Free Agrippa's Daughter by Howard Fast Page A

there, too, halted the crowd, stretching away and covering the whole saddle of the hill the road topped, for this was Herod’s Gate on the road from Samaria to Jericho, and the road to it only a dusty path off the main road. But it was Cypros’ wish to enter the city here rather than through the great Damascus Gate, for Agrippa was of the House of Herod and the blood of Herod. She lay dying, and it was not for her to think now of her grandfather’s sins. Let the same God punish Herod the Great who had made him king over Israel; but Herod’s name and hand were on a gate into the city, and it was fitting that they enter there and that his grandson’s body be symbolized there.
    In front of the gate the high priest stood, the old man, Elionai, his snow-white beard falling to his waist, and he raised his arms for silence; and then when the silence came, he began to chant the prayer of mourning:
    “Glorified and made holy be the mighty name of Jehovah, everywhere on this earth which He has created as He willed it to be. Let His kingdom come in your lifetime, in your days, and soon—and thus in the days of the whole House of Israel! Oh, say ye Amen!”
    “Amen” rose up from the thousands of throats.
    The Aramaic chant was taken up by other thousands who crowded the city walls now:
    “From holy heaven, peace, and life—for us! For all of Israel! Then say ye Amen—”
    In Jericho, deep down in the valley beyond the city, they heard the sound of that somber Amen.
    Cypros remained in Jerusalem. She was dying, as she well knew, and she wanted to die there in Jerusalem where her last sight would be of the shining sun-drenched walls of the Temple. In any case, the climate at Jerusalem was cool and pleasant, far more comfortable and salubrious than the heat of the coastal plain; and certainly better than the oppressive heat on the shores of Lake Tiberias, the Sea of Galilee, where her home was. Part of the ancient palace of Simon Maccabeus was refurbished and furnished for her convenience, and there she was made as comfortable as possible, with her ladies to attend her. Berenice saw to these matters, not out of any sense of duty or affection, but because she had discovered that when she spoke or ordered or instructed, she was obeyed more readily than anyone else, including her brother—who was almost king of the Jews, Rome willing.
    As for love of her mother or pity over her impending death, Berenice was devoid of both. Her father had been an impassable barrier to her mother, and Cypros herself had never successfully intervened to protect Berenice from the strong, violent, selfish man who had been her father. Although already in his tomb, Agrippa the elder remained alive in Berenice’s mind. She would awaken by night, whimpering and sweating, from a dream where she saw him and cringed before his will. She would see a man who resembled him on the street, and suddenly she would turn cold all over, her heart hammering with fear. How strange, she thought, that I should fear him more now that he is dead than I ever did when he was alive! Yet fear him she did—and she found herself avoiding Cypros, even to say farewell.
    “Perhaps we should remain here with her?” Agrippa wondered. He had a certain affection for his mother. “We leave her and she dies—God won’t forgive us for that.”
    “If you attempt to determine your actions by what God will or will not forgive you for, you will shortly go out of your mind. You will also betray everything the House of Herod has stood for,” Berenice told him caustically. “You happen to be king—at least until Claudius wills otherwise, and your place is in the palace at Tiberias.”
    “I know,” Agrippa sighed. He was seventeen, at least five years younger than his sister’s sixteen.
    “But do you know? I wonder. A government is not something you can carry around in a pouch. A government consists of lines of communication, ministers, ambassadors, an army, a navy, stewards,