The Memoirs of Herod Agrippa II

Chapter THREE - My Upbringing

As I have said, Herod married many times but the only real love of his life had been his second wife, Mariamme, the daughter of Hyrcanus and last of the Hasmoneans. The marriage gave Herod the authority and lineage he so desired. His jealousy slowly drove her mad until she jumped form the roof of his palace to her death. Her body he kept in honey for seven years in a room in his apartments before allowing her to be interred. These two had four children apart from my father; his elder brother who, by precedence, took the family name of Herod, a younger brother, Aristobulus, and two daughters Herodias and Mariamme. My father stood out as having the only real Roman name, stemming as it did from that Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa who was Octavius' general at the battle of Actium. My father, Herod Agrippa I, took both these names and thus I have within me Augustus' famous saying that his love for Herod was second only to his love for Agrippa and that Agrippa's love for Herod was second only to his love for Augustus.

My mother also inherited the Herodian blood. Herod's two daughters both married their first cousins. Cypros married Antipater, the son of Herod's sister, Salomé and had three sons; Antipas, the eldest, Herod and Alexander and two daughters; Alexandra and my mother Cypros. This Chipros is our Kufra which the Greeks call Cypros and is the flower of the Henna. My mother was, like her namesake of three generations earlier, a golden skinned and dark-haired beauty. She also inherited Herodian stamina which stood her in good stead during the ups and downs of her life with Agrippa. Without her steadiness he might have gone under half a dozen times as I have shown.

In our family there were also five children; two boys, myself and little Drusus. I still think of him today as little Drusus. He never really grew properly and died of dryness and vomiting when he was only ten. He was a delicate child of great kindness and beauty and was the only member of our entire family that had fair hair which curled naturally in Roman locks. He was named, of course, after Tiberius' much loved brother and his father Drusus Nero. The three girls were Drusilla, Mariamme and Bernice. Of Bernice I will have much to say later.

I was born in the thirteenth year of the reign of the Emperor Tiberius, that of the consuls Calpurnius Piso and Licinius Crassus Frugi at the inconvenient hour of three in the morning. This was not considered a good omen. After midnight and before dawn. I was fed at the breast which, although not unusual in the east, was not thought proper for a Roman matriarch. My mother, Cyprus, thought nothing of this and fed all four of her children. I spent my young childhood in Jerusalem and Jerusalem gave me those invaluable early memories which other places never quite dislodge. To me Jerusalem was then, and in so many ways still is, the world. Even before I was trusted to walk out alone, I saw its streets as I craned my neck to glance through the curtains of our carriage and later I walked its dirt and its cobbles. I still recall the light and the brilliant white of the stonework. And the noise of many tongues and the clatter of trade and the myriad of pungent smells from dung to spices. You could tell the time of day by the sounds and smells from within the walls of our palace; in the morning baking bread and the noise of boys on the way to their lessons arose from the streets below, later the clatter of trade, the shouts of merchants selling their wares and the rolling of carts on the cobbles and the reek of the factories. In the evenings the tangy smoke of evening meals and frying herbs. Then, slowly, the silence and lighter smells of the night.

The background to all of this, of course, was the cycle of the Jewish calendar and the usual routines of childhood and tutelage.

But for me there was also something else, for behind this eternal circle governed by the sun and stars, behind the certainties of the months and years, lay the whispers and winks of courtiers and captains that beckoned plots and dangers from moment to moment. I knew of Rome and Romans almost from my first breath. The sight of uniforms and the tensions of palace intrigue also formed the background to my earliest days.

At first I knew little of this, hidden away from the dangerous world of the court in the women's quarters of the palace. My mother sang Aramaic snatches over my cradle and that was the language of the nursery and of my nurse's songs also. The slaves also muttered it as they did their daily tasks. Marcus Quintilianus, who I met later in Rome, wrote that it was important that a child's nurse spoke correctly and be of good character. My parents were careful to choose a nurse with some education, one who spoke good Latin and, a little later, I had a slave, Douris who, like so many slaves in the eastern empire, was Greek and from him I learnt that language also. And, in the background, humming its hypnotic chants was the Hebrew of the great book and the temple. They chose well and I grew up speaking the babel of the eastern empire. They say that men can speak two tongues with equal vigour and can dream in both without knowing the difference. This is not true for there always remains one at the very roots of being, a kind of linguistic home which colours the world. For me, this was always Aramaic. I did indeed hear Latin from my earliest moments and it was often spoken in my father's presence. And, after all, I was later educated in Rome and spoke it throughout my young life, both the Latin of the court and the Latin of the street. Probably I spoke it better than Aramaic. Indeed, it is said of me that this is true. Aramaic is my mother tongue. I had it from the start. It is my own. Latin found me later, imposed by the circumstances of my life and so very well imposed that it took over my very being and coiled itself around the Aramaic at the centre of my heart. It is also the language of my innocence, of those happy times before the weight of the world begins to rest itself on unwilling shoulders.

My father I hardly saw during these the earliest days of my life. My little world was ringed by the women and particularly Narsias who dressed me and saw to it that my meals were safe by nibbling at them first. I was early to learn of the dangers of the life I was to lead. She was a woman of many superstitions and much taken to prayer and exhortations. The lessons she taught stayed with me ever. They were mostly warnings: Zeal is fit only for wise men but is found mostly in fools. A little drink aids the mind, a lot destroys it.

There soon came a time that, as the oldest male child of the king I had to appear in public for the first time. This occasion came on the day of my sixth birthday. I was, like many in my family, tall for my years and the people always fawned on a child as he had yet the opportunity to treat them ill. I was bathed in perfumed water and my body sprinkled with oils. Then they dressed me in the finest linen and placed sandals on my feet made of leather with catches of gold. Rich but simple as opulence was frowned in the temple precincts. I was accompanied by my uncle Antipator, the oldest of father's brothers as is the custom. He had by then reached the four score years and ten promised by the texts and even the additional ten years hoped for by the virtuous and shuffled along behind me perhaps annoyed at being overtaken by one so young.

This first visit to the temple of my grandfather was an event that left a profound impression as it must to any who visit. I had seen the washed white splendour of its stones from afar but approaching it was quite different. We left the palace on foot and walked along the street under the old north wall, acclaimed on all sides by a considerable crowd. This was my first real exposure to the public and I must say that I relished it, holding my head high. The noise in the street was incredible and did not stop on our entry to the temple. There was quite a deal of trading going at the entry to inner courts; they were exchanging money and selling animals and birds for the sacrifices. Many folk who had come up from the land around and even from further afield after making journeys of months were meeting friends and asking advice and information. I was allowed only as far as the court of Israel but from there the porch that fronted the Holy of Holies towered into the blue. I had seen it from the palace all my life but close up it was a powerful presence. I stood with Antipator in front of the altar as my peace offering was brought in; two perfect white lambs which, as I, were firstborns, along with two loaves of new wheat bread also white. This was a peace offering. The lambs were led to the altar in surprising silence and their throats cut, the blood escaping in runnels round the side. The flesh was then cut and placed on the fire where it was slowly cooked while prayers were recited. After this, a portion is given to the priests, and the rest eaten by myself as supplicant and my family which in this case being the whole people was distributed both inside and outside the precinct along with the bread. This peace offering is voluntary and, in the age of the messiah, as there will be no more sin, will be the only class of offering brought to the Temple.

I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter. More below. Votes and comments always most welcome.