Chapter 2

It was not a happy interview. To begin with, Antipas was halted—politely enough, but definitely halted—at the door of his father’s audience room, the Chamberlain announcing firmly that the King was engaged.

‘But he will see me,’ rasped Antipas. ‘Go and tell him.’

‘His Majesty has been notified that you are here, Your Highness. He bids you wait until you are summoned.’

Antipas turned to go.

‘Say to His Majesty that I shall return when he is less busy,’ he said indifferently.

‘If I may venture a suggestion,’ murmured the obsequious Chamberlain, ‘the Prince would be well advised to remain here until he is called.’

Something of warning in the old man’s tone checked Antipas’ impulsive decision to leave. Indignantly he glanced about for a chair to fling himself into, but to his surprise and annoyance there were no chairs in the corridor. He was about to order one brought to him, but the Chamberlain had already slipped back into the room, closing the door behind him. Antipas paced up and down, fuming. He had never been treated like this before. Once he made up his mind to go, stalked as far as the great door that gave on to the terrace, but thought better of it—and returned. It was a whole hour before the Chamberlain reappeared to say that His Majesty would see His Highness now.

Forcing a filial smile, Antipas entered, bowed, and said: ‘My greetings, sire! I hope I find you well.’

‘Sit down!’ barked the King.

Antipas’ expression sobered and he sat rigidly at attention.

It was immediately evident that the King had carefully composed the speech upon which he launched with icy restraint. He had tried, he said quietly, to be an indulgent father. It was not easy for a King—hard pressed with cares of state—to give his children the firm discipline necessary to the production of a strong character. He had paid his sons the compliment of believing that—with their superb advantages—they would develop strength, dignity, integrity.

But he had been bitterly disappointed, he went on dejectedly. Where was there a father in all this realm who had less cause for satisfaction in his sons? There was Philip, the weakling, the cuckold! Herod’s voice shook with contempt. And there was this insufferable braggart and brawler, Archelaus! What had he ever done, the King asked himself, to have deserved an affliction like Archelaus?

‘Only last week,’ he went on, with rising heat, ‘your impudent brother came to advise us that we were too old to continue our rule: that we had toiled too long, too diligently; that we should retire, and confer on him the regency! Think of that! The regency—of all Judaea! To be conferred upon a loud-mouthed, contentious fellow who can’t even get along harmoniously with his own lazy drinking-companions!’