'No,' admitted Aretas.
'That is good,' nodded Herod. He clapped his hands and an aide appeared. 'We will dine,' he said.
Aretas was not hungry, but it would have been impolitic to say so.
* * * * * *
The Councillors were in session all night. Aretas set forth their dilemma, expressing it as his opinion that Herod knew what he was talking about and had not exaggerated the threatened disaster.
Dumah made bold to say, 'I had rather be enslaved by the Romans than allied to the Jews.'
'As for you, yourself, yes,' said Tema, 'but how about your wife and daughters? The Romans are shameless butchers!'
'But how can we be certain that there is to be an invasion?' scoffed Dumah. 'This fellow Sosthenes would be directly in the path of it—and he doesn't appear to be much upset.'
'Well, he will be,' muttered Tema, 'when Herod tells him how much is expected of him—in gold!'
'Ah—so that's why we're meeting in Petra, is it?' queried Adbeel.
'It's a good enough reason,' said Tema wearily. 'No—it's quite useless to debate this matter. We've been over all the ground—and there's no way out. An alliance of the Jews and Arabians is quite as distasteful to Herod as it is to us. He knows the danger or he would never have made this proposal. We may be sure of that!'
'It is asking too much of our Princess,' said Adbeel. 'She will have a wretched life with this young Jewish scamp.'
'Doubtless,' agreed Naphish, 'but at least she will live.'
'I think she would prefer to die,' muttered Adbeel.
'But that is not the point,' said Mishma. 'If the Princess marries Antipas she will be saving her country. When this is explained to her, she will consent.'
There was a long interval of moody silence, broken by Jetur, who ventured to raise the question that was on everyone's mind: What would young Zendi think of all this?
Ilderan was prompt with a reply.
'My son will be deeply grieved,' he said slowly, 'but he too loves Arabia.'
Aretas nodded his head, without looking up.
'Is there anything further to be said?' he asked; and when no one spoke, he rose, walked toward the door, and dispatched the fateful message to Herod. The Council adjourned, but not to sleep. Breakfast was disposed of shortly before dawn. The tents were quickly packed. By the time the Jews in the park were astir, the Arabian camp-site on the hill was deserted.
The journey home was swift, and for the most part silent. At dusk on the evening of the fourth day of hard travel they separated gloomily.
Arnon was anxiously waiting at the entrance to the encampment. Aretas dismounted slowly, heavily; a haggard old man.
'Father!' exclaimed Arnon. 'What has happened to distress you so? Are you hurt?'
Aretas took her by the hand, as if she were a little child, and silently led her into the tent. When they were seated together on a divan, Arnon summoned a servant and ordered supper to be brought for her father, but Aretas shook his head. Drawing her close, he gazed sadly into her wide, frightened eyes and blurted out the story. Arabia had made an alliance with the Jews. It was the only way of escaping a Roman invasion that would utterly destroy both countries.
'But—if you have made the alliance and have saved our country,' said Arnon hopefully, 'why are you so downhearted?'
'Because—the alliance provides for a royal marriage of Arabia and Judaea.'
Arnon gave a little gasp and her face paled.
'Does that mean—me?' she asked weakly.
'Can you do this, my child, for Arabia?'
Closing her eyes, Arnon drew a long, shuddering breath, and slowly relaxed into her father's arms. After an agonizing moment, she straightened and looked up bravely into his deep-lined face.
'For Arabia—yes—my father,' she said, barely above a whisper.
They sat in silence for a little while. Arnon patted him tenderly on the cheek. Swallowing convulsively in a dry throat, she murmured, 'May I go now, father?'
Aretas released her and she walked toward the door of her room with the short groping steps of the blind. He watched her with brooding sorrow. He would gladly have given his life to save her this painful martyrdom.
* * * * * *
If it was necessary for the Arabs and the Jews to guarantee the genuineness of their alliance by arranging an international marriage it was equally important that the wedding occur without delay, for Tiberius could not afford to wait very long after the catastrophe to Roman arms in the West before attempting elsewhere a recovery of the Empire's ailing prestige.
Nor was this royal wedding an event that might be conducted quietly. It must be distinguished for its pomp and flamboyant extravagance. The full military power of Judaea and Arabia was to be put on exhibition so that Tiberius, when appraised of it, would realize that these passionate little nations had resolved not only to stand together but had the strength to make their unity formidable.
Of course the responsibility for this impressive spectacle would fall more heavily upon Herod than Aretas, for the Arabians were inexperienced in showmanship. At this game Herod was skilled. He had a natural talent for it and his long acquaintance with Roman pageantry had made him fully conversant with its tactics.
The big show would be held in Jerusalem immediately after the wedding in Arabia. With amazing speed Herod assembled his widely scattered troops, secured the financial backing of the wealthy guilds, and even won the timid support of Annas, the High Priest, who never liked to take sides in a political issue until sure which way the cat was going to jump.
The skeletonized 'Legion' of Roman soldiers stationed in Jerusalem, ostensibly for police duty but really to keep the restless Jews in remembrance of their provincial status, merely joked about Herod's bombastic show, until the habitually sequestered Jewish troops began mobilizing in surprising numbers on the unkempt and disused drill-grounds in the Kedron Valley. Fully accoutred, they were marching boldly through the city, en route from Joppa, Caesarea, Hebron, Jericho, and remote Capernaum in Galilee.
That, complained young Legate Julian to his Centurions, was what ailed the Jews: they never knew when they were whipped. The Sanhedrin made deep bows to the Empire's representatives, and retired to plot. Every evening at sunset the faithful appeared at the Wailing Wall to howl hopelessly over their subjugation, and strolled back to their cellars to sharpen their knives and spin tougher bow-strings.
Apprehensive of a dangerous incident, and anxious to head it off by polite appeasement—for he had been sent to Jerusalem to keep the peace at all costs—Julian went to Herod. Why all these military manoeuvres? Herod smiled innocently. There was to be a wedding, he said. His son Antipas was marrying the young Princess of Arabia. Yes, yes, Julian knew all about that, and said it would be quite agreeable to the Empire, he thought, if a detachment of Jewish patrolmen marched in the wedding procession, but—
'A detachment!' broke in Herod disappointedly.
'Well—a legion, then,' conceded Julian, 'if that would better please Your Excellency; but we see no occasion for a parade of catapults weighing two thousand pounds. Is that customary—at a wedding?'
'It would be an interesting novelty,' reflected Herod, in a tone of childish wistfulness. 'Many of our people will be surprised to know that we have catapults.'
'Our people will be surprised too!' exclaimed Julian. 'And if a large display is made of such heavy weapons, Your Excellency may soon have a more serious use for them.'
Herod smiled enigmatically, patted a yawn, and drummed absently on the table with his knuckles. Julian dourly accepted his dismissal and rose to go.
'In any case,' pursued Herod, 'they are good catapults, and they are ours, and they are here! It would be no easy matter to bring as large ones, or as many, from Rome.'
Slightly stunned by this unexpected impudence, Julian stammered, 'I am aware of that, sire.'
'And so is Tiberius,' added Herod recklessly.
'Meaning that Your Excellency would like me to inform the Emperor?'
'As you please, Julian. You will anyway, you know.'
This raw arrogance was something new to the Legate, whom Herod had always treated with a suave, if insincere deference. It was evident that the crafty Jew intended to gamble this time for very high stakes.
'The Emperor may suspect that this wedding is primarily a display of defensive armour!'
'How quick you are, Julian,' drawled Herod, now candidly contemptuous. 'You are wasted as a mere peace officer. You should be a Consul, at the very least.' He rose and bowed ceremoniously. 'Forgive us if we have to let you go now. We have another appointment; and you, doubtless, have business of your own.'
As the troubled young Legate made his inglorious exit from the spacious gold and blue audience chamber, Prince Antipas lounged in through the King's private entrance. Herod glanced up, nodded amiably, and resumed his writing. His face expressed satisfaction with his favourite son, something of pride too; for Antipas—not always so docile—was showing himself surprisingly co-operative in this affair of the Arabian nuptials. Not meaning that he was enthusiastic—which would have been too much to expect—but quietly acquiescent.
Of Herod's three sons by his much loved Mariamne, Antipas was his pet. Antipas was respectful, courteous, good to look upon, of better than average height, with a handsome face, an athletic figure, and the confident carriage of a soldier. The firm discipline of the Roman Military Academy was stamped on him. At twenty-five, his slow, agnostic smile gave more than a hint of the fashionable cynicism which characterized the indolent crew of rich men's sons who gambled all day at the baths and banqueted all night in the best possible places. Antipas was already an experienced man of the world.
As for his other sons by Mariamne, Herod had had but little occasion for pride in them. Archelaus, the eldest, was a contentious fellow, for ever getting himself into embarrassing brawls. Philip, the youngest, whom the family invariably referred to as 'Poor Philip,' was so listless and impractical that he even had much difficulty in holding the government job his eminent father had found for him in Rome at the cost of much coaxing—and a bit of bribery. And, as if poor Philip were not sufficiently weighted with handicaps, he had allowed himself to be led into an unhappy marriage by Herodias—a cousin twice removed—who was his senior by ten years and a century older in experience. A widow, Herodias had brought along a pert young daughter, Salome, whose adventures were common talk. Herod could not be proud of poor Philip. But Antipas—here was a son worthy of all the costly investments that had been made in him!
Noting that his father was occupied or pretended to be, the well-favoured Prince strolled across to the high bank of cases which lined the eastern wall, drew out a new, heavily gilded scroll, read the title, and chuckled audibly. Herod regarded him with interest.
'Did the old man give you this?' inquired Antipas, amused.
'If you are referring to the aged Emperor Augustus,' reproved Herod, 'he did.'
'Gave it to you—personally?' nagged Antipas.
Herod hitched uneasily in his chair, as if to admit that the ostentatious scroll was one of a large number presented to Consuls, Prefects, Governors, Provincial Kings—and Senators too, perhaps.
'I'll wager a hundred shekels that Your Majesty hasn't read a line of it!' taunted Antipas; and, when his father had shrugged, added, 'You'd better, sire. This is Virgil's new eulogy to Augustus, extolling his brave deeds. He calls it
The Aeneid
.'
'We shall have to peruse it,' consented Herod absently.
'Indeed you will, sire!' Antipas made pretence of seriousness. 'You may have to take an examination on it some time.' He flipped the gaudy scroll back into the case, sauntered to the King's dais, flung himself into a chair—and yawned. Herod put down his stylus and smiled benevolently.
'And how are you amusing yourself, my son? We hope the time does not hang too heavily on your hands while you wait for your marriage.'
'Not heavily at all, sire. Your Majesty will recall that Salome, who is very good company, returned with us on our ship, for a visit.'
'Specifically—she came to represent poor Philip's family at the wedding,' amended Herod. 'Otherwise she would not have been tolerated—much less invited: you may be sure of that!' He lowered his voice, discarded his kingship, and impulsively became a father. 'If I were in your place, Antipas, I should arrange not to be seen in public with the little trollop.'
'My niece, sire!' Antipas feigned indignation, but his ironical smirk showed through.
'Niece? Nonsense!' growled Herod. 'Since when did poor Philip's notorious step-daughter become your niece?'
'Technically she is my niece, sire; and Your Majesty's grand-daughter. Does that not entitle her to some courteous consideration?'
'Not from you! The women of the court can attend to Salome's wants. The Queen will arrange for her entertainment.'
'But mother does not care for her,' said Antipas sadly.
'Not much wonder!' muttered Herod. 'But—however that may be—you are to have nothing further to do with her. The fact that your half-witted brother married her mother does not obligate you in the least. Your association with this Salome will do you no good, especially now that your heart is in Arabia.'
'Is it?' Instantly Antipas realized that he had overtaxed his royal parent's patience. He had been sweetly wheedled into returning to wed the Arabian princess. It had required a deal of coaxing. At first he had loudly protested, and his father had promised him an immediate cash payment of his patrimony. He had shaken his head sorrowfully, and his father had conferred on him the Tetrarchy of Galilee. Finally he had yielded to the King's importunate pressure. It had placed him in an advantageous position, and he had been trading on it sharply, with all the inconsiderate tyranny of a spoiled invalid. His father's dark frown warned him now that his impudence had reached a limit.
'It had better be!' rasped Herod hotly. 'This is a serious business! And you are a fool not to realize it!' He rose and paced to and fro, with mounting rage. 'You should be in Arabia at this moment—as I counselled you—making friends with these aliens. I tell you they are no more eager for this wedding than you are! And if you treat it too lightly you may get a dagger between your ribs—blood-letting is a mere pastime with these Arabians! They never forget an injury or an insult.' The King was breathing heavily as he strode toward the door. 'Don't say I did not warn you!' he shouted.