The Queen's Handmaid (39 page)

Herod smacked her face with the back of his hand and sent her reeling. “Then explain how you knew of my orders, when only Sohemus had such information!”

Mariamme breathed heavily, hand across her stinging cheek.

“My wife and my friend. Is there no one loyal to me in this wasteland?” Herod waved them all away. “Enough. I have no wish to see any of you now.” To the guard who had brought Sohemus, he inclined his head. “Take him. Have him executed.”

“No!” Mariamme threw herself at Herod once more. “You defy the law to condemn a man without a trial!”

Herod held her off with one arm and nodded toward the guard. “She is right.” He shrugged. “Make it look like an accident.”

Mariamme tried to gouge at his eyes, but he was too strong.

Instead, he laughed. “You only condemn him further with your outrage, my dear. I know you will grieve to lose your lover. But you must see that I cannot allow—”

“I fought as hard for Leodes! Do you believe I have also taken the eunuch to my bed?”

But Herod was not listening and Lydia was dragging her backward.

She caught a last glimpse of Sohemus as he was being shoved from the throne room. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, then planted his feet against the injustice. “Hear me, Herod.” His voice echoed from the throne room walls. “Your wife is innocent. I have loved her only from afar.” He met Mariamme’s eyes. “Though I have loved her well.”

The guards dragged him out, and Herod and Salome strolled from the throne room as if nothing more than the usual palace business had been transacted.

Mariamme crumpled against Lydia.

The end was coming. This could not go on much longer.

Thirty-Four

L
ydia’s blood was pounding in fury by the time Salome and Herod left the throne room, but it was not the time to commiserate with Mariamme. The queen must be taken to the safety of her chamber before she did herself harm by attacking her husband.

Mariamme’s new lady’s maid, a mouse of a girl named Tikva, peeked into the room and saw her lady huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, leaning against Lydia.

“Bring Simon!” Lydia barked the command to the girl’s astonished face.

Tikva looked between them as though deaf.

“The palace manager! Fetch Simon and tell him his queen needs him here.”

The girl ran, and Lydia smoothed Mariamme’s hair back from her head. Memories of that night in Bethlehem flashed across her spirit. It was not a birth they awaited today, but a death.

Mariamme’s teeth were tapping against each other in spasms that also shook her body. “My fault.”

“Sshh.” Lydia knew this pain, and it was not going to end for a long time. But she would stand by Mariamme and fight.

Fight Salome.

Certainly this was Salome’s doing, from Mazal’s ridiculous lies about love potions to the torture of Leodes. And Riva’s search of her room, looking for a scroll.

Lydia exhaled, still holding Mariamme to herself. Salome was aligned against them both now, and there was more than their own lives to think about. The scrolls represented the hope of a nation against tyrants like Herod and his sister. Thoughts of conceding, of giving up on the scrolls, fled before a new resolve. She would not fail her people. Not ever.

Simon ran into the room as though someone needed pulling from a fire.

Lydia gave him a quick, grateful smile. “She will not rise. I need to get her to her chamber.”

He took three swift steps across the throne room floor, bent, and swept Mariamme into his arms as he had done the night they returned from Bethlehem. “Is she ill?”

Lydia followed behind. “Have you not heard what has happened tonight?” She would have thought Leodes’s high-pitched screams could be heard to the Dung Gate.

“I . . . I have been—unwell—since yesterday.”

Yes, she could understand that. She caught up with him in the corridor, walking shoulder to shoulder. “Let us get her safely to her bed.”

A glance from Simon said that he understood she would speak more of it out of Mariamme’s hearing. And when she had closed the door to her chamber, with promises to return with any news, she met Simon in the hall.

Her own strength, holding until now, failed her and she leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands.

“What is it?”

She felt the heavy warmth of his hand on her shoulder for a moment, only a moment before he drew it away.

She lifted her head and surveyed the corridor, but it was empty. At a time like this, when Herod’s wrath was running high, staff and family alike knew it was best to remain unseen.

“Sohemus,” she whispered.

Simon’s glance of concern toward Mariamme’s chamber spoke much. Did all the palace know of her affections for the captain of Herod’s guard?

“Salome has no doubt bribed Herod’s cupbearer, that loathsome Mazal, to tell the king lies. He has accused Mariamme of asking for his help with a love potion. Herod beat Leodes until he let it slip that Sohemus had told Mariamme secrets while Herod was gone and the women at Alexandrium. Herod assumed that the two are lovers.”

Simon exhaled heavily, paced away from Lydia, and back again. His face was a mask of anger. “What now?”

“Herod is having Sohemus executed. No trial.”

Simon’s hands were white-knuckled fists, and he pounded one against the stone wall beside Lydia’s head.

She flinched and closed her eyes.

“You see, Lydia?” His voice rasped in her ear. “Do you see how vile a man—?” He was pacing again. “Nearly ten years I have served at the feet of this man, ensuring that he wanted for no luxury, all to provide information to those who could use it against him. I have sacrificed everything to bring this land back to the people. And for what?” He slammed a fist against a palm this time. “For what? What use have I been?”

Lydia caught his arm and halted his pacing, her palms slick with dread. “Simon, I fear for Mariamme—that in her anger and shock she will push Herod beyond even his love for her. But please, he has no love for you that would stay his hand should he learn of your disloyalty! You must control this anger.”

He shook off her hand and faced her, a savage look in his eye. “Why? What more can I lose?”

“Your life, Simon!”

She would have said more, but Alexandra suddenly appeared, breaking the two apart. She eyed their sudden movement with suspicion, but her focus was on her daughter’s door. “Where is she?”

Lydia nodded. “Inside. She is not taking it well.”

Alexandra disappeared into the room.

Lydia felt some relief. The woman was a scheming manipulator, but Mariamme relied upon her and Alexandra would rise to the occasion to comfort her daughter.

“You are a fool!”

Alexandra’s harsh accusation pierced even the closed door. Lydia’s mouth dropped open.

Simon only shook his head. “I will find out what is happening with Sohemus.” He glanced in each direction of the balcony and leaned closer. “Perhaps his men will have enough loyalty to help with an escape.”

He left Lydia standing outside the door, her hand on the wood. Should she interrupt Alexandra’s tirade?

“How many times have I warned you about that man? And now your foolishness is going to cost us everything!”

Lydia could hear no reply. She pushed the door open and faced Alexandra’s indignant scowl at the intrusion. So be it. There were plans to be made.

How many times had Lydia been involved with an escape from this palace? Alexandra and Aristobulus wheeled away in coffins. Mariamme on the eve of her first child’s birth. Herself, even, wanting to run from Salome and from her destiny.

She would not run, not from the fight. But first she would plan yet another escape. It would be harder this time. With Mariamme’s young children and probably Alexandra, they would need help and supplies. But she would make it happen.

She must.

Lydia spent the night making arrangements. She would not involve Simon. His position in the palace was too vital to jeopardize. Instead, she ventured into the city to procure wagons and supplies, drivers and townswomen willing to make a journey for a promised payment of twenty shekels.

For the first time, the strange irony of her own position as a penniless child of royalty struck her. She had nothing of her own with which to pay anyone and lived at the generosity of her benefactors. If she were to leave the palace, disappear into the city with the scrolls until she somehow found the Chakkiym, she would have to support herself.

How many years had it been since she dreamed of opening her own pottery shop? Secreted her meager obols under her bedroll with hopes of breaking free? She was no freer than she had been as a servant in Cleopatra’s palace.

There could be no shop here in Jerusalem. She would need to remain unknown, hidden. Perhaps Simon’s political friends would hide her. Should she tell them of the scrolls? She had been so guarded with them all these years, never even trusting the
relationship with Simon enough to share the secret with him. Perhaps it was time. Until then, however, she removed the scrolls from her bedchamber and hid them in the deepest recess of the storerooms, hopefully safe from Salome.

Mariamme slept late into the morning, and Lydia did not wake her. They would not leave until nightfall, when they had a chance of gaining distance before their escape was noticed. The palace was quiet again in the morning, though a few odd visitors were trickling in, supporters of Herod’s from the Sanhedrin. Each new face soon disappeared into the throne room. Was there some military or political threat to distract Herod from his anger toward Mariamme? That would be a blessing.

She tracked down Simon in his office chamber and asked about Sohemus. His body had been found earlier this morning, throat slit by bandits in an alley. She braced a hand against the door frame and fought to use the anger and sadness as fuel for what must be done.

“I must keep Mariamme in her chamber today. No risk of more hateful spewing at Herod, especially if he is entertaining supporters.”

She turned to go, but the sound of marching boots rooted her to the floor.

A cadre of four soldiers marched in two pairs across the courtyard, toward the front palace stairs.

Panic raced along her veins, propelled her forward. She was at their backs in a moment, passed them on the stairs, ran ahead down the corridor, and burst into Mariamme’s room.

The queen was holding little Cypros, with her maid Tikva standing by. Mariamme’s head shot up at Lydia’s forceful entrance and her red-rimmed eyes widened.

“Soldiers, sister.” Lydia crossed the room as Mariamme stood. “They may be coming for you.”

Mariamme quickly lowered the baby into Tikva’s arms, kissed the little forehead, and grabbed Tikva’s shoulders. “Take her to your own chamber. Keep her safe. Promise me!”

The young girl’s face was as pale as the moon, but she nodded.

There was no more time.

The soldiers were at the door, and then they were in the chamber. One of them shoved Lydia aside as though she were still a servant while another grabbed at Mariamme’s arm. Simon’s anxious face appeared in the doorway, but the soldiers shoved him back.

“She is the queen!” Lydia pushed between the men. “She can walk unassisted!”

Mariamme took a deep breath, raised her chin, and preceded the soldiers out of the room.

Lydia followed, her stomach in knots. She brushed Simon’s outstretched hand as she passed him, but their escorts would not allow him to follow, perhaps fearing his interference more than they feared Lydia’s.

They should have escaped last night. Why had she waited, trying to make everything perfect, trying to prove her competency to arrange the challenge?

The tight group marched to the throne room, through its doors, and into the center, where a seated group of men to the right of Herod’s throne did not bode well.

Lydia spotted Alexandra to the left, also seated but clearly not of her own free will. Salome stood behind Herod’s throne.

The soldiers marched Mariamme to the center of the room to stand before her husband, who looked as though he had not
slept nor shaved nor eaten since the incident with Sohemus the previous night.

Lydia slipped to the windowed wall, stood beside one of the tapestries that blocked both the chill and the sun. A razor-thin line of morning light etched the floor in front of her feet, like a boundary she should not cross.

Herod nodded majestically, first to Mariamme and then to the sycophants arrayed on his left.

“Gentlemen, as you may have heard, there is news from Rome this morning. Egypt has officially become a province of the Roman Republic, under the rule of Princeps and First Citizen, Caesar Octavian. The groves and gardens of the Jordan Valley, which Marc Antony stole from us to give to his Egyptian whore, have been restored.”

He smiled on the men, who were nodding gleefully in return. “In addition, our generous benefactor, Caesar Octavian, has given us new territories of more than ten cities to expand our kingdom and is sending Cleopatra’s personal bodyguard of four hundred Galatians to us.” He spread his hands to the men. “As you can see, it is a good day to be in favor with your king, who has fallen into great favor with the First Citizen of Rome, Caesar Octavian.”