Salome

by Beatrice Gormley

  John didn’t ask what the menu was, but the jailer told him anyway. “There’ll be fish from Lake Tiberias, fricasseed in white wine, leeks, and oregano. There’ll be lamb stewed with onions, cumin, and pepper. There’ll be whole pigeons in fig syrup. Any dish you can think of and a lot you couldn’t—but no pork.” The jailer snickered, looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, and added, “Prince Antipas respects the Jewish dietary laws, you know.” He laughed again.

  On the night before the banquet, two visitors came to John’s cell. The first, early in the evening, was the Tetrarch’s Greek secretary. John remembered seeing him in the audience hall by Antipas’s throne.

  “Teacher, I know you’re a good man,” the young man whispered through the bars of the cell. “And I want to live a good life. But how can I? I swore to my dying father that I’d provide dowries for my sisters. If I leave the Tetrarch, my sisters will have nothing, and then who would marry them? But to get the money, I’m serving an evil master. You see my dilemma?”

  John was touched by the Greek, who seemed as sincere as any of the people who came to the banks of the Jordan. John could well imagine how demoralizing it would be to live at the Tetrarch’s elbow, recording his heartless acts and his appalling thoughts.

  “Tell me, what should I do?” Leander gripped the bars as if he were the prisoner. “Which is a higher duty: duty to my family or duty to the Truth? I know it’s right to keep my promise to my dying father.”

  John nodded. “As the Law says, Honor your father and your mother.”

  “But if keeping my promise causes me to do wrong,” pleaded the Greek secretary, “may I be released from the promise?”

  John shook his head. But he felt sorry for Leander, even though he was a Gentile. Reaching through the bars, he put a hand on the Greek’s head and blessed him. He said a prayer of King David’s: “Deliver me, O Lord, from evil men…”

  Not long after Leander left, Antipas reappeared. This time, he had a goblet in his hand. A cupbearer, a young boy, stood behind the Tetrarch with a pitcher.

  “I want you to know I’ve been taking your words to heart,” Antipas told John. “As I mentioned, it’s my fiftieth birthday tomorrow—time to reflect and consider.” He held the goblet out to his side, and the boy refilled it. “Yes, Baptizer, you’re right. I’ve been remiss about following Jewish law. It’s time I took my position as ruler of the Jews more seriously. Tomorrow night, I intend to set an example for the important men of Galilee. So I’ve had all the statues in the great hall removed and put away in the storerooms. The wall paintings were more of a problem, but then I hit upon the idea of hanging draperies to cover them.

  “And the mosaic on the floor in the front atrium—I don’t suppose you’d have seen that, Baptizer. The guards would have brought you in through the barracks courtyard. Anyway, it’s a mosaic of Pan playing his pipes for dancing nymphs. It cost me a pile of gold, as you can imagine, but never mind!—I’m covering it up. The butler found a large rug with a geometric pattern to hide the mosaic.”

  John said, “Why does Herod Antipas come down to the prison to tell me about his statues and rugs?”

  “It all has to do with repenting and following the Jewish Law,” said Antipas patiently. “I said to myself, if I am called to lead the Jewish people to their glory, I ought to be a little more observant of the Law of Moses.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I may even give up pork for private meals.”

  Was the man drunk? Out of his mind? The Tetrarch seemed to hint that he was…John connected this hint with Antipas’s talk of prophecies, and his mind staggered. Antipas must be possessed by Satan to think such blasphemy.

  Draining his goblet, Antipas held it out again for the boy to refill. “I see you’re surprised,” he remarked to John. “You thought I’d been angered by your harsh words the other day. Yes, at first I was, but later I began to see the sense in them.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if to confide something important. “I’ve been wondering—I’ve actually been wondering if I was too hasty in marrying Herodias.”

  “In the eyes of the Lord, you did not marry Herodias.” John didn’t expect Antipas to listen, but he would speak the truth anyway. “She is still your brother’s wife, and the Nabatean woman whom you put aside for no good reason is still your wife.”

  “If I made the wrong decision there,” said Antipas, “I’ve already been punished for it. That woman’s moods! Her nagging!” He rolled his eyes. “In Rome, when she was still my brother’s wife, she was nothing but charm. Almost like a goddess. She’d say things to me like, ‘We two, of all the family, are the true heirs of Herod the Great. Who knows how high we can climb?’” He gave a short laugh. “She must have had me under a spell. Risking war with Nabatea! Making an enemy of my brother!”

  The Tetrarch folded his arms and nodded, as if he’d come to a weighty decision. “There will be no women among my guests tonight.” Raising his goblet in a salute to John, he drained it once more. “We’ll talk of this again, Baptizer. I’ll need a prophet in my court.”

  SEVENTEEN

  THE BIRTHDAY GIFT

  On the morning of Antipas’s birthday dinner, I was glad to run into Leander outside the library. “Is that more of the Tetrarch’s diary?” I asked, pointing to the sheaf of parchment under his arm.

  “Yes.” Leander looked over his shoulder, as if someone might be listening to us. “It’s all about how he’s following the Jewish Law now.” He shook his head. “When I think of the Jewish philosophers I knew in Alexandria and how they loved and honored their Law…Whereas Antipas’s idea of devotion to the highest principles is, he’s not going to serve pork at the banquet.” Leander laughed sardonically. “That reminds me of a joke….”

  “What joke?” I naturally asked. Leander seemed to have second thoughts about sharing the joke with me, but I begged him. I could see he was itching to tell it, against his better judgment.

  “Well, then,” he said. “This is something the Emperor Caesar Augustus said years ago about his friend Herod the Great. You know that King Herod had killed three of his own sons? At the same time, he thought he was being a virtuous Jew because he wouldn’t eat pork! So when the Emperor heard this, he said, ‘I’d rather be Herod’s pig than his son.’”

  We both laughed. But while I was still giggling, Leander’s expression turned worried. “I meant no disrespect to your great-grandfather, Miss Salome, or to any of your family, of course.”

  This struck me as even funnier, and I laughed again. “Of course you did mean disrespect—that’s why it was funny.”

  Leander looked at the floor and spoke in a constricted voice. “I should not have repeated that story. People who displease the Tetrarch end up in a dungeon, like John the Baptizer. Or as fish food, like that fool Simon.”

  “I would never betray a friend,” I said with a rush of feeling. Then I blushed. I was forgetting that after all, Leander was only a secretary. It wasn’t proper for me to address him as a friend. To change the subject, I asked about his mother and sisters.

  Leander had sent more money to his mother yesterday, he said, to start a dowry for his second sister. “I’m keeping my eyes on the goal,” he remarked. “After I’ve earned enough to settle my sisters, I’ll be free to leave for Alexandria.” He smiled one of his rare smiles. “Perhaps a year from now, my time of service to the Tetrarch will be only an entertaining story to tell the other students at Demo’s school.”

  It made me sad to see how eager Leander was to get away from this place. Of course, I was, too—but I would miss him. And I was rather hurt that he’d mistrusted me about the pork joke. I nodded politely and walked away.

  Later that morning, I started for the baths. In the great hall, at the bottom of the steps, I passed Herodias. That is, I started to pass her, but the fury on her face stopped me cold. “Why—what’s the matter?”

  Herodias’s eyes flicked around the hall, as if looking for spies. I’d never seen her so distraught.
Her lips quivered as she said, “He’s thinking of putting me aside. To please the Jews.”

  I started to protest, but she went on, “I know what’s on his mind. First he had the statues taken out of sight and the wall paintings covered up. I said to him, ‘Really, if the Jews wish to join the modern world…’

  “And he interrupted me—rather rudely—and he said, ‘I realize you’ve spent most of your life in Rome, but still you should understand that the Jews do not wish to join the modern world. I’ve explained to you more than once, I don’t want to appear to slight their customs. For that reason, I don’t invite wives to state dinners such as this.’”

  Herodias paused for breath, scowling. “I said, ‘In Rome, no one of importance would give a birthday feast without inviting wives.’ And he said, ‘We are not in Rome.’

  “‘Indeed,’ I replied. ‘Are you considering me at all? Who shall I talk with, then? I’m not interested in discussing men’s business all evening.’

  “And Antipas said—with such a brutal note in his voice, staring at me with his piggy little eyes—‘That won’t be necessary.’ Yes—he talked to me like that, in front of his butler and his prissy Greek secretary! He said, ‘The Jewish leaders would be offended if I included any women at this public event. They’re very sensitive to slights.’

  “I thought, I, too, am sensitive to slights, but I didn’t say that out loud. I said, ‘Perhaps the prince ought to invite that filthy desert man to preach to his guests about the Law of Moses. That should please the Jews.’

  “And do you know what he said then?” Herodias’s mouth trembled with outrage. “He told me to be silent. Me, granddaughter of Herod the Great! He said, ‘Go to your rooms, woman…and think about the Nabatean princess who used to live in those rooms.’”

  I fumbled to come up with a soothing response, but Herodias was not listening to me. A strange expression came over her face, as if she’d had a sudden thought. “Wait!” she exclaimed to herself. “What was under that other hanging?” Whirling, she rushed back into the great hall.

  I went on to the bathhouse, troubled. Herodias was not only furious—she was terrified. Perhaps Antipas really was thinking of divorcing her.

  I undressed and sat down on a bench in the tepidarium, the warm room. As Gundi cleaned my back with oil and a scraper, I gazed across the hall at a statue of Hera, queen of the gods. She was as beautiful as Aphrodite, but in a soft, motherly way.

  As I mused, a woman appeared in the doorway at the end of the long room. Through the steamy air of the baths, I didn’t realize at first that it was Herodias again. She looked like some kind of avenging spirit, her form taut with anger. Then I saw it was my mother, and I braced myself to hear her rant on about what else Antipas had done.

  Herodias stalked right up to me, staring like a lioness fixing her prey. “You deceitful…little…slut.” She stressed each word by slapping my face, right-left-right. I thought she’d gone mad.

  Before I could even protest, Herodias went on, “I just had a look at Antipas’s fine new painting. He’d covered it with a drape, like all the others, but I thought there hadn’t been a painting there before.” She mimed lifting a drape. “And what do you suppose? A nymph, her hair floating loose around her, wearing a crown of ivy and very little else, being chased by a satyr.” She made a scornful gesture at me. I pulled a towel around myself.

  “The paint was fresh,” said Herodias in a meaningful tone, “not more than a few days old. The picture showed just a hint of fear in her eyes—what a tastefully erotic touch.” Herodias leaned toward me with a frightening smile. “And who do you suppose the nymph was?”

  I was afraid I knew, but I shook my head.

  “Liar! How could you think of such treachery to your own mother?”

  “No—I didn’t know about—” I stammered. I stood up, clutching the towel to me. “He came to me—he wanted me to—”

  “So you thought to become a tetrarch’s wife.” Herodias laughed unpleasantly. “Not the tetrarch of Gaulanitis, either.”

  “No, please, Herodias!” A lock of my hair fell out of the clasp, and I twisted it desperately. “I swear by Diana, I never—”

  Herodias turned on Gundi, standing by with the pitcher of scented oil and the scraper. “As for you—how could you let this happen? You had only one simple job, to chaperone Salome. You ungrateful old hag. The next market day, I’ll send you to the slave dealer. Maybe someone will want an ugly woman to scrub floors in a brothel.”

  Whipping back to me, Herodias raged on: “Apparently it is high time for you to be married so that you don’t wander around like a heifer in rut. Antipas was right in the first place: he should give you to the prince of Nabatea.” She gave her musical laugh. “That’s where you belong, with that dirty princess.”

  Then Herodias stalked off. I looked at Gundi and burst into tears. But Gundi said, “Never mind, little one. We shall see—we shall see.” Leading me to the warm pool, she splashed water over my shoulders with the dipper. Her face was hard and set, an expression I had never seen on Gundi before.

  After a swim in the cold pool, I felt calmer. I came out into the exercise yard of the baths thinking that I’d go to my mother’s suite. She’d be calmer, too, and probably regretting her wild words.

  Besides, there was really no reason to be afraid of my mother. Here in Galilee, Antipas was the supreme power. He seemed to like me—and why should he do anything Herodias advised? According to her, he was on the point of putting her aside.

  On the grassy field the entertainers for the banquet—jugglers, acrobats, musicians, and dancers—were practicing. I paused to watch them. Antipas was already watching from the other side of the field, outside the men’s entrance to the baths. I didn’t expect him to approach me in this public place, but almost as soon as he saw me, he walked across the yard.

  “Little Salome, I’m glad you have this chance to see the entertainers for the feast. My butler found some good ones, don’t you think?”

  I nodded, thinking only of what I wanted him to do for me. “My lord stepfather, I would ask—”

  Not waiting to hear my request, he went on in a soft voice, “Believe me, I wish with all my heart that women—especially one young woman—could be included in the banquet tonight.”

  I was confused. Did he think I was going to ask to come to the banquet?

  “Please understand,” Antipas went on, “it’s a political matter. Don’t take it personally. Tomorrow night we’ll have another fine celebration, just my court, with statues, paintings, and women—even pork!”

  Then, although Gundi was standing next to me, he leaned close and murmured, “But tonight, I hope a certain beautiful girl will give Antipas a special birthday gift.”

  I trembled inside, but I said boldly, “I thought my lord was going to give that girl a special gift.” I didn’t look at him, but kept my eyes on the dancer going through her routine.

  “Indeed he is.” My stepfather, too, looked straight ahead. The dancer twirled across the exercise yard, throwing off layer after layer of gauzy scarves. “He wishes to exchange gifts with her on his birthday. Do you know what he longs for above all things?”

  I shook my head.

  “He wants her to…dance for him.”

  “At the banquet?” I was so shocked that I turned to stare at him. I hadn’t expected him to suggest something so indecent, for a girl of good family to dance in public.

  “Of course not.” Antipas kept his expression bland, but his breathing was heavy. “In private.”

  EIGHTEEN

  THE SCORPION STRIKES

  After Antipas left, Gundi began to speak in a hard voice to match her new expression. She had a plan, a well-thought-out plan. It must have been simmering in her mind for some time.

  The moment had come, Gundi said. “Don’t you see what’s happening? Your mother’s heading for a fall. The Tetrarch’s leading up to putting her aside. Her boat is sinking. If you leap boldly, you can leave that little boat an
d land in the royal barge.”

  What Gundi meant was that if Antipas did put Herodias aside, naturally I would have to leave the palace, too. Unless I was the new wife. Gundi had thought of a way I could ask Antipas at a moment when he couldn’t say no.

  I put my hands over my ears to shut out Gundi’s voice. I didn’t want to “land in the royal barge.” I wanted to escape to Rome and a safe life in the Temple of Diana.

  Back in the palace, I ordered Gundi to stay in my room while I went to Herodias’s suite. Surely my mother would be calm enough to listen to reason now. I’d explain that I only wanted to return to the Temple of Diana and serve the goddess. Herodias would have nothing to fear from Antipas’s interest in me if she helped me get back to Rome.

  But when I reached Herodias’s suite, the double doors were bolted from the inside. Iris nervously informed me, without opening the doors, that Lady Herodias was resting. Unheeding, I tapped and called my mother’s name over and over.

  When I had almost given up, I was startled by a scream through the closed door. “Iris! Tell that girl I know exactly what she’s up to!”

  The words “that girl” chilled me—I’d never heard her talk about me like that. Still, I thought “what she’s up to” meant what Herodias had said before, that I intended to become Antipas’s new wife. I tried to explain that what I really wanted was to get back to Rome and the Temple of Diana. But her piercing voice cut through my words. “That girl, a servant of the chaste Diana? What an amusing idea.”

  My heart sank. Instead of calming down, Herodias had worked herself into an insane frenzy. I had never heard her like this. “No, wait—listen—”

  “It all fits together,” Herodias went on in a cold voice that frightened me more than her screams. “Oh, it’s clear as crystal now. She’s in a plot with the steward’s wife. That’s why she wouldn’t talk about her little trysts with that woman. And that’s where the gold bracelet went—to bribe the prison guards, to help the Baptizer.”