Chapter 1

It was high noon when the Arabian cavalcade by a circuitous route reached the southern gateway into Petra. A brightly uniformed detachment met the expected guests at the pass and conducted them through the fortified defile.

After a three-mile ride on a well-kept road, flanked by green pastures, orchards, and widely spaced villas of exquisite architecture, the visitors climbed a long hill, reining in at the summit to face a breath-taking view of the white marble city. There they dismounted to rest their horses. Aretas and Ilderan sauntered a little way apart and for some moments silently surveyed the beautiful panorama below them.

King Herod’s encampment, easily identifiable, had already been set up in a spacious park at the centre of the city. It monopolized at least three-quarters of the park. The colourful tents and gay banners moved Aretas to mutter that it was a more gaudy show than he had expected of the ever dolorous Jews.

‘That is the Roman touch, sire,’ observed Ilderan. ‘Herod does not forget how he came by his kingship.’

‘Aye,’ rumbled Aretas. ‘It was a lucky day for that Idumean upstart when his foolhardy father stopped the Egyptian arrow intended for Cassius.’

‘I have often wondered, sire,’ drawled old Ilderan, ‘whether Cassius might have been so generous with his gratitude had he known how much wealth these Idumeans would acquire in Judaea.’

‘It’s never too late for the Empire to rectify a mistake of generosity,’ said Aretas.

‘True—but there’s no hurry. Herod took over a Jerusalem built of sun-baked brick and is refashioning it in granite and marble. Old Augustus should be willing to let him do that, at the Jews’ expense. Besides,’ continued Ilderan, ‘Judea pays an exorbitant tribute. Why should the Emperor send an army in to kill the goose that lays gold eggs?’

‘Even so; Herod’s nights must be troubled by bad dreams…Shall we proceed into the city, Ilderan?’

The old Councillor did not assent promptly. His brow was furrowed. Pointing toward the Jews’ encampment with his riding-whip, he remarked, ‘Herod has occupied all but a corner of the park, sire. Doubtless he expects us to content ourselves with what remains of it. Such an idea would become him, I dare say.’

‘Let us not give him that satisfaction,’ growled Aretas. ‘We will pitch our tents where we are—on this hill-top. Agreed?’

Ilderan nodded approval. Beckoning to Zendi, the popular young Captain of the Royal Guard, Aretas gave the order. Noting the sudden disappointment in Zendi’s face, he added, ‘After our camp is in order, you and your men are at liberty to ride down into the city.’

There was a spontaneous murmur of pleasure from the tough young cavalrymen, which prompted the King to announce sternly, ‘You will remember that we are guests here. Zendi, you are to hold your men strictly to account for their behaviour!…And—one thing more: there is to be no quarrelling with the Jews!’