by Angela Hunt
I reached across the space between us and placed my hand on his arm. “This, too, shall pass,” I whispered, watching the golden light of sunset play across his lined face. “Wait a while, Herod, and you will see. You are an athlete, a competitor, and your race is not yet finished.”
In less than a year, Herod and Augustus reconciled. Nicolaus of Damascus, Herod’s adviser and philosophy teacher, traveled to Rome and met with the emperor. He confronted Syllaeus with his distortions, then explained to Augustus that Herod had acted under the oversight of Roman officials. Augustus realized he had been deceived by the Nabataean and that Herod’s actions had been correct. He reinstated my brother’s status as a friend of Rome.
Finally, my brother’s spirits began to rise. With the emperor’s friendship restored, the king’s confidence returned. Armed with fresh determination, he set out to investigate his household and put an end to the intrigues and rumors about his sons.
Under torture, three eunuchs in the king’s service confessed that Alexander and Aristobulus had hatched a plan to kill their father in a hunting accident, and afterward sail to Rome for the emperor’s confirmation as Herod’s heirs. Herod had their quarters searched for evidence to confirm this plot, but nothing was found save a letter from Aristobulus to Alexander about Antipater’s growing influence and income.
“No wonder you found nothing,” Antipater told the king. “They are too clever to leave evidence behind. They only speak of their plans; they do not write them.”
Herod had Alexander arrested. When the torture of the prince’s friends began again, other plans were confessed—one plot to use poison and another to go to the emperor and accuse Herod of secret agreements with Parthia.
Archelaus of Cappadocia returned and again acted as peacemaker, wisely pointing out that Alexander had no reason to kill his father. If Mariamne’s sons killed the appointed king, Augustus would never allow them to assume the throne.
But then another man came to court, Gaius Julius Eurycles, a friend of the emperor. I distrusted him from the moment I saw him, and my reaction had nothing to do with the arrogant way he carried himself or his reputation as the son of an executed pirate. I distrusted his eyes, which seemed as remote as the ocean depths, even when he smiled. I could never trust a man whose soul did not shine through his eyes.
This wily worm ingratiated himself with Alexander and began to tell the prince that he, his brother, Mariamne, and Glaphyra were of royal blood, yet a commoner sat upon the throne. Warmed by the flattery and commiseration, Alexander and Aristobulus unburdened themselves, admitting a litany of complaints against their father.
After memorizing the men’s grievances, Eurycles went to Antipater and gave him all he needed to stoke the fire of Herod’s fury. Leaving Antipater, Eurycles went to Herod himself, saying that in order to repay the king’s many kindnesses toward him, he had come to save the king’s life. He explained that Alexander and Aristobulus were conspiring to kill the king by running him through with his own spear, then making it look as though he had pierced himself with his spear by falling from his horse. The two men had also been suborning Herod’s generals. As Herod seethed in fury, Eurycles went on to praise Antipater as a loyal son.
Herod put the Hasmonean brothers under house arrest. I had been more than willing to watch from a distance, but when I heard that Aristobulus was threatening to tell Herod I had conspired with Syllaeus to jeopardize Herod’s relationship with the emperor, I went directly to my brother. “According to the gossip being spread by your son Aristobulus,” I said, my chest heaving with indignation, “you are planning to kill me.”
“Kill the only person who is truly loyal to me?” Herod’s face went purple, and veins stood out in his throat. “They will both die.”
I remained quiet, knowing that Herod could change his mind yet again. Because the boys were close friends of the emperor, he would not execute them immediately. In time, he might soften enough to let them live out their lives as princes, enjoying their wives and children in the palace.
Antipater could win. For my mother’s sake, I hoped he would.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Zara
Why, HaShem, would you allow such things to happen?” I had developed the habit of praying as I walked to the palace, and lately my prayers had been a continuous refrain of questions. “Why would you allow the king’s family to develop such hatred for one another? Where there should be love, there is hate; and where there should be joy, there is only bitterness.”
I stepped over a puddle and continued along the cobblestone street. Silence hung over the city, for the hour was yet early, and the only people stirring were those who made deliveries or tended hungry livestock.
And me, who cared for the king’s sister.
Salome was away from the palace, and for the past several months she had not been herself. Though she took pains to pretend that nothing was amiss, I often caught her staring into space, her eyes vacant and her lips pressed into a straight line. Streaks of gray had appeared in her hair, and not even frequent applications of henna could hide them.
I knew what had happened with the princes—everyone in the palace knew, though no one spoke of it openly. Herod had written the emperor, who had told him to bring his accused sons to a court in Berytus. The princes would stand trial, the evidence would be presented, and the court would rule.
Salome and Pheroras went with Herod to Berytus, as did some Roman officials from the area. We had not yet heard the outcome of the trial, but I hoped for the best. I had been impressed with Archelaus of Cappadocia, who had urged peace and reconciliation, while the king’s advisor, Nicolaus of Damascus, seemed only to reinforce whatever the king was feeling. And the king’s emotions vacillated like those of a young girl.
I stopped to let a donkey and cart pass by, the smell of donkey urine assaulting me. Overcome by the stench, I clutched my stomach, bent over and vomited in the street. Trembling and embarrassed, I spat the vile taste out of my mouth and stood. No one had seen me but an older woman, who was setting up her vegetable cart.
“Aye,” the woman said with a grin. “How many will this make for you?”
I blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
She stopped sorting vegetables and gaped at me. “Could this be your first, then?”
“My first . . . ?” My mouth dropped open as realization bloomed in my chest. My first. Could it be, after so many years?
“Give it time,” the old woman said, cackling as she returned to her work. “If you’re still losing your breakfast next week, better start gathering your swaddling cloths.”
I shook my head. No. She had to be wrong. After praying so hard and for so long, why would HaShem answer my prayer now? Why did He not let me conceive when I had strength and energy? Why would He not let me bear a child when I was struggling with jealousy over Salome’s fruitfulness? Why now when I was thirty-seven years old and tired?
I hurried to the palace and sat on the edge of a bed, one hand on my belly. My stomach did not feel distended, but unless I was mistaken, my breasts had swollen. Was the old woman right?
I said nothing about my suspicions until a month later when the full moon rose and I still had not bled. But neither had I experienced what other women called “the heat.” My stomach had become a small mound, barely visible beneath my tunic.
When Ravid came home from the Temple that night, I silently caught his hands and led him to the bed. I pulled him down to sit beside me and placed his hand on my growing belly. “I thought I had entered the final stage of womanhood,” I whispered, my voice husky, “but HaShem has touched my womb and I have conceived.”
My husband’s eyes filled with wonder. He pulled me into his arms, kissed me, and murmured that HaShem had been good to us and all would be well.
I soon learned that carrying a child at thirty-seven was nothing like carrying a child at twenty. On my walks to the palace or to the well, I frequently spotted other expectant women, and few of them
struggled as I did. The larger my baby grew, the more difficult I found walking, and when I returned home at night, I could barely summon the strength to prepare our evening meal.
Fortunately, Ravid took pity on me and asked our neighbor Rachel for help. She invited us to dine with her family, so we ate at her table every night. While I appreciated her hospitality, I longed for the day when I would be alone with my husband and our child, free to enjoy the motherhood for which I had prayed so long.
Salome did not notice I was pregnant at first. I do not blame her for being unobservant. Since her return from Berytus, her mind and heart had been occupied with dreadful things.
The sons of Mariamne had been tried and found guilty of plotting to kill the king. Without being allowed to speak for themselves, and without proof of their crime, they were found guilty. Of their judges, Volumnius argued for a harsh sentence, and though Saturninus thought the young men guilty, he did not believe the crime worthy of death. He said he had three sons of his own and believed that killing any one of them would be the greatest tragedy he could imagine for himself.
I did not hear how Salome or Pheroras voted or even if they had a say in the matter. The judges were present only to advise; the sentence was entirely up to Herod.
When Herod and his party returned to Caesarea, several soldiers and the king’s barber tried to intervene on the princes’ behalf. Herod ordered the barber and three hundred soldiers arrested and beaten to death.
The sons of Mariamne were taken to Sebaste where Herod had married their mother, and they were executed by strangulation. Their bodies were buried at Alexandreion, where Herod had buried Mariamne, Alexandra, and the son who had died in Rome.
Now they were gone, along with the threat, real or imagined, they had presented. Knowing my mistress had never liked Mariamne and had always been wary of the brothers, I thought their execution would ease her mind, but she did not smile for weeks afterward. Neither did the king. I saw him one afternoon, shuffling along a hallway with a cane, his back bent, his head lowered, and his legs swollen. He did not see me, and even from a distance I could tell he suffered from some sort of malady.
When I mentioned the king’s appearance to Ravid, my husband pressed his lips together and nodded. “‘There is no health in my flesh because of Your indignation,’” he quoted. “‘There is no wholeness in my bones because of my sin. For my iniquities are on my head—like a burden too heavy for me.’”
“One of the prophets?” I asked.
“A psalm of David,” he answered. “When he cried out to Adonai.”
I doubted that Herod was crying out to the Lord, but how was I to know?
I was nearly seven months with child when Salome finally realized I was moving more slowly than usual. “I see you have finally conceived,” she said, arching a brow as she studied my reflection in the looking brass. “Yet I cannot help noticing that you are struggling. I know we agreed you would stay until you gave birth, but perhaps the time has come for me to find another handmaid.”
My hands froze in her hair as I struggled with conflicting emotions. After so many years of faithful service, was she planning to dismiss me so abruptly? Was I simply to disappear without so much as a farewell?
Somehow I managed to finish the braid and fasten it with thread. “I will always be grateful for what you have done for me,” I said, taking pains to keep my voice light. “And you are right—it has not been an easy time.”
“It is I who should be grateful . . . for you.” With uncharacteristic tenderness she reached out and caught my hand. “You must think me the coldest and most unfeeling woman in the world.”
I stepped forward and sank to a bench near her chair, wanting to see her face. “You are my mistress; it matters not what I think of you.”
“Doesn’t it?” She cast me a sharp look, then lowered her gaze to her lap. “I did not want the princes to die. If Herod had asked me, I think I could have convinced him to exile them or send them and their families to Rome. But his mind had been poisoned by Antipater and that awful Eurycles. Now my daughter has no husband and Glaphyra is a widow. The only good thing to come out of this is that Herod has determined to be a better grandfather than he was a father. He will arrange excellent betrothals for the lads’ children. He will dote on them . . . until his dying day.”
I did not know what to say. So I listened without speaking, and when she looked up, I obeyed a sudden impulse to reach out and squeeze her hand.
She flinched at my touch, and no wonder. Though for years I had smoothed makeup on her eyes and cheeks, and though my hands knew her hair better than my own, I had never taken her hand. The gesture was warm and human, an unspoken bond between women, and I was not sure anyone had ever touched her in such a way.
I thought—feared—she might shake me off as if I were a pestilent fly, but she did not. “I may not always have shown my appreciation,” she said, staring at my hand, “but I have learned a lot from you. Whenever I wanted to know how a Jewish . . . how a righteous woman would react, or what she would think, I had only to look to my handmaid. You were my looking brass. And though I thought you would begin to reflect my manner over time, I can only hope that in the future I will reflect you.”
She placed her free hand over mine for a moment, then pulled away and put on her no-nonsense expression. “I know you need time to prepare for your baby, so I am going to release you from service. Please finish out the week with me, and then you may go home. But you will not go empty-handed. I want to make sure you and your husband will want for nothing. I will be giving you a house, yet I will wait for you to tell me where you want to settle. Please let me know after you have spoken to your Torah teacher. This is the least I can do for you.”
Her offer—and the sincerity of it—caught me by surprise. With great difficulty I stammered out my thanks. With tears blinding my eyes, I stood and backed away.
Ravid had always thought my mistress cold and scheming, but he was wrong. Like most people, Salome was not what she appeared to be.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Salome
On Zara’s final day, I looked up and saw her hesitating at the threshold of my chamber. “Come in.” I gestured to her. The new slave, an awkward girl of a dozen or so years, stood behind me with a comb and threaded needle in hand, ready to learn. “Uru is eager to begin, so teach her well. I suspect I will not be seeing you again.”
Zara pressed her hand to her back and waddled into the room, then nodded encouragement as the slave began to run the comb through my hair.
“Ouch!” I winced as the comb encountered a tangle. “Careful at the back of the head, please. My hair often tangles there.”
I watched in the looking brass as Zara guided the girl, instructing her about how to section the hair, how to braid it, how to work the colored thread through the braids and secure them. “Always make sure the anchor braid is strong,” Zara said, tugging on a braid at the back of my head. “It will not be seen, so it doesn’t have to be pretty, but without it your mistress will not be comfortable.”
“Indeed.” I sighed, then smiled at Zara. “I have been waiting for your reply, so do not think I have forgotten. Have you and Ravid decided where you want to live?”
A blush crept into her cheeks. “Ravid would like to return to the home of his fathers. He would like to open a new school.”
“So you would leave Jerusalem? He will no longer teach at the Temple?”
“He wants to remain close so he can help with the baby,” Zara said, her eyes shining. “And he has family in Bethlehem.”
“I have heard of the place. Herod built several pools south of that little town.”
I smiled at her in my looking brass, grateful my handmaid would be able to enjoy a measure of happiness. That golden emotion had certainly been in short supply within the palace, especially of late.
“Then it shall be done,” I said. “I will send a representative to find a suitable house, and you shall take possession before the baby
comes. When it comes I hope your travail will be easy, and your future filled with joy.”
I do not know if Zara expected more ceremony, more affection, or some sort of blessing, but I had no more time for formalities. “Thank you.” I stood and adjusted the himation at my shoulder, then turned to face the two servants. “Now I must meet my husband and the king.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Zara
Never having lived anywhere but Jerusalem, I found the quiet simplicity of Bethlehem a dramatic change. The walls of the town were neither exceptionally wide nor tall, for what did Bethlehem have worth stealing? The houses were built close together with shared walls, and each house had a small gated courtyard housing a sheep, goat, or several chickens.
Bethlehem might have been small, but it was old and had a rich history. As we had walked beside the wagon that held our few belongings, Ravid reminded me of Bethlehem’s historic significance. “Rachel was buried here,” he said, lifting his eyes as though he might spot her tomb by the road. “And Naomi and Ruth lived here.”
“I know David kept sheep here,” I said, grateful that I could add something to his list.
“Aye.” Ravid nodded. “And the prophet Micah said the Messiah will be born here.”
“Truly?”
Ravid smiled. “‘But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah—least among the clans of Judah—from you will come out to Me One to be ruler in Israel, One whose goings forth are from of old, from days of eternity.’”
My hand went to my bulging belly. “Do you believe that?”
“Of course. But only HaShem knows when He will come.”
I patted my belly and kept walking, grateful to know that Ravid wasn’t expecting our son to be the Messiah. After waiting so long to conceive him, I wasn’t sure I would be ready to surrender him to the Lord’s work. How had Hannah managed it?