Only a few of us rose early next morning; most of the men were slow to leave their beds and the comfort of the slaves who slept with them. All the same, we were on the road to Jerusalem by midday. That put us inside the gates of Jerusalem before darkness fell. We entered the city from the south, well below the two mountains that form that ancient city, Zion to the west and Moriah to the north. At the Pool of Siloam, inside the City of David, we turned into the citadel of King David; this was the Jewish monarch who had captured the city a thousand years ago.
We were treated to yet another Roman bath and, with the assistance of Antipater’s palace slaves, dressed ourselves in togas for a feast that commenced an hour before sunset. Our bodyguard of legionaries, also given residence inside the citadel, enjoyed their own banquet in the company of certain of Antipater’s Guard. Scaeva, as an eques entitled to wear the purple, joined Antipater’s feast.
Before we lay down to our supper, Herod introduced me to Hyrcanus, Ethnarch and High Priest of the Jews. Hyrcanus was a greybeard of indeterminate antiquity, though not nearly as old as I guessed him to be. He played on his dignities and would not shake my hand, though he welcomed me with a courteous bow. When I met Antipater I discovered he was much more like Herod than Phasael. He gave me a cheerful salutation in Latin and shook my hand gamely. After this, Antipater took me around the room and introduced me to his civil magistrates and various generals, all of them old and dear friends, or so he declared.
At this stage of the proceedings I met Malichus, Governor of Peraea and the only man to refuse to offer tribute to Cassius Longinus. As with many of the others that evening, Malichus did not offer his hand to me; instead, there was a quiet nod of his grey head and a murmured greeting spoken in Greek. I looked in vain for a light of recognition in his eyes as Antipater introduced us. Had he received my message? Given his cool manner I could not know. Perhaps, I thought, he was only a very good actor.
As it happened, Phasael had intercepted my letter. But of course I only discovered this after it was too late.
When it came time to dine, most of Antipater’s Jewish friends departed for business in the city. Hyrcanus and Malichus remained, as did Phasael and Herod. I joined Phasael and his father at the table of honour. I believe Herod insisted that Scaeva dine with him, for he was anxious to hear the untold stories of Caesar’s most famous battles. Those of Antipater’s party who remained for dinner were the senior officers in his army, all of them non-Jewish mercenaries of longstanding.
I was curious that no other Jews had remained for the meal. I knew from interviewing my own Jewish auxiliaries that many of the more zealous Jews prefer a certain distance from those who do not share their faith, but as neither Phasael nor Herod had acted uneasily on this count I assumed the prejudice against foreigners was only practiced among the lower classes. Eventually, I learned that Antipater and his sons had long ago set aside the custom of avoiding foreigners. This made them politically potent outside Judaea. Within Judaea a great many of the Judaean Jews despised them for it.
Antipater was a man of Julius Caesar’s generation. Unlike Caesar, who had still been vigorous in his final years, Antipater suffered a great many maladies, tender and swollen joints mostly, but weak eyes as well. In fact he was nearly blind. Nevertheless, he appeared indifferent to his failings – at least on the night I met him. ‘The process of getting old can be cruel,’ he remarked casually. ‘Even so there are also a great many delights to console a man.’
Like any youth, I had trouble imagining what delights these might be. To my thinking, old age meant the loss of strength, a wandering mind, a lack of vitality. For such things there could be no compensation. I know better now. An old man may know serenity, where the young cannot. The old may enjoy the quieter passions; the young must always be about the business of earning. The old may enjoy the children of their children; the young must raise them up. Most prominently the old have earned the right to tell their stories.
Antipater was no different from many others in advanced years; he loved to gab. Very few foreigners could claim the acquaintance of so many Roman commanders, and he was proud of this, especially in the presence of a young Roman legate. The whole evening through Antipater regaled me with recollections of his encounters with Pompey, Caesar, Mark Antony, Sulla, Crassus, and of course Cassius Longinus, to name only the more prominent Romans he had entertained. He spoke frankly of the virtues and moral failings of those men already claimed by history; he was more circumspect in his remarks about the living. He seemed especially fond of Antony, whom he had met in Antony’s youth. Antony had served as a senior tribune during a military campaign in Egypt, in the service of Ptolemy, Cleopatra’s father. Antipater, Phasael, and Herod had joined the legion to which Antony was attached and all three of them had come to appreciate Antony’s magnetism.
From that experience Antipater claimed he could not believe Pansa and Hirtius might outwit Antony with a fatal ambush. ‘I expect it was more likely an accident, one army stumbling into the other.’ Then with a shrug, ‘Of course Antony fights at his best when the odds are against him. Much like Julius Caesar in that respect. Antony’s problem, as it has always seemed to me, is that when things go well he grows lax. After an easy victory against one army, I can imagine him drunk with success.’
Phasael took a delicate sip of wine, interjecting quietly, ‘Or simply drunk.’ Antipater smiled but said nothing more on the subject.
Late in the evening, Antipater suddenly began a story he had already related. As this is a common malady with old men, I thought nothing of it, but then he forgot a famous name. Phasael supplied it for him. Pompey, as it turned out. After that he began slurring his words. I thought this curious; Antipater appeared to be a careful drinker. Then sweat broke across his brow. At that point Phasael called to his father’s secretary, who was close by. Together they lifted the old man to his feet. I stood as well. I recall Antipater resisted being pulled away at once. ‘I am suddenly not feeling well,’ he said to me. ‘I don’t understand it. Tomorrow, Dellius, tomorrow we shall…’
There was no more. Antipater collapsed.
‘We need to get to the legionary barracks, General.’ I looked at Scaeva without comprehending his concern; then he added, ‘Romans are always the first to be slaughtered in a general uprising.’
Taking his point, I gathered my officers with a signal. We made our way from the banquet hall to the outer perimeter of the citadel. Once we had joined the rest of the men, we got about the business of arming ourselves and fortifying a somewhat tenuous position inside the citadel. Then, like everyone that night, we waited. At dawn a servant came to inform us Antipater had died. He offered nothing about the cause of death.
An hour afterwards, I was composing a note of condolence for Phasael when one of his servants came to tell me his master desired to see me. Phasael wasted no time listening to my condolences. He only wanted to know what I had witnessed after his father’s collapse. This meant he thought his father’s death was murder, and I took a moment to recall exactly what I had seen. My only distinct memory was that Hyrcanus and Malichus had been the first to depart the hall. ‘Others followed them, though not at once. Most of the men,’ I said, ‘were anxious to know what had happened to your father.’
‘Malichus did not seem curious?’
I hesitated. ‘I do not mean to accuse anyone.’
‘Of course not. A simple question.’
‘My sense was that Malichus and Hyrcanus were eager to inform others of the event.’
‘Would you say they left together or at the same time?’
‘I am not sure.’ As I said this, it dawned on me that they had left together. This detail I kept to myself.
Phasael now pressed with a series of questions. Had they seemed worried? Was there urgency in their departure? Stealth? Did it seem they were involved in a conspiracy?
‘They spoke to some men,’ I said, but when he pressed for details I shook my head. ‘I heard them without comprehending the language they spoke.’
‘With whom did they speak?’
I could not tell him, which was curious because of all the men I met that evening I recalled only Hyrcanus, the ethnarch of the Jews, and one governor, who happened also to be the very man I had contacted by letter before entering Judaea. The others were a blur, and though I could not be sure, I feared Phasael noticed this detail.
‘I apologise for asking about such matters,’ Phasael remarked at last. ‘It was not your responsibility after all to keep watch over my dinner guests. I ought never to have let my father’s health distract me.’
‘Perfectly understandable in the circumstances,’ I answered. I was not really sure I believed his apology. Phasael did not strike me as a man who might lose his wits in a crisis. I even feared he questioned me about these peripheral matters because he actually suspected my involvement.
‘Herod believes Malichus bribed the wine steward to poison our father.’
‘Malichus?’ I asked. I knew as I spoke that I ought not to have an opinion about who might or might not want to harm Antipater, but I could not help myself. The idea that Malichus had murdered Antipater frightened me; if it were so, I was sure to be dragged into it eventually. From the look in Phasael’s eyes I thought he must know about the letter.
‘The governor of Peraea,’ he said.
‘Yes, I know the man,’ I answered guiltily. ‘Your father introduced us. I am only surprised to hear that he is suspected of murder. I was under the impression he and your father were cousins by marriage. Has Herod found any proof against him?’
‘The steward has confessed to the murder. Of course a man will admit anything when he is being tortured. That is what bothers me. The steward claims to have received a bribe for delivering the poison, but he cannot produce the money. He tells Herod he used poison but he cannot identify its type or even the vial that contained it.’
‘He confesses so the pain will stop?’
‘One supposes so, but the fact remains that he was the only person with access to our table.’
‘Does he implicate Malichus with his confession?’
‘He does, but once again what he tells us does not conform with what we know. He changes his story every time he is pressed for details. First, a man came to him. Next, the man was Malichus. Nothing at all about what he tells us is credible.’
‘But the steward is the only suspect?’
‘Well, I suppose you or I could have done it.’ Phasael offered this as if it were the most unlikely of possibilities, but after he spoke his dark eyes bore into mine. I was a suspect; I was sure of it.
‘Are the physicians certain it was poison?’ I asked.
‘They are.’
‘So it was the steward.’
‘I am sure of it, but he must have had help, someone who arranged for the evidence to vanish. Herod is questioning the others in our kitchen as we speak. If we are lucky someone will be able to connect this to Malichus.’
‘Has Malichus a motive?’
‘He does not gain directly by my father’s death, but he supports Hyrcanus. With my father now gone there is a chance Cassius will appoint Hyrcanus either King of Judaea or its new procurator, though it is by no means a certainty. Should that occur, Malichus would then take command of the armies Herod and I now lead.’
‘Surely Cassius will investigate the circumstances. Especially if Malichus is responsible for your father’s assassination.’
‘Cassius hardly has time for such matters, and even if he does investigate, it will cost us the rest of the summer before he makes a determination. That is time enough for Malichus to act against us.’
‘Do you think he intends to incite a civil war?’
‘He is a more subtle man than that, General. Malichus will more likely incite protest and rioting in various cities. He will encourage the governors there to make no move to stop it. If Herod or I move to quell the rioting, he will complain to Cassius that we have usurped our father’s office, without having the authority to do so. And if we do not act but let the rioting go unchecked, Malichus will complain that we are useless without our father.’
‘But surely you must act to keep the peace?’
‘That is the point. Herod and I have no authority outside our own provinces. The provinces we command will be quiet. The rest will see fire, protest, and open revolt.’
‘Cassius surely prefers peace to the prospect of another civil war in Judaea.’
‘There will be no peace unless Roman troops enforce it. Any other solution will see Malichus quietly steering power to Hyrcanus. Cassius may appreciate all that our father has done for him, but he will not jeopardize the tranquillity of the region for the sake of our friendship.’
‘You could ask his help, I suppose.’
‘If we ask for assistance he will hardly see the advantage of keeping us in power. What we need is your assistance. If you act, then all the provinces will remain quiet and Malichus will have no complaint to lodge.’
‘I have no mandate to act.’
‘You have simply to write to all the governors who served my father. I will send a letter to Cassius on your behalf. I will explain that on his deathbed Antipater asked you to keep the region safe by using your army to ensure the peace until such time Cassius appoints a new procurator.’
‘I was not at the procurator’s deathbed, Excellency.’
‘I was. My father asked me to speak with you about this matter. He knew he had been murdered, that he was dying. Even so, he was lucid enough to anticipate how Malichus and others would attempt to turn this to Hyrcanus’s advantage.’
‘Antipater spoke my name?’ I asked.
‘He did. He thought you should make it clear to all the governors that you will act only at the request of individual governors. That will put every governor to the test. They can let the violence in their provinces continue but only by appearing incompetent. I should think you might order three or four cohorts of your legions to join your staff at first opportunity. Bring others up if necessary, but I doubt you will even need to act. A letter to the governors ought to be enough.
‘The fortress city of Samaria,’ he continued, ‘will serve you best, I think. I can send word to let them know you are coming. From there you will be well placed to move rapidly into the most contentious provinces.’
‘Cassius will no doubt suspect me of seizing Judaea.’
‘You act in his service, General. He may not like what you have done to Trebonius, but when Judaea remains perfectly quiet at no cost to him, I will be sure he understands to whom he is indebted.’
A lifetime before the assassination of King Herod there was the assassination of his father, Antipater, procurator of Judaea. Of course in those days I was still young and foolish. Contemplating that death for the first time in many years, I find myself wondering how matters would have turned out for Judaea if Phasael had become king instead of Herod. The sons of Antipater hadn’t the bloodlines to hope for such promotion. Of course, the world changes quickly and often capriciously. All the more so when we least expect it. Monarchy was two years away for Herod, but the crown he wore ought to have been Phasael’s, if Phasael had only lived.
Knowing Herod’s character, I am sure he would have stayed loyal to his brother. No family infighting for those two. That would have been essential to Phasael’s success. With that caveat, I believe Phasael would have been the more successful monarch. I do not belittle all that Herod accomplished, but where he failed, he failed spectacularly. I think the worst of it came at the end, when he charged two of his sons with treason and tried them before Caesar. Phasael would have rid the royal family of ingrates and traitors by using poison. Exactly as he did with Antipater, whom he murdered for the sake of the old man’s mounting incompetence.
Yes, I awakened one night several weeks after my interview with Phasael. I was in a prison cell, and suddenly I knew, with perfect clarity, that Phasael had poisoned his father; I could even remember the moment he delivered the liquid into the old man’s cup. Herod knew nothing of the assassination. He had not the fortitude for such villainy. In the aftermath of Antipater’s death, Phasael directed Herod’s attention to the steward, even as Phasael was convincing him that their mother’s cousin, Malichus the malcontent, had bribed the poor man. Hot irons against the hapless steward got the necessary confession. Then Phasael persuaded his brother to hold off taking revenge. In the meantime, I went off to Samaria and a prison cell and by doing so kept the peace in Judaea.
As king, Herod ruled Judaea like some overwrought actor in a Greek tragedy, boasting and lamenting by turns to a chorus of dancing sycophants. He tried one of his wives for adultery, saw two sons, a wife and a younger brother executed as traitors and imprisoned a third son as he lay on his deathbed. He could never pull his heart away from the desperate quarrels that characterise court life. He had no talent for political intrigue. No, Herod was more comfortable crashing into opposition at the head of his cavalry.
Anyone will tell you Herod’s gifts to the people of Judaea exceeded in sum the gifts of all the Jewish kings to their subjects in the whole long history of that nation. He fed his people through famines, he built cities by the dozens, and finally he turned a decrepit old temple into one of the wonders of the world. Phasael would have done nothing of the sort. He would have let famines teach the stiff-necked complainers a hard lesson; he might have created a few cities, as needed, but nothing so grand that the treasury suffered. As for the temple, a votive offering to decorate one of the old porches would have sufficed. And when he had come to pass from the light of day Phasael would have left a son like his father, cool, calculating and fully capable of political murder.
My staff and I rode north to the town of Samaria with Scaeva and our squad of mounted legionaries for escort. Phasael, in the meantime, had already sent carrier pigeons to inform Cassius of our plans. I knew nothing of those fabulous birds at the time. I could not imagine that Romans in Syria would learn where I was going ten hours before I departed. I imagined Antipater and his sons got their news by rumours from the sea like the rest of the world.
At Samaria our party was met by a freedman who directed his slaves to show our legionary Guard to their barracks. He then led the officers to the great hall, where we were supposed to meet the city’s chief magistrate. Within the hour I was trussed in chains and sitting alone inside my new home, a prison cell of stone far below the palace cellars. For most of the next year I saw no one, not even the man who lowered bread and water to me twice a day. What happened, besides the rising and setting of the sun, I could only guess.
At some point during my sojourn in Samaria, the prefect who had arrested me led a century of infantry to Ashkelon. He announced to Allienus that Cassius Longinus intended to bring eight legions against him if he did not surrender at once. The prefect had not even bothered marching these legions down the coast; he made only the threat of it and that was good enough for old Allienus, who opened his camp gate at once and surrendered his army.
Of course Cassius had nothing like eight legions. From the start he was scrambling for fighting men, buying mercenaries at inflated prices like all the rest of the warlords. Once he had swindled Allienus out of four legions he could boast a full eight legions but not until then. Allienus stayed on as the commander at the Ashkelon camp and his legions remained with him until the following year. At that point the entire force marched north to join Cassius and Brutus in Macedonia; there they served under Marcus Livius Drusus Claudianus, Livia’s father. Allienus, I am told, died in his bed at the camp in Ashkelon at about the time the winter rains began. I have no way of knowing for sure, though I expect it was an honest death.
That same autumn Malichus rode with Hyrcanus to Lebanon to meet Cassius. Cassius had sent a man to tell Hyrcanus he wished to discuss the possibility of naming Hyrcanus Procurator of Judaea. Hyrcanus asked his long-time friend, Malichus, to provide an escort. Malichus undoubtedly imagined himself now at the right hand of Judaea’s most powerful man. A squad of Roman tribunes at the head of a century of men came along the highway to greet Hyrcanus’s party. These men murdered Malichus as he saluted them. Hyrcanus and his bodyguards stood by and watched, no doubt wondering if they were next. Quite amazingly, the assassins bowed to the Pontifex Maximus of the Jews, thanked him for his service to the Temple, and then withdrew without another word.
I am told this was the last occasion on which Hyrcanus showed any ambition. He returned to Jerusalem a chastened man and contented himself with the Temple’s many colourful ceremonies. Some weeks after the murder of Malichus, Herod and Phasael rode to Lebanon to meet Cassius. Cassius appointed Phasael procurator of Judaea, Samaria, and Idumaea. Herod became procurator of southern Syria and Galilee.