Chapter Thirty-One

Shelamzion

I pulled the fabric of my himation forward on my head, hiding my face within a cowl. I had spent two days worrying about the stranger Kissa described, and I would not worry anymore. I would go to the marketplace myself and see if anyone followed or even noticed me.

As I walked, I thanked HaShem again that I had not been born to John Hyrcanus. Because I was not the former high priest’s daughter, I had not lived in the public eye, and few people knew of my association with what had become Judea’s royal family. I felt a wry smile tug at my lips as I thanked HaShem that I had not been born as beautiful as my sister. If I had been, I might attract attention, and attention was the last thing I wanted so long as Aristobulus called himself king.

I wound my way through the Valley of the Cheesemakers, then skirted the Essene Quarter. An impromptu market always appeared near the Essene Gate on Friday, so I approached with the air of a woman gathering the items she would need for the Sabbath meal. As I sorted through vegetables and fruits, I kept glancing over my shoulder, alert for anyone who might appear unduly interested in my activity.

I was studying the cages of chickens when a nearby commotion made me turn around. A man had stumbled over a woman studying a rug on the ground, and she was not happy about being flat on her belly in public. “Why do you not watch where you are going?” she said, pushing herself to her knees. “Did you not see me down here?”

“Um, no.” The man glanced at me, and my uneasiness swelled to alarm when our eyes met. He had no reason to look in my direction. Considering his circumstance, he ought to be focused on the woman he had knocked to the ground.

My heart stopped dead when he looked at me, but an instant later it resumed beating, thumping in my chest like a warning—run, now!

Dropping my shopping basket, I spun on the ball of my foot and fled, but not even the powerful pounding of my heart could disguise the sound of footsteps in the distance.

When I thought I had finally lost my pursuer, I ran home and barred the door behind me.

Kissa spun around, her eyes filled with alarm. “Did you—?”

I nodded. “As I thought, he wasn’t wearing any kind of uniform, but he chased me when I ran. I’ve been running—” I grabbed the back of a chair as my knees went weak—“I’m sorry, let me catch my breath.”

“Sit, sit. I will get you some water.”

As Kissa poured water from a pitcher and Mother gaped at me, I sank into the chair and leaned forward to inhale great gulps of air. My sons looked at me, confused.

“Why were you running, Ima?” Hyrcanus asked.

Somehow I managed to smile. “Ima was shopping and decided to hurry home.”

Hyrcanus looked at Aristobulus, who went right on eating his stew.

Kissa handed me a cup of water. “So,” she said, “what do we do?”

“We stay inside. We keep the door barred. And we think about moving to Modein.”

“We wouldn’t have this problem in Modein,” Mother said. “You should forget your husband and go to Modein, where you can find someone else to marry. That would solve all your problems.”

When the boys had finished eating, Kissa and I filled our bowls and discussed the problem in low voices. I wasn’t sure how we could survive in Modein, but we could live on the kindness of distant family members until it was time for planting. Perhaps one of my relatives would agree to take us in.

I had just put my sons to bed when someone knocked on the door. A thrill of fear shot through me as I looked at Kissa. The sun had already set, and the street was quiet outside. Who came knocking at a woman’s house after dark?

Kissa gestured for me to step away from the door. She walked toward it, but then stopped to pick up a wooden spindle she could grip in one hand. She lifted the bar and peered through a sliver of an opening. “Who knocks?”

“Salina Alexandra.” A soft voice, female. “Let me in, please. The king does not know I have come.”

Salina? I caught my breath and hurried forward as Kissa opened the door. The queen, her slender form enveloped by a disguising cloak, stepped into the room and opened her arms to me. “Cousin!”

I embraced her with grateful relief. “How did you know where to find us?”

“I have had a man looking for you. He says he had great difficulty—”

“That was one of your men? Oh!” I sank into the nearest chair to prevent my knees from giving way. “We thought he was from the king.”

“You were wise to be wary.” While Kissa stood guard at the door, Salina sat next to me, then reached out and took my hands. “I used to think I would enjoy being a queen and the high priest’s wife. Now I see the wisdom of John Hyrcanus—Alena would be far better suited to rule Judea, for my husband is not a good king. And being the king’s wife is not something I want to be.”

“What makes you say so?”

Looking sad, pale, and utterly young in the glow of the lamp, Salina released me and shook her head. “Aristobulus is not well, not steady in his mind. He sent Antigonus and his troops to fight in the northern region of Galilee, but now he wanders about the palace sick and forlorn because he feels abandoned by his brother. He is despised by the Pharisees and criticized by the Sadducees with whom he is aligned, because they cannot forget how he treated his mother. The Essenes are opposed to his forcible circumcision of the Galileans. And the people! While none have dared denounce him within his hearing, they remain silent when he appears in the Temple. No one shouts for joy when he ends his prayers, and no one shouts praises when he has finished a sacrifice. He knows he is not liked, and he wants to be as beloved as his father was.”

I exhaled a deep breath. I had no answers for her, but perhaps she would feel better after unburdening herself. “I am sorry to hear this.”

Salina lifted her head, a weight of sadness on her thin face. “I have come up with a solution—some might say it is madness, but I believe it is my only way out. And I hope, Shelamzion, that my action will please you.”

“Say what you mean, child,” Mother scolded from the corner where she sat. “You speak in riddles.”

Ignoring my mother, Salina leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “You were always kind to me, and I am grateful for it. I am sorry your husband is in prison and I am sorry for . . . well, you will see when the time comes. Now I must go.”

“Stay,” I begged, not wanting to send her away while she was distraught. “Surely there is something we can do to ease your mind.”

She shook her head and moved toward the door. When she opened it, I saw her handmaid waiting outside in the moon-cast shadows.

“May HaShem bless you,” Salina said, stepping out into the night. “If we do not meet again, know that I am doing what I must do because I am not as strong as you are.”

I stood on the threshold, shivering beneath my shawl, and watched Salina and her handmaid hurry down the street, moving toward the high priest’s palace. What had possessed the queen to come to me? And what could she possibly be planning?

I went back in the house and barred the door, then bent to stir the embers smoldering in the fire.

“That woman is crazy,” Mother said, not caring to lower her voice. “As crazy as a mad rooster.”

“Perhaps,” I whispered. “But we shall see.”

Not long after Salina’s visit, Kissa and I were shopping and overheard a conversation between two merchants speaking Aramaic. I heard them mention a man called Judah, a well-known elder among the Essenes.

I held up my hand, warning Kissa to remain quiet. I had heard of this Essene—some said he was a prophet. Simeon ben Shetah did not believe so, but he said Judah occasionally predicted the future as HaShem gave him knowledge.

“The old Essene may not know what he is talking about,” the first merchant said, “yet he claims the king’s brother will die before Sukkot. He even named the place—Strato’s Tower.”

The second man laughed. “How can that be? The king’s brother is already in Jerusalem for the feast. I saw him myself, parading through the Temple courtyard in shiny new armor. Strato’s Tower is six hundred fifty furlongs from here; he could never reach it before the feast begins.”

“They say old Judah has never been wrong,” the first merchant countered, elbowing the second man. “If I were him, I would hate to be wrong about the king’s brother. If either of them hears that Judah says he will die . . .” The man made a face and lifted his hands, then turned away.

I looked at Kissa, my thoughts spinning. Could this have anything to do with Salina’s plan? Surely not. Salina had nothing in common with an elderly Essene, and the Essenes were even more opposed to Aristobulus’s kingship than the Pharisees. None of them would even be willing to speak to her.

“What do you think?” I asked Kissa as we made our way through the marketplace. “Antigonus, dying? That is highly unlikely.”

“Salina talked as if the king had gone mad,” Kissa replied. “I have heard it whispered that the king has locked himself up in a room in the Baris and won’t come out. Apparently he believes Antigonus is going to turn the army against him.”

I halted. Aristobulus, at the Baris with his brothers? Not in the same chamber, certainly, but in the same structure. The walled tower at the Temple had been a last refuge for kings, priests, and the Maccabees during times of war and siege.

But Judah Aristobulus was not under attack, nor was he under siege. And I could not imagine Antigonus turning against his brother. They had been as close as a man and his shadow since childhood.

“Who would tell the king such a thing?” I asked. “It can’t be true.”

“I don’t know, but Aristobulus has been barricaded inside a chamber at the Baris for more than a week.”

We finished our shopping and carried our baskets home.

My thoughts were still preoccupied with the problem at midday. “No one in the military would tell the king that Antigonus wanted to betray him,” I said, thinking aloud as I poured grain into a bowl. “No warrior would dare come between those two. I wish my sons were as close as they are.”

“The king does not trust many people,” Kissa pointed out. “So it would have to be someone close to him.”

“Someone . . .” I gasped as the pieces fell into place. “Someone who had something to gain from a rift between them. Someone who does not think Aristobulus is a good ruler. Someone . . . like his wife.”

Kissa’s face lit with understanding. “Of course! But what could Salina hope to accomplish by coming between them?”

I brought my hands to my head as my mind vibrated with a thousand thoughts. “She has already managed to isolate the king. He is afraid, suspicious and mistrustful, and he has locked himself away—with no counselors, no brother, no father to guide him. He has only Salina.”

Kissa’s gaze rose to meet mine, and neither of us dared to predict what might happen next.

I imagined all sorts of scenarios for Aristobulus and Antigonus, whom I had once loved as younger brothers, but could never have imagined what actually happened just before Sukkot. I learned the details from Kissa, who heard them from a servant at the high priest’s house. As the streets of Jerusalem echoed with the cries of mourners, Kissa came home to tell the story.

The marketplace rumors were true. Judah Aristobulus had locked himself away in the Temple fortress because he believed his brother was preparing to overthrow him. He had even given his guards a standing order—if Antigonus appeared in his armor, they were to execute him immediately.

When Antigonus arrived in Jerusalem to celebrate the Festival of Tabernacles, Judah Aristobulus sent a message as a test of his brother’s loyalty: Come to me, but unarmed.

Salina—or one of her servants—intercepted the courier and substituted a different message: The king yearns to see your new armor. Wear it when you visit him in the Baris.

So, fully armed and armored, Antigonus went to the Temple. Happily, or so the rumors reported, he trotted down the stairs leading to the underground passageway that ended at the Baris. When the guards at the entrance saw a fully armed warrior approaching, they killed him without hesitation.

The news of Antigonus’s death spread throughout the city like a contagion. Judah the Essene was among those at the Temple to celebrate Sukkot, and when he heard where Antigonus died, he was perplexed . . . until someone pointed out that the underground tunnel was known as Strato’s Tower.

My heart twisted as Kissa told me the story. “Oh, those poor boys,” I whispered, seeing their young faces in a flash of memory. “I am glad Uncle and Alena are not alive to hear this. What a terrible tragedy.”

“The story gets worse,” Kissa said. “But if you would rather not hear it—”

“Tell me.” I looked her in the eye. “I would know everything.”

Kissa drew a deep breath. “After hearing that Antigonus was dead, Aristobulus fell ill. They say he became sick with pain in his gut and lost his mind. He wandered about the Baris and pounded on the door of the chamber that held Jannaeus and the other two brothers, but he would not speak to them. Then he began vomiting great quantities of blood.”

I made a face even as some speculative part of my brain summoned up a recollection of Grypus walking with me in his garden. He had pointed at various plants and mentioned one that could make a man vomit blood.

“A servant came to clean up the mess,” Kissa went on, “and as he was leaving, the slave slipped and spilled the king’s blood on the very spot where the blood of Antigonus had stained the stones. When the king heard about that, he cried out, saying he would not be able to escape the wrath of Adonai but would have to pay for his brother’s murder. Though his wife and servants tried to calm and console him, he would not be comforted. He sank onto his bed . . . and died.”

As Mother wept quietly in her corner, I closed my eyes. Salina had been desperate when we last saw her. Desperate enough to use poison? Perhaps.

But had her desperation been motivated by a desire to be rid of a troublesome husband or an eagerness to rule Judea on her own?

Judah Aristobulus’s reign over Judea lasted only one year.

I was not surprised to receive a summons from the high priest’s palace the day after his death. The two brothers had been quickly buried—side by side, as they had lived—in a Hasmonean tomb. Since Salina had no children, all Jerusalem waited anxiously to hear who would be the next high priest and king.

The king’s widow would not make them wait long.

I went to the high priest’s palace alone, sauntered through the courtyard gates, and looked at the buildings I had once called home. I could almost see Mother sitting on the porch of our small house and hear the clatter of Uncle’s coach over the paving stones. Alena used to look out of that upper window, her face alight whenever she saw her husband approaching . . .

I blinked the images of the past away and forced myself to move forward. I crossed the threshold and found myself in that beautiful vestibule. I was about to turn into the reception hall when a priest stopped me. “Salome Alexandra?”

I nodded.

“Salina Alexandra would like to see you privately. Come with me.”

I found Salina in the high priest’s bedchamber, sitting on the bed and wearing a simple tunic with her hair down. Like a proper grieving widow, she had not adorned herself with cosmetics or jewelry.

“Shelamzion.” She stood to embrace me, then gestured to a padded bench—a bench I had used many times when I visited Alena in the same room. “Please,” Salina said, sitting again. “I need to tell you what will happen next.”

I took the seat she offered, folded my hands, and studied her face. She did not look like a murderous conspirator, but neither did she look like the wild-eyed girl who had visited me days ago. I had never seen a woman so calm and self-possessed.

“Before you say anything,” I said, “I know about the poison. I know you told Antigonus to wear his armor because you knew the king had given an order to kill any armed man who approached the Baris.”

Her brows rose, delicate arches above bold eyes. “John Hyrcanus always said you were clever.”

“If you want my approval—”

“I am not asking for anything, cousin. I am not explaining anything. But I will say this—I saw the situation in Judea more clearly than anyone, for I knew Aristobulus better than anyone. Someone had to do something.” A smile flickered over her lips. “I have no time now for idle chatter. What you need to know is this: Aristobulus’s will declares that I will become queen and rule Judea.”

I nearly choked on the bitter laugh that rose in my throat. Somehow I clamped it down, even though I wanted to stand and leave the room as quickly as I could. I wanted nothing to do with murder or the clear-eyed, manipulative woman before me.

“I know what you’re thinking”—a corner of her mouth twisted—“and you are wrong. I brought you here because my first act as queen will be to release your husband and his brothers from prison. My second act will be to relinquish the throne and crown your husband king. The Sanhedrin will anoint him as high priest shortly thereafter.”

I sat completely still, blank, amazed, and shaken. “You—Jannaeus. Why him?”

“Because,” she said, “he knows his place.”

I did not know what she meant by that, but she gave me no time to question her further.

“Soon,” she finished, “you will be queen. I hope you can find some joy in it.”

She stood and abruptly dismissed me as a wall of whispering approached us. A group of guards came into the room along with Jannaeus, Absalom, and Elias—all of them thin but alive and well.

Without looking at me, Jannaeus stepped forward and knelt on one knee before Salina Alexandra. She gave him a small smile, then took a step back and lowered herself to the floor in a formal bow.

I looked around. Behind me, the servants, guards, and even Absalom and Elias were doing the same. Though my mind spun with bewilderment, I commanded my limbs to obey and sank to the floor.

Jerusalem was about to receive a new king.