Salome

by Beatrice Gormley

  I returned from the market with a beautiful bronze lamp for Leander’s sister as well as earrings for myself. A goldsmith had showed me opal earrings very much like the ones I’d lost, but I didn’t want them after all. I chose silver ones with moonstones instead.

  Back in the palace, I found that Herodias had left word for me to hurry to her rooms. Shazzar had completed her horoscope and was ready to read it. “Why not a horoscope for Miss Salome, I ask myself?” mused Gundi innocently. “Her whole life lies ahead of her.”

  I thought Gundi had a point; I was the one with the uncertain fate. I took my time about obeying Herodias’s summons, although I was curious to see the astrologer work his art.

  Magus Shazzar, a gray-bearded man, wore a special dark blue robe for the reading. The cloth twinkled like the night sky, with bits of glass sewed in the patterns of constellations. On a table in Herodias’s sitting room, he unrolled star charts, covered with notes in a language I didn’t recognize. He also set up a board inlaid with the signs of the zodiac and positioned markers on Herodias’s sign, the Scorpion.

  Reading the horoscope was a lengthy process. As Shazzar droned on about the houses of the different planets and the motions of the moon and the sun, I began to yawn. But not Herodias. She seemed to luxuriate in the attention from the astrologer, as if she were enjoying a massage.

  When Shazzar explained Herodias’s forecast for the days ahead, though, her expression darkened. He had discovered what he called a “baleful influence” in her chart. “You see, my lady, a certain man has the potential to occult your sign.”

  Herodias drew her breath in sharply. “I knew it! The Baptizer.”

  Shazzar stroked his beard, came across a bread crumb, and absently popped it into his mouth. “Mm, this conjunction is very unusual. I see that my lady also has the potential to occult him.”

  Herodias stared at the zodiac board as if it were a letter with bad news. “To occult him. To blot out this ‘baleful influence.’ And how may I do that—do your stars say?”

  The astrologer glanced up, surprised at her tone of voice. He seemed to have forgotten that he was talking about her life. “Ah—apparently it would have to be quite a roundabout way. I will say, though, that this very day is favorable for action, for one with my lady’s stars.”

  Later, during the midday rest, I didn’t feel like napping. Stepping quietly out the latticed doors from my room into the garden, I knelt on the edge of a fountain. I felt aimless, and I wished I could see what lay ahead for me. (If only I had known and could have taken another path!) I would ask Herodias to have the astrologer cast my horoscope.

  As I trailed my fingers in the water, voices in the loggia above broke into my thoughts.

  Antipas: “Still fretting about the Baptizer, my precious? What he says has nothing to do with you personally.”

  Herodias (doubtfully): “Mm. Dear heart, is it my imagination, or does that river preacher have some kind of hold over you? What can it be?” Her tone was warm and concerned.

  “A hold?” said Antipas. “I wouldn’t say a hold. An interest, perhaps. I sometimes wonder if…” An intense note came into his deep voice. “Is it possible that the Baptizer is a true prophet, truer than he understands himself? He preaches of a great king coming, of the dawn of a new age.”

  I remembered Antipas’s pleased expression as he listened to the reading in the Jewish assembly hall. It was just as Leander had said: my stepfather thought that he could be that great king, a second King David. No wonder Leander was disgusted if he had to write down these Deep Thoughts.

  “My prince,” said Herodias, “surely you don’t need a wandering preacher to tell you that you could be as great a king as your father? Even greater! And what does the Baptizer mean by saying that our marriage is a sin? Junior divorced me, and you divorced the Nabatean woman. And we consulted a soothsayer about the marriage day, and we sent offerings to all the proper gods and goddesses, including the Jewish god as I remember.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Antipas. “We’ve been over all this before. I want to rest now.”

  “Only do away with him,” said Herodias urgently, “and we’ll both rest well.”

  “Why are you so afraid of him, my dove?” asked Antipas. “How could a penniless holy man harm the Tetrarch’s wife? Besides, doing away with him would be foolish and dangerous.”

  “That sounds more like your cautious half brother Philip than the Prince Antipas I adore. Could it be that you’re the one who’s afraid?” Herodias laughed to show that she was joking—somewhat. “Simply give the order. You’re the ruler of this land!”

  Antipas’s voice was like a warning rumble from a bull. “Yes, I am indeed the ruler of Galilee and Perea. I wish to remain so. Don’t you remember the folly of my brother Archelaus and how it was punished? When he tried to play the grand tyrant of Judea, the Jews complained to the Emperor, and the Emperor banished him to Gaul.” He went on in a lighter tone, “Believe me, exile in the northern provinces wouldn’t suit you, Lady Herodias. You would not delight in weaving sensible woolen cloth and breeding chickens.”

  “Pooh!” Herodias made a scornful noise, as if blowing away an empty threat. Then suddenly she made her voice honey sweet. “Won’t you give this one order to set my heart at peace? How many other men have been slain at your word? Why not say the word again and take care of just one more? He’s not even a Roman citizen.”

  Antipas snorted like a bull bothered by flies. Then he said, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll do this much: I’ll send a messenger south to my garrison at Macherus to have the Baptizer arrested. You have to admit that he can’t do any harm in a prison cell, no matter how much he preaches.”

  I waited to hear if my mother would insist on having the Baptizer killed. But she must have decided she’d gained as much as she could for now.

  I wandered from the garden to the palace library. The librarian was taking his midday rest on a bench, so I tiptoed along the shelves. I thought I would look for some Greek poetry and surprise Leander by memorizing it.

  As I was reading the tags on the scrolls, someone appeared in the doorway. I turned, hoping it might be Leander. I was eager to give him the wedding present for his sister.

  But it was Antipas. “Good afternoon, Salome,” he said.

  “Good afternoon, Stepfather.” A vague idea came to me: if I could get Antipas to care more about me, he might consider my feelings before marrying me off. I lowered my eyelashes, raised them to meet his eyes for a moment, then swept them down again, the way Herodias did. “What a fine library you have.”

  He nodded, looking pleased. “The librarian was trained in Alexandria—knows his business.” He stepped closer. “What are you reading?”

  I could smell the perfumed oil on his beard, and I felt a little nervous. “I was just looking for—I like poetry.”

  “Poetry—is that so?” Antipas lifted the tag of the scroll in my hands and read the Latin title. “The Art of Love, by Ovid. Do you like that book?”

  I was alarmed at the change in his voice and at the way he was looking at me. “I—I haven’t read it.”

  Antipas stared at me for a moment, his tongue just showing between his teeth. “No—not yet.” Dropping the tag, he strolled from the library.

  When he was gone, I took the scroll from its case and unrolled it. It was in Latin, which I could read somewhat. I glanced at a verse here, a verse there, my face growing hotter and hotter. My eye lit on the line, Out in the springy meadow the heifer lows with longing for the bull. These poems were indecent; they were all about lust.

  I must explain to Antipas that I would never read such poems. But how could I explain without bringing up the embarrassing poems themselves? Pushing the scroll back in its cubbyhole, I, too, left the library.

  The next morning, Herodias was in a merry mood. Antipas’s messenger was on his way to Macherus, the fortress in the south, and soon John the Baptizer would be in prison. “Of course,” Herodias told me, “i
t would have been more sensible for Antipas to order the preacher to be killed on the spot. But one step at a time!”

  After breakfast Herodias took me to pay a call on Joanna, wife of Antipas’s steward. “The steward’s wife ought to have come to pay her respects to me by now,” remarked Herodias, “but of course she has a mysterious weakness in her limbs. Chuza works so hard for my prince,” she added sweetly. “We must be kind to his ailing wife.”

  The steward’s house on the palace grounds was not large, but I thought there was something harmonious and peaceful about it. In the central hall, wooden screens let in lemon-scented air from the garden. Joanna greeted us from her couch, where she half reclined, propped up by cushions. The lines of pain in her face looked deeper than they had on the Sabbath.

  “Please excuse me for not rising,” said Joanna in a soft voice. “My malady comes and goes, always leaving me a little weaker. Today it’s upon me. But it’s so kind of your ladyship and her daughter to visit. How do you like Tiberias? They say our city is a bit like Napoli in Italy, built on the hillside overlooking the water.”

  Herodias agreed and went on to praise the palace. She added, “Of course there’s so much redecoration to do in my suite. The Nabatean woman had it looking like the inside of a tent!”

  The steward’s wife smiled faintly. “Yes, the poor girl seemed to be homesick….” She turned to me. “So, Salome. That’s a name to be proud of in your family. Your ancestor Salome, sister of Herod the Great, was bold and merciful. You must know the story of how she spared the Jewish leaders at his death?”

  “Of course,” said Herodias before I could answer. “Although my Salome is hardly like my great-aunt!” She looked at me with fond amusement. “Now that Salome—she was a woman to be reckoned with.”

  I said nothing, but I didn’t like the way Herodias was talking about me. Wasn’t there any chance that I might be a woman to be reckoned with? Actually, although I did know the story Joanna mentioned, I’d never heard it told in praise of Salome. Rather, the point of the story was always what a bloodthirsty tyrant King Herod had been to the very end of his life. While he lay on his deathbed, my great-grandfather had worried that the Jews would rejoice instead of mourn when they heard the news of his death. (Who could have blamed them?)

  So Herod ordered all the Jewish leaders arrested and kept in the stadium. As soon as the king died, his soldiers were to kill the leaders. Thus, Herod planned, the Jewish people would be forced to mourn his death. But when the king actually did breathe his last, Salome hastened to the captain of the guards and stopped him from carrying out the executions.

  “And wasn’t there also another ancestor, Salome Alexandra,” Joanna went on, “called Queen Alexandra?”

  “Indeed,” said Herodias, pleased. This was just what she’d reminded me of before we left Rome. “She ruled Judea before the Herods took power.”

  “She’s an ancestor to be proud of, too,” said Joanna. “Queen Alexandra kept the peace in her lifetime, which I think was harder than winning great battles.”

  I looked at Joanna with curiosity and respect. I hadn’t expected the steward’s wife to be so well informed or to have her own opinion about what was admirable in rulers.

  “How knowledgeable the steward’s wife is about the past!” Herodias echoed my thought. “But to tell the truth, I’m more interested in the present. You know, Galilee may be very scenic in its way, but I didn’t expect so much—well, unrest. The bandits that attacked our caravan between Caesarea and Sepphoris…the religious fanatics roaming the countryside, agitating the peasants…”

  A while later, as Herodias and I walked back to the palace, she gave a little laugh. “No, I don’t think there’s much wrong with the steward’s wife. I think she’s found a good way to get special attention. I’ll have to remember that ploy if I ever lose my looks.”

  A few days later, Herodias and I tried the famous hot springs outside the city. While Herodias was having a massage, I went to soak in the warm pool. The steward’s wife was already there, chatting with another woman, the wife of a courtier. I slipped into the pool without disturbing them.

  “Thank you for asking, Dorcas; the healing waters do me good,” Joanna was saying. The lines in her face seemed softened. “I believe I’ve taken a turn for the better.”

  “I hope so,” said the other woman.

  I, too, hoped that Joanna had taken a turn for the better, because there was something I liked very much about her. Clean and comfortable, I thought. That seemed like an odd way to describe a person’s spirit. But it was the feeling she gave off, the way the lemon tree in her garden gave off a fresh, sweet scent.

  “Did the holy man grant you a healing?” Dorcas was asking Joanna.

  “No…” Joanna sounded puzzled. “I know that’s why I went to see him. But when I was actually in his presence, my illness didn’t seem important.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Dorcas. “You’ve been burdened with this mysterious malady for how long? Almost three years!”

  I didn’t understand, either, but I was curious. I tried to look like I wasn’t listening. Leaning my elbows on the edge of the pool, I gazed up at the vaulted ceiling. A bird flew through the baths, its wing beats echoing.

  “Yes, yes,” said Joanna, “but the hardest thing about being ill isn’t the pain or the weakness. It’s having to think about myself so much. When I listened to the holy man, suddenly I wasn’t thinking about myself at all. He opened a window on a new world.”

  “And what did you see out that window?” asked her friend.

  “I saw other people, struggling and suffering. I never noticed them before, but they’re all around us, people as real as you or me. Jews, Syrians, Greeks, Samaritans…I saw that by selling just one of my properties, I could make an enormous difference for them.”

  “Selling your property?” exclaimed her friend. (I was startled, too.) “Oh, Joanna, what are you saying? Don’t do anything rash! You already give alms to beggars. You and Chuza give the required amount for the Jewish poor, don’t you? No one could expect any more than that.”

  I sneaked a glance at Joanna, curious to see what she would answer.

  “But I expect more now that my eyes are opened. Dorcas, if you could have heard the holy man! I’m so impatient to turn my life around. Then I could go south again to be cleansed in the—”

  Dorcas interrupted, clearing her throat loudly. “Joanna.” She had noticed me. Now Joanna turned and recognized me, too.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” What a feeble lie! I started to pull myself out of the pool, then changed my mind and slid under the surface. I held my breath as long as I could.

  When I came up again, Dorcas was out of the pool, wrapped in a towel, and leaving the warm room with her maid. But Joanna, still in the water, watched me thoughtfully with her head on one side. I gave her a sheepish smile.

  “Salome,” said Joanna. She paused. “Can you imagine a window opening on a new world?”

  I’d tried to put my dream in the Temple of Diana out of my mind, as if it were a childhood toy. But now, at Joanna’s words, the dream burst into my mind as vivid as the night I dreamed it. “Oh, yes!”

  Joanna seemed surprised at my response, but her face broke into a smile. She looked at me, smiling without speaking, for a long moment.

  I wanted to ask her if her “holy man” was the same person as John the Baptizer. I wanted to find out if the desert preacher gave Joanna the same feeling I’d had when Diana chose me.

  But the moment was over. Joanna nodded goodbye to me and signaled her maid to help her out of the pool. I was left soaking in the warm water and my stew of thoughts. I wondered if I should tell Herodias about this conversation. For I was almost sure that the preacher who had inspired Joanna to “turn her life around” was the same man that Herodias wanted dead.

  ELEVEN

  JOHN ARRESTED

  Antipas’s soldiers, a squad of them, appeared
at John’s camp after midnight. Elias was on guard outside the cave, but he scarcely had time to shout a warning before a soldier knocked him down with the butt of his spear.

  “Baptizer!” barked the officer. “Come out before we smoke you out like a jackal!”

  John stepped out of the cave. “I am John, called the Baptizer.”

  At a nod from the officer, two soldiers seized his arms. Ignoring the disciples scrambling out of the cave, they turned and hustled John uphill toward the road. They must be taking him to Macherus.

  Not now, John protested silently. Not so soon.

  He’d known this moment would come, and he thought he’d accepted that. But now John seemed to see Antipas’s grim fortress Macherus looming before him, and he had to restrain himself to keep from resisting. He must not fight; if he did, his disciples would fight for him, and they would be hurt.

  But the people who were counting on him—what about them? The throngs would arrive at the riverbank as soon as it was light. Some of them would come to hear John’s message for the first time. Some, having spent weeks following a new way of life, were ready to be baptized. All those hopeful faces, with the hope draining out of them. What would become of those people now?

  As the group reached the highway, John became aware of something odd about the way the guard on the left held his arm. Something hesitant. Turning sideways, John looked at the man’s face. The guard stared stubbornly ahead, but even in the flickering torchlight, John could see that he was miserable. And John recognized him—this was the same soldier who had come a few days ago with the warning.

  TWELVE

  A DANGEROUS MAN

  One morning not long after meeting Joanna at the hot springs, I heard shouting outside the south gates. Not the Nabateans, come to bargain for me! I ran to the edge of the terrace.

  The sun, just above the bluffs on the other side of the lake, shone on a troop of Antipas’s blue-caped soldiers. They escorted a man in rough clothing, with untrimmed hair and beard. His hands were chained in front of him.