Chapter 6

‘Welcome to beautiful Galilee, my child,’ he said in a tone of studied formality. ‘It would be a pleasure to see more of you if our good Hannah consents. We must not detain you now. You are eager to have a glimpse of our beloved ruler and his charming family.’ There was such forthright malice in his sneer that Esther darted an inquiry into his crafty eyes. Was he inviting her to share his contempt for the Tetrarch? Momentarily confused she fought her way out of the little dilemma by asking to be excused, and drifted quickly away to merge into the waiting crowd. David turned to Hannah and lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

‘She has told me a little more,’ obliged Hannah. ‘Her mother died recently, leaving her without a home. She is searching for an uncle, a sculptor, who, she thinks, lives near the lake.’

‘What has become of her father?’

‘Dead, I suppose. She didn’t say.’

‘Is this uncle presumed to be an Idumean?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well—I don’t,’ growled David. ‘They do not produce sculptors in Idumea. I’ll wager there isn’t a chisel to be found in all that country. Their favourite tool is the dagger…Has she offered any information about the device you found on her clothing? No? I thought not. And you didn’t inquire: that was right.’

They moved closer to the highway where Esther was sighted in the front row of the spectators, the tall Sadducee observing that the girl was utterly absorbed in the approaching cavalcade, the vanguard of which was now only a few yards distant. Hannah noted that David’s interest was not concentrated on the garish spectacle but devoted entirely to her mysterious guest.

The procession was led by a company of gaudily uniformed cavalry from the Roman fort at Capernaum. They rode four abreast, their mounts jingling with polished trappings. After the military escort had passed there was an open interval of a full hundred yards before the second unit came on, led by a distinguished figure on a superb white horse unmistakably of Arabian origin. The man was richly clad in a black tunic trimmed in red, red riding breeches, and glossy black boots. He rode alone. His grey hair was close-cropped and circled with a silver fillet.

Esther gazed hard at the haughty, dissipated face, at the wide-set, bulging eyes that negligently drifted over the crowd with a bored unconcern. Now the roving eyes swept the upturned faces of the area where Esther stood, transfixed, with a dry throat and pounding heart. An instant later they returned to her, the finely sculptured brows lifted a little and a mere wisp of a smile—compounded of surprise, insolence, admiration, and amusement—twitched the Tetrarch’s lips. Esther’s wide eyes gave no response. She was frightened.

There was a considerable interval before the luxurious litters were carried by. There were three of them, single-file, each borne by eight stalwart slaves—Greeks, Esther thought. The curtains of the first of the litters were tightly drawn. It bore Herodias, no doubt. The second was open, and the lounging occupant, a heavily-jewelled woman of thirty, smirked impudently through her paint. This, Esther knew, would be Salome. However notorious, she was indeed a beautiful woman: even her awareness of her beauty did not mar it. The curtains of the third litter were closed. Esther hoped she might hear a name whispered by someone in the crowd, but the occupant remained unidentified.