Chapter Thirty-Six
Kissa
My mistress was unusually quiet at dinner. I served the meal in the small family dining room, where Shelamzion, her sons, and the king ate on the rare occasions they came together.
Hyrcanus and Aristobulus were in high spirits, having spent the day hunting with their father, and I thought their talk of killing deer and a lion might have ruined my lady’s appetite. For once the boys were not arguing, and they relived their hunting experience aloud, each of them describing his exploits as the king listened with amused approval. None of the three even glanced at my mistress, who reclined on her couch and only nibbled at the fruit and cooked meats on the tray.
How could they not notice Shelamzion’s silence? She was usually the liveliest of the group, cleverly advising her husband while rebuking her sons’ antics when they became too loud or spoke of something not appropriate for a family dinner. But the hours stretched on, the three men congratulating each other without once noticing their silent dining partner . . .
Finally, Jannaeus looked at his wife. “Salome,” he said, leaning toward her, “why haven’t you congratulated your sons? Today Hyrcanus killed an eagle, and Aristobulus speared a lion!”
When my mistress did not respond, the king looked at me. “Is she ill?”
I stepped forward and nudged Shelamzion’s shoulder. “Mistress? The king has spoken to you.”
A deep flush rose up from her throat as she turned to him. “Apologies, my king. I was deep in thought.”
“Obviously.” He glared at her, his eyes hot with resentment, then forced a smile. “I asked why you have not congratulated your sons. Both boys snagged a kill during the hunt.”
“Oh.” She looked at the boys with indulgent pride. “Apologies to you as well, my sons. I’m sure you are both skilled hunters.”
“I’m the best,” Aristobulus said, grinning with the confidence of a young warrior. “I killed a lion with only a spear. Hyrcanus shot a bird.”
“An eagle,” Hyrcanus countered. “And they’re strong and fast and not easy to kill. You couldn’t kill one if you tried.”
“You doubt me?”
“I do.”
“Then let’s go out again tomorrow.” Aristobulus turned to the king. “Will you take us hunting again tomorrow? Perhaps we could go to a different place.”
Jannaeus shook his head. “No, but I can ask Ezra Diagos to take you.”
Hyrcanus scowled. “That old man? He cannot keep up.”
“That old man,” the king said, “could wrestle either of you to the ground in a heartbeat. He deserves your respect. If you want to go hunting tomorrow, it will be with him.”
My mistress lifted her head and looked at her husband. “If you will grant me permission, my king, I would like to retire. I am in need of a good rest.”
The king waved her away. “Go then.”
I waited as my mistress stood, then followed her out of the room.
My mistress had not told the entire truth. She might have been tired of the dinner conversation, but she was not ready for sleep. I followed her to her bedchamber, but instead of going to bed, she went to the desk where she kept a Torah scroll.
“If you would light the lamp, Kissa,” she said, sitting, “I would do some reading before bed.”
I thrust a piece of straw into the ashes of last night’s fire. When the end caught an ember and flamed, I brought it to the small oil lamp near the scroll. In the golden glow of the lamp, my mistress bent over the text and began to read: “‘I will put animosity between you and the woman—between your seed and her seed. He will crush your head, and you will crush his heel.’” Shelamzion paused, then repeated the words, “‘He will crush your head . . .’”
“Who is speaking?” I asked, aware that she was asking me to participate in her musing.
“Adonai Elohim.”
“And who is He speaking to?”
“The serpent who enticed Eve into sin.”
I tilted my head. “So Adonai will . . . what?”
Shelamzion looked at the scroll again. “The serpent will have descendants and so will the woman. A descendant of the woman will crush the serpent’s head, but the serpent will crush his heel.”
I sank to a nearby bench. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But here’s another one.” She turned back to the scroll, searching the text, and stopped. “‘The scepter will not pass from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until he to whom it belongs will come. To him will be the obedience of the peoples. Binding his foal to the vine, his donkey’s colt to the choice vine, he washes his garments in wine, and in the blood of grapes his robe.’”
“Who is speaking now?” I asked.
“Jacob,” she answered. “When he gathered his sons to tell them what would happen to their descendants in the last days.”
“The last days of what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But he seems to say that a king is coming from the tribe of Judah.”
“A king for many nations,” I said, “because many different peoples will obey him. Is that right?”
She picked up the lamp and held it closer to the scroll. “Yes. Many peoples, not just one. So not just Israel . . . I think.”
“What else could it mean?”
She hesitated, lowered her head to the table, and sighed. “I only wish I knew.”
“Maybe,” I said, sitting on the edge of her bed, “you should think about something more pleasurable.”
“Like what?” she mumbled.
“Like . . .” I smiled. “Ezra Diagos.”
Her head rose at once. “What do you mean?”
I shifted to face her. “I know you want to deny it, but I have seen the way you light up when his name is mentioned. Even tonight, when your husband said Diagos might take the boys hunting.”
Shelamzion groaned. “No. It cannot be that obvious.”
“You always take extra care with your hair and dress if you know Diagos will be attending a banquet,” I continued. “And your voice—it is lighter when you speak to him. You sound almost happy.”
She groaned again, bringing both hands to her cheeks. “You cannot mean it.”
I tossed her another smile, thinking she would return it, but my mistress’s face had clouded. “Why, I thought you liked Diagos.”
“I do,” she murmured, then buried her face in her folded arms. “But I should not. I am a married woman.”
I stared at her in dazed exasperation and crossed my arms. “You have not sinned against your husband. You admire Diagos, and he admires you. Or is HaShem so intent on destroying your happiness that you are not allowed to have a friend?”
“I have friends,” she whispered. “But I wish Diagos were . . . more.”
When a muffled sob escaped her folded arms, guilt coursed through my veins. “I’m sorry,” I said, slipping from the bed. I walked over and placed my hands on her shoulders. “I should not have said anything.”
“It is all right.” She sniffed as she lifted her head. “It is good you mentioned it. If my . . . affection for Diagos is obvious to you, it will be evident to others. I cannot allow that.”
“You have few friends, Shelamzion. You should not deny yourself the pleasure of a friend’s company.”
She sniffed again. “But what I feel for Diagos is not mere friendship. I . . . I will have to stop seeing him.”
“Forever?”
She swiped at her eyes as she slumped into a chair. “I know my heart, Kissa. It can be desperately wicked, and I am trying to live a righteous life.”
Shaking my head, I pulled the himation from her shoulders and tossed it in a trunk. Though I could see no sense in depriving herself of joy, Shelamzion had her reasons, and I would respect that.