grinned. “I have wondered—who is HaShem to you?”

  I blinked, startled by the question. “Who is HaShem? Don’t you know?”

  “Of course. But I want to know who He is to you.”

  “He is the Creator of the Universe. He is our God.”

  “Yes, but that is what He is to everyone in Jerusalem. Who is He to you, Zara?”

  “Why . . . the same as He is to everyone, I suppose.”

  His smile deepened as he looked down at the cobblestones beneath our feet. “Moses called him friend. David called him Lord. What do you call Him?”

  My confusion grew by the moment. “I call Him HaShem.”

  I did not know how he wanted me to answer but sensed I’d missed the mark. Yet I saw no disappointment in his expression, only an odd eagerness.

  “Too many of our people,” he continued, “see HaShem as the God who wrote the Law, the Judge we must please by counting our steps, tithing our herbs, and giving to the poor. But though we must always respect the Law, HaShem wants more than our obedience to a set of rules. He wants to know us personally; He wants us to love Him as Moses and David did.”

  I stopped in mid-step, almost causing Mava to collide into me. She muttered something under her breath, then walked around me and continued toward the palace.

  “I cannot know God as Moses did,” I whispered, afraid to speak such presumptuous words in a normal voice. “Moses was a holy man, while I am only—”

  “Moses was a man like me,” Ravid said. “And his sister Miriam was a woman like you. They knew HaShem and were not afraid to speak to Him. Your prayers should not be formal words you recite like a blessing; they should flow from your heart as naturally as water flows from a brook. He wants to know your honest thoughts, Zara, and He wants to speak to you.”

  “Does He speak to you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  I staggered backward, convinced I was conversing with a madman. “I cannot speak to HaShem. I am only a girl.”

  “Not so very young, though, right?” He smiled. “Give yourself time. Study the Scriptures with me, and you will see I am showing you the truth. God is doing a new thing, and He is doing it among us. Please keep coming to our meetings and study Torah and the prophets along with me. I am certain your eyes will be opened.”

  I did not know how to answer him. Something in me realized Ravid was dangerous and that allying with him likely meant trouble, but still he fascinated me.

  And though I suspected he was leading me toward an uncertain and perhaps perilous future, I also knew I wanted desperately to go with him.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Salome

  I could avoid Herod no longer. I had tried to remain distant, telling Pheroras I did not wish to attend the king’s nightly banquets because my children needed me, but in truth I had been terrified by my brother’s temper, and by what he might have learned from those who executed Alexandra. Did she speak of me and Costobar before the executioner took her life? Did she leave a letter for Herod? Had she entrusted her secrets to a favorite slave?

  My brother’s moods had been so unrestrained and unpredictable since Mariamne’s death that merely being in his presence unnerved me. He might be watching, like a cat watches a mouse, waiting to see if I would confirm that my loyalties lie with my husband instead of my king.

  I knew he had heard rumors and wanted an explanation as to why my husband had stopped visiting my chamber at the palace. Since our return from Samaria, Costobar had been spending his nights at his house in the city or on his farms, where he employed workers to tend his fields. He had not slept with me since before Phebe’s birth, and though my bed was lonely without him, I had come to realize he was a threat to me and to my children.

  So when Mother told me Herod was beginning to seem like himself again, I knew I should go to him at once. I had grown tired of being imprisoned by fear, and Herod’s successful encounter with Octavian had inspired me to commit a similar irrevocable act—an act I’d known was inevitable ever since the moment Herod asked about my husband’s dealings with Cleopatra.

  Costobar, I concluded, was a liability and posed a danger to our family, and I had been foolish to fall in love with him. By allowing myself to be charmed by a handsome, strong, clever man, I had violated my vow to protect Herod from any threat.

  I once admired Costobar for being independent, but by the time Herod recovered his senses I knew only one man could rule in Judea, and that man was Herod. Costobar was twice guilty of treason, and though for my sake Herod had forgiven him once, he would not be so gracious again.

  So I did what the Jewish Law forbade any woman to do: I issued my husband a writ of divorcement. With the document firmly in hand, I had Zara dress me in my finest garments, then walked into the king’s reception hall and waited for Herod to recognize me.

  When Herod finally turned and greeted me with a warm smile, I stepped forward and declared that I was taking an unconventional step solely out of loyalty to my king. In the writ, which I read in front of several witnesses, including Costobar, Pheroras, and our mother, I proclaimed what I had learned from Alexandra and others: Costobar had been sheltering the sons of Baba, a pro-Hasmonean group of rebels. During the siege of Jerusalem, Costobar had been assigned to watch the city exits. While guarding the gates, he protected the rebels and smuggled them out of the city. He had been sheltering them ever since.

  My brother’s face contorted with shock and anger as he listened to my written condemnation, leading me to believe that this was the first time he had heard such news. When I finished, he shifted his attention to Costobar, who did not look in my direction. “Does your wife speak the truth?”

  Costobar was no fool; he knew he had been defeated. He stood and lifted his chin. With a confidence born of courage, he nodded. “She does.”

  “Eight years?” Herod’s face flushed. “For my entire reign you have sheltered rebels?”

  Costobar crossed his arms. “I have.”

  “Where have you hidden the sons of Baba?”

  “On my farms.” Costobar turned, his dark, impassive eyes raking my face. “Those loyal people live there still, along with their families.”

  Herod turned to the captain of his guard and made a swift gesture; even I could interpret it without words. The captain hurried away, and I knew that
neither the sons of Baba nor their family members would live to greet the sunrise.

  Herod gripped the gilded arms of his throne and leaned toward the man he had once trusted. “Costobar, governor of Idumea, your honors and wealth are stripped from you. You will die at sunrise tomorrow. Salome”—I steeled my courage as Herod looked at me—“your divorce is granted.”

  Costobar said nothing but stepped back, his eyes wide and blank.

  With difficulty, I tore my gaze from the father of my children. Leaving all formality behind, I focused my attention on the brother I had not spoken to in months. “Herod, I am so sorry. I should have seen the truth sooner. I should have understood he was not loyal when he went to see Cleopatra. I failed you when I meant to protect you . . .” I hiccupped a sob and hung my head, broken. “I didn’t know what he was planning, but it pains me to think I have been a fool. He knew everything about us, and I understood nothing of his plotting until Alexandra threatened me with the news—”

  “Salome.” Herod’s voice softened, and he looked at me with a smile behind his eyes. “Forget the past. I have missed you more than you will ever know. You have not been disloyal. And I would never call you a fool.”

  His mercy and forgiveness—which I did not deserve after being so blind and foolish—broke my heart. I covered my face and wept quietly, ignoring the whispers behind me. Let them talk and murmur. Let them say I broke the Law. Let them call me an idiot.

  I deserved their scorn and Herod’s ire.

  But my brother had softness in his heart. Once he saved me from a stranger. Now he was saving me from myself.

  “My dear sister,” he said, a muscle quivering at his jaw, “you have five children by this man. What shall be done with them?”

  “My king.” I fell to my knees in gratitude. “My children, all five, are nieces and nephews to the king of Judea. Let them be sheltered in your court, and let them live among your sons, so that all the world may know they are from your royal bloodline. Let them be called Herodians and nothing else.”