Chapter Twenty-Two

Shelamzion

Come in, Salome.”

I pushed the door open and stepped inside Alena’s chamber. The new mother, as lovely as ever, sat in her bed, a swaddled infant in her arms. On the floor, six-year-old Judah Aristobulus and three-year-old Antigonus played with a set of wooden blocks.

As I walked past the older boys, the memory of my mother’s suggestion that I marry Aristobulus made me groan. The boy had just stolen a block from his brother, and Antigonus was searching for it. In a moment he would scream.

“Come closer.” Alena beckoned me with a smile. “See? Isn’t he perfect?”

I stepped closer to the bed and leaned forward, trying to imagine those pinched features in an older child’s face. The baby—what I could see of him beneath the wrappings—was as red as a rose, with small bumps on his forehead and a sharply pointed nose.

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“He’s a good baby,” Alena volunteered. “Hardly cries at all—unlike those two over there. I think they cried for the first three months of their lives. But this one just sleeps and smiles. And eats. My, how he loves to eat.”

I looked at the infant’s little lips, which quivered in apparent anticipation of another meal. “Have you thought of a name?” I asked.

“Alexander Jannaeus,” Alena answered. “Alexander, which is Greek for ‘defender of man.’ And Jannaeus, Hebrew for ‘gift of God.’”

“And what will you call him, since he has such powerful names?”

Alena laughed. “Whichever name he likes best.”

The baby lifted his pink eyelids, and his eyes seemed to focus on me. While Alena and I watched, his lips curved in a smile. Or was it a yawn?

“He likes you,” Alena said and reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “I think he’s going to love playing with his cousin Salome.”

I bit my lip, unable to understand when I would ever have an occasion to play with this baby. I was fourteen, old enough to be married, and Uncle would soon send me to Antioch. This baby would probably grow up without knowing me at all.

But I was not so poorly mannered as to contradict Uncle’s wife. So I smiled and patted Alena’s hand. “If HaShem wills, perhaps we will become good friends.”

In the summer of my sixteenth year, I awakened to find a smear of blood between my legs. I released a choked, desperate laugh at the sight—no longer could I argue that I was not ready to be married. I was no longer a girl but would soon be expected to marry and bear children.

I stepped over my sleeping handmaid and wet a piece of linen, then sat on a stool and sighed as I washed my thigh. I knew I should tell Mother. She would tell Alena, who would tell Uncle, and he would make Cleopatra Thea aware that the promised fruit had finally ripened. Even if I said nothing, they would all figure it out when I did not go to dinner or join them in the garden. I would have to remain in my chamber for the next seven days, the time when I would be unclean.

Kissa woke when she heard me stirring. She sat up in the dim light of early dawn, and sympathy filled her eyes when she realized what I was doing. She took the soiled cloth from me, then pulled a basket from a trunk and showed me what she had prepared—short wooden sticks, not quite as long as my little finger, tightly wound with soft bits of lint and cotton fabric.

“Some women use pads made of wool,” she said, her voice gentle as she handed me one of the sticks. “But Greek women wear these inside their bodies—I think you will prefer them.”

I studied the item she placed in my hand. “Do you—?”

She nodded.

That morning I ruefully accepted my status as a mature woman. I spent the day studying in my chamber, then sent word that I would not be joining Uncle, Alena, and Mother for dinner for the next several nights. The women would understand why, and they would explain things to Uncle.

He would send a letter to Cleopatra Thea, discreetly telling her that I was ready to accept my promised husband.

A few months later, my stomach clenched when a caravan from Antioch passed through the gates of the high priest’s palace. The riders at the fore carried the Seleucid royal standard, so they might be bringing representatives from Cleopatra Thea . . . or even the queen herself.

And this visit might concern me.

I had been betrothed for three years, and I had not wasted those months. In addition to my regular studies, I asked Josu to find scrolls about Seleucia. I became an avid student of the empire’s history, though what I read often horrified me. I learned that Seleucus, founder of the empire that bore his name, had been one of Alexander the Great’s generals. Seleucus founded his capital city by ritual: a pagan priest gave an eagle, the bird of Zeus, a bite of sacrificial meat and set it free. The priests followed the flying eagle and established the capital at the point where the bird landed to eat.

I could not imagine living in a city founded on the whim of a bird.

Worse by far were the actions of Antiochus Epiphanes, the Seleucid king who had invaded Jerusalem, killed thousands of men, women, and children, and sacrificed a pig to Zeus. Not satisfied with defiling our Temple and the holy altar, he then commanded that we Jews could no longer refrain from eating pork, circumcise our children, or observe the Sabbath. He wanted us to become Greek—speak Greek, worship like Greeks, and even think like Greeks.

Would Grypus expect that of me if we were married?

Kissa knew of my misgivings and would often try to comfort me by appealing to my appreciation for creature comforts. “Think of the fine garments you will have as queen,” she would say while doing my hair. “Think of living in that wonderful palace! You will have more than one handmaid; you can have as many as you want.”

“What would I do with more than one? And how many tunics and himations does a woman need?”

“Princess Salome,” she said, teasing me. “Queen Salome. You should get used to that name.”

“Hush,” I said. “That is not useful.”

I knew Uncle had written the queen to say I was ready for marriage. We had heard no response, unless this caravan brought her reply. Had she sent courtiers to escort me to Antioch?

I gripped Kissa’s hand and bade her sit with me until we knew something certain. Until then I would have to wait until Uncle welcomed the riders, saw to their comfort, and entertained them in an official audience. Then he might send for me, or he might wait until the next morning when his head would be clearer and his thoughts untainted from wine.

While we waited, I looked through my belongings and considered which things I should take with me to Antioch and which I should leave behind. I would take all my scrolls, for I did not think I would find any Hebrew writings in Cleopatra Thea’s palace. I would leave my tunics, for they were not fine enough for a prince’s wife. I would give the few pieces of jewelry I owned to my mother. And I would take Kissa, for I could not imagine life in a strange land without a friend by my side.

We did not hear anything from my uncle that night or the next day. I spent hours pacing in my chamber and sent Kissa to wait outside the reception hall in hopes that she might overhear some news. Every hour I’d send for her, only to hear that she had heard nothing about the representatives from Antioch.

My mother was nearly as tense as me. During our years of waiting she had resurrected the hopes she cherished for Ketura. The weight of them now rested on my head, and the burden made me uncomfortable.

My unease shifted to a different kind of anxiety when Kissa and I watched the Seleucid riders depart, presumably traveling back to Antioch. What had transpired, and why hadn’t my uncle kept me informed? I was betrothed to the prince, yet I had not heard a single word from my guardian.

An hour after the Seleucid contingent departed, a slave came to invite Mother and me to dinner with Uncle and Alena. The formal invitation made my heart congeal into a small lump of terror. I dressed carefully and tried to remain calm beneath Kissa’s ministering hands.

As we reclined at dinner, my knees trembling beneath my tunic, Uncle cleared his throat and announced that Demetrius of Seleucia was dead. Cleopatra Thea now ruled the empire as a widow.

“She intends to remain unmarried,” Uncle said, looking directly at me. “She has named her son as her co-ruler.”

I stared at the food on the table and tried to sort through my jumbled thoughts. Seleucia no longer had a king? The kingdom that had once dominated and terrorized Judea would be ruled by a woman?

I saw bewilderment in my mother’s eyes and knew she longed to ask the question uppermost in my mind. “What happened to the king?” I asked, knowing I would be forgiven the blunt query.

Uncle gave Alena a pointed look, then drew a deep breath. “After returning to Cleopatra Thea, Demetrius announced his intention to invade Egypt, overthrow his queen’s family, and become pharaoh.” He gave me a rueful smile. “The sordid tale is not fit for your young ears, but the king was killed in his foolish effort. The queen sent emissaries to apprise me of the situation, along with a message. In short, she said she was no longer willing to be handed from one man to another. She will rule without a husband, and she believes the people will support her.”

“Why did she make her son a co-ruler?” Mother asked, her voice unusually shrill. “She doesn’t intend to marry him, does she?”

Uncle blew out a breath. “I have heard of such strange marriages in other lands, but no, she does not intend to marry her son. Yet a pretender to the throne, one called Zabinas, tried to instigate a revolt, and she knew some of her people would demand a king who could fight if necessary. So she named Grypus co-regent, aware that he was skilled enough to pick up a sword and satisfy her people.”

“I have heard,” Alena said, reaching for bread as a servant offered a tray, “that Egypt is ruled by a queen, her brother-husband, and their daughter.”

Uncle nodded. “The woman you mentioned is Cleopatra Thea’s mother, and the daughter is Cleopatra Thea’s sister. That sort of union is unprecedented, even for Egypt. Such marriages would never be allowed in Judea.”

“Tripartite,” I murmured.

Uncle arched his brow. “What did you say?”

I felt a blush heat my cheeks. “Tripartite—three parts. It’s something I learned.”

“Indeed.” Uncle cleared his throat again. “Which brings me to other news, Salome Alexandra.”

His use of my full name set off alarm bells in my head. I glanced at Mother and saw that her hand had risen to her throat.

“In order to improve relations with her Egyptian family,” Uncle said, folding his hands, “Cleopatra Thea arranged for her niece to marry Grypus. Part of the marriage contract included much-needed military support for the queen’s defense against Zabinas. Apparently it was a successful bargain, for Cleopatra Thea is secure and Zabinas is dead. It seems the hook-nose prince has poisoned him.”

I stared into empty space. The prince . . . my prince had married an Egyptian princess. She would be his queen, not me. I didn’t know whether to shout for joy or weep with my mother.

“What about the other son?” Mother asked. “The elder son, Seleucus?”

Uncle’s expression went grim. “Dead.”

Mother gasped. “How?”

“The courtiers did not say this, but I have heard rumors. They say the queen killed him because he was conspiring against her.”

Mother sank back to her couch, her face darkening with unreadable emotions.

“So you are free, my dear.” Alena reached out to pat my shoulder. “We will soon find you a better husband.”

I swallowed the lump that had lodged in my throat. “I am not disappointed.” I looked up to assure her. “I did want to please all of you, but I did not like him, and I could not see how the marriage would bring honor to HaShem. But did he not want to marry me?” My voice rose in an unflattering squeak. “Did he find some fault in me?”

“No, child,” Alena said. “Not at all.”

“She is not beautiful,” Mother said. “Ketura was far more suited—”

“Ketura is not here,” Uncle interrupted, his voice curt. “HaShem called her to be with Him, and then He blessed Salome Alexandra with beauty, cleverness, and a heart that seeks after righteousness. Do not question the sovereign plans of Adonai.”

Mother snapped her mouth shut and lowered her gaze.

“The fault does not lie in you, Salome,” Uncle said, turning to me. “The fault lies in those who cannot be happy with the territory HaShem has allotted them. Ambition and power poison their minds, and they will do anything to attain more—even break an honorable betrothal.”

A thought, disloyal but apt, raised its head. What right had my uncle to accuse Cleopatra Thea of political manipulation? He had arranged a dishonorable betrothal in an attempt to gain political favor, yet HaShem had thwarted him.

I looked down and wiped my damp palms on my chiton. For three years I had waited . . . for nothing. By the time Cleopatra Thea received Uncle’s message about my readiness for marriage, she was likely too embroiled in putting down a revolt and murdering her son to do anything about it.

In any case, HaShem had spared me from that bloody palace. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

And yet . . . I had been rejected. Abandoned. And now I was well past the age when girls were promised to bridegrooms. What was I supposed to do with my life if I did not find a husband?

I had trusted Uncle, who kept insisting that he had plans for me. His first plan had not come to fruition, so he would have to come up with another.

And I would have no choice but to trust him.

“I am happy,” I said, looking around the circle, “to wait until you find someone more suitable. But the life of a queen”—I shuddered—“is not a life I would freely choose.”

I smiled so they would not think me upset at this abrupt change in my future, then bit my lip and forbade myself to shed any tears.