Chapter Sixteen

Shelamzion

Time passed, months in which I studied and learned and left my childhood behind. As I developed a woman’s sensibilities, I began to see the world around me through different eyes.

Mother, I saw clearly, would never stop grieving for her firstborn daughter. She still mentioned Ketura at least once a day, usually after someone had said something to compliment me.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Kissa told me one afternoon as we sat on the floor outside my bedchamber. “She placed all her dreams on that girl, and when she lost your sister, she lost everything.”

“But she still has me,” I whispered. We were watching Mother through the stone railings on the balcony. “She has me and this house and a fine life in Jerusalem.”

Kissa shook her head. “Some people can never escape their grief. They are like bugs caught in a spider’s web. They cannot seem to free themselves, no matter what.”

I watched Mother move to the window, where she stared out at the courtyard and sighed heavily. “I don’t think she wants to be free.”

In that moment I determined that I would never become stuck in my circumstances. No web would paralyze me with inertia, and no sorrow would break my heart beyond repair. Mother had given all her love to Ketura, so I would not love anyone but HaShem with my whole heart.

During my thirteenth year, Alena and I were walking through the garden when she told me I had become a beautiful girl. I was so startled I almost pressed my fingers across her lips. I didn’t want to hear false words, especially from her.

She must have seen something in my face, because she caught my wrist and held it tight. “Do not listen,” she said, her tone fierce, “to what your mother says. She cannot see the beauty in you because she has given all her love to her dead daughter. But you are attractive, Shelamzion, and you need only to look at yourself to know it.”

That afternoon I sat at my dressing table as Kissa arranged my hair for dinner. The face reflected in the looking brass was not that of a raving beauty. Even at my uninformed age, I saw that my nose was too long and my front teeth too big. But when Kissa let a few curls dangle in front of my ears, my nose did not seem so long. And who did not look a hundred times better with a smile?

Perhaps Alena was right. With a few cosmetics and a suitable gown, I might be presentable. But even if I were not, I would be what my father and Uncle wanted me to be—knowledgeable, clever, and wise.

As Kissa finished her work, I casually mentioned what Alena had told me in the garden. Kissa grinned and put her box of hairpins away. “Watch out,” she said, “as she may be considering you for a daughter-in-law. She has two sons, and those sons will need brides one day.”

“Marry one of the babies?” I glimpsed my reflection—my face had gone idiotic with surprise.

Kissa nodded. “Important families frequently marry their cousins. It keeps the bloodline pure. And the age difference is not so great. You are, what, eight years older than Judah Aristobulus?”

I burst into laughter. “Surely you cannot be serious. He is five.”

“When he is fifteen, you will be twenty-three,” Kissa said. “You will be more mature . . . and perhaps you will be able to teach him a few things.”

I whooped with laughter, rocking back and forth at the thought of being married to the little boy whose greatest delight in the world was chasing lizards in the courtyard. “The very idea!” I said.

Kissa stepped back and sighed. “All right, forget what I said. But one day you may find your cousin more handsome than you imagined possible. Look at his parents—they are both handsome people.”

I sat up as my mirth died away. Kissa had a point—Alena was certainly beautiful, and Uncle was handsome, in his way. But Judah Aristobulus! Really!

“Do me a favor,” I said, making a face as I wiped tears from my eyes. “Do not ever mention that idea to anyone outside this chamber. I would not want Uncle to think I was pining for the love of his little ones.”

“Do not worry,” Kissa said, her voice dry. “I will never mention it again.”

In the summer of my thirteenth year, Uncle stopped me as I came out of a meeting with Josu Attis and told me to prepare for a journey. He and my mother would be taking me to Antioch, where we would meet with Cleopatra Thea, the Seleucid queen I had heard so much about. I would also meet her fourteen-year-old son, Antiochus VIII.

The thought of a distant journey thrilled me, and with great enthusiasm I ran back to the house to share the news with Kissa. Yet she did not share my eagerness, and when I asked why, she only shrugged. “The last long journey I took was not pleasant. I have not forgotten it.”

“This will be nothing like the slave caravan,” I assured her. “You will travel with me, and you will never leave my side. And we will visit a queen! You will stay in a palace, not a slave market. Surely it will help you forget that other journey.”

She moved toward my trunk, then turned and lifted a brow. “Your uncle said this queen has a son?”

“A youth my age,” I said, my cheeks heating as I smiled. “Well, almost. He is fourteen.”

Kissa blew out a long breath and sank to a bench by the bed. “Do you not see what the high priest is planning? The boy is fourteen; you are thirteen. He is a queen’s son; you are the ward of Israel’s ruler. I believe your uncle is planning a betrothal.”

For a moment I could only stare at her. Only when I released a long exhalation did I realize I’d been holding my breath. “He wants me to be married?”

“Why else would he take you to meet a queen’s son? If he wanted you to have a male friend, he could introduce you to the butcher’s boy.”

“But . . .” My protestations died on my lips. Uncle had always said he had plans for me, but he had never given me any idea what those plans might be . . . until now. Even a girl like me could understand that if he united the Hasmoneans with the royal family of Cleopatra Thea, he would benefit from the political and social advantages that came with the Seleucids and the Egyptians.

I sat on the opposite end of the bench as my heart began to pound against my breastbone. “Do you . . . do you think he would want me to marry the prince right away?”

Kissa lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I know nothing about kings and queens, especially those in other lands.”

“Married.” I whispered the word, then gripped Kissa’s hand. “If I am married to this prince, I must have you with me. I will not go anywhere without you, do you understand?”

For an instant, fear darted into Kissa’s eyes. “Has your uncle not said that I belonged to you? Is it possible he would change his mind?”

“I do not think so.” I swallowed. “No, he would not—he has no reason to change his mind about you.”

Her fearful expression softened as she placed her free hand over mine. “Then I will go with you,” she promised, speaking in an odd yet gentle tone. “And not only because I am your slave. I will go because you are my friend.”