The Book of Longings(67)

Impetuous and fearless. Once I’d been those things. But that part of me seemed like one of the forgotten women in the stories I’d written, diminished by years of chores, Susanna’s death, and those long famines of spirit when I couldn’t write.

My brother said, “Ana’s father has concocted one last plot to convince the emperor Tiberius to make Antipas King of the Jews.”

How predictably disappointing Father was. But this was hardly news that would alarm me in the manner Judas predicted.

There was an uneasy silence before Jesus’s voice resounded. “It’s prophesized the Messiah will bear the title King of the Jews—it would be a mockery for Antipas to steal the title for himself!”

“I tell you, his plot is cunning—I fear it could work.”

Across the compound, Mary, Salome, and Judith walked toward the little courtyard kitchen to prepare the evening meal, leaving Berenice to tend the children. I worried that any moment they would call me and when I didn’t answer, they would seek me out.

“Matthias wrote out the plot in meticulous detail,” Judas said. “His servant, Lavi, is unable to read, so he passes me as many of Matthias’s documents as he can. I was shocked to come upon the one that lays out his plan. Antipas will travel to Rome next month to make an official appeal to the emperor to be named king.”

“It doesn’t seem likely Tiberius will grant such a thing,” Jesus said. “It’s widely said the emperor opposes giving Antipas the title. He refused to do so even after Antipas named his new city Tiberias.”

Across the way, the chatter of the women made it difficult to hear. I crept back around to the ladder and climbed halfway up.

Judas was saying, “Antipas is hated. The emperor has denied him being king in the past because he fears the people will rise up. But what if there was a way to lessen that possibility? That’s the question Matthias put forth in his plot. He wrote that we Jews oppose Antipas as king because he has no royal bloodline, because he’s not from the line of King David.” He snorted. “That’s hardly the only reason, but it’s a paramount one, and Matthias has conspired a way around it. On Antipas’s way to Rome, he will stop in Caesarea Philippi to visit his brother Philip, but what he’s really after is his brother’s wife, Herodias. She descends from the royal Hasmonaean line of Jewish kings.”

Antipas would take a new wife? Had something tragic befallen Phasaelis, my old friend? Confused, fighting a sickening feeling in my stomach, I climbed two rungs higher.

Judas said, “Herodias is ambitious. Antipas will have an easy time convincing her to divorce Philip and marry him. He will promise her a throne. When Antipas arrives in Rome, it will be with the assurance of a royal marriage. If this doesn’t win him the kingship, nothing will.”

Jesus asked the question that burned a hole on my tongue. “But doesn’t Antipas have a wife already?”

“Yes, the princess, Phasaelis. Antipas will divorce her and incarcerate her in secret somewhere. Most likely he’ll quietly do away with her and claim the cause of her death to be a fever.”

“You think Antipas would go so far?” Jesus asked.

“Matthias claims if she lives, she’ll incite her father to take revenge. As you know, Antipas’s own father executed his wife, Mariamme, and I doubt Antipas would hesitate to follow in his footsteps. You see, don’t you, why I wished to keep this news from Ana? Phasaelis was once Ana’s friend.”

Dazed, I laid my forehead against the rung. While I’d been holding on to the ladder, night had closed over us. A voluptuous moon dripped light everywhere. The smell of bread curled through the darkness. They went on conversing, their voices like bees whirring far off in a broom tree.

As I started down the ladder, my hands, slick with sweat, slipped momentarily from the wood, causing the ladder to jar against the house. Before I could descend farther, I heard Jesus say, “Ana, what are you doing there?” His shadowed face peered over the edge of the roof.

Then Judas’s face appeared beside his. “So you heard.”

“Your supper is ready,” I told them.



* * *



? ? ?

KNEELING BEFORE THE CHEST of cedar in my room, I removed the contents item by item—bowl, scrolls, pens, ink, the red thread in its tiny pouch. The hammered sheet of ivory that had gotten me in such grave trouble lay at the bottom, pearl white and shining. I didn’t know then, nor do I fully know now, why I’d never written on it or bartered it away. It had seemed like a relic that should be preserved—without it my marriage to Jesus would never have happened. Now it seemed I’d kept it for this moment. Besides, there was nothing else on which to write.

I lifted the last vial of ink to the flame on the clay lamp and shook the sluggish black liquid awake. The fearless girl had not left me entirely. I wrote quickly in Greek, not bothering to perfect my letters.


Phasaelis,

Be forewarned! Antipas and my father plot against you. Your husband conspires to marry Herodias, whose royal line may convince the emperor to crown the tetrarch king. With confidence I tell you that after Antipas departs for Rome, he will divorce you and make you his prisoner. Your life may be endangered as well. I’m reliably told Antipas will leave within the month. Flee, if you can. My heart yearns to see you safe.


Ana