by Angela Hunt
I nodded. “It is very soft. And probably very expensive.”
The merchant laughed. “Yes, it is costlier than the usual leathers prepared with quicklime. This is prepared by the Persian process that uses dates. The leather is much more flexible and will last longer.”
I touched the leather again. Shelamzion had recently been asked to copy a document containing a pesher, or commentary, on a section of the Torah. She would probably want to use the finest leather possible for that task. “How much?” I asked.
“For two lengths, four drachmas.”
I bit my lip. We usually earned four drachmas in a day, so was the finer quality worth a full day’s work?
“I will take it,” I said and pulled the silver coins from my purse. “We will see if my mistress feels it is worth the extra expense.”
“Think of it as an investment,” the merchant said as he wrapped two lengths of the leather. “Your mistress will appreciate the quality when she sees the finished writings.”
I paid him, took my package, and dropped it into my basket. When I turned to leave, my gaze crossed that of a man standing across the way. He was not shopping but examining my face with great concentration.
I averted my eyes, unease washing over me. I took two steps, then pivoted and returned to the leather merchant. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the stranger was still staring at me.
“Sir?”
The merchant came over. “Ah! Do you want more skins?”
“No—do you see an odd man behind me? He is standing in front of the booth that sells sandals.”
The merchant craned his neck. “There are so many people out today . . . wait.” He hunched forward and looked at me. “Do you mean the man in the red cloak? The one looking this way?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
The merchant peered behind me again, then leaned closer. “I do not know his name, but he works for the high priest. Aristobulus has employed several men who roam throughout the city.”
“What do they do?”
The merchant shrugged. “They look for spies and infidels—or so I’ve heard. And they are still looking for the two grandsons of our late high priest. But no doubt that is a red cloak, so the man there belongs to the king.”
I thanked him and clutched my basket more tightly. I had done nothing wrong. If one of the king’s men was following me, then I had been recognized.
Aristobulus and Antigonus knew me well—not only had we grown up next to each other, but I used to watch over them when they were small. Aristobulus could have given a detailed description of me to his men, knowing Shelamzion would send me out to buy supplies, and knowing I would lead anyone who followed right back to Shelamzion and her boys.
I kept my head lowered as I hurried down the lane of booths, then ducked into an egg merchant’s shop. “Hey!” the seller called, but I waved her away and rushed into an alley, quickly increasing the distance between myself and the marketplace.
After glancing behind to be sure I was not followed, I broke into a run and took the long way home.
“What do you mean, a man was watching you?”
My mistress’s face, usually calm and reserved, had gone blank with concern.
“In the marketplace,” I repeated. “I asked the leather merchant if he knew who the man was, and he said he served the king. Apparently he has an army of red cloaks who spy for him.”
Shelamzion went straight to her children, who were practicing their letters on the table. With a hand on each boy’s shoulder, she looked at me with fear and confusion in her eyes. She lowered her voice. “Do you think he knows where we are?”
I knew who she meant, of course. Neither of us wanted to speak the king’s name in front of her sons or do anything to frighten them.
I moved to the window, peered out at the street, and closed the shutters. “I don’t know. I only know what I saw and what the merchant told me. I know the man saw me, but I don’t think he followed me. He doesn’t know where we live.”
“But next time, Kissa—next time the spy will not be wearing a red cloak. Next time he will look like an ordinary man, and you won’t notice him.” Shelamzion released her boys and paced the length of the room, her hands fretting at her waist. “What do we do now?”
I certainly didn’t know. I sat on a bench and watched my mistress pace the floor nervously. “I will ask Josu Attis,” she said, nodding. “I will ask him for advice. Perhaps instead of going to the market, you could watch his children while his wife goes in your place. We should avoid being in public at all costs, both of us.”
“For the rest of our lives?” My voice came out as a hoarse croak. “We cannot hide for the rest of our lives.”
She gave me a stern look. “Aristobulus will not be king for the rest of our lives.”
I pressed my lips together. Had she forgotten that the king was younger than we were? We were not likely to outlive him.
“Perhaps we should change our names,” she said, still pacing. “We could move to a village outside Jerusalem and call ourselves something else.”
“But how would we live? We are able to work because we are in Jerusalem, where scholars can afford to pay copyists. Few scholars live in small villages.”
“Josu Attis could visit and bring us work. He could come once a week, and we would have the previous week’s scrolls ready for him.”
I gave her a reproachful look. “Is it fair to ask him to go to all that trouble? He and his family have already done so much for us.”
Her brows rushed together. “Are you determined to thwart me? I am trying to save our lives—”
I held up my hand. “I know. I only wish to help you find the best solution.”
A rapid knock at the door cut into the heavy silence around us. Shelamzion looked at me. “Could that be Mother?”
“Why would she knock? She usually walks right in.”
My mistress went over and opened the door a crack, then widened it. Josu Attis’s wife stepped into the room, then lowered the himation she had wrapped about her head. “A soldier,” she said, her voice breathless, “came to the house looking for a tutor. When I said my husband was a tutor, he asked where he could find Salome Alexandra.”
A tiny flicker of shock widened Shelamzion’s eyes. “You—you didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Of course not. I told him that many tutors lived in the Valley of the Cheesemakers, and that we did not know a Salome Alexandra.”
My mistress grasped the woman’s hands. “Thank you! Go back home now, but make sure you are not followed. And may HaShem bless you for your kindness.”
Once the woman had left, Shelamzion sank onto the bench, her face a study in resignation. “She was not happy with me, and I don’t blame her for being upset.”
I nodded. “No woman would be pleased to find one of the king’s men at her door.”
Shelamzion pressed her hand to her flushed cheek and shook her head. “You are right, of course. I cannot ask more of Josu. But I don’t know what else to do.”
I blew out a breath. “You are always saying that HaShem cares for us. If that is so, you should ask Him to hide us from the king.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Shelamzion
I pulled the fabric of my himation forward on my head, hiding my face within a cowl. I had spent two days worrying about the stranger Kissa described, and I would not worry anymore. I would go to the marketplace myself and see if anyone followed or even noticed me.
As I walked, I thanked HaShem again that I had not been born to John Hyrcanus. Because I was not the former high priest’s daughter, I had not lived in the public eye, and few people knew of my association with what had become Judea’s royal family. I felt a wry smile tug at my lips as I thanked HaShem that I had not been born as beautiful as my sister. If I had been, I might attract attention, and attention was the last thing I wanted so long as Aristobulus called himself king.
I wound my way through the Valley of the Cheesemakers
, then skirted the Essene Quarter. An impromptu market always appeared near the Essene Gate on Friday, so I approached with the air of a woman gathering the items she would need for the Sabbath meal. As I sorted through vegetables and fruits, I kept glancing over my shoulder, alert for anyone who might appear unduly interested in my activity.
I was studying the cages of chickens when a nearby commotion made me turn around. A man had stumbled over a woman studying a rug on the ground, and she was not happy about being flat on her belly in public. “Why do you not watch where you are going?” she said, pushing herself to her knees. “Did you not see me down here?”
“Um, no.” The man glanced at me, and my uneasiness swelled to alarm when our eyes met. He had no reason to look in my direction. Considering his circumstance, he ought to be focused on the woman he had knocked to the ground.
My heart stopped dead when he looked at me, but an instant later it resumed beating, thumping in my chest like a warning—run, now!
Dropping my shopping basket, I spun on the ball of my foot and fled, but not even the powerful pounding of my heart could disguise the sound of footsteps in the distance.
When I thought I had finally lost my pursuer, I ran home and barred the door behind me.
Kissa spun around, her eyes filled with alarm. “Did you—?”
I nodded. “As I thought, he wasn’t wearing any kind of uniform, but he chased me when I ran. I’ve been running—” I grabbed the back of a chair as my knees went weak—“I’m sorry, let me catch my breath.”
“Sit, sit. I will get you some water.”
As Kissa poured water from a pitcher and Mother gaped at me, I sank into the chair and leaned forward to inhale great gulps of air. My sons looked at me, confused.
“Why were you running, Ima?” Hyrcanus asked.
Somehow I managed to smile. “Ima was shopping and decided to hurry home.”
Hyrcanus looked at Aristobulus, who went right on eating his stew.
Kissa handed me a cup of water. “So,” she said, “what do we do?”
“We stay inside. We keep the door barred. And we think about moving to Modein.”
“We wouldn’t have this problem in Modein,” Mother said. “You should forget your husband and go to Modein, where you can find someone else to marry. That would solve all your problems.”
When the boys had finished eating, Kissa and I filled our bowls and discussed the problem in low voices. I wasn’t sure how we could survive in Modein, but we could live on the kindness of distant family members until it was time for planting. Perhaps one of my relatives would agree to take us in.
I had just put my sons to bed when someone knocked on the door. A thrill of fear shot through me as I looked at Kissa. The sun had already set, and the street was quiet outside. Who came knocking at a woman’s house after dark?
Kissa gestured for me to step away from the door. She walked toward it, but then stopped to pick up a wooden spindle she could grip in one hand. She lifted the bar and peered through a sliver of an opening. “Who knocks?”
“Salina Alexandra.” A soft voice, female. “Let me in, please. The king does not know I have come.”
Salina? I caught my breath and hurried forward as Kissa opened the door. The queen, her slender form enveloped by a disguising cloak, stepped into the room and opened her arms to me. “Cousin!”
I embraced her with grateful relief. “How did you know where to find us?”
“I have had a man looking for you. He says he had great difficulty—”
“That was one of your men? Oh!” I sank into the nearest chair to prevent my knees from giving way. “We thought he was from the king.”
“You were wise to be wary.” While Kissa stood guard at the door, Salina sat next to me, then reached out and took my hands. “I used to think I would enjoy being a queen and the high priest’s wife. Now I see the wisdom of John Hyrcanus—Alena would be far better suited to rule Judea, for my husband is not a good king. And being the king’s wife is not something I want to be.”
“What makes you say so?”
Looking sad, pale, and utterly young in the glow of the lamp, Salina released me and shook her head. “Aristobulus is not well, not steady in his mind. He sent Antigonus and his troops to fight in the northern region of Galilee, but now he wanders about the palace sick and forlorn because he feels abandoned by his brother. He is despised by the Pharisees and criticized by the Sadducees with whom he is aligned, because they cannot forget how he treated his mother. The Essenes are opposed to his forcible circumcision of the Galileans. And the people! While none have dared denounce him within his hearing, they remain silent when he appears in the Temple. No one shouts for joy when he ends his prayers, and no one shouts praises when he has finished a sacrifice. He knows he is not liked, and he wants to be as beloved as his father was.”
I exhaled a deep breath. I had no answers for her, but perhaps she would feel better after unburdening herself. “I am sorry to hear this.”
Salina lifted her head, a weight of sadness on her thin face. “I have come up with a solution—some might say it is madness, but I believe it is my only way out. And I hope, Shelamzion, that my action will please you.”
“Say what you mean, child,” Mother scolded from the corner where she sat. “You speak in riddles.”
Ignoring my mother, Salina leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “You were always kind to me, and I am grateful for it. I am sorry your husband is in prison and I am sorry for . . . well, you will see when the time comes. Now I must go.”
“Stay,” I begged, not wanting to send her away while she was distraught. “Surely there is something we can do to ease your mind.”
She shook her head and moved toward the door. When she opened it, I saw her handmaid waiting outside in the moon-cast shadows.
“May HaShem bless you,” Salina said, stepping out into the night. “If we do not meet again, know that I am doing what I must do because I am not as strong as you are.”
I stood on the threshold, shivering beneath my shawl, and watched Salina and her handmaid hurry down the street, moving toward the high priest’s palace. What had possessed the queen to come to me? And what could she possibly be planning?
I went back in the house and barred the door, then bent to stir the embers smoldering in the fire.
“That woman is crazy,” Mother said, not caring to lower her voice. “As crazy as a mad rooster.”
“Perhaps,” I whispered. “But we shall see.”
Not long after Salina’s visit, Kissa and I were shopping and overheard a conversation between two merchants speaking Aramaic. I heard them mention a man called Judah, a well-known elder among the Essenes.
I held up my hand, warning Kissa to remain quiet. I had heard of this Essene—some said he was a prophet. Simeon ben Shetah did not believe so, but he said Judah occasionally predicted the future as HaShem gave him knowledge.
“The old Essene may not know what he is talking about,” the first merchant said, “yet he claims the king’s brother will die before Sukkot. He even named the place—Strato’s Tower.”
The second man laughed. “How can that be? The king’s brother is already in Jerusalem for the feast. I saw him myself, parading through the Temple courtyard in shiny new armor. Strato’s Tower is six hundred fifty furlongs from here; he could never reach it before the feast begins.”
“They say old Judah has never been wrong,” the first merchant countered, elbowing the second man. “If I were him, I would hate to be wrong about the king’s brother. If either of them hears that Judah says he will die . . .” The man made a face and lifted his hands, then turned away.
I looked at Kissa, my thoughts spinning. Could this have anything to do with Salina’s plan? Surely not. Salina had nothing in common with an elderly Essene, and the Essenes were even more opposed to Aristobulus’s kingship than the Pharisees. None of them would even be willing to speak to her.
“What do you think?” I asked Kissa as we ma
de our way through the marketplace. “Antigonus, dying? That is highly unlikely.”
“Salina talked as if the king had gone mad,” Kissa replied. “I have heard it whispered that the king has locked himself up in a room in the Baris and won’t come out. Apparently he believes Antigonus is going to turn the army against him.”
I halted. Aristobulus, at the Baris with his brothers? Not in the same chamber, certainly, but in the same structure. The walled tower at the Temple had been a last refuge for kings, priests, and the Maccabees during times of war and siege.
But Judah Aristobulus was not under attack, nor was he under siege. And I could not imagine Antigonus turning against his brother. They had been as close as a man and his shadow since childhood.
“Who would tell the king such a thing?” I asked. “It can’t be true.”
“I don’t know, but Aristobulus has been barricaded inside a chamber at the Baris for more than a week.”
We finished our shopping and carried our baskets home.
My thoughts were still preoccupied with the problem at midday. “No one in the military would tell the king that Antigonus wanted to betray him,” I said, thinking aloud as I poured grain into a bowl. “No warrior would dare come between those two. I wish my sons were as close as they are.”
“The king does not trust many people,” Kissa pointed out. “So it would have to be someone close to him.”
“Someone . . .” I gasped as the pieces fell into place. “Someone who had something to gain from a rift between them. Someone who does not think Aristobulus is a good ruler. Someone . . . like his wife.”
Kissa’s face lit with understanding. “Of course! But what could Salina hope to accomplish by coming between them?”
I brought my hands to my head as my mind vibrated with a thousand thoughts. “She has already managed to isolate the king. He is afraid, suspicious and mistrustful, and he has locked himself away—with no counselors, no brother, no father to guide him. He has only Salina.”
Kissa’s gaze rose to meet mine, and neither of us dared to predict what might happen next.