Free The Queen's Handmaid by Tracy L. Higley Page A

refugee, without funds or army and now without a means to secure either one.
    The group found shelter in a dimly lit tavern while Herod sought out friends. From what Lydia heard, the man had friends everywhere. She had seen little of his reputed charm, save the one night in Cleopatra’s courtyard, but the days at sea had not been a good indication of anyone’s character.
    They washed, were given bread and wine, and reclined on benches and couches for several contented hours. When Herod returned it was with good news. He had already convinced supporters in Rhodes to raise the money to build him a ship that would take them to Rome. In the meantime, they would be housed by one of the leading citizens of Rhodes and treated well.
    Lydia sighed and turned her head toward the tavern wall. She had set out for Jerusalem by way of Rome, learned that Jerusalem was held by Herod’s enemies, detoured to Rhodes, and now would have to await the building of a new ship. The errand Samuel had given seemed as far as the horizon, and just as unreachable.
    Would she be in Jerusalem by autumn, when the day of Yom HaKippurim would allow her to finally deliver the scrolls?

Eight
    L ydia stood with David at the rail, watching the warm, sunwashed shores of Rome sharpen across an expanse as smooth as blue-green glass. The weather for sailing in the month of April was far better than January had been, and the months spent on the island of Rhodes had strengthened them all for the journey. But their earlier passage from Alexandria had heightened Lydia’s great fear of ships, and she rose every day to eye the horizon with anxiety.
    “And what shall Rome bring to us, do you think?”
    David snorted. “Harder work, I imagine.” He ran a hand through his sun-lightened brown hair and laughed. “We have all grown quite spoiled, I fear.” He jutted his chin across the deck where Herod lounged in luxury, his servant girls attending. “And none more spoiled than Riva.”
    As if she heard her name even from this distance, the girl looked up with a sly smile and, with a swing of her head, swept her hair over one shoulder. She never missed an opportunity to be at Herod’s side, making herself essential—more often at night than during the day.
    Herod was a man aware of his own allure, and he enjoyed making Lydia uncomfortable with the brush of a shoulder or touch of a hand on her arm. Always their conversation was about Mariamme, how Lydia would serve her well when they finally reached Judea and rescued her and his family from the fortress where they held off Antigonus’s men. Riva had hovered around their exchanges, narrow-eyed and suspicious. Did she wish Herod to herself, or was it Lydia’s future position with Mariamme that caused her envy?
    Riva had proven no friend to Lydia in these last months, taking every opportunity to criticize her to Herod, but the girl was much like Andromeda, and the likeness somehow softened Lydia’s heart toward her.
    But David, dear David . . . She had tried with all her strength to resist his friendship. He was like young Caesarion and wise teacher Samuel, both of whom she missed desperately, rolled into one. Friendship with David was far too easy, and therefore far too dangerous. She fought a losing battle. Already she relied on him; already she needed him more than he needed her.
    They put into port a half day’s journey southwest of Rome and switched to a barge that carried them the fifteen miles up the River Tiberis, which flowed through the heart of Rome. Every one of them clutched the rails now, watching the wonders of Rome revealed.
    David had warned her, though he had never seen Rome, only garnered stories from every source he could. The city was a forest of columns, a sea of tenements. It was pocked with vast expanses of open forums and stadiums. It could swallow a person whole.
    She had a task awaiting her in Jerusalem, but somehow it seemed she would fall into Rome and never emerge.
    As if he understood