Chapter Six

Shelamzion

Throughout the next several weeks, Kissa and I filled our days with exploring the high priest’s palace. Kissa took me into the workrooms and pointed out which slaves were hard workers and which were lazy. She identified the best cook and the women with the sharpest tongues. She showed me where servants dyed the fine linen used in the high priest’s everyday tunics and where they grew the herbs and vegetables for his table.

At the end of every day, Kissa and I returned to the house where I lived with my mother. She had finally stopped questioning our good fortune and seemed content to live quietly in Jerusalem. Blessed by our kinsman’s generosity, she allowed Alena to fill the house with furniture and fabrics I had never seen in Modein. Gauzy silk curtains separated the rooms on the lower floor, and fine linen curtained our beds. Every night I lay down on a mattress as soft as lamb’s wool.

Kissa slept in my room on a mattress she would unroll and place at the side of my bed. The first proper bed I had ever enjoyed had wooden legs, an elevated platform, and a painted headboard. Mother’s bed was even finer, and she slept in a separate room so she wouldn’t be kept awake by the sound of giggles coming from me and Kissa.

Even though we had been blessed, Mother did not seem truly happy. She rarely smiled and spent most of her time sitting quietly or sewing garments she never finished. And at night, if I chanced to walk by her door, I often heard her weeping.

Once Alena asked if Mother and I were content, and I told her I was as content as I could be. “But Mother,” I added, “weeps at night and does nothing all day.”

Not long after that, Mother and I were invited to dine with the high priest and Alena. Not every night—not when they had important guests, and not when Uncle was away with the army or occupied with important affairs—but whenever Uncle and Alena planned to eat alone, Mother and I were invited into the house. We went to the triclinium where couches were arranged along three sides of a massive table. After Uncle and Alena joined us, servants brought trays of food, and we ate until we were about to burst.

During those extravagant meals I often felt my uncle’s gaze on me. I suspected that he watched to see if I could behave myself in fine company. So I took pains to imitate Alena and to be mindful of my uncle’s furrowed brow. More than once I caught him looking askance at Mother, who ate and drank as she always had, smacking her lips and frequently dropping food onto her clothing or the couch. Realizing that her clumsiness displeased our benefactors, I took care to avoid such behavior.

Alena proved to be a useful model in other ways, as well. I watched how she walked, held her head, and gestured. I observed how she treated the slaves and tried to imitate her firm yet gentle voice. She was clearly a different kind of woman, and life had certainly treated her better than it had my mother. Perhaps, I told myself, I would be wise to follow Alena’s example.

Though my mother suffered in comparison with Alena, I did not despise her. She remained what she had always been, a woman in love with her firstborn daughter, a mother who would never see me as anything but a girl who did not measure up to her sister.

But Father had seen something in me, and I would do all I could to make him proud. For I was certain that somewhere, somehow, he was watching everything I did.

Once, after a long day spent exploring with Kissa, I ran into the triclinium without checking to see if we had been invited to join Uncle and Alena for dinner. I found the high priest at the table but saw no sign of Mother or Alena. Three serious-looking men occupied the dining couches, and after a moment of embarrassment I stammered an apology and attempted to back out of the room.

But Uncle would not let me go. “Friends,” he said, smiling at me, “this is my niece, one of the few girls in the Hasmonean family. Salome Alexandra, say hello to my guests: Simon, Apollonius, and Diodorus.”

I bowed my head. “I apologize, Uncle. I did not know—”

“Stay, Shelamzion. Come sit beside me and eat your fill.”

Even more embarrassed now that all four men were looking at me, I sat on the edge of Uncle’s couch and carefully took a pigeon breast from the tray.

I glanced up, saw the patronizing smiles of the three strangers, and quickly lowered my gaze. Uncle believed children should not speak unless spoken to, so he would be pleased so long as I ate quietly.

“So,” my uncle said, returning his attention to his guests, “let us rehearse our plans. You shall depart for Joppa on the morrow. After you sail for Rome, practice your speeches. We have no room for error—you must present your case well, for the Romans place great emphasis on oratory. We must remind the Romans of our existing treaty.”

“All thanks to Judas Maccabaeus, blessed be his memory,” Simon said. “If only he could see how the past threatens to repeat itself.”

Apollonius shifted on his couch. “I am more concerned about our losses. Gazara, Joppa, Pegae—since your father’s victory over those territories, those cities have filled with Jews. What will happen to them now that Antiochus Sidetes possesses those towns?”

“All the more reason for you to travel quickly and quietly,” Uncle said. “Do not draw attention to yourselves in Joppa. And make haste on your return—we cannot let the Seleucids gain the upper hand.” With great tenderness he placed his palm on the top of my head. “For the sake of our little ones, you must convince the Romans to support our cause.” He cleared his throat. “Otherwise, may HaShem bless your journey, and may He speed you back to us.”

I glanced up, wondering what he meant. He returned my look and gave me a smile tinged with sadness.

Over the next few months, I began to understand more about the night I stumbled into Uncle’s dinner. I had unknowingly discovered Uncle at work, and over time I began to realize what his work entailed.

I knew about the high priest’s duties—I had observed the high priest Simon every time we traveled to Jerusalem for the feasts of Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. As a child, I understood that my father worked with horses, other men raised crops or sold goods, and the high priest offered sacrifices in the Temple.

But my uncle did so much more, and the second part of his job involved ruling Judea. He did not call himself king like the heads of other nations, but he did talk to a great many advisors and priests about how to keep our people and our land safe. Some kings, Kissa informed me, coveted the land of other nations, so sometimes my uncle had to be involved in the business of war. And Judea had been at war ever since Uncle became the high priest.

One of the adults always ordered Kissa to take me out of the room when they began to discuss the danger beyond the city walls, but even children have eyes and ears. Though Kissa and I left whenever we were dismissed, we did not go far. We remained close enough to hear the adults’ worried voices, and eventually I learned that we were fighting Seleucia, an empire that had nearly destroyed Israel before the Maccabees decided to resist and fight. Our current enemy, the Seleucid king Antiochus Sidetes, wanted to conquer Judea again. He especially wanted to regain valuable territory he had lost when Uncle’s father defeated him in battle.

Due to the war, Uncle began to be away from home more frequently, and from the look of distress on Alena’s face I knew the war against Sidetes was not going well. Remembering the three men Uncle sent to Rome, I began to pray that they would be successful on their trip. I didn’t know exactly what they were expected to do, but judging from the serious expression on Uncle’s face that night, I knew their mission was important.

When the dry days of winter arrived, we began to see smoke above the northern horizon. A few days later we inhaled the foul odor of death.

Sidetes had advanced to the walls of the Holy City. Jerusalem had come under siege.

I heard the unfamiliar word from a woman on the street, and when I asked Mother what it meant, her face went pale. “Siege,” she said, her voice a rough whisper, “is something that would never happen in Modein. Why did I agree to come here? We should have stayed in our little house.”

I asked Kissa if she knew what siege meant, and she shook her head. “But I know it’s bad. I’ve heard talk about children dying in a siege.”

Though my mother meant to shield me from war, how could she when war had come to Jerusalem? I noted Uncle’s lowered brow, heard him bark commands, and counted dozens of soldiers coming in and out of the high priest’s palace.

I knew things were truly serious when Mother said Uncle was moving to the Baris, the tower fortress at the Temple. Kissa and I waited in the courtyard until we saw him enter his chariot. I ran forward and caught the edge of his tunic. “Please, Uncle,” I begged, “don’t leave us here to die from siege!”

The hard look on his face softened. “Shelamzion, do not fear. I am leaving this house so my presence will not draw the enemy to you. Here you will be safe, safer than anyone in Jerusalem. So do not be afraid; HaShem is your strength and shield.”

He patted my head, then picked up the reins of his chariot and urged his horses forward. I stepped back to watch him go and felt Kissa’s arm come to rest on my shoulders.

Comforted by her company, I caught her hand in mine.

I tried my best to be brave, but how could anyone not worry when the man at the center of your universe had just ridden away?