Chapter 17

Herodias scowled.

‘No!’ she muttered. ‘I’ll tell you what to ask.’ Drawing the girl close she whispered into her ear. Salome drew back, aghast.

‘But—you’re mad!’ she breathed. ‘What pleasure could I have in the death of that poor fool?’

‘This time, my daughter,’ stormed Herodias, ‘it’s not going to be what you want—but what I want! You’ve been given enough. And what you haven’t been given, you have stolen. Do now as I command you—or I shall punish you! I mean that! You say I am mad: well, perhaps I am. But that will not make your punishment lighter…Go!…Now!’

She was hardly to be recognized as the same girl when she walked slowly into the room, with uncertain steps and downcast eyes. She stood before the Tetrarch crestfallen. The place became suddenly quiet.

‘Sire,’ began Salome huskily, ‘I desire, as my gift, the silver serving-platter that the Empress Julia presented to you.’

‘But—of course!’ replied Antipas, relieved but bewildered. ‘You might have asked more, my child.’

‘Sire—I do ask more.’ Salome’s voice sank almost to a whisper. ‘I want the head of this John, the prisoner, served to me—on the silver platter.’

All breathing was suspended. Pale and horrified, Antipas leaned far back against his cushions, his face contorted.

‘But—we—we can’t do that!’

‘You promised!’ declared Salome with sober finality.

Like a tortured animal at bay, Antipas searched the faces about him, piteously seeking a way out of his dilemma, but finding no sympathy in the amused eyes of the cynical Romans. After a long moment of indecision, he beckoned to the Captain of the Guards and mumbled the revolting order.

Jairus scribbled a hasty note to be passed along to his host. Adiel, it said, had been taken suddenly ill—and might they be pardoned for leaving? Without waiting for consent, they made a hurried exit.

Then there ensued a long, painful interval, the silence broken only by brief and brittle bits of laboured conversation. Herodias had returned to her place between Manilius and Fadilla. Salome was not in sight. At length the doors opened. All eyes turned in that direction. The gruesome gift was carried in and deposited in front of the Tetrarch, who recoiled at the sight.

Young Flavia Tiro collapsed into the arms of Senator Cotta and was violently sick. The Senator was wearing a scarlet tunic with a black spread-eagle embroidered on his left breast. He pushed the sick girl off him and left the room, savagely damning Mark Varus, who had chuckled.

Small groups of guests began to file out, reassembling presently on the couches beside the pool. Now the banquet-hall was empty except for the Tetrarch and the Sadducee, who was rising to leave. Antipas called to him.

‘Master David,’ he croaked unsteadily, ‘you are a lawyer. Is it ever permissible for the Tetrarch to put a man to death?’

‘I believe not, Your Highness,’ said David. ‘I bid you Goodnight.’

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