Chapter 15

But in a few days after their arrival it became apparent that the Romans were going to be as restless in Tiberias as they had been in Jerusalem. There were plenty of good horses in the Tetrarch’s marble stables, but the visitors petulantly remarked that there were no interesting rides to be taken, nowhere to go. The girls inquired why no use was made of the lovely lake—ideal water for a pleasure barge; moonlight, music, dancing. It was queer, they said, that the Tetrarch had never thought of that. Well, it was too late now.

By the end of Nisan everybody was at loggerheads with everybody else. Salome had had a falling out with Valerie, who, to punish her, had transferred her attentions to the young Tiro girl, causing an estrangement between Salome and Flavia. At this juncture Amelia Tiro, championing her child, remarked—in the presence of half a dozen loungers beside the famous pool—that Salome was no fit company for a young girl anyway; and although this comment did not come as a shock to anybody, it did nothing to improve the climate of a house party, already at storm.

Julia Drusus, savagely scorned by the exasperated Fadilla, belatedly showed a comradely interest in Herodias who, resentful of Julia’s earlier aloofness, would have none of her.

Antipas made pretence of busying himself with the planting of a new vineyard, and coolly despised them all.

Salome, now left to her own devices, sought consolation in the companionship of her step-father, making their mutual affection so flagrantly showy that everybody chattered evilly about them—and Herodias could have killed them both. Indeed, so hard pressed for attention was the unhappy woman that she took to visiting John the hermit in his cell, plying him with fruits, flowers, and flattery; and when it became evident that the grim prophet was too preoccupied with his own meditations to appraise hers correctly, Herodias threw away the last shred of her counterfeit decency and drove the hapless ascetic into a terrifying rage by attempting to caress him. Hot with such anger as she had never experienced, she slapped him on the mouth and slammed the cell-door behind her, screaming that he could stay there for ever—and rot—for all she cared. Her eyes burned with self-piteous tears as she stumbled along toward the new vineyard, muttering that things had come to a pretty pass when a shaggy, penniless ragamuffin from nowhere would dare to yell into her face that she was a common slut. That the accusation was true did not mitigate the indignity. She would see to it that the bug-eater was punished.

By the time she reached Antipas, who was complacently viewing the building of rustic trellises at the far corner of the vineyard, Herodias had burned out her rage and was almost disposed to be companionable. Her husband nodded, smiled, and wondered what was on her mind.

‘Really, my dear,’ she began, ‘something must be done about these unhappy people of yours.’

Antipas nodded.