Chapter 2

‘I had expected to leave for Rome,’ protested Antipas. ‘I have business there.’

‘That may be,’ snorted Herod. ‘But you have no business in Rome that can compare in urgency with the business you have in Arabia.’

‘How about my obligations in Galilee?’

‘You are to forget all about Galilee!’

‘Meaning that you have deposed me, sire?’

‘For the present, yes. We will take care of all Galilean matters. Whether you ever find yourself in Galilee again is a question you may answer for yourself. You may go now. Make peace with your Princess. And prepare to take her home without delay.’

Antipas noisily exhaled a self-piteous sigh, slapped his palms down hard on the arms of his chair, and rose to his feet.

‘This, sire,’ he muttered, ‘is the unhappiest day of my life.’

‘So far as you have gone,’ assisted the King. ‘See to it now that you do not encounter unhappier days. Make things right with your Princess. Tell her how you have longed to return to her, but that a revolt among the people of your Province—’ He broke off, annoyed to find his son attentively listening for further light on this extemporaneous alibi. ‘Contrive your own lie,’ he went on impatiently, ‘but make it good! Arnon will try to believe you, but she lacks a great deal of being such a fool as her husband.’

‘A revolt, eh?’ reflected Antipas.

‘A dangerous uprising; and you had to stay there—and deal with it.’ Herod grew thoughtful and continued, to himself, ‘I shall say that to Aretas. He may doubt the truth of it, but a poor excuse in a case so desperate is better than none. When a man’s pride is injured, almost any medicine is welcome.’

‘May I take my leave now, Your Majesty?’ asked Antipas, with elaborate humility, hopeful that his father might relent and smile a little.

‘Indeed you may, Your Highness,’ mocked Herod, with a profound bow. ‘What an ass you are!’

* * * * *