This dark heart, p.1
This Dark Heart, page 1
Also by Christa Laird
Shadow of the Wall
Beyond the Wall
The Forgotten Son
The Dangerous Dream of Ben Maludzi
First published in Great Britain in 2022 by
The Book Guild Ltd
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Copyright © 2022 Christa Laird
The right of Christa Laird to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN 978 1915603 401
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
For Giorgia, Alessia, Will, Alexander and Julian – our ‘Famous Five’
Contents
The Main Characters
Herod’s Lament for Mariamne
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Acknowledgements
The Main Characters
Alberic – Simon’s officer in the bodyguard.
Alexander – one of Herod’s adult sons.
H
Antipater – half-brother to Alexander and Aristobulus. Appears very briefly but is frequently referred to as their enemy.
H
Aristobulus – Alexander’s brother. Appears only once, briefly, but is frequently referred to.
H
Chloe – Simon’s sister.
David and Leah – Chloe’s Jewish brother- and sister-in-law, who treat Simon as family.
Glaphyra – Alexander’s wife, daughter of King Archelaus of Cappadocia.
H
King Archelaus – Glaphyra’s father, friend of King Herod’s.
H
King Herod of Judaea.
H
Lucius Servius Celer, known as Celer – Roman architect and builder, Simon’s mentor.
Nicolas of Damascus – close adviser to King Herod.
H
Philip the Gaul (also called Philip of Nîmes) – Simon’s father, a favoured bodyguard of the King.
Philo – a comrade of Simon’s.
Ptolemy – brother of Nicolas of Damascus, and head of the Treasury.
H
Quintus Marius Severus – a senior Roman architect.
Salome – King Herod’s sister.
H
Salvia – Glaphyra’s favourite maidservant, with whom Simon falls in love.
Saul – another recruit, who becomes an important friend of Simon’s.
Simon – the main character, a reluctant bodyguard, son of Philip the Gaul.
Theo – a comrade and close friend of Simon’s.
Zamaris – another recruit, who becomes an important friend of Simon’s.
H – Historical. These people actually existed.
The title of the novel is taken from the poem on the following page by Lord Byron. The execution of King Herod’s wife Mariamne took place long before my story opens, but it has set the scene for much of what follows in his household. Please note that Mariamne and Mariamme are the same person. In the novel I have spelt the name in the same way as Josephus does, Mariamme.
Herod’s Lament for Mariamne
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
The heart of which thou bled’st is bleeding;
Revenge is lost in agony,
And wild remorse to rage succeeding.
Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?
Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:
Ah! could’st thou—thou would’st pardon now,
Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.
And is she dead?—and did they dare
Obey my frenzy’s jealous raving?
My wrath but doom’d my own despair:
The sword that smote her’s o’er me waving.—
But thou art cold, my murder’d love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving
For her who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
She’s gone, who shared my diadem;
She sunk, with her my joys entombing;
I swept that flower from Judah’s stem,
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming;
And mine’s the guilt, and mine the hell,
This bosom’s desolation dooming;
And I have earn’d those tortures well,
Which unconsumed are still consuming!
Chapter 1
“Don’t hide your face. Soldiers have to get used to the sight and smell of blood.”
I glanced sideways at Father and flinched at the irritation in his voice. I’d planned for those few days together at the opening of King Herod’s spectacular port of Caesarea to be the ideal time to confess my secret ambition, to win him over. But now it no longer seemed likely. I’m not sure to this day what it was that gave my father that powerful aura of authority, so that I could never bring myself to argue with him.
We had been allocated preferential seats for the chariot races, near the turn between the two legs of the U-shaped circuit. These bends were the places where the contestants tried to bore their rivals into the wall, or off the track altogether, goading the excitement of the spectators to fever pitch. At one point even I, who knew nothing about the teams, couldn’t resist standing up to cheer on the one with white horses, which I liked the look of best. Grooms stood by the turning points, ready to douse the overheated wheel axles with water as the chariots thundered by, their two or three pairs of horses urged on by frenzied drivers wielding wicked-looking whips. During one race, a groom misjudged the distance and was run over before he could get away, but the roars of the crowd continued unabated as if they’d scarcely noticed the poor man being crushed to a bloody pulp. That was when I put a hand over my eyes to shut out what was happening. A wave of nausea rose into my throat and I could smell the sweat which had clamped my short-sleeved tunic to my armpits, but at Father’s words I removed my hand from my face and retreated into myself, saying nothing. Then as slaves ran out to cover the arena with fresh sawdust, I reflected that the messy corpse they were dragging away had been someone’s son, someone’s brother. Amid the shrieking and fist-shaking going on around me, I pursed my lips and felt my chin rise in a surge of silent defiance.
After the final race, as the excited roar of the crowd fell silent, I sensed Father stiffen and straighten up beside me. I caught the harsh whisper, muttered between clenched teeth, “Push your hair back and straighten your cloak,” before I looked up to see a large group ascending the nearest gangway, a flash of purple bright in their midst. As the group stopped at the end of our row, I tried without success to swallow. Father was now on his feet, bowing low. I heard him say something like, “Trachonitis… pleases you, Sire?”, but it meant nothing to me and all I could think of was how I should behave, face to face, as I now literally was, with the King himself.
Then a voice boomed, “But who is that young man trying to hide behind you? Surely not your son?”
“Indeed it is, Sire. Allow me to present my only son Simon to you.” I felt the kingly gaze bore through me as I almost doubled over in my effort to be reverential. It was then that I noticed with a pang of alarm a loose strap in my sandal. I’m embarrassed to admit such an absurdity, but it occurred to me that even this tiny thing might be seen as a mark of disrespect. For a moment I stared down at the strap in dismay for I’d heard what could happen to people who displeased the King. But today at least his mood was genial, and of course he noticed nothi ng amiss. When I dared to look up, he shook his great head, in which, despite his age, there was not yet a streak of grey.
“It seems but a couple of years since you told me of his birth. You must bring him to court more often now that he is a man.” To me the words sounded more threat than invitation. I wished I’d thought to ask Father whether it was permitted to look the King in the eye, so for safety’s sake I fixed my gaze on a jewel glinting blood red which fastened the cloak at the royal shoulder. Fortunately the exchange was quickly at an end, and with a nod the King then swept on up the gangway, followed by his large retinue. The bronze cuirasses1 of several of Father’s comrades flashed in the afternoon sun, as the gangway was no longer in the shade of the canopy. A slightly bent but lean and handsome man, whose receding hair, unlike the King’s, was greying noticeably at the temples, touched Father on the shoulder as he came level.
“Greetings, Philip, old friend. It’s good to see you back safely.” Looking at me, he said, “The King is right – you should bring Simon to court more often. Bring him over to the feast shortly. I’ll look out for you.” I recognised Nicolas of Damascus from the one occasion when Father had taken me to Jerusalem when I was younger. I knew he was an old friend of Father’s, and also that he was one of the King’s closest advisers. I managed to bow politely, though my knees still felt as if they were filled with water.
Bringing up the rear of the royal procession was a good-looking couple, who seemed to be sharing an intimate joke. I blew out my cheeks when everyone had passed, relieved that my heartbeat seemed to be resuming its normal rate. “Who was that?” I asked Father, who to my surprise was still standing erect and tense, looking up after the royal party.
“King Herod of Judaea, you halfwit!”
“No, Father, the handsome couple at the back.”
“That was Alexander, our King’s son. And the lady was his wife, the Princess Glaphyra.”
“Ahhh! That was Alexander!”
Father raised his eyebrows in enquiry. As a senior member of the King’s personal bodyguard, I knew that he took his obligations of loyalty and discretion very seriously, so perhaps he was surprised by my knowing tone. No doubt he was wondering how much of the gossip I’d heard about Alexander.
After that one visit to Jerusalem, I had begged to be taken back, as I’d been so thrilled by everything I saw there. But to my immense frustration Father had always refused, though he never explained why. My foster father, another soldier in the bodyguard before King Herod pensioned him off, was less discreet than Father.
“It’s a human snake pit up there – too many sons, too many wives and mothers competing for the King’s favour. Your father wants you to stay well away from the poisonous intrigues there. Till you’re ready to follow in his footsteps, that is.”
And now that time had come. I was about to start my military training in Jerusalem but first the official opening of the magnificent harbour city of Caesarea, with its lavish spectacles, was the perfect way to introduce me to what was great and glorious in King Herod’s Judaea. Or that was Father’s idea anyway.
The feast that day was held around a huge freshwater pool on the Lower Terrace of the Promontory Palace. I know what people mean when they say a sight is breathtaking, because as we walked in I literally gasped at the splendour of the place. Colonnades of a stone whiter than swan’s wings marched up the seemingly endless length of the courtyard on either side of the great pool, in which fountains splashed, shimmering in the sunlight. Huge urns brimming with flowers stood in the spaces between the columns; portable tables in the shade of the porticos staggered under mounds of food, from all manner of mouth-melting fruit – plump red pomegranates, glistening dates, bruise-purple figs – to entire fishes and roasted poultry. I stared around in wonderment until my gaze came to rest on a semi-circular break in the colonnade, creating a type of loggia. Its vaulted roof was decorated with golden and richly coloured mosaics.
As I lowered my gaze from the opulence of the roof, I suddenly realised that armed and helmeted soldiers were patrolling the back and sides of the loggia. And there, on a raised dais, reclined the King, together with members of his household, waited on by servants balancing trays heaped with food. A harsh gust of laughter rang out from the dais, and I noticed that one of the servants was on his knees, frantically scraping up something that had fallen to the floor. One of the soldiers stood over him, his hand on his sword hilt, so I turned quickly away.
“Impressed? I wanted it to be a surprise. I know you appreciate fine buildings.”
So had he guessed? Perhaps, for there was a definite hesitation before Father continued, “Come, follow me. I want to show you something even more remarkable.” He guided me through the throng to a spot close to where the musicians were playing. We stood at the end of the terrace and looked down to our left, to where the palace levels fell away in a tiered cascade out into a sea of such intense lapis lazuli blue that it stung my eyes.
“Look over there!”
Reaching out from the shore to embrace a perfect harbour in the curve of their stone arms were two monumental breakwaters, each capped with an enormous tower. “This will be the greatest harbour in the entire Mediterranean sea, Simon, fit for the King’s new navy. Greater than Athens. His most ambitious—” Father was whispering in awe when Nicolas of Damascus came up to us and tapped him on the shoulder.
“There you are! Admiring that spectacular view, I see. Philip, the King wants to talk to you. He says he needs to hear what didn’t go into the commanders’ report about your expedition!”
Father grimaced.
“Don’t look so worried – the King’s in a happy mood today, and I’ll look after Simon,” Nicolas reassured him. When Father had gone, he turned to me and said kindly, “Impressive, isn’t it? But come, you aren’t eating, Simon. Let’s see to that right now.”
Hungry though I was, there was so much I was bursting to ask about the harbour, but I didn’t know how to begin, especially with this important man whom I scarcely knew. I could only gesture towards the view with a sweep of my arm.
“Ah, you probably want to know more about this whole extraordinary project. I like curiosity in a young man. But first things first – let us find some food and then you can ask me whatever you like!” He led the way from the edge of the terrace back into the crowd, before stopping a slave-girl and ordering her to bring us some food and wine.
“So what do you want to know, Simon?” Nicolas asked, when a platter of assorted delicacies had been brought to us by the voluptuous, black-eyed beauty, who appraised me in an uncomfortably blatant way. There were no vacant couches nearby, so Nicolas and I remained standing and while another slave was diluting our wine with warm water he gazed at me with undisguised interest. I felt uneasy under his scrutiny, but then curiosity proved stronger than shyness.
“Well, I’d like to know about everything really. For example, I’ve heard tell of a tunnel that brings fresh water from as far away as Mount Carmel. Can it be true?”
Nicolas’s smile revealed discoloured teeth but brought light to the darting black eyes under bushy brows with which I was to become very familiar in the months ahead. “You know, I am really not the right person to be talking to about all this. I’m an historian, not an engineer or an architect. I wonder… yes, look, over there, talking to my brother Ptolemy. If you can see him behind Ptolemy’s platter of food. That’s Quintus Marius Severus. He’s probably the most celebrated of the King’s many architects. He’s from Rome. Would you like to talk to him?”
I couldn’t imagine anything I’d like more, but before I could reply Nicolas was leading me across and introducing me. “This is Simon, the son of an old friend of mine. It’s his first visit to Caesarea, and he wants to know about the engineering behind it. I wondered if you would be so good as to answer some of his questions, Severus?”
