Warring Desires (The Herod Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  Warring Desires

  Wanda Ann Thomas

  Copyright © 2015 by Wanda Ann Thomas

  Published by Wanda Ann Thomas of Maine. All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

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  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  Jerusalem 39BC

  Harassed by the snores of hundreds of sleeping priests and Levites, Gabriel Onias crept out of the inner sanctum of the Temple and halted at the top of stone stairs overlooking the outer courtyard. The smell of burnt offerings and incense lingered in the air. A sliver of brown smudged the horizon. The predawn lull made it easy to forget a formidable army sat in the hills above Jerusalem, poised to attack. An invasion Gabriel would welcome.

  Uneasy about the coming day, he threaded his way past elderly priests stretched out on soft couches and younger men dozing on fringed cushions. Reaching the last step, he knelt beside James Onias, set down a silver goblet, and shook his cousin’s shoulder.

  James’s eyelids fluttered open. “Go away.”

  Gabriel held onto his patience. If anyone had reason to be unhappy, it was James. “I don’t want to serve in the Temple any more than you do, thanks to your father’s meddling. But there’s no sense making this more difficult than it needs to be. The officers will be here at any moment.”

  James tugged a thin blanket up under his chin, and stared back with sad black eyes. “How drunk was I?”

  Gabriel smiled. “You insisted on guarding the Temple keys.”

  James bolted upright. “The keys?” He clasped his head. “Fickle Fortuna, my skull feels like it is about to split in half.”

  Gabriel retrieved the goblet of water and held it out. “This might help.”

  Unsteady hands clutched the vessel. James’s groping mouth sucked down the water too fast. “The Temple keys?” he choked out. “I don’t know why I’d want them.”

  Fond of James despite his prickly nature, Gabriel chuckled. “You insisted that the future chief doorkeeper should have charge of the keys. You became quite belligerent. Totaphath gave up trying to reason with you.”

  “My father shouldn’t take the office of doorkeeper from Totaphath. The old man has held the office for twenty years. I don’t want the honor.”

  A foul taste filled Gabriel’s mouth. Cousin Simeon was pushing for Gabriel to become the Director of the Weekly Course, a position that should go to an elder. Not that Simeon Onias cared about anyone except himself.

  James’s scowl grew dark. “If I get drunk often enough, High Priest Hasmond might insist the duty go to someone more respectable.”

  “You’ll grow old and fat using that strategy.”

  James plopped backward onto a blue-fringed cushion and winced. “I feel two thousand years old already.”

  A cock crowed in the distance. Priests and Levites rose from the surrounding beds and hurriedly dressed in white linen trousers and long-sleeved tunics, tying girdles fashioned of blue, purple, and scarlet thread about their waist. A scattering of men donned all-black garments, signifying they had a physical defect that disqualified them from offering up sacrifices.

  A handful of barefoot, white-robed priests padded toward them. The court officers. Gabriel used to wear his priestly robes with pride, but not now.

  “Get up,” Gabriel prodded, shoving a waded-up black robe at his cousin. “Your cushion is on top of the compartment holding the keys.”

  James groaned, rolled off the blue pillow, climbed to his feet, and shoved a leg into his trousers.

  Gabriel pushed aside the cushion, grabbed the metal ring attached to a polished marble slab, and slid the heavy block to the side. His hand hovered over seven brass keys scattered haphazardly across a hollowed-out compartment.

  Gabriel didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to take part in the Temple rituals. Not with Cousin Simeon grasping for power and using Gabriel’s family to do his dirty work.

  He felt a heavy presence and glanced over his shoulder.

  His father, in the company of six Temple officers, stared back, eyes clouded with strain and caution. His father held out his hand. “The keys, Son.”

  Son. Gabriel was amazed one short word could be so loaded with hurt and betrayal. Was it only a year ago he had held his father in the highest esteem?

  His father sighed. “Cousin Simeon is family.”

  Gabriel scooped up the keys and dropped them into his father’s hand. “Don’t defend him.”

  The color drained from his father’s face.

  Gabriel marched past the over-interested stares of his fellow priests.

  His younger brother, Leonidas, intercepted him. “Father didn’t want to be made Temple Treasurer. Cousin Simeon insisted.”

  Cousin Simeon. The man destroyed everything he touched. His father could bow to Cousin Simeon, but Gabriel wouldn’t be pushed a step farther.

  Gabriel slung his arm around Leonidas’s shoulder and forced a smile. “You should be celebrating your first week serving as a priest instead of worrying about Father and me.”

  Leonidas combed his fingers through his unruly hair. “I’m terrified the lots will fall on me, and I will make a mess of the sacred tasks.”

  Gabriel remembered being twenty years old and feeling the same when he took up his priestly duties. The daily drawing of the slips of paper choosing the priest who would do the work had always been the most exciting part of the day. “Don’t get yourself upset for nothing. The morning offering only requires twenty-four priests. There are over seven hundred men in our course. You’re not likely to be chosen.”

  Leonidas cracked his knuckles and fidgeted in place. “How many times have the lots fallen on you?”

  Glad for the distraction, Gabriel counted back. The priests and Levites were divided into twenty-four courses, or patrols. Each patrol served in the Temple two times a year, plus the three festival weeks, when all twenty-four courses of priests were needed to accommodate the thousands of sacrifices offered up by the festival pilgrims.

  He waggled four fingers in front of Leonidas’s nose. “I’m twenty-seven, so out of the thirty-five weeks I’ve stood for selection, the lots have only fallen on me four times.”

  Gabriel prayed he wouldn’t be chosen to offer up the sacrifices this week. Not with the blackness eating at his soul.

  Andrew, who was two years younger than Gabriel, approached, carrying two small torches. He slapped one into Gabriel’s hand. “Father is heartbroken over your estrangement.”

  “Support father if you feel you must,” Gabriel replied softly, not wanting to argue with his brother. “But respect my decision not to.”

  Leonidas stepped between them. “It’s time to go.”

  They hurried through the Chamber of the Hearth and joined the members of their course filing out of the Chamber of the Flame.

  The white-walled Temple sat nestled inside a larger stone complex. Half the patrol walked along one side of the Temple. Gabriel and his brothers proceeded down the eastern cor
ridor into the glare of the rising sun. Turning the south corner, they came face-to-face with the other patrol.

  “Is all well?” the western patrol called out.

  “All is well,” the priests around Gabriel answered, but he remained silent.

  The Temple officers, his father included, stood at the door to the Royal Stoa. High Priest Hycranus, flanked by the Captain of the Temple and the three Temple Overseers, emerged from the royal compound and descended into the midst of the priests and Levites.

  Newly appointed the Temple Overseer, Cousin Simeon preened and smoothed his robes, glorying in his promotion. Beelzebub in the flesh couldn’t be more obnoxious or pleased with himself. The hateful man aspired to be Captain of the Temple, the powerful office one breath away from the office of High Priest. Gabriel was sure the nation would descend to new lows under Cousin Simeon’s care.

  Cousin Simeon shot a smug look at Gabriel.

  Gabriel’s skin crawled. What was the snake up to now? He had hinted today would be memorable. Gabriel planned to push back.

  A young priest presented the copper urn holding the lots to the Director of the Weekly Course, Tomas, an odious man who was fond of strong drink and worldly goods. Gabriel's friends had been doubly disappointed when Gabriel refused to take the esteemed post and it had gone to Winebibber the Weak, as Tomas was known. Winebibber reached inside the urn and drew out a folded slip of paper.

  Gabriel held his breath.

  “Matthias ben Tobias,” Winebibber called out.

  The country priest, who held the dubious distinction of being the shortest priest of their course, stepped forward, wearing a smile appropriate to the honor of being selected to offer the sacrifices at the Lord’s altar. Gabriel was happy for the man. He had always counted it honor when the lots fell on him. But now he didn’t want to have anything to do with High Priest Hasmond, Cousin Simeon, or his father. They were corrupt leaders, not worthy of the holy garments they wore.

  More names were called, until twenty men stood separated from the rest. Winebibber the Weak paused, cleared his throat, and glanced toward the Temple officers. Cousin Simeon may have nodded back, but it was hard to tell since the insufferable man was rocking side to side.

  Gabriel’s unease ticked upward.

  The director reached into the urn, drew out a slip of paper, and announced the name of the priest selected to clean the ashes from the altar. “Leonidas Onias.”

  Gabriel winced for his brother’s sake.

  Leonidas paled and backed away. “I can’t recall a thing I’m supposed to do.”

  Andrew caught Leonidas by the elbow. “Don’t forget to wash your hands at the brazen laver before touching the sacred vessels.”

  Leonidas nodded frantically.

  “Remember to lean the coal-shovel against the inclined plank,” Andrew added, giving Leonidas a push.

  Leonidas dug in his heels, looking miserable and unsure.

  Gabriel coaxed Andrew aside, and put a steadying arm around Leonidas’s shoulder. “Settle down.”

  “I don’t want to bring shame upon the Lord’s sacred services,” Leonidas whispered.

  Gabriel regretted neglecting his duty. He ought to have spent more time preparing his brother for today, but he had been too caught up in his grief since...since Talitha’s death. The soft ache that never went away flared, threatening to drag him down to a place of throbbing, soul-crushing pain. He swallowed. “You will do fine. Your fellow priests will help.”

  “Step forward, you simple fool,” Cousin Simeon called out impatiently.

  Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the sour-faced man. Cousin Simeon smiled back. Something about the superior smirk raised Gabriel’s hackles.

  Leonidas blew out a long breath and trudged toward the knot of chosen priests. “I suppose it was too much to hope you’d start without me.”

  A ripple of amused laughter rose from the ranks of the priests and Levites. One Temple officer even smiled, although the rest continued to frown. Gabriel usually enjoyed Leonidas’s humor.

  High Priest Hasmond turned red in the face. “Pick the next name,” he demanded.

  Winebibber plucked up another lot, fumbled it between his fingers, sending the slip of paper fluttering to the floor.

  “Poor Winebibber,” someone said, “He’s probably worried High Priest Hasmond will lop off his nose or ears.”

  Gabriel’s stomach soured. He was revolted anew by memories of the bloody atrocity. Eighteen months ago a foreign army had invaded Jerusalem and made Hasmond Matthias High Priest, displacing his uncle. The two men had been at war for years, and in an act stemming from either temporary madness or utter ruthlessness, Hasmond had cut off his uncle’s ears. The disfigurement ensured his uncle could never again sit as High Priest. Though not particularly fond of the man, Gabriel abhorred the disgraceful treatment and was ashamed to call Hasmond the Lord’s High Priest.

  “Keep your amusement to yourself,” Andrew hissed.

  Winebibber retrieved the lot. “Andrew Onias.”

  Gabriel’s pulse jumped. It had to be a simple coincidence, nothing more.

  Andrew stepped forward.

  Another lot was drawn. “Gabriel Onias.” Astonished gasps ripped through the ranks of the priests. Expressions ranged from awe to fright.

  “Simple coincidence be damned,” Gabriel growled locking eyes with Cousin Simeon. The slimy schemer glowed with prideful satisfaction.

  Cousin Simeon tipped, directing Gabriel to give up gracefully and go stand with his brothers and the other priests chosen to offer up the morning sacrifice.

  “Join us,” Andrew urged.

  Leonidas’s eyes couldn’t get any larger. “This is wrong, isn’t it?”

  “Be quiet,” Andrew said irritably.

  Leonidas cracked his knuckles. “What should we do?”

  “Silence!” High Priest Hasmond admonished.

  Rooted in place, Gabriel felt the weight of hundreds of stares. His priestly garments chafed. The rays of the rising sun glinted off the brazen altar blindingly. The cold stones of the Temple compound closed around him. A place that should provide solace instead brought anguish.

  Gabriel glanced between his fellow priests and his father and Simeon. If Gabriel relented Cousin Simeon would win. All of Jerusalem would take notice of the Onias family. The more superstitious among them would assume today’s drawing of the lots was a sign that the Lord favored the Onias family, whose ancestors had long ago reigned as High Priests of Israel. But if Gabriel refused to join in this farce, he would besmirch in a different fashion, the glorious traditions handed down by Moses. His fellow priests would never look at him the same way. Worse, the rift between him and his father and brother would widen.

  “Don’t do anything rash, Son,” his father pleaded.

  “Take your place, you young fool,” Cousin Simeon ordered.

  Gabriel’s loathing burst into full-fledged hatred. He turned his back on High Priest Hasmond, Cousin Simeon, and his father, brushed past gap-mouthed priests, and marched out through a gate guarded by his cousin James.

  Absent their normal busyness, the Temple’s outer courts appeared bleak and worn.

  James chased after him. “That was glorious! Absolutely glorious!”

  “Shut your mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going home. That would be wonderfully scandalous.”

  Priests and Levites lived, slept, and ate on Temple grounds during their week of service. But Gabriel didn’t have time for regret.

  He wheeled around. James almost ran him over. Gabriel grabbed his cousin by the shoulders. “I don’t know how long I’ll be away from Jerusalem. Promise me you will protect my sister from—”

  “You’re leaving the city?” James asked, his face shifting between surprise and concern. “Where are you going?”

  Gabriel stared westward, in the direction of the army in the hills surrounding Jerusalem, an army commanded by Herod of Idumea. Forced t
o flee for his life when Parthia invaded, Herod had returned six months ago with an impressive force, determined to overthrow High Priest Hasmond. Gabriel glanced at James. “I plan to join Herod’s army.”

  “Army? You? Have you ever lifted a sword?”

  The doubt in James’s eyes gave Gabriel pause. “I learn quickly.”

  “If you were talking about becoming a baker, or an innkeeper, or a physician, I’d gladly agree. But soldiers kill people. How many people have you killed lately? Of course, you probably won’t have to concern yourself with that, because some giant gladiator type will probably cut you down before you take two steps onto the battlefield.”

  Discomforted, Gabriel directed his concerns to more immediate matters. “Can I trust you to watch over my sister?”

  James sobered. “I won’t allow anyone or anything to harm Elizabeth. But I would like to know what you hope to accomplish by joining Herod’s army?”

  Gabriel stared up at the stark lines of the Temple. He’d thought long and hard about where best to pledge his loyalty, as well as how to thwart Cousin Simeon. “I’d rather see Herod rule the land than tolerate another moment under our corrupt leaders.”

  “Herod’s no angel.”

  “He can’t possibly be any worse than your father and Hasmond.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  Feet slapped on stone behind them, and Leonidas raced toward them. Gabriel groaned.

  “I couldn’t stay,” Leonidas said, winded, stopping next to them.

  Gabriel didn’t want to cause more strife in the family. “You should go back,”

  Leonidas scraped his unruly mop of hair away from his boyish face. “I won’t return unless you do.”

  James hitched his thumb in Gabriel’s direction. “Your brother plans to join Herod’s army. What do you have to say to that?”

  Not for the first time in his life, Gabriel wanted to stuff a couch, or some other suitably large object, in James’s mouth.

  Leonidas’s innocent smile made a swift reappearance. “Herod’s army? When do we leave?”