Salome (10 page)

I thought Joanna might be tired out from going to court, but Gundi grudgingly reported that the steward’s wife would be glad to see Miss Salome. “Aren’t you afraid of catching her wasting illness?” Gundi asked me as we walked through the palace grounds. “Besides, it’s midday rest time.”

“You’re the one who wants a nap,” I told Gundi, stopping outside the door of the steward’s house. “Go on back. Joanna’s maid can escort me home.”

I was glad to enter the steward’s modest house again. Today Joanna was in the garden, and she beckoned me in. It was a small garden, but pleasant, with cushions on the benches and flowering vines twining around the pillars.

Joanna sat upright in a wicker armchair near the blossoming lemon tree. “Sit down and tell me about Rome, Salome. Do you miss your life there?”

I felt a little shy, because I wasn’t used to talking about myself. But as I described my class at the Temple of Diana, Joanna seemed truly interested. I’d never told anyone except Herodias about my dream that last night in the Temple, but now I struggled to explain it to Joanna. “I was so excited and so afraid at the same time! It was like—well, like what you said at the hot springs: a window opened on a different world.”

Joanna’s face tightened, and she moved uneasily, but I plunged ahead. “The preacher you went to hear was John the Baptizer, wasn’t he?”

Looking down at the garden path, Joanna spoke in a careful tone. “Some would say that the Baptizer is possessed by a demon. This morning, he didn’t seem to notice that he was in a palace, not on the riverbank. And he insulted Antipas to his face, as though he didn’t know he could be put to death for it.”

“He does seem possessed, in a way,” I said. “Why does he hate my mother so much?”

“You mean, why does he urge the Tetrarch to put her aside?” asked Joanna slowly. “I’m not sure he
hates
her.”

“But doesn’t he understand how it would ruin her life if Antipas divorced her? It would be a terrible humiliation. What would she do? Where would she go? She’d have to beg some relatives to take her in.”

“Rather like what happened to the Nabatean princess,” said Joanna, almost too softly to hear. Without waiting for a response from me, she gestured to her maid. “But I’m forgetting about hospitality! Zoe, bring us a cool drink. Miss Salome must be thirsty.” She smiled politely. “And after refreshments, I’m afraid, I must rest, or I will suffer tomorrow for overextending myself.”

I was the one who’d overextended myself, of course. I shouldn’t have mentioned John the Baptizer by name. Sipping my drink, I meekly went back to chatting about life in Rome. An unpleasant possibility struck me: maybe Joanna suspected that Herodias had sent me to pump her about the preacher.

Joanna must have liked me anyway, though, or maybe she just didn’t want to hurt my feelings. As I was about to leave, she said, “Please come to see me again, Salome. Do you know any poetry? I’d enjoy hearing it.”

I returned to the palace puzzling over what Joanna had said, or hinted at, about my mother. Although I’d been very angry with Herodias for marrying Antipas, it had never occurred to me that it might be
wrong
for her to do so.

THIRTEEN

A VISIT FROM HEROD ANTIPAS

Outside the audience hall, the guards marched John quickly through the palace to the back stairs. Here the magnificence came to a sudden end, and rough stone steps led downward to the prisons. There was no light except from the lamps flickering on the walls. The jailer let them through an iron gate, and the guards shoved John along the passageway, past the cell where he’d been kept this morning.

Another stairway, narrower than the first. John was afraid he might suffocate. It wasn’t the prison air, although that was stale and foul. He felt as if the stones of the prison walls were pressing on him, weighing more with each step downward.

Finally the forward guard stopped, holding his torch to show a grate in the stone floor. The other guard lifted up the iron grating with a crowbar and jerked his head from John to the hole. The torch didn’t light the pit except for its rim, but John found that it wasn’t as deep as it looked. In fact, it wasn’t deep enough for him to stand upright.

With a scraping noise, the grate dropped back into place overhead.

Facing Antipas in the grand hall, John had felt as strong and sure as an avenging angel. Now he struggled like a drowning man in a lake of dread. Hell, Gehenna, was supposed to be a land of eternal fire, but John thought this cell would be a much worse place of punishment.

John tried to escape from the prison by turning his thoughts to the outside world: the arch of sky over the hills, the gurgle of the creek flowing into the baptizing pool, the scent of green things growing by the river. But from prison, the wide world seemed far away and not quite real. Herod Antipas, like an evil magician, had shrunk John’s world down to a box of clammy stone.

Torchlight flickered overhead, and John braced himself for a soldier with a drawn sword. Instead, when the guard pried up the grating, John’s disciple Elias peered down. “Rabbi?”

John raised his manacled hands to grasp his disciple’s. “Peace, Elias! Thank the Lord.” With his friend here, John could even smile. “You made good time from Jericho to Tiberias.”

John didn’t ask how he’d gotten into the prison, but Elias muttered, “A friend, a wealthy lady, gave the guards silver.” His breathing was labored, and he stared down at John with anxious eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’m well, Elias,” said John. It calmed him to reassure his disciple. “Give me the news. Where are the others?”

“Rabbi, we’re all staying with good people in the next town, Capernaum.” Elias hesitated. “They tell us your cousin Yeshua is preaching nearby, in Nain. Crowds are following him around. Many say that he’s the prophet Elijah come back to life.”

“Yeshua?” The last time John had seen his cousin, Yeshua had been in a group at the river, waiting to be baptized. The mood at baptisms was always thrilling, but there had been a special breathless feeling about that day. After the immersion, Yeshua had disappeared before John had a chance to speak to him.

“Some even say he’s the Anointed One,” said Elias, “come to rescue the Lord’s people.”

A tremor of hope shook John’s heart. He answered, “Maybe he is the One. What does
he
say about himself?”

Elias shrugged and shook his head.

If the One for whom John had prepared the way was here, then the Baptizer’s work was done. The Lord’s purpose was going forward. In spite of the way it seemed, the Herods were not in control. This luxurious palace, squatting on its own filth, was not the real center of power.

“Go to Yeshua and ask him,” John urged. “Ask him outright. Say, ‘Your kinsman John wants to know, are you the Messiah? Or should we look for someone else?’ Then come back and tell me what he says.”

After Elias left, doubt and despair came rushing back over John. “Weakling!” he reproached himself. It wasn’t the dark he minded or going hungry and thirsty. From his years in the wilderness, waiting for the word of the Lord, he was used to watching through the night and used to fasting. And he’d slept on stones many times before, in caves no larger than this cell. But those caves had opened onto the Lord’s wide world.

John prayed that he would not go mad. He chanted a psalm: “My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.”

John dreamed, and in the dream angels carried him to the wilderness. Standing on a hilltop, he breathed dry, herb-scented air. Insects hummed in the grass, and John could see the far horizon in every direction.

The day after the audience, they moved John from the pit into an ordinary cell. Here gray light trickled down from an air shaft near the ceiling. Had they moved him in preparation for executing him? John wondered. A soldier wouldn’t have room to swing his sword in the pit.

Time passed. A guard unlocked his cell and set down bread and water. More time passed until the gray light faded to black again. As John was saying his evening prayers, torchlight flickered in the corridor, and the cell door opened again.

“John Baptizer,” said a voice as rich as creamy cheese. “I want to talk to you.”

John thought he recognized that voice, but still he squinted in disbelief at the man in the doorway. Pushing himself to his feet, John faced Herod Antipas. The Tetrarch gave off the scent of costly perfume, more frightening than the stench of the prison.

“I thought we could speak frankly, here in private,” said Antipas. “It was a mistake to bring you into the audience hall yesterday. Before my court, I had to uphold my role as Tetrarch, and of course your followers were also watching you.” He chuckled. “Oh, yes, I know there are servants and even courtiers who follow the Baptizer. I know that my steward’s own wife traveled all the way to Jericho to hear you preach. Chuza actually believed her story about going to visit her aunt in Jericho!”

By the torchlight John noted Antipas’s build, overfed but muscular, like a boar. The royal pig, thought John, that eats the flesh of the children of the poor.

“Understand,” Antipas went on, “I don’t argue with much of what you preach. I hear that you advise soldiers and tax collectors about how to behave better. This is good, John; this is good. But you’ve spoken very harshly of me.”

“I’ve said only, turn from evil,” said John. “He who would rule the Lord’s people must become clean himself.”

“Evil! Can you call it
evil,
John, that I’ve saved Galilee and Perea from Roman rule?” Antipas stretched out a hand, appealing to the preacher as one reasonable man to another. “Wasn’t it a great accomplishment of mine to keep Galilee an independent territory? If it weren’t for my connections in Rome, Galilee as well as Judea would be under Governor Pilate’s thumb. You remember how Pilate tried to defile the Temple with the Imperial standards when he arrived in Jerusalem.”

“
You
have defiled the tombs of the Jews to build this wicked city,” said the Baptizer.

“If you want to talk of evil—well! The true evil is that I was cheated out of the throne of Greater Judea. My father had appointed
me
heir to his whole kingdom.” The Tetrarch’s tone was hurt. “But then the old man went senile, changed his mind, and gave half of his kingdom to my incompetent brother Archelaus. Archelaus made a mess of ruling Judea, the Emperor sent him into exile—and the Roman governors have been oppressing Judea ever since.”

“
You
are the oppressor,” said John quietly.

Folding his arms, Antipas fixed John with a reproachful look. “Baptizer, you accuse me unjustly. Why do you stir the people up against me? Why are you making life hard for me? Do you think my lot is so easy?”

When John didn’t answer, Antipas went on, “It is
not
easy to rule Galilee. Think about this: I have to collect taxes for the Romans. I have to stay on good terms with the Jewish leaders. I have to keep the peasants quiet.
And
I have to watch the southern border—the king of Nabatea would like to grab a chunk of Perea. All this, with the Emperor’s regent looking over my shoulder!”

“Why are you telling me these things?” asked John. “All I care about is preaching the word of the Lord. All the Lord cares about is repentance.”

Antipas regarded him silently for a moment. Now, thought John, the Tetrarch would call for the guard. He would have this troublesome preacher killed right then and there.

But Antipas said, “Very well, I never said I wouldn’t repent. What must I do to repent?”

John was stunned. Was it possible that the tyrant really wanted to repent? One thing he knew: it was not up to him, John, to decide who was truly repentant. His mission was only to call the people to turn their lives around. The Lord alone could judge them.

Antipas went on, “John, let us not be enemies.” He lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t say this to everyone, but my fiftieth birthday coming up is making me think—how do I want future generations to remember me? The time to act is
now.
I have the official position, but you have sway over the common people. If you and I join together, Baptizer, we can make the ancient prophecies come true.”

“Then listen, here is the prophecy you should heed,” said John. “Hear the words of the prophet Ezekiel: ‘Ho, shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the fatlings, but you do not feed the sheep.’”

Antipas sighed. “Think over what I’ve said.” In an abruptly cold tone he added, “And think about this: if I order it, they’ll take you to the amphitheater and feed you to the panthers.”

John said calmly, “The Tetrarch has no more idea of repenting than a pig.” Turning his back on Antipas, he knelt on the floor, closed his eyes, and recited a psalm: “Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud…”

“Consider carefully,” said Antipas.

“Give me not up to the will of my enemies…”

“Think it over.” The Tetrarch’s footsteps faded in the corridor, but his perfume lingered.