Chapter Fifty-Nine

Leah

Not long after HaShem spared my husband, Judah received a letter from Philander, who revealed the reason for the king’s sudden capitulation during the siege. The impetus had come from Lysias, who had just learned that Philip, the late king’s choice to be his son’s guardian, was en route from Persia to Antioch with papers guaranteeing his place as regent until the young king came of age. Since Lysias had no wish to surrender his power and authority as acting regent, he was obligated to return to the Seleucid capital before Philip took the kingdom into his hands.

We did not care who reigned in Antioch, as long as the ruler left us in peace.

Two years passed. Life returned to what passed for normal in the Hasmon family, and I reveled in the joy of having my husband at home. Judah, the mighty warrior, took care of the goats while I made cheese to sell in the market. Johanan oversaw excellent grain harvests because HaShem blessed the earth after the sabbatical year. Simon’s orchard produced juicy figs and abundant grapes, and Morit baked delicious breads and cakes. Eleazar’s horses, now supervised by Judah and Johanan, received praise from all over Judea, and men came to study the brood mares and stallions. And Jonathan, the young man who had always enjoyed an idyllic unmarried life, married Ona and took care of the sheep so she would have plenty of wool for her weaving.

While the men were out in the fields one afternoon, a caravan stopped in Modein. We women had been talking at the well, so when the caravan arrived we reached for buckets to water the horses and camels. A richly dressed man on the second camel called down to us in Aramaic. “Peace to you, ladies! We have come seeking Judah Maccabaeus. I have something for him.”

Another message from the scribe? I walked over to the camel and extended my hand, expecting to receive a parchment or scroll. “I am Judah’s wife. I will take whatever you have brought.”

The swarthy rider’s cheek curved in a grin. “’Tis not the sort of thing you can hold,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the rear of the caravan.

I lowered my arm and looked back in time to see a young man, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, slide off a mule. He walked toward me, head down, and looked up only when the man on the camel spoke again. “I leave him with you,” he said, pulling on the reins of his beast. “We must keep moving.”

Before the other women could offer water, the caravan pulled away and headed south, away from Jerusalem.

Who was this?

I studied the youth standing before me. Gray dust covered his skin, matted his hair, and caked his sandaled feet. His clothing appeared to be expensive, but it, too, had suffered on the journey.

“He’s too old to be a son of Judah,” Morit said. “But if he claims Simon as his father, my husband will never hear the last of it.”

The boy lifted his head. “Philander of Antioch is my father,” he said, defiance flashing in his eyes. “I am not a Jew.”

Shock ran through me as my eyes met his. His eyes were as blue as the sea, tinted with green. No, he had not been sired by one of the Hasmon brothers.

“I understand,” I said, not understanding anything. “Have you—have you run away?”

His face seemed to collapse as his shoulders slumped. “My father is dead,” he said, his voice scraping as though it hurt to speak the words. “I would be dead, too, if a friend had not saved me.”

“You must be Eneas.” The name came back on a tide of memory. “Your father mentioned you often in his letters. He wrote . . . that you liked the colt Judah sent.”

The youth brought his hand to his face as his body shook, but he did not weep. “They took the horse. They took everything.”

I placed my hand on the boy’s shoulder, hoping to bring some comfort, then looked to my sisters-in-law. “Can one of you fetch Judah? He should be here.”

“I will go.” Ona whirled away and ran toward the fields while I attended to our guest.

“Here is water,” I said, picking up a bucket. “You’ll feel better after you’ve washed the dust from your face and feet. Let me help make you comfortable, and then you can tell Judah what happened. I know he will want to hear everything.”

Eneas nodded silently, then walked with me to our house.

After helping the boy wash his hands, feet, and head, I gave him bread, cheese, and honey water. I had no experience with young Seleucid men, and I wasn’t certain how much more I should do for him. Though he ate silently, he seemed grateful for the food.

When the door finally opened, Judah and Simon strode into the house. Judah glanced at me first, lifting his brows to silently ask if all was well. I nodded and gestured to the boy. “Philander’s son,” I explained in Hebrew. “He has come with sorrowful news.”

While Simon tugged on his beard and watched, Judah sank to the bench next to the boy. “I am happy to meet you, Eneas,” he said, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “I have heard many fine things about you. Your father loved you very much.”

The boy stopped eating, swallowed hard, and threw his arms around Judah’s neck, going quietly and thoroughly to pieces.