  The two sat in a protected spot of warming sunshine on the terrace at Machaerus. A week ago as the caravan bringing the Tetrarch’s party had moved down the low trough of the Jordan, the faintly greening willows and oleanders bordering the twisting stream had hinted of spring. But here on this desolate, upflung “Are you cold?” Herodias asked. “Would you like to go inside?” “No, it’s wonderful out here, as long as we’re sheltered from the wind. It’s so bracing, so invigorating after all our dissipating....” “But, my dear, I haven’t been aware of your dissipating at Machaerus. With Longinus not here....” “Pluto roast old Sejanus! But too much wine, nevertheless, and entirely too much rich food.” Claudia looked out from beneath long eyelashes. “After all, isn’t more indulging done in banquet halls than in bedrooms?” “As far as I’m concerned, yes, certainly.” “But the Tetrarch is here with you, Herodias, and he appears to be in a gay holiday mood.” “Here with me? Hah!” She tossed her head disdainfully. “With his women, you mean, those dark, fat, greasy, perfume-reeking Arabian women old Aretas gave him. And his little girls.” “Little girls?” “Yes. Hadn’t you noticed? They seem at the moment to be an important part of the Machaerus staff. As Antipas gets more senile—and I’m sure he’s getting that way—he tries more and more to ape the Emperor. At least, that’s what I believe he thinks he’s doing. It’s disgusting, of course, but I welcome being relieved of his crude attentions.” “But in Rome, Herodias, weren’t you eager to marry Antipas?” “Yes, but you know why. I wanted to marry the Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea so that I could make him a king and myself a queen. I sought the office, my dear, not the man.” She pulled her lips into a determined grim line. “And I still expect to see him on a king’s throne, with me seated beside him. But as a man Antipas has as much attraction for me as ... as I suppose Pilate has for you.” Claudia laughed understanding, but made no observation. Instead, she pointed westward. “Look how high we are here. The Dead Sea seems almost below us, and it must be several miles away.” “The surface of the Dead Sea is a quarter of a mile below the surface of the Great Sea. And we’re a half mile above the Great Sea; that would make us, where we sit now, about four thousand feet above the Dead Sea, wouldn’t it? Jerusalem, of course, is almost this high.” Herodias twisted around slightly to point northwestward. “See, across there, almost straight west of the top of the Dead Sea, that’s Jerusalem. It’s too far away, of course, for us to distinguish any of the buildings, but the city’s on that rise, just there. Sometimes of a late afternoon, when the angle is just right, they say, one can see the sunlight flashing from the golden roof of the Temple.” Claudia looked off to her left and settled back in her chair. “Herodias, why did they ever build this palace in such a desolate, rockbound region so far from everything?” “I asked Antipas the same question. He said it was built more as a fort than a palace. This is near the southern boundary of the tetrarchy. Down there”—she pointed southward above a narrow valley fast greening with luxuriant vegetation—“beyond that stream with its banks lined with willows is the kingdom of Aretas. The Herods originally came from that region at the southern end of the Dead Sea, which was called Idumaea. So this fortress up here was built as a defense post.” “Then Aretas isn’t far away, is he? By the way, what became of his daughter, the woman you displaced?” “I don’t know, and what’s more, I don’t care!” She realized that she had spoken petulantly. “I didn’t mean to be short, Claudia. I have no reason to hate her, after all. And I have no idea that she or her father will attempt reprisal against Antipas. Any attack upon him would be an attack upon Rome, and surely they wouldn’t risk that.” “I think you need have no apprehensions. But, of course, I know absolutely nothing about this King Aretas or his daughter. Generally, though, I understand, these eastern peoples are impulsive and vindictive.” “But they’re also known to be very shrewd. Surely he would know he couldn’t defeat Rome.” “If he calmly considered the situation, yes.” She shrugged. “I “Yes, and still a troublemaker. They say his followers have been coming here all the time since he’s been imprisoned. Haven’t you noticed all the Jews coming and going while we’ve been here? Look.” She indicated a point far down the slope where the trail to Machaerus led from the road paralleling the lakeside. “That group down there, I’d wager they’re coming here to listen to the fellow’s haranguing. And they’ll try to see Antipas and petition him to free the madman.” For a moment she watched the men coming slowly up the slope. “If Antipas had done as I said and had the man beheaded, he could have prevented all this; while that fellow’s alive there’ll be more and more agitation against us.” She hunched up a shoulder. “But what can one do with a person,” she said indifferently, “who is not only fearful and woefully superstitious but is horribly obstinate as well?” She stood up. “Excuse me, Claudia; you stay out here and sun yourself as long as you like. But I have some things to do before we sit down to Antipas’ birthday banquet, one of which, no doubt”—her brittle laugh echoed across the terrace—“will be to get him sobered sufficiently to attend it himself.” |
|
