Advent Calendar – 19 December
Nativity Stories: Herod
Shifting. Things are always shifting, someone’s always altering position, moving out of sight, building underground. A merchant buys another, and with his wealth he’s stronger and others listen to what he wants. A wild man, who lives out in the desert, speaks strange new prophecy, and all the credulous flock out to him, entranced, inspired, becoming fearless. A woman whispers poison in my counsellor’s ear and turns him against me, to plot to bring me down. Nothing is stable, least of all my rule. I must watch this kingdom of mine, this squalid little patch of Empire I was invited to rule, squeezed between the desert and the Western Sea, so far from Rome where once I lived, a favourite of Caesar’s court.
It’s religion I fear most, although the people are sure I am pious. I’ve built a Temple. A new Solomon in their midst. My high priests keep the proper faith, and tell the people how faithful their King is. But there is always some stray word in scripture that leaks out, muttered darkly, some word against the rich, the powerful, those who rule without a care for widow or orphan. Treacherous implications. There are magicians and enthusiasts, and women who hang around my Temple longing for Messiahs to be born. They’ve waited long enough; let them wait a while longer, till I am safely gone, till I have died in my own bed in my own sleep, or so I pray the Lord each night.
I feel the shifting underfoot again. For two days now, I’ve had reports of Magi come to Jerusalem, spouting nonsense about a new star rising, portending the birth of the Messiah. How should foreigners know what’s going on beneath my nose? But still, I called together my chief priests and scribes and asked, not that I believed a word of these star-gazers, just where should we expect any Messiah to be born?
“In Bethlehem,” they said. Then came out with chapter and verse. A ruler to shepherd Israel. I saw at once that no people can serve two masters, and sent for the Magi to come before me. There were three of them and I confess I was impressed for just a moment by their velvet robes, their beards, their demeanour. Haughty, as if they were privy to heaven’s intention. It gave me pause. My palace has deep foundations but I thought I heard a crack when they gave the date this star appeared. Two months already, and not a word from my own men.
I need to proceed with caution. The people love all talk of a Messiah to topple Rome, and with it my own royal house. I told these eastern visitors I too wished to worship the new child-king, as would any faithful child of Israel. Could their star-gazing find the lad, and bring me word of his exact location?
They left that night, and now I wait for what they’ll find, and where and who. There are always children being born, and dying. Wells run dry, and sickness spreads all too quickly, especially in the dead of winter, when nothing fresh is found for man or beast. I wait, feeling the ground shifting, waiting for it to settle.
A medallion of Herod the Great from the Promptuarium Iconum Insigniorum, 16th century