Chapter 1

Zendi raised his hand for permission to speak.

‘Should the Jews attack us, Your Majesty, what shall I tell my men to do?’

King Aretas swung into his saddle before replying.

‘In that case, Zendi,’ he said, with a shrug of his shoulder, ‘your men will know what to do—without being told.’ There was a concerted shout of laughter. Even Aretas, who rarely smiled, pulled a reluctant grin as he rode away in the lead of his amused Councillors. Ilderan, riding beside him now, resumed their conversation about Herod.

‘Of course, sire, he cannot help realizing the instability of his provincial throne. He proves his apprehension by the frequency of his journeys to visit the Emperor—and the fact that his sons spend most of their time in Rome.’

‘The Jews probably object to that,’ surmised Aretas.

‘Naturally, sire; but Herod is in greater need of the Emperor’s favour than the good opinion of the Jews, who would despise him, no matter what he did—or left undone…All that flamboyant display of Roman trinkets represents Herod’s fear—rather than his admiration—of Augustus.’

On the level now and four abreast, the Arabians quickened their speed and swept through the suburbs of Petra, presently drawing up before the stately palace of Sosthenes, the Governor, where Aretas and his council were ceremoniously received. Sosthenes seemed flustered.

‘I trust Your Majesty may find ample room in the park for your encampment,’ he said, with an apologetic smile which Aretas made no sign of interpreting. It was evident that the taciturn King of Arabia, whatever he might think of the King of the Jews, was not disposed to exhibit his feelings for the entertainment of this smooth-tongued Greek. ‘And if there is not sufficient camping-space in the park,’ continued Sosthenes uneasily, ‘we will see to it that your retinue does not lack for hospitality.’

‘We have already encamped, my lord,’ said Aretas; ‘on the high plateau south of the city. Our people prefer the open spaces. Will you advise King Herod that Arabia is at his service?’

‘He awaits you, Your Majesty.’ Sosthenes’ tone indicated his relief that an awkward situation had been nicely disposed of. ‘If it is agreeable, your conference will be held here in our council-chamber.’ With a deep bow, he led the way to a high-domed, marble-walled room, luxuriously furnished with huge upholstered divans arranged in two semi-circles fronting a massive teakwood table, at either end of which stood a tall-backed, gold-covered, throne-like chair. The Arabians had not long to wait. Attended by a dozen venerable members of the Jewish Sanhedrin, Herod strutted in. Stiff bows and crisp amenities were exchanged. The Kings took their places in the tall chairs. The Councillors and the Sanhedrin sat. Facing each other, with calm, steady-eyed curiosity, the rulers of Judaea and Arabia presented a striking contrast in costume, bearing, and physique.