Chapter Fourteen
Shelamzion
Life in the high priest’s house changed dramatically once Alena began to have children. Judah Aristobulus was her first, born when I was eight. My happy uncle allowed me to visit the new mother, and I was amazed to see how a woman’s rounded belly could produce a fat, happy baby with pink gums and chubby fingers. Three years later, when I was eleven, Alena gave birth to her second son, Antigonus.
Uncle was not present to celebrate his second son’s birth. Bound by the terms of his treaty with Antiochus Sidetes, he had to participate in that king’s military campaign against Parthia.
The Parthians were known to be fierce, bloodthirsty warriors, with an empire so vast that not even the Romans had been able to conquer it. But Antiochus Sidetes, my uncle explained, was determined to attack the Parthians because they had captured his brother, Demetrius III.
With great reluctance, Uncle said farewell to his pregnant wife and left Jerusalem. I stood between Mother and Alena as Uncle departed the palace with his generals. Though I tried to be calm and steadfast, I was terrified he would be killed and never see his new baby.
No one was happy about my uncle’s participation in the Parthian campaign. In order to raise an army, he had to hire additional mercenaries and conscript hundreds of Jewish citizens. In addition to the hardships this venture placed on the people of Judea, spies reported that Sidetes was not prepared to undertake such a dangerous campaign. According to reports, his military procession was more suited for sight-seeing than fighting. For in addition to fighting men, it was also comprised of three hundred thousand camp followers, including cooks, bakers, and actors. Rumor had it that Sidetes’s wagons carried so much gold that common soldiers used golden nails in their leather boots, and so much silver that the cooks used silver pots for boiling water. One Judean captain told my uncle, “It is as if they are marching to a banquet rather than to a battle.”
Fortunately for the army of Judea, the Festival of Pentecost fell during the Parthian campaign. Uncle saw to it that Sidetes—who was largely ignorant of Jewish laws and practices—was informed that the Jews were not allowed to travel or fight during their religious festivals.
Like many pagans, Antiochus Sidetes was desperate to avoid offending the gods—any gods—on a military expedition. Well accustomed to studying the entrails of goats and cattle before a battle, he did not question my uncle’s devotion to HaShem or his insistence on remaining in camp to celebrate the completed harvest.
So on the sixth day of the Hebrew month of Sivan, while Sidetes and his men marched ahead, Uncle and his men remained in camp to observe Shavuot and remember the ritual taking place in the Temple. Because the Sabbath followed the festival, they remained in camp yet another day after that.
On the eighth day of Sivan, when the Seleucids had marched a good distance toward the east, Uncle and his men packed up their tents and returned to Jerusalem.
Antiochus Sidetes died, we later learned, while fighting a Parthian general. If my uncle had been with him, he would likely have been killed, too. And for what? Nothing that mattered to Judea.
I approved of my uncle’s actions and made a mental note for myself: do not waste your time or risk your life on a foolish venture.
I welcomed Uncle home with a big embrace, then took his hand and led him upstairs to meet his new son.
Though my uncle was circumspect enough not to publicly celebrate Antiochus Sidetes’s death, I knew he was relieved that the Seleucid king would not be calling on him again. Judea no longer owed tribute to Sidetes, we would never have to fight in his wars, and he would never again conspire with the Egyptians to murder Hasmoneans.
With Sidetes gone, Judea had no formal obligation to any nation save Rome—and our treaty with them was one of friendship.
To mark the occasion of Judea’s liberation, the high priest’s family, a few Levites and several merchants gathered in the palace triclinium to enjoy a lavish feast. Alena wore a new tunic, fine jewels glittered in her hair, and the necklace at her throat might have cost a king’s fortune. Even my mother dressed for the occasion, donning her best tunic and a silk himation in the Greek style. Kissa helped me choose a tunic, then braided my hair in a style that involved curls, needles, and thread.
When all the guests had assembled, my uncle stood in the center of the dining couches and blessed the bread:
Elo-heinu Melech Ha’Olam Hamotzi lechem min haaretz.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe,
Who brings forth bread from the earth.
He thanked HaShem for allowing Judea to be an independent and free nation again, which it had not been since the time of Solomon. “Keep Your hand upon us,” he finished, “and may Israel reflect Your glory among the nations.”
At the conclusion of his prayer, he sat and smiled around the gathering. The guests reclined on their couches and made quiet conversation as servants brought in trays of food and allowed each guest to take whatever he or she pleased.
If anyone thought it odd that a child should be present, no one mentioned it. In fact, I was nibbling daintily at a honeyed pear and feeling quite at home when I overheard one man say, “Your niece is becoming quite lovely, John. I assume you have plans for her.”
“But of course.” Uncle nodded. “And they will commence soon.”
“My other daughter”—Mother turned to the bald man who had spoken—“was the family beauty. She would outshine any girl in Jerusalem.”
Uncle showed his teeth in an expression that was not a smile, but I did not take time to analyze it. My mind had latched on to his words: he had plans for me? I leaned toward him, eager to hear more, but he only took a spiced chicken breast from a tray and tore at it with his fingers. I shifted my gaze to the bald man, hoping he would ask for clarification, but he seemed to have lost interest.
Finally I gathered my courage and spoke during a break in the conversation. “What plans do you have for me, Uncle?”
My voice, high and thin, floated above the murmur of adult voices and halted the other conversations. The other guests looked at me, their faces filled with surprise.
My uncle finished swallowing his chicken and dropped the bones onto the floor. He glanced at the man who had asked about me. “Have you ever seen such boldness in such a small girl?”
As the man chuckled, Uncle turned to me. “Salome Alexandra,” he said, using my Hebrew and Greek names, “has anyone told you about Cleopatra Thea of the Ptolemies?”
I shook my head.
“That is a mistake,” Uncle said and folded his hands in his lap, “for she is a woman worthy of emulation.”
I leaned back, eager to hear more. Several guests stopped eating and listened, as well.
“Like you, Cleopatra Thea comes from an important family. She was tutored as a child, taught philosophy, history, and languages. When she was of age, her father betrothed her to Alexander Balas, the ruler of Seleucia. Jonathan of the Maccabees attended the wedding as an honored guest and sat between the groom and the bride’s father on the royal dais. He was present not only to celebrate the wedding, but also to seal a pact between the Hasmoneans and the Seleucid Empire. Balas wanted the support of our legions, so he allowed Jonathan to anoint himself as the first Hasmonean high priest. You should know that history—just as you should be willing to marry whomever your family chooses for you.”
I stared, trying to work out his meaning. “Are you—am I about to be married, Uncle?”
He laughed, his face brightening with humor. “No, little one. You are about to become educated. Tomorrow I will introduce you to your tutor.”
“Salome, I would like you to meet Josu Attis.”
The thin young man standing beside my uncle clutched a scroll to his chest and bobbed his head toward me. Then he turned to Uncle and arched his narrow brows. “I was under the impression, sir, that I would be educating one of your sons.”
“My eldest is only four and not quite ready for a tutor,” Uncle replied, chuckling. “But Shelamzion was born ready for learning. You will find her a bright and willing pupil.”
“But . . .” The tutor faltered, a melancholy frown flitting across his features. “She is a girl, sir.”
Uncle smiled at me. “Clearly.”
“I am not equipped to teach cooking and sewing and how to drape a himation.”
Annoyance struggled with humor in Uncle’s expression as he turned to face the tutor. “Her mother will teach her those things. I want you to teach her about history, philosophy, and ethics. I am certain you will find her quite receptive.”
Feeling awkward, I stepped closer to Uncle and lowered my voice. “Will he teach me Torah?”
Uncle bent to my level. “We have to be very careful about who teaches Torah,” he whispered. “This Josu Attis is very bright, but I have not yet found the proper Torah teacher for you.”
When Uncle straightened, the young man extended his arm toward a small space off the central hallway. “The high priest has said we may study in here, so long as the door remains open. Will you join me?”
I bobbed my head in a quick nod and hurried into the room.