And Herod just sits there, signing his papers on his throne, in his garden, in his bed, in bath and at toilet. Signing his name to pronounce their deaths, one after another after thousands, as though death by Herod were as natural as the breath of Yahweh.
Death IS as natural as the breath of Yahweh and it presents itself when it chooses to present itself. Herod just made it happen sooner for a lot of us. I'm amazed he didn't make it happen sooner for me. There was no one in Israel he wanted to kill more.
He has strangled me, and yet he's made me live, for I am Mariamne, the chosen one, the rightful protector, Last of the Lillies, daughter to a murdered king, sister to a murdered high priest, now mother to murdered princes. The Corpse Bride, deified and defiled nightly in his chamber so he might know connubial bliss in death he never got from me in life.
Do I consent to it? Did I ever consent to anything of Herod? Anything to my person? Anything to untold thousands I knew and saw? What matter my trials next to their's? Until Herod killed them, their lives were but dust while Herod neglected them, they were but dust after Herod paid attention. But when Herod neglected me, I was their Queen, beloved by all crowds, bedecked with garlands, every appearance in the street a triumph. I lived on not for myself, and certainly not for Herod, I lived for them. I live on for them and stay in this world so I might aid the passing of Herod and the coming of the Messiah.
For I have just one message to whisper in Herod's ear. He hears it every day now, and every day the voice in his head afflicts him as no lamentation for the dead ever can. "Hillel is loved."
Hillel, you see, was supposed to be executed. The Sanhedrin President was supposed to be executed years ago, but Hillel cannot die. Herod the Great always knew that the moment he touches Hillel is the moment the people of Israel demand his head on the pike next to the Great Sage. But he thought he had Hillel cornered. His men were boils among the Sanhedrin, hydra heads with yarmulkes, even if he could not pronounce death upon Hillel, Hillel's own organization could, and Hillel had committed a sin against the state so egregious that the Sanhedrin had to pronounce his death.
Hillel, great sinner that he is, blocked an idol of his King from adorning the Temple with his own person, seemingly determined to make his person into a carcass. Herod demanded nothing but his resignation, yet the message was clear. Everyone knew what it meant. Hillel must die, and the vipers of the Sanhedrin must pronounce sentence.
And Hillel? What does the saint do? He orders them to execute him posthaste and make Shammai, his opposing rival in every manner, the new President! This slight man, a sagely scholar who barely reaches the letters of Herod's German guards, is our greatest politician since Queen Esther! He knows that if the Sanhedrin kills him, his blood be on them and on their families. The Sanhedrin make Shammai President, but they not only don't kill him, they vote him Shammai's old position of Holy Father!
Were all ten plagues to afflict just this man, he would survive them and thrive. He, not I, is the true anointed sovereign! He may well be the Messiah we await!
And yet were he offered the crown of God, he is too wise not to refuse it. He has something more actionable than the divine blessing: he has the loyalty of his people, he has the trust of his people, he built an empire out of love neither I nor Herod had any idea how to build.
He is not the deliverer, but were there one in our time, this combination of prophet and heretic is the truest incarnation we ever shall know. Everything which Herod built from fear and death, Hillel built through love of life.
Herod knows all this, and this, not Augustus's wound, is what drove him mad. Herod's mind calculates all possibilities like an abacus, and yet he cannot account for how Hillel built a parallel soveriegnty to his own of spirit and love. For all time, Herod has believed there is no truth, there is no word, there is no good or evil, there is merely sense and pleasure, and the senseless pleasure of watching others not feel the pleasure you feel. Only in Hillel did Herod finally realize: there is more.
I know Herod's end, his end is with me, and it is momentary. When he is finished with me tonight, his guards will deposit me back into the vat of honey, and Herod will jump in with me.
End of Volume 1
