protectively before her, so that the dark whirling of her hair had above
it as well as beneath it a spinning rainbow of color.
“I think I know what she’ll do next,” Claudia said, leaning to her right
to speak to Cornelius above the steadily mounting volume and frenzy of
the music.
Antipas, too, must have anticipated it. “The other arm!” he shouted, as
he leaned forward, his eyes blazing with lechery. “Raise the other arm,
my dear child!”
But Salome did not obey the Tetrarch. Instead, as she came pirouetting
nearer him, she lowered the arm she had just raised, and the two
whirling circles of color merged into one fast, revolving gossamer
flame. Faster the girl spun, and faster, faster the musicians played,
and higher swelled their instruments’ invitation to abandoned revelry.
Antipas, who had sat back when the girl failed to heed his demand,
reached for his goblet, gulped his wine, and was replacing the
slender-stemmed glass when suddenly Salome, whirling hardly two paces
from his table, lifted both arms high into the air. The transparent
veils twisted upward with them to form above the girl’s swirling black
hair a spinning canopy of weaving and shifting bright colors.
Once more the Tetrarch overturned his goblet, and the wine spilled
across the table. But when a servant came racing to his aid, Antipas
waved him away. The Tetrarch’s amazed eyes had focused upon the dancing
girl; he would permit nothing to obstruct, even for an instant, his view
of her.
The spinning Salome in the circle of light from the wall lamp was nude
from the small gossamer triangle of her loins’ covering to the crown of
her head, and in the rapidity of her turning she appeared to be entirely
divested of clothing.
Antipas caught at the edge of the table and pushed himself, swaying, to
his feet. “Nearer, child, nearer!” he shrieked. “Come closer! Come
closer to us! Come....” But his frenzied words were choked in a swirling
cloud of silken transparencies, for his stepdaughter had let go all her
veils and one had dipped full into the flushed, round face of the
Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea.
As Antipas struggled to free himself of the clinging, vision-obscuring
fluff of silk, the guests around the tables grabbed merrily for the
descending veils. But by the time the Tetrarch had jerked the scarf away
from his face, Salome had already disappeared; she had darted across the
spotlighted mosaic floor into the enfolding privacy of the triclinium’s
antechamber. Behind her, her audience thundered its applause.
Moments later, before the birthday celebrants had settled completely
from the excitement of her dramatic exit, Salome, dressed as she had
been when she left to prepare for her dance, returned to the great
chamber and took her place beside her mother. Claudia, watching
discreetly, saw the Tetrarchess lightly squeeze the girl’s hand and bend
over to whisper into her ear.
Antipas sat up and beaming turned to face his stepdaughter. “My child,
you have pleased the Tetrarch immensely,” he said, as he rubbed his
plump hands together. “I had no idea that you could dance with such
grace and charm. Your dancing has far excelled the finest efforts of the
women of Arabia; it has added immeasurably to the pleasure of the
Tetrarch and his guests.” He reached for his goblet, swallowed the wine,
then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And now, my dear
daughter, you have but to name your reward for thus having entertained
so pleasantly the Tetrarch and our friends. Speak out, Salome. What
shall it be? A palace of your own beside the sea? A great pleasure yacht
with servants in shining livery and galley slaves to row it? Perchance a
long visit to Rome to renew your friendships in the capital, with a
handsome allowance to cover every gift your fancy may envision? Speak
up, now. Let your wish be known, and it shall be granted.”
“Even, Sire, to the half of your tetrarchy?”
Antipas blinked, hesitated a moment, and then his round face brightened.
“Yes, if you ask it, even to the half of the tetrarchy, though I should
think a marble palace or a yacht....”
“Have no fear, Sire,” Salome interrupted. “I wish not the half of your
tetrarchy or any part of it. Nor do I need or desire a marble palace or
a pleasure boat, or a trip at this time to Rome.”
“Ah, but I know what will please you,” Antipas spoke up. “A new
wardrobe, full of beautiful garments fashioned of the finest silks
brought from the Orient or woven on the looms in Phoenicia....”
“No, not gowns or shoes or houses or yachts or journeys to Rome or gold
and silver....”
“But come, my dear child, you must be repaid for the pleasure you have
given us. I beg of you, name your any desire....”
“And the Tetrarch will grant it?” Salome stood up, facing the ruler of
Galilee and Peraea, just beyond her mother. “You swear it, Sire?”
“By the beard of the High Priest, I swear it, Salome. I shall grant
whatever you ask of me, even to the half of the tetrarchy.”
“Then, Sire,” she said, smiling demurely, “my request is simple and will
rob the Tetrarch’s treasury of not one denarius. It is my wish”—she
paused and looked the happily smiling Antipas full in his round
face—“that the Tetrarch present to me on a silver platter the head of
the Wilderness preacher called John the Baptizer.”
Claudia and Cornelius had been leaning out over their plates, avidly
following the conversation of the girl and her stepfather.
“By all the gods!” Claudia whispered, without taking her eyes from the
still calmly smiling Salome. “Now I understand. Herodias, by the
Bountiful Mother....”
But she said no more, for Antipas was pulling to his feet. “Surely,
child, I have not heard you correctly. Surely you would not wish to have
the head of a man....”
“But you did hear correctly, Sire. And you have sworn to grant me my
wish. I ask only for the head of the Prophet John.”
The Tetrarch, braced against the table’s edge, looked to his right and
then left along the tables. The eyes of his guests were fastened on
their plates; not one face was raised to help him. Antipas stood,
drained of all levity; the impact of the girl’s inhuman request, so
simply and heartlessly presented, had sobered him. He turned again to
Salome and tried to affect a smile.
“Were you a man, a soldier, perhaps, seeking revenge upon an enemy ...
but for a beautiful young woman of such charm and culture, who has
danced for us so delightfully”—he shook his head sadly—“such an utterly
strange request for a beautiful woman.” He seemed to be thinking aloud,
talking more to himself than to the girl. “To want the head of a prophet
of Israel, a man held in such esteem by so many of our Jewish subjects,
a prophet who may indeed have been sent of Israel’s God....” He broke
off, shaking his head as if in deep perplexity.
Claudia, watching Salome now, saw Herodias reach out and gently grasp
her daughter’s arm. The girl, still standing, smiled cynically and
tossed her head. “Nevertheless, Sire, that is my request. If, however,
the Tetrarch wishes to dishonor his oath before this company and refuse
me....”
The Tetrarch banged his fist on the table top. “The Tetrarch never
dishonors an oath!” he shouted. “He withdraws no promises he makes.” He
turned to face the two guardsmen at the door, the soldiers who had
brought the Wilderness prophet into the banquet room and had escorted
him back to the dungeon. “Guardsmen, you have heard the request of the
Princess Salome. Go you now into the dungeon and carry out her request.”
He paused. They stood stiffly at attention, awaiting his final command.
“Do you understand?”
The men glanced at one another, then faced the Tetrarch. “We understand,
Sire,” one said.
“Then go.”
Quickly the two strode out of the chamber; their footsteps echoed as
they marched down the hall. Antipas slumped on his couch, then lowered
his head between his hands. Salome took her seat. She smiled as she and
her mother whispered. The guests kept their places and were silent; the
servants, moving about to replenish the wine goblets, walked
noiselessly.
“The Tetrarch is making a monstrous mistake,” Cornelius said.
“Because he’s giving in to Herodias?” Claudia inquired.
“Because he’s ordering the prophet’s death.”
“Then you”—a faint smile crossed her face—“are afraid of the Jews’ one
god?”
“I could be,” he answered unhesitatingly. “But that’s not my reason. I’m
sure it’s....” He stopped. A servant had approached the Tetrarch’s
couch.
“The Centurion Longinus?” The Tetrarch raised his bulky frame to a
sitting position. “Indeed, bring him to us.”
At the sound of the Tetrarch’s words, Claudia looked up; her eyes
followed the retreating servant. Antipas turned to her. “The Centurion
Longinus has just arrived at Machaerus,” he said; “I’ve sent for him.
Shall we make a place for him between you and Centurion Cornelius
perhaps, my dear?” He grinned. “He must be famished from the long
journey to this forsaken outpost.”
A moment later the servant escorted the centurion to the Tetrarch’s
couch. Antipas greeted him cordially, presented him to the diners, and
ordered the servants to set him a place at the table. When after a
minute he was settled beside her, Claudia found his hand on the couch
and squeezed it hard. “It’s so wonderful to have you here,” she said. “I
can hardly wait to hear the news from Rome.”
“I can hardly wait to be with you ... alone,” he said. “It’s been so
long, and I had no idea I’d find you here.” He turned to Cornelius at
his right. “I’ve got much to tell you, Centurion,” he announced, “and,
no doubt, much to hear from you too.”
“But what on earth are you doing at Machaerus, Longinus? Where have you
been before this?”
“Tiberias,” he answered, “I came there after landing at Caesarea. I had
orders from Sejanus to convey to the Tetrarch. When I reached Tiberias
and found that he and his guests had departed for Machaerus, I set out
to follow. It was urgent that I see the Tetrarch as quickly as possible;
I didn’t dare await his return to his palace.”
Antipas had overheard. “We are happy that you came, Centurion, but what
mission could you have that would be so urgent?” He smiled, and his
manner was most agreeable. “A new style of glassware, perhaps, that you
wish to sell to the Tetrarch?”
“No, Sire, nothing to sell you ... now, at any rate. It’s a more
important mission. I’m coming to you from the Prefect Sejanus who is
sending you instructions in the name of the Emperor, for whom he is
acting in this case and after conferring with Tiberius at Capri. I
assure you it is important and urgent, and I desire an audience with you
at the first moment you may be available, Sire, in order to transmit to
you the instructions from Rome.”
“Indeed, Centurion”—the Tetrarch’s flippant manner had disappeared; his
countenance, at the centurion’s mention of Sejanus and the Emperor, was
suddenly grave—“if it is that urgent, we can leave the dining chamber at
once. But that would cause a lot of talk, I suppose. Must you confer
with me in secret, Centurion? These are all dear friends, my wife, the
Procurator’s wife, Centurion Cornelius. Is it necessary that the
information you bring me from Rome be kept from them?”
“Indeed, no, Sire. In fact, they would know soon anyway, as quickly as
you acted. And the Prefect desires that you act immediately.” He paused.
Antipas nodded. “In fact, Sire, it is fortunate that you are here at
Machaerus; your orders can be put into effect within minutes after they
have been issued. The Prefect’s instructions to you have to do with that
strange fellow we encountered along the Jordan as we were going to
Tiberias, the one you had arrested and brought here to be imprisoned,
you remember, the Wilderness prophet called John the Baptizer.”
“John the Baptizer!” The Tetrarch’s face had paled. Herodias, who had
been listening, leaned forward; her countenance was a mask. “But what of
John,” the Tetrarch began, “what...?” He paused, licked his dry lips,
and swallowed.
“Sire, it’s nothing to be unduly concerned about,” Longinus replied.
“It’s only a policy matter. You know that Sejanus and Tiberius are
always stressing the importance of keeping the Jews happy, at least to
the extent that they won’t attempt to revolt. And since John is so
popular among them, the Prefect believes that your release of the
prophet will be pleasing to the Jews and will, to that extent,
strengthen Rome’s rule ... and the Tetrarch’s. There’s no point in
needlessly offending them, you see. That’s why he sent me to you with
the suggestion, Sire, that you release John at once. He has prepared
notices, to be signed by you, for posting in Tiberias, Jerusalem,
Caesarea....”
The Tetrarch said nothing but buried his face in his hands. Herodias,
erect and unmoving, stared straight ahead.
“But, Sire....”
Longinus said no more, for Claudia had suddenly grasped his arm. He
turned and stared toward the doorway through which, a moment before the
centurion’s arrival, the two palace guardsmen had disappeared. Now the
two were returning. They advanced straight toward the Tetrarch. One man
was carrying, chest high and at arms’ length, a large silver tray of the
type used by servants at Machaerus for serving food. On the tray was a
rounded, gory mass.
“But that can’t be for me, surely,” Longinus whispered to her. “It looks
like raw meat, bloody.... Great Jove!” The man bearing the tray had come
close enough for them to see his ghastly offering. “By all the great and
little gods!” He twisted to face the girl, his expression suddenly
aghast. His voice, when at last he spoke, was hoarse and unbelieving.
“The Wilderness prophet?”
She nodded. “Yes, the Tetrarch had him beheaded ... just a moment ago,
perhaps even after you arrived here.” She turned her head to look away
from the guardsman’s horrifying burden.
But Longinus saw. The prophet’s head, with blood dripping from the stump
of the severed neck, lay on one ear in the tangled, gore-smeared mat of
his long, black hair. His beard, too, was blood-streaked, and his face
and forehead were smeared; blood had run down into the corners of his
eyes. Wide-open and set in staring rigidity, the eyes seemed to be
trying to communicate with him.
“Sire,” the guardsmen said, as he reached the table and held out the
profaned tray, “the Tetrarch’s orders have been carried out. The head of
the desert preacher....”
“No! No!” screamed Antipas, as he held up his right hand before his eyes
and pointed with the other toward his wife and her daughter. “Not here!
It’s ... it’s theirs! Put it there!”
The guardsman set the tray down in front of Salome, who glanced at it
idly and then lowered her head. Herodias stared unabashed at the pitiful
profanation before them, and then after a moment she, too, looked away.
Now the Tetrarch lowered his shielding hand and calmly turned to his
left to face Herodias and his stepdaughter. His demeanor, Longinus saw,
was suddenly changed. When he spoke his voice was calm, modulated. “The
Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea does not dishonor a promise made,” he
said. “My daughter, you have the reward you sought. Now what will you do
with it?”
The girl turned to stare an instant at her questioner. Then she glanced
again toward the head on the tray. Shock, nausea, sudden fear, horror
curdled her countenance, and she threw up a protecting hand to shut out
the fearful sight. “Give it to Mother!” she cried out, her voice shrill,
and tense. Jumping to her feet, she fled from the great chamber.
“Take it away!” Herodias screamed to a servant at her elbow. “Dispose of
it ... quickly!” Without a word to her husband, she reached for her wine
goblet and drank; then she drew up her feet, smoothed the skirt of her
glistening stola, and settled herself comfortably on her elbow.
Equally calm, Antipas leaned over to speak to Longinus. “I regret,
Centurion, that you didn’t reach Machaerus a few minutes earlier.
But....” He gestured with resignation, then sat back on his couch. He
was reaching for his wine glass when a palace servant approached,
bowing. The Tetrarch nodded to him. “Yes?”
“Sire, a delegation has just arrived; the men declare they were sent by
King Aretas. They maintain their mission is most urgent and they
petition—indeed, Sire, they demand—that the Tetrarch give them audience
this evening.”
“From King Aretas?” A heavy scowl darkened the Tetrarch’s full, round
face. “Most urgent, they say?” He was thoughtfully silent a moment. Then
he turned, glaring, to the obeisant servant. “Then bring them to us.”
“But, Sire”—the bowing man was rubbing his hands together nervously,
palpably fearful—“they suggested that perhaps the Tetrarch would wish to
receive them privately in his council chamber....”
“No! Who are they to tell the Tetrarch where he must receive them! Bring
them to us, at once!”
“Yes, Sire. Yes, immediately.” The timorous fellow was backing away,
bowing, as he rubbed his knuckles in his palm.
“Did you hear what the servant said?” Claudia whispered to Longinus, as
the Tetrarch twisted his heavy hulk the other way to watch the
retreating fellow. “I wonder....”
“Yes, so do I. And I’m sure Herodias does, too.” He turned to speak to
Cornelius on his right. “You heard the servant?” Cornelius nodded.
“Sounds like more trouble for the Tetrarch, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Cornelius agreed. “This seems to be a bad
night for the old fellow, a tough night, indeed.”
The representatives of the Arabian king were formally polite, rigidly
reserved.
“It is no pleasant mission on which we have been sent here, O Tetrarch
Herod,” the spokesman of the visiting Arabians announced, once they had
been presented to Antipas, “and we regret that we must speak as we have
been ordered to speak, Sire, and particularly that ears other than the
Tetrarch’s will hear the message we have been commanded to bring you
from His Majesty, King Aretas. But the Tetrarch has so ordered it, and
we must obey.” He paused, and from the fold of his robe pulled forth a
rolled document.
“Go on, speak,” Antipas told him. “The Tetrarch wishes on his
birthday”—he affected a grim smile—“that nothing be withheld from his
beloved wife and his guests. The Tetrarch is prepared to hear the King’s
message.”
The man nodded, and unrolled the document. “Sire, I have here the King’s
message to the Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea. But would not the
Tetrarch prefer to have it read to him privately and then later, if the
Tetrarch might still wish it, have it read to this assembled group?”
“Read it, now. Go on with it. Let us all hear the King’s message.”
“Very well, Sire.” He bowed and then, shifting his position so that the
light from the wall lamps fell more directly on the parchment, held it
out from him and began to read. But when the stiffly formal greeting was
concluded, he raised his eyes questioningly.
“Continue,” said the Tetrarch.
The man nodded, and once more his eyes returned to the out-held
document. “‘King Aretas declares that the Tetrarch Herod Antipas in
sending his faithful wife, the King’s beloved daughter, a bill of
divorcement, after having deprived her of the honors and privileges of
the Tetrarchess of Galilee and Peraea, which honors and privileges
without right he conferred upon her successor, has grievously injured
and insulted the King’s daughter, his royal house, and the person of the
King himself.’”
Claudia gently squeezed Longinus’ hand beside hers on the couch, but she
dared venture no whisper. Slyly, though, they both glanced toward
Herodias who sat eying the Arabian, a malevolent, frozen smile on her
plainly flushed face.
The reader looked up again, but only for an instant, and then resumed
his reading of the Arabian ruler’s grievances. “‘Now, therefore’”—he
cleared his throat—“‘King Aretas demands that the Tetrarch Herod Antipas
seek to make what amends he can by providing certain reparations to King
Aretas, the terms of which shall be agreed upon in conference of the
Tetrarch and his ministers with the King’s ministers who bear this
message. But King Aretas further demands that before such negotiations
are entered into, the Tetrarch Herod Antipas must put away or reduce to
second wife the woman he now calls Tetrarchess and restore to her
rightful place as Tetrarchess and first wife the King’s beloved
daughter. He further demands....’”
“‘_He_ demands!’ Everything is ‘_He_ demands’!” Herodias had sprung to
her feet, her eyes blazing, her shaking finger extended across the table
toward the suddenly interrupted Arabian. Now she turned fiercely upon
the Tetrarch. “Didn’t you hear him, O Tetrarch? ‘_He_ demands!’ That old
goat of Arabia demands of you, Herod, Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea. He
writes you an evil, insulting message abusing you and your wife, and you
sit here calmly listening while that man reads it before these your
guests and me your Tetrarchess....”
“But, my beloved Herodias”—Antipas clutched the table’s edge as he
straggled to get to his feet—“these men are only the messengers of King
Aretas. What you hear are not this man’s words, they are the King’s.”
“Of course I know that, Antipas; I am not entirely a fool. I know they
are the King’s words, but don’t they say that Aretas has empowered these
men to represent him in your negotiations over me? Over me, do you hear?
Negotiations designed to force me from the palace in Tiberias, to return
_her_....”
Gently Antipas caught his wife’s arm and tried to calm her, to get her
to take her seat. “Of course not, my dear, of course you’ll not be sent
away, you’ll never be supplanted....”
She jerked her arm free, turned upon him, eyes blazing now in utter
fury. “Then send them back to her doting old father! Send them packing,
Antipas!” She shook her finger under his nose. “Or else, by all the
great and little gods, I myself will go away!”
Antipas faced the still shocked Arabian. “Perhaps you had best excuse
yourself,” he said evenly. “Tomorrow, in the calm of our council
chamber, we shall be able....”
“No!” shouted Herodias. “Let them leave tonight, immediately. I can
abide their insulting presence here no longer!”
The Tetrarch, ignoring his wife’s outburst, beckoned to a servant
hovering nearby. “Escort these men into a suitable chamber, and see that
they are adequately provided for with our best food and wine,” he
commanded, “and after they have dined, show them to their bedchambers.
They must be in need of replenishment and rest after their arduous
journey to Machaerus.” He bowed to the delegation’s leader. “We shall
defer further consideration of the matter until the morning. We are all
greatly fatigued and agitated.”
The servant stepped forward and bowed to the visitors. They in turn,
without any further word from their spokesman, bowed to the Tetrarch and
turned with the escorting servant to withdraw from the triclinium.
Herodias, seated now and apparently calm, twisted around to watch them
depart. But when at the doorway Aretas’ spokesman glanced over his
shoulder toward the Tetrarch, she suddenly grabbed the goblet beside her
plate. “Go!” she screamed. “Go! Go!” With all her strength she hurled
the goblet toward the man; it shattered on the wall near the door. As a
servant came running to pick up the broken bits of glass, she sank to
the couch, pulled up her sandaled feet, and, sobbing wildly, buried her
face in the pillow.
Judaea
[Illustration: decorative glyph]
32
The Tetrarch’s caravan had reached the flatland where the narrow Plain
of Esdraelon pushing eastward between Mount Gilboa and Little Hermon
touched the Jordan valley. There Longinus and Claudia had taken leave of
the returning group.
Cornelius had wanted to send a detail of guardsmen to escort them the
remainder of the way to Caesarea. “You never know when one of these
zealot gangs may come swooping down on you,” he had protested to
Longinus. “And if the Emperor’s stepdaughter should be captured, with
Senator Piso’s son, and held for ransom ... well, by Jove, Longinus, you
can imagine the uproar there’d be in Rome.”
But Longinus had refused the offer. He had assured Cornelius that their
little party, he, Claudia, and the two servants she had brought with
her, would join the first caravan headed toward Caesarea; until one came
along they would remain at the nearby inn.