Salome

by Beatrice Gormley

  While Zoe went to get us a cool drink, I sat down on a stool beside Joanna. Still breathing hard, I rested my head on the edge of the couch. “Your hair is quite wild, my dear!” said Joanna teasingly. She smoothed the locks from my forehead, and I closed my eyes.

  As Joanna stroked my hair, she recited a poem:

  Thou dost show me the path of life;

  in thy presence there is fullness of joy…

  “That’s an old Hebrew poem,” murmured Joanna. “But I believe it can be just as true today. It reminds me of John the Baptizer in the Tetrarch’s audience hall, how he didn’t seem to notice the grandeur of the palace. I think it was because his eyes were on the ‘path of life.’”

  Alarmed, I opened my eyes. Joanna shouldn’t be talking so freely to Herodias’s daughter. I blurted, “My mother and stepfather both know that someone sent a basket of food to John the Baptizer.”

  Joanna stopped smoothing my hair. I sat up, feeling that I’d betrayed my mother. Or was I betraying Joanna by not telling her more?

  “Did someone do that?” asked Joanna finally. Her face was closed, as if she’d thrown a veil over it. “How reckless.”

  FIFTEEN

  TWO HEROD BROTHERS

  Meanwhile, preparations for Antipas’s fiftieth birthday celebration were in full swing. He planned a great feast, and he’d invited all the important men in Tiberias as well as those at his court. Some guests would come from as far away as Sepphoris.

  The guest of honor would be my uncle Philip, Tetrarch of Gaulanitis, on the other side of Lake Tiberias. I’d seen him years ago when he visited Rome, but I didn’t remember him well. Philip was yet another of the Herod half brothers, by yet another wife of my great-grandfather Herod the Great.

  During the midday rest a few days before the feast, I went to see Joanna. Visiting Joanna was becoming a habit with me, and I wondered if I might be making a nuisance of myself. But she always seemed glad to see me.

  Today, though, Joanna’s maid met me halfway down the path to the steward’s house. Joanna wasn’t well today, she said. Her mistress hoped to be better tomorrow and to welcome me then.

  Disappointed, I wandered back to the palace and into the main garden. On the high wall at one end of the garden, mosaic fish swam in a tile sea. Water poured from a marble dolphin’s head into a pool where real fish swam.

  I sat on the rim of the pool, watching the flickering shapes. The fish were going busily about their fishy lives, not seeming to notice what a cramped little space they were in.

  Footsteps, and a shadow fell across the water. I looked up, expecting to see Leander, for he often brought a scroll into the garden to read. Instead, my stepfather’s bulky form stood near me on the path. His cold dark eyes were intent on me.

  I started up, but Antipas put a hand on my shoulder. “Stay,” he said. I sank back, and he sat down beside me. “You looked sad. Were you thinking of Rome? Are you homesick?” His deep voice was as rich as roast pork. “I think you’ll be pleased with the shrine to Diana that I’m building on the market square.”

  I looked down at my stepfather’s robe, right next to my stola on the marble seat. It wasn’t like him to worry about my feelings. I kept my eyes down as I answered, “I do miss the Temple of Diana and the dancing.” I laughed uneasily. “My thoughts just now were silly. I wondered what the fish were thinking.”

  “Not silly at all—very interesting.” His voice grew softer. “Do they worship us? We bring them food, after all. We have the power of life and death over them.”

  I felt hot and shaky, not exactly with fear, although that was part of it. I had an impulse to jump up and flee, but wouldn’t that be rude? Maybe my stepfather was only being friendly. I glanced up at him, then quickly away.

  He leaned closer to me, and his breath brushed the side of my face. “Pretty, sleek fish.”

  The myth of the maiden Europa and the bull—Zeus in disguise—came to my mind. I stood up and took a step back. He also stood up, staring at me. Just as I was about to bolt, he turned and walked out of the garden without another word.

  That evening, Herodias and I dined alone. I was uneasy, still agitated by what had happened at the fish pool. Had I behaved immodestly, giving my stepfather the wrong idea? It was not quite proper, for instance, for me to linger in the garden alone during the midday rest.

  I was impatient to get back to my room, but Herodias insisted that we take a stroll on the terrace together. Linking her arm in mine, she chatted about this and that. “Doesn’t the jasmine smell sweet just after sunset?” She squeezed my arm fondly. “These private moments with my only child mean so much to me.”

  “The jasmine is lovely,” I agreed. That seemed safe to say.

  “I have a confession to make,” Herodias continued with a self-indulgent laugh. “Dear daughter, I admit that I’m a little jealous of your friendship with Joanna. Yes, I know I’ve devoted a great deal of attention to your stepfather, and perhaps that has caused a distance between you and me.”

  “Not really,” I said. “Well—perhaps a little bit.”

  “There, you see? And so naturally you have been drawn toward the steward’s wife. Salome, I don’t like to tell you this…but I think you need to know.” She paused and turned to clasp both my hands. Her back was to the nearest lamp, and its light shone on my face. “It is strongly suspected, on reliable information, that Joanna has sent food to the Baptizer. To our enemy. I am afraid the steward’s wife is a follower of the desert preacher.”

  “I can’t believe that!” I muttered.

  “I know,” sighed Herodias. “She seems so sweet, so mild. But if you think it over, I believe you’ll detect signs of her secret allegiance. For instance, what did she talk to you about this afternoon?”

  “I didn’t—” I stopped, frightened. If I hadn’t visited Joanna this afternoon, what had I been doing? “I don’t remember….” I turned my face, doubtless covered with guilt, away from the light. “Oh, yes: we read poetry. Joanna recited a Hebrew poem.”

  “Mm, a Hebrew poem. The kind of thing the Baptizer spouts.” Herodias nodded. “Well, my dear, I know I’ve revealed something shocking to you. I don’t ask you to take it in all at once, and I don’t forbid you to visit the steward’s wife. But keep your eyes and ears open, and report to me anything that strikes you as suspicious.”

  “I will, I will.” I was relieved that Herodias didn’t seem to suspect my stepfather and me. And it should be easy to have nothing much to report about Joanna.

  Still, I didn’t know what to think or what to do about Antipas’s attentions. I longed to confide in someone. The next afternoon, when I visited Joanna, it was on the tip of my tongue the whole time. But I stopped short again and again, afraid of how it would sound. I didn’t want Joanna to think badly of me.

  Also—I still had the idea that I might use Antipas’s interest in me for my own benefit. I was quite sure Joanna wouldn’t approve of that. So I said nothing to her about Antipas, and I left the steward’s house discontented.

  A day or so later, in the morning, I returned from the palace baths by myself. Gundi always went with me, but this time she’d gone back to my room early. I was feeling cheerful, for no reason except a general glow of good health. As I pranced along a colonnade, humming a hymn to Diana, a man stepped out from behind a column.

  It was Antipas again. He stood in my way. His expression was almost pleading, as if he needed something badly. He didn’t greet me, but began talking in that voice as rich and strong as unwatered wine. “You’re as graceful as a nymph today.”

  “Thank you,” I answered.

  “My birthday’s coming, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, Stepfather,” I said in a strained voice. I backed up against a column, feeling its fluted ridges.

  Placing one hand on the column, with the other hand Antipas lifted the amulet hanging from my neck. He examined the charm, resting his hand lightly at the base of my throat. “Hmm. The stone is carnelian, isn’t it? Pretty, b
ut not pretty enough.” His touch seemed to burn, but I stood still as a statue. “I want to give you a costly present on my birthday.”

  A mixture of fever and alarm roiled my mind, but I had one sharp, clear thought. There was something Antipas could give me that I wanted very much. He could forgo the advantages of arranging a political marriage for me; he could send me back to Rome and the Temple of Diana.

  But what did he mean by “a costly present”? Something like a pearl necklace? “I couldn’t accept it—what would my mother say?”

  Antipas trailed one finger across the hollow of my throat, then slowly let the amulet slide down under my tunic. Finally he answered, in a voice almost too low to hear, “Does it matter?”

  “I have to go now,” I gasped, and I almost ran down the colonnade away from him. Idiot! I scolded myself. I should have asked him right then. Would I get another chance?

  Before I reached my room, something else began to worry me. Although I hadn’t seen anyone watching Antipas and me, I knew that a servant might have been lurking nearby. They had that knack of being invisible. What if Herodias found out that her husband was…approaching me?

  Gundi, at least, heard about it within a few hours. As she was laying out my clothes for dinner that evening, she chuckled to herself. “So, Cupid’s dart has pierced the Tetrarch’s chest! Praise to Freya-Aphrodite—we’ll have our way yet.”

  “What are you talking about?” I exclaimed, blushing.

  Gundi gave another chuckle, nodding to herself knowingly. “Around the palace, they say that the bull is stalking Europa. Gundi says, a clever girl can put a ring in a bull’s nose.”

  “Hold your tongue!” I snapped. My head was pounding, and so was my heart.

  As for Herodias, she continued to sulk and quarrel with Antipas. Whenever I saw her, whether it was at lunch, at the baths, or in the garden, she went into long harangues about our family and the special nobility of her father’s line. “If only my father, Herod Aristobulus, had lived, none of this would have come to pass!” It was tedious to listen to her; at the same time, it made me nervous. Couldn’t she just make up her mind to get along with her husband—the husband she had freely chosen?

  Meanwhile, Uncle Philip arrived from across the lake. His brother’s grand birthday celebration was still a few days away, but he and Antipas had business to discuss as rulers of neighboring territories. And it seemed that Philip had a third reason for visiting—me.

  “This match would be ideal,” said Herodias with her winning smile. She was suddenly in a good mood again, maybe looking forward to appearing at the banquet as “Queen” Herodias. “It would cement Antipas’s alliance with his brother, and you’d be close enough, in Gaulanitis, to visit here often.”

  “How can you talk to me like that?” I said. “Doesn’t this remind you of the way your delightful first marriage began? And you and Antipas don’t even respect Philip as a tetrarch.”

  “Not every ruler can be an Antipas,” said Herodias serenely. “Anyway, when you go to meet Philip, be sure to look your best. Have Gundi curl the locks around your face. And wear your gold bracelet; it’s a stunning piece, and it sets off your slender arms.” I must have looked blank, because she went on, “You know the bracelet I mean! The double-headed snake.”

  The gold bracelet that she and Antipas had given me on their wedding day. I’d never told Herodias about losing it, and I’d hoped she’d forgotten it. That was foolish of me. Guiltily, I explained now that I’d dropped the bracelet overboard the first day of our voyage.

  “Salome, Salome.” Herodias shook her head. “How could you be so careless?” To my relief, she didn’t seem very upset. “Well, wear your matching amber bracelets, then.”

  Philip sent a note asking me to meet him in the garden off the guest suite so that we could talk in quiet. My heart sank. I couldn’t refuse to meet him. Of course I would take Gundi as my chaperone, but her presence might not keep the old goat from breathing at me the way my stepfather had.

  When I reached the garden, I was surprised to find a younger man than I’d expected. Philip’s hair was sprinkled with gray, but he was lean, and his face was boyish. I wasn’t even quite sure that this man was my uncle. “Uncle Philip?”

  Philip started to say, “Greetings, Salome,” but then his jaw dropped and he simply stared at me. It seemed that he was surprised, too. “Salome?”

  While Gundi stayed by the garden gate, spinning as usual, Uncle Philip and I sat down near the fountain. We talked about this and that. He asked me if we’d ever been back to the resort on Lake Sabazia, north of Rome.

  “There was a shrine there that I liked so much, the way it was set into the hillside with the stream running down the rocks nearby.” Philip smiled at me. “As I remember, you put your sandal in the stream to play that it was a boat. You were so surprised when the water carried it away.”

  I blushed. I remembered my mother making fun of me, and me whining and limping around with one sandal, and finally Uncle Philip carrying me back to the villa.

  It seemed that Philip had built a shrine like that near his capital, Caesarea Philippi.

  “The whole city is new and clean. Imagine the setting, at the foot of Mount Hermon. From every part of the city, you see the snowcapped peaks. And just outside the walls, I had a park set aside for the people to enjoy. There are meadows, woodland grottos, springs of freshest water. But the shrine is a particularly beautiful place…. I’d like you to see it.”

  His words reminded me uncomfortably of the way Antipas had courted Herodias. Now I was nervous again. Would he nuzzle me? “I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said. I kept my eyes on the stone path.

  “Salome,” said Philip quietly, “look at me.”

  I raised my eyes, expecting to see a hunting stare like the one Antipas had fixed me with. But Philip’s eyes were sober and kind.

  “Salome,” he said, “you must know that an alliance between you and me would be politically advantageous to both the Tetrarch of Galilee and Perea and the Tetrarch of Gaulanitis—me. Maybe you’re afraid that my brother and I will put our seals to a marriage contract without consulting your wishes. But my idea is for the two of us to become acquainted with each other and then for both you and me to decide.”

  I hadn’t expected him to be so honest and courteous. I wondered if Philip knew about Antipas’s behavior toward me. I stammered something about the honor he did me.

  Philip grinned suddenly, looking even younger. “I’ll be in Tiberias for several days. We’ll talk again.”

  That afternoon, when I visited Joanna, I told her about my meeting with Philip. “He’s a good man,” said Joanna, “from what I hear. I’d be glad to see you married to such a ruler.” She gave me a fond look. “His wife could have the chance to change his subjects’ lives for the better.”

  “He seemed kind,” I said uncomfortably. Joanna had a vision of my future, and it didn’t fit at all with my own vision: to get my stepfather to send me back to the Temple of Diana. Herodias—I shut my mind to that problem. If I ignored her wishes and appealed to Antipas, she’d be fit to bite the head off a marble statue.

  The next morning, Philip asked me to walk with him on the upper terrace. As we leaned on the balustrade, he pointed across Lake Tiberias to the bluffs on the eastern shore. “My tetrarchy may not be as rich in fertile soil as Galilee, but the air is fresh and clean there, in the highlands.”

  “I suppose I’ve gotten used to the air in Tiberias,” I said. “When I first arrived, it seemed like the steam room at the baths.”

  “I wouldn’t like to get used to this climate,” said Philip. A grim note in his voice disturbed me—did he disapprove of me for getting used to it? Or was he hinting at something else?

  Philip went on to tell me about Gaulanitis and his other territories. “The people are a mixed lot,” he said. “In the cities, the people are mainly Greeks and Romans; in the countryside, mainly Syrians; and in the eastern parts, tribes of Arab nomads. When I first inherited t
he tetrarchy, years ago, I thought of course I’d govern from my capital city. But I became curious about how my people lived, and so I picked up the habit of traveling among them and talking to them in their own town squares.” He smiled. “What a difference from sitting in my grand audience hall (not that it’s nearly as magnificent as Antipas’s hall) and letting my subjects approach my throne! They spoke much more freely to me.”

  I thought of John the Baptizer. Antipas’s magnificent hall hadn’t stopped him from speaking freely. I was going to ask Philip if he’d heard about John, but Philip continued.

  “Forgive me for droning on about my ideas of statecraft. I assure you that not many rulers would agree with me, least of all my half brother here!” He laughed ruefully. “The point I meant to make is that I spend much of the year traveling around my territories. Of course my wife could stay home in comfort in the capital, Caesarea Philippi.” He glanced sideways at me. “Or she could travel with me if…”

  I looked at him in surprise. Now he sounded shy—almost wistful. I had an impulse to reach up and ruffle his short gray-sprinkled hair. I hoped Philip wouldn’t be very angry when he found out he’d wasted time courting me.

  “Well!” said Philip in a businesslike tone. “It’s something to think about. Meanwhile, Antipas expects me to join him for a tour of his building projects in Tiberias. Until later, Salome.” With a polite bow, he strode past Gundi and disappeared through the flowering shrubs.

  I’d missed my chance to tell him that traveling around would suit me much better than sitting in a palace. But what difference did it make? I wouldn’t do either if I had my way—if I escaped to Rome and the Temple of Diana.

  SIXTEEN

  THE TETRARCH REPENTS

  The palace kitchens were right above the prison, and the aromas of simmering sauces, baking pastries, and roasting meats drifted down to the cells. “They’re cooking for the Tetrarch’s banquet, three days away,” the jailer told John.