by Angela Hunt
Uncle fell silent as his face grew somber and his thoughts wandered. I waited as long as I could, then asked, “What happened to the boy king?”
Uncle sighed. “Cleopatra Thea received word that her son had developed a kidney stone. He died during surgery to remove it, and many people, including me, have wondered if Diodotus didn’t invent the story of illness so he could kill the boy. After the boy’s death, the usurper claimed the crown and called himself ‘Tryphon the Magnificent.’ In truth, he had been successful only because his followers were loyal to Cleopatra Thea’s son.”
I blew out a breath and turned to stare out the window. Kissa had to be right—we were making this trip to investigate a betrothal between me and another of Cleopatra Thea’s sons. I wanted to please my uncle and honor my mother, but I did not want a life of murder and rebellion and sadness and being handed to one man, then taken back and given to another. I did not want to worry about my children’s safety or wonder if someone would try to steal my baby from its nurse.
If marrying Cleopatra Thea’s son meant I would face similar horrors, I would happily choose to remain unmarried.
My uncle’s gaze came to rest on me. “Judea owes its existence to what happened next. Demetrius, still married to Cleopatra Thea, realized he needed the Jews to defeat Tryphon. He told my father he would promise anything in exchange for the Jews’ help, so Father asked Demetrius to recognize him as high priest, exempt the Jews from all taxes and tributes, and allow us to build new fortifications in Judea. Demetrius agreed.”
I closed my eyes, trying to remember what my tutor had taught me about the beginning of Hasmonean leadership. “So . . . we are free from foreign rulers because of the baby king?”
“In so many words, yes. HaShem used the baby king, Cleopatra Thea, and my father to bring us freedom.”
I digested this information, more than a little awed that HaShem could orchestrate such a complicated chain of events. “And this queen . . . what is she doing now?”
The grim line of my uncle’s mouth relaxed. “Cleopatra Thea was married to Antiochus Sidetes, the king who had my father killed and held Jerusalem under siege. But after he died, her husband, Demetrius, returned to claim his throne—and his wife. So she now rules Seleucia with Demetrius as her husband. And through it all she has been a loyal supporter of the Jewish people.”
“She had another son, after the boy who died?”
“She had two others—Seleucus V, and the son we are going to visit, Antiochus Epiphanes Philometor Callinicus.” The corner of Uncle’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “The people refer to him as Grypus because he has a hooked nose.”
I laughed, but then stopped when Uncle lifted a warning finger. “Never forget that Grypus and the queen are powerful people,” he cautioned. “We are going to see them in view of a betrothal. A marriage between you two might benefit both our nations.”
“If he will have her,” Mother said dryly. “She is not a great prize.”
I ignored her comment. “I never thought I would meet a real prince.”
“Neither did I.” Mother folded her arms. “Your sister should have married a king.”
I looked at Uncle, who rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, then offered me a small smile. “You are a bright girl,” he said, “and quite pretty. Grypus would be fortunate to marry you.”
“But . . . what if I do not like him?”
“Do you think Cleopatra Thea liked all her husbands?” My uncle shook his head. “Liking matters not. Power is what matters—holding it, keeping it. I would not have arranged this trip if I did not believe you capable of being a wife worthy of a king. So now we will see what the queen thinks of you, Salome Alexandra.”
We leaned back against the pillows in the coach and did not speak of marriage for the rest of the journey.
After long days of bumping over rough roads and sticky nights in which Mother, Kissa, and I jostled one another in a small tent—Mother had tried to keep Kissa out, but I would not allow her to be abandoned—we finally neared our destination.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Antioch. Leaving the arid, dusty landscape of Judea behind, we entered a green land, heavily forested, with swift blue streams that ran beside the coach and sparkled in the sun. Eventually we followed a wide, paved road that flowed alongside a river my uncle called Orontes, and then we glimpsed the stone walls surrounding Antioch.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, poking my head out the window. “So green and lovely.”
We entered the city through a gate named after Daphne, one of the Greek gods, and traveled down a street lined with tall colonnades. Compared to the haphazard construction of Jerusalem, where masons were always repairing walls and buildings destroyed in war, I had never seen anything so perfect.
“The palace and the circus are situated on an island,” my uncle said, leaning toward me as he took in the sights. “I am sure you will be impressed. I’ve been here before, yet the sight of the palace always takes my breath away.”
After traversing the length of the city, we turned and crossed its breadth, and only then did I see the stone bridge that led to a walled settlement within the walled city. When we crested a hill, I could see many tidy stone houses, neatly bordered by paved streets. Behind the houses we spotted the massive circus, which Uncle described as a place for entertainments and athletic exhibits. Next to the circus, rising like a vision in stone and marble, we beheld the royal palace.
We drove through the palace gate and stepped out of the carriage, accompanied by a salute from trumpeters announcing our presence with long blasts. I blushed to think my arrival would merit such attention, but then I realized the true state of affairs when dignitaries rushed past me and knelt before my uncle. He was the guest of honor, while Mother and I were afterthoughts.
But if the marriage was arranged as Uncle hoped, those dignitaries might one day be rushing toward me . . .
I turned away from the courtiers and took a few slow steps in the courtyard to stretch the stiffness from my legs. Mother did the same, pressing a hand to her lower back as she grumbled about the uncomfortable coach. We did not have much time to ourselves, for the courtiers immediately motioned us forward.
As we walked from the courtyard to the guest quarters, I found I had never before seen more statuary in a single place. I knew art, of course, for my tutor appreciated it and often sketched details of sculptures he had seen in Egypt or one of the Philistine cities. Jerusalem had no statues, however, for graven images were a violation of HaShem’s Law.
“Josu Attis would love to visit this place,” I whispered to Kissa as we walked through the palace entry. Statues of men, women, and beasts adorned every pedestal, and each step of our walk brought us in view of another pedestal.
After making sure we were comfortable, the courtiers left us in our rooms. Mother, Kissa, and I were given one set of rooms; Uncle and his servants settled in chambers nearby. “Make ready for your meeting with the queen,” Uncle told me as we parted. “A servant will come to fetch us when she is ready.”
Kissa went immediately to work. Because we had been traveling for days, I desperately wanted a bath and clean hair. Kissa was about to pour water from a pitcher into a bowl when Mother tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to a large marble basin beneath a window. “For Salome’s mikvah.”
“A bath!”
After bathing in the luxurious tub and donning a clean tunic, I sat at a dressing table and let Kissa work on my wet hair. Not knowing if we’d have time for my hair to dry, she tied a blue ribbon around my head to hold my riotous curls in place. She attempted to shape them with a heated iron, and finally, as a finishing touch, she pinned several pearls into the still-damp curls.
“I’m so glad Alena loaned these to me,” I said, turning so I could see my reflection in the looking brass.
We had barely finished dressing when a servant knocked and said the queen was ready to receive us. We found Uncle waiting in the corridor, so Mother a
nd I fell into step behind him as courtiers led us to the queen. We were not taken to the throne room—a disappointment, as I desperately wanted to see it—but to a private chamber, where we found Cleopatra Thea and her son.
I prostrated myself on the floor as instructed, but when I lifted my head I could not take my eyes from the powerful queen’s face.
Cleopatra Thea, about whom I had heard so much, was not particularly tall or beautiful, but she had a firm jaw, resolute eyes, and a thin red line for a mouth. She wore a surprisingly plain tunic, simple in style. A sheer veil covered her graying hair, and on her long hands she had unpainted nails and a conspicuous absence of jewelry.
I had expected to behold some sort of royal personage. The woman I saw before me, however, appeared as if she could be a seller of linen at our neighborhood market.
“John Hyrcanus,” she said, extending her hand to my uncle. He took it and bowed deeply, then stepped back and gestured to me. “My niece, Salome Alexandra, part of the Hasmonean family. And her mother, Sipporah.”
“Rise, my friends, and be seated beside your high priest.”
Feeling awkward and shaky, I rose and sat on the upholstered bench directly across from the queen and her young son, whom I assumed was the royal prince. Our gazes met and held.
His eyes were attractive enough, though I could not scrutinize them without also seeing the nose—a king of a nose, if ever one had existed. My uncle had warned me that his subjects called him “hook nose,” but he had not mentioned the sheer size of it. The youth’s eyes seemed small by comparison, for the nose occupied the center of his face like a misshapen sculpture affixed by putty or mortar . . .
When Uncle cleared his throat, I realized I had been staring. I quickly lowered my gaze.
“Salome Alexandra,” the queen said in Greek. “A lovely name for a lovely girl.”
I glanced up at her, my cheeks burning, and managed to stammer, “Thank you, O queen.”
“Have you a tutor, my dear?”
“I do.”
“What do you most like to study?”
I folded my hands in my lap. “I read the Torah, of course, and do my utmost to follow HaShem’s Law. I have read many books from the Library at Alexandria—Uncle has them sent to Jerusalem. I have read Euclid of Alexandria, though I do not understand much of geometry and have no head for numbers. I have read Pythagoras, and I disagree with his assertion that man exists simply to observe the heavens. Observing the heavens leads one to contemplate the Creator of the heavens, and is it not more profitable to marvel at Adonai than His works? I have decided I like poetry more than geometry, and oratory more than history.”
The queen gave me a smile that barely spread her lips. I wondered if she were capable of smiling more freely, or if all the sorrow she had experienced had permanently affected her mouth.
She arched a brow. “If we do not understand history, are we not bound to repeat the mistakes our fathers made?”
“Some would say we will make those mistakes in any case,” I answered, “for the same passions that motivated our fathers motivate us, and young people are prone to ignore their elders’ advice. We still love and hate, covet and desire. So we kill and maim and steal—not me, of course, but men who do not love HaShem’s holy Law.”
“Only men?”
“Women too. In truth, women would surely be as prone to sin as men, if only they were given a chance.”
The queen laughed, a throaty chuckle that brought heat to my cheeks and made my mother squirm.
“You have been well educated indeed,” the queen said. “Tell me, dear girl—have you ever considered the possibility that you might one day be a queen?”
I frowned. I had never dreamed of such a thing before this trip, and after hearing Cleopatra Thea’s sad history—
“In truth, O queen, I do not think I would like it.”
“Why not?” She smiled, but all traces of humor had vanished from her eyes.
I drew a deep breath. I didn’t want to insult the woman, but surely she could not deny that she had experienced myriad sorrows and trials resulting from her position. If she had been a merchant’s wife, would someone have stolen her baby? Would a tyrant have murdered her son?
“I am not sure what I want,” I said. “I have been assured that HaShem has a special plan for me, but I do not know what it is. But just as our father Abraham waited to see his descendants become as numerous as the sand in the sea, I am content to wait in faith that HaShem will bring His will to pass.”
“Abraham is dead.” The queen directed her dark gaze toward my uncle. “Surely you do not think your God will make something of your life when you are in the grave.”
“I beg the queen’s pardon, but HaShem can do anything He wills to do. He created the world in seven days. He hung the stars in their places. He created life and light out of nothing, so death is nothing to Him.”
“You have a gift for conversation, but you have not answered my question. Why would you not like being queen? You could have power. You could have wealth. You could have anything you desired, and men would spring to do your bidding.”
I looked at the floor and slowly shook my head. “If only it were so.”
“Explain yourself.”
I lifted my chin to boldly look her in the eyes. “I am not unfamiliar with your life, O queen. You have power, but you have paid dearly for it. You have wealth, but it brings you no joy, for you are dressed even more simply than my mother. You can have anything you desire, and hundreds of servants obey your command, but you cannot retrieve the things you have lost—like your son. Your family.”
I glanced at my uncle, whose back had gone as straight as a spear. While he might be displeased with me, I would answer honestly.
“I have heard that people once spoke of making Judas Maccabaeus king, but he would have none of it. I think he was wise as well as strong. I think he may have been the wisest of all the Hasmoneans—save for my uncle, of course.”
The queen looked at Uncle with burning eyes, then gestured to the youth at her side. “I should introduce my son, Prince Antiochus VIII, my heir. Son, let me present Salome Alexandra, from Judea’s Hasmonean dynasty.”
Not sure what to do, I stood and bowed before him, then lifted my head. A frown had crept between his brows, though I could barely see it due to the shadow of that monumental nose.
“Perhaps you two would like to walk in the garden,” the queen said, “while I talk with John Hyrcanus. We have matters of business to discuss.”
After an instant of hesitation, the prince stood and looked at me. I moved to stand beside him, then followed him out of the room and into a fragrant rose garden.
What should a common girl say to a prince, especially one from a bloody dynasty like his?
For several minutes we walked through the garden without speaking. I followed the graveled path and paused at each bush, taking care to inhale the fragrance and exclaim over its sweetness, beauty, or perfection. In truth, my mind was far from flowers, and yet I had no idea what I was supposed to talk about with this young man.
Fortunately he had an interest in plants. “Did you know,” he said, nodding at a tree I had stopped to admire, “that seeds from that specimen can be sewn into a band and worn around the arm? The seeds will ward off snakebite.”
I blinked. “I did not know that.”
“And here.” He walked on and pointed to a small bush. “The crushed leaves of this specimen will relieve fever if tossed into a hot bath with the sufferer.”
“That is amazing.” I gave him a genuine smile. “I had no idea.”
“I study, too—but not like you. I have no use for Jewish Law, and even less for Jewish history.”
I folded my hands and tried to remain pleasant. Though I did not want to marry this youth, neither did I want to insult him. “I think your knowledge about plants is incredible. You could do a great deal of good with such knowledge.”
He snorted softly and kept walking until he came t
o a shrub with wide green leaves. “This plant, when boiled, can bring worms out of a man’s belly. But the roots”—a sly smile spread over his face—“if boiled in water and allowed to cool, the roots can make a man vomit blood and die.”
My smile wavered. Was he trying to shock me or impress me with his knowledge?
“I know little about plants,” I admitted, turning down another path. “Perhaps we should speak of something else.”
“What would you have me speak of?”
I stopped walking. “What I want to know is this—do you want to be married?”
He looked at me as if I had suddenly spoken in a foreign tongue. “What do you mean?”
“I have been brought here to meet you, and my uncle is hoping to announce our betrothal. Were you not informed of this?”
“Of course.”
“So? Do you want to be married or not?”
He shot me a sidelong look I didn’t like nor understand. “It is something I must do. I have not decided whether or not I will find pleasure in it.”
I hesitated and considered his answer. “My uncle seems to find pleasure in his marriage. He is fond of his wife, and she admires him. And I believe my mother loved my father before he died.”
The prince snorted. “Common people can marry whomever they please, whenever they want. They can marry for love or money or position, it matters not.” He nodded when I lifted a questioning brow. “Yes, I know about you. I know you were born poor and without position, until John Hyrcanus lifted you from poverty. I know the Hasmoneans were simple priest-shepherds until Judas Maccabaeus fought his way out of obscurity. Now you’re practically a princess.”
I sputtered in protest, but my feelings were too confused to respond properly. He had spoken the truth, and what of it? I could not change the circumstances of my birth.
“I am who I am,” I finally said. “If I have been elevated, HaShem did it. If I am lowered tomorrow, it will be HaShem’s doing. No man can decide his fate, for Adonai is over all.”