Chapter Twenty-Eight
Shelamzion
In the spring of the next year, when our sons were four and six, a rider from Jerusalem brought urgent news: John Hyrcanus was dying. If we wanted to see him before he died, we would have to depart immediately.
The news filled me with sadness, for Uncle had given me opportunities few girls ever received. I thought Jannaeus would be sorrowful as well, yet he received the news with an eagerness that seemed vulgar. “We shall leave for Jerusalem at once,” he told the messenger. “Thank you for bringing us the news.”
After the rider departed, a strange light gleamed in my husband’s eye. “Finally we can return to Jerusalem,” he said, hurrying to our bedchamber. He paused to give me a heartfelt smile. “I know you have suffered in this primitive region, but our time of travail is nearly at an end.”
I stared in confusion because, apart from having two babies, I had neither suffered nor travailed. Jannaeus’s words only proved how little he knew me, and how rarely he paid attention.
I sent Kissa to gather the things my sons would need while I oversaw the packing of food, water, and supplies for the journey. I did not know how long we would remain in Jerusalem, but I was beginning to suspect that Jannaeus would not willingly return to Galilee. He had come to this region only because his father commanded it. If Judah Aristobulus offered him a place in his administration, Jannaeus would undoubtedly take it.
The gangly adolescent I married had grown into his name, surpassing me in height as well as weight. He was now twenty-three, with a young man’s ambition, passions, and interests. When he joined me in the courtyard where the servants were loading wagons, I could see that the prospect of returning to Jerusalem had lit a fire within him.
I caught his arm as he strode by and studied his face when he halted. “You’re eager to return home,” I said, stating the obvious. “Be careful that you don’t appear eager for your father to die.”
“And why shouldn’t I be eager?” His dark eyes narrowed as he shook my hand from his arm. “The old man has led a full life. His time is finished.”
My eyes filled with tears—whether from sadness at my husband’s attitude or the thought of losing my uncle, I could not say. “He loves us,” I said, my voice breaking. “Both of us. And I will miss him dreadfully.”
“So be it.” Jannaeus stepped away, then lifted his arm to catch the eye of a passing servant. “Saddle the stallion for me,” he called. “My wife and children will ride in the wagon.” He turned. “Anything else, Salome?”
I shook my head and turned, arranging my himation like a cowl about my face, so he would not see me weep.
John Hyrcanus, high priest of Israel, beloved of man and HaShem, must have waited for us. After arriving at the palace where I had spent so many happy years, we hurried into Uncle’s bedchamber. I tapped my sons’ shoulders and gestured for them to kneel at his bedside. As Alena watched, Uncle placed his hands on their dark curls and blessed them, his lips moving in an inaudible whisper. When he had finished, Kissa took the children away while Uncle took my hand.
My heart broke to see a tremor in those once-strong fingers. “Uncle, we have come to be with you.”
Alena stepped forward. “We are glad you have come, but do not encourage him to talk. He has trouble drawing breath, and speech is difficult. But you may say whatever is on your heart.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped my hands around his. “I shall miss you, Uncle,” I told him. “Every day we have been away, I have thanked HaShem that you set me on a path I could never have walked on my own. When you came to Modein and offered your hospitality and guardianship, you changed my life for the good.”
His gaze softened, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave me a wavering smile. He did not speak, but his fingers trembled in my grasp.
“Shelamzion.” Alena gestured toward the hallway. “Would you like to oversee the unloading of your wagons? You can make yourself at home—”
“I will wait.” I tightened my grip on Uncle’s hand, remembering that it was forbidden to leave a dying person lest he die alone.
An hour later, amid the flickering of the oil lamps and in the company of many of his fellow priests, John Hyrcanus drew his last breath. And only when the hired mourners began to wail did I look up and realize that my husband had not followed us into the sick man’s bedchamber.
After the funeral, the high priest’s family, members of the Sanhedrin, and dozens of Levites crowded into the palace reception hall. One of Uncle’s assistants picked up a scroll and read the preamble.
Aware that his health was failing, John Hyrcanus had written a will months before his death. The statement of most interest to those gathered at the funeral was this:
Some have boldly stated that the offices of priest and civic leader should not be vested in the same man. Though I did my best to represent the nation of Israel before man and Adonai, perhaps I should now submit to those who have protested the arrangement. I decree therefore that the office of high priest shall go to my eldest son, Judah Aristobulus, who meets the qualifications established in the Torah. Responsibility for ruling as the civil authority will go to my wife, Kefira Alena, for she has labored by my side and knows what should be done to govern Judea. Like Deborah, wife of Lappidoth and the fifth judge of Israel, she possesses the knowledge and experience to oversee the nation. She can be trusted to seek HaShem’s wisdom as she makes decisions for Israel.
An audible gasp filled the room at the mention of Alena’s name. John Hyrcanus had accomplished many noteworthy achievements in his lifetime, but perhaps he would be most remembered for leaving the leadership of the nation in his wife’s hands.
After the initial shock, I couldn’t stop smiling. Uncle’s decision, while unexpected, did not surprise me because I knew how much he admired the female sovereigns of neighboring kingdoms. He had spent years observing Cleopatra Thea, and he knew strong women had a talent for weaving peace from the raveled strands of a war-torn empire.
I turned to look at the others in the room and saw dismay on my kinsmen’s faces. Judah Aristobulus, who apparently expected to step into his father’s dual position, was glaring at his mother with burning, reproachful eyes while Antigonus’s nostrils flared with fury.
I looked for Jannaeus, spotting him leaning against the wall, his attention focused on his older brothers. Absalom and Philo Elias, the two youngest sons, were red-eyed and weeping, their faces a study in anguish.
My heart brimmed with compassion for them. Ambition had not made its home in their young hearts, so they had room to grieve the father they had lost. Not so with Judah Aristobulus and Antigonus.
And Jannaeus? I studied my husband. His face was utterly blank, a perfect mask of indifference.
The Levite who had read the will rolled the scroll back onto its spindle, bowed to the assembly, and left the chamber. Every eye swiveled toward Alena.
“I know we are still mourning our high priest,” she said, her voice wavering as she stepped forward, “but on the morrow we must move forward with new hope for Judea. John has entrusted us with the safekeeping of a nation. We must continue to work for the goals he established, and we must serve HaShem as faithfully as he did. For now, let us depart to our homes and mourn him, but tomorrow we will rise to the challenge before us.”
A sudden movement caught my eye, and I turned to see Judah Aristobulus whirl and leave the room. Antigonus followed.
Alena stammered in the sudden silence. “I . . . I am afraid my husband’s wishes have come as a shock to some,” she said, glancing at the doorway through which her sons had disappeared. “But we are a family. We will work together for the good of Judea.”
People began to exit the chamber in groups of twos and threes, heads together as the mourners whispered their reactions to the astonishing news. I walked over to Alena and embraced her, then motioned for my sons to join me as we climbed the stairs and escorted her safely to her chamber.