Salome (11 page)

FOURTEEN

JOANNA’S DAUGHTER

Herodias and Antipas weren’t cooing and billing like turtledoves any longer. Gundi said that Iris said that the Tetrarch didn’t come to Herodias’s rooms every night. When he did, they sometimes quarreled. On those nights, the visit would end with Herodias in hysterical tears and Antipas stalking back to his suite. Iris kept a sleeping potion ready every evening in case things turned out badly and her mistress needed it.

Gundi also reported that Antipas’s taster said that the prison guards said that the Tetrarch had gone to the prison once, late at night. He hadn’t let anyone accompany him down the stone steps, but the guards guessed that he spoke with the Baptizer.

Gundi was pleased about these setbacks for Herodias, but it worried me to hear about them. Galilee seemed more than ever like a foreign and dangerous land, and Rome seemed very far away.

I was eager to get away from the uneasy mood in the palace, and so I soon returned to Steward Chuza’s house. Remembering Joanna’s suggestion, I brought a collection of poems from the palace library.

As Joanna’s maid Zoe led me toward the garden, I heard voices. In front of Joanna’s couch knelt several people in shabby clothes, reaching out to kiss her hand. “My lady,” said a fisherman, “I was about to sell my boat and hire out as a day laborer. We would have had to move to the slum outside the city walls.”

“Dear lady, we owe you our lives,” sobbed a young woman holding a baby. Two older children clung to her skirt. “May Hera bless you and all your family, kind lady.”

“And the Jewish god, of course—may he bless you, too!” added another man.

Joanna glanced across the garden as I entered, but she hardly seemed to notice me. “Peace, farewell,” she murmured to the commoners backing away from her. There were tears in her eyes.

As the young woman with the baby turned, I noticed that she looked even younger than I’d thought. Could these be her own children? Maybe she was the oldest of a family of orphans.

The commoners left, pausing again and again to look back as if they could hardly bear to take their eyes off Joanna. I sat down in a chair near her couch. “You must have sold some property,” I said.

Joanna nodded, wiping her eyes. “I only wish I’d done it long ago. I didn’t realize how far I’d drifted from the heart of the Law since I married. Chuza became a Jew, and of course he follows the forms and customs just as the Tetrarch demands. But that’s all—there’s no heart to it in Tiberias.” Pausing, Joanna frowned and cleared her throat, as if she’d talked too freely. “Enough of this. I’m glad to see you, Salome. Did you bring some poetry?”

“I don’t understand about the Law,” I said, ignoring her question. “What
is
the heart of it?”

“To love the Lord and to love your neighbor,” said Joanna. “And in order to love my neighbors, I have to notice them, don’t I? It’s not enough to give the alms collector a tenth of my income, as if I were paying a customs official. The holy man was telling me to open my eyes and really see the people who needed my help. How can I explain it?” She looked at me earnestly. “Imagine if you stood on the shore of Lake Tiberias, but you always turned away from the water.”

I shook my head, bewildered. “How could I live in Tiberias and not look at the lake?”

“Exactly what I ask myself!” exclaimed Joanna. “Anyway, I asked the holy man what I should do to repent. He told me, ‘Share your riches with the poor.’”

“Riches? But your husband is only a steward,” I said.

“Yes, that’s just what I thought. What riches?” Joanna gestured around her modest garden. “Then I considered the properties my father deeded to me when I married, and I saw how much more I had than I needed. And I saw people who truly needed the money.” Joanna smiled sadly. “I didn’t have to look far. Did you know how many farmers and fishermen in Galilee lose their means to make a living? Or how many women are widowed and left with little children to feed?”

“But there are so many poor people,” I said. “How could you help them all? And what about the preacher? Did you give him money, too?”

“No,” said Joanna. She looked at me as if she’d just remembered whose daughter I was. “Later, I managed to give him some food, but that’s all. I don’t think he wants money.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Did you notice the young widow with three little children? She reminded me a bit of my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?” I asked. I thought Joanna meant a daughter who had married and left home. “Where is she?”

Joanna didn’t answer at first, and I knew I must have guessed wrong. Finally she said, “My daughter died of childbirth fever—her first child. Never mind, Salome; it happened three years ago.” She added in a low voice, “Although at the time, I wished I could have died in her place.”

“I am so sorry,” I murmured. I felt her sorrow keenly. If I had died and Herodias said she wished she could have died in my place, I would have thought, There goes the queen of tragedy again. But when Joanna said she’d wanted to die instead of her daughter, it sounded like a simple matter of fact. A question burst out of me: “Do I remind you of your daughter—a little bit?”

“Ah, Salome.” Joanna reached out a hand to me, and I knelt in front of her couch, where the poor young widow had knelt a short while ago. Joanna pressed my hand between both of hers. “Dear Salome.”

I seemed to sink into her words, melting as in a warm pool. I wanted more than anything for Joanna to go on talking to me in just that tone of voice. At the same time, I felt that I had no right to listen. What would Herodias think?

Joanna said gently, “No, you aren’t much like Althea, my daughter, except that she was about your age.” Feeling a pang, I pulled back. Joanna added quickly, “For one thing, Althea wasn’t
beautiful,
although she was pleasant-looking. And she was rather meek. Not a girl to be reckoned with,” she teased me.

I tried to smile, but I was shaken and too choked to speak. I left a few moments later without reading any poems.

Early one morning after another quarrel with Antipas, Herodias sent for me. “My daughter, I haven’t slept a wink. You must prepare yourself for the worst. Hear what your stepfather said to me last night!”

Herodias proceeded to give me a blow-by-blow report of the quarrel, beginning (“In all innocence, Salome!”) with her clasping Antipas’s hand in both of hers. “I don’t want to interfere, my prince,” she’d said tenderly, “but I’m afraid the Baptizer’s presence is having a demoralizing effect on your people. They say someone in the palace is visiting the dungeon.” Her voice rose indignantly. “Someone was even bold enough to send him a basket of food!”

I froze. That someone was Joanna, of course.

Not noticing my reaction, Herodias went on with her story. “So you have an informer among my guards?” Antipas had asked.

“I’m only saying that
you
should have an informer,” Herodias had said. “Or perhaps you should have the guards questioned. Or interrogate the preacher himself.”

“That would be a bad idea,” Antipas had answered. “Torture must be used judiciously. Thank you for your advice, but I already have all the information I need on the Baptizer and his disciples. I know all about the basket of food and its contents. I even know that John gave away the wine to a guard, apparently because he abstains.”

Herodias broke off her performance for a moment to comment to me: “Daughter, you can imagine how his cold tone of voice hurt my feelings, when I wish nothing but my husband’s welfare. But I did not want to quarrel. I tried not to take offense.” She resumed the drama, acting both parts.

“Well!” Herodias had laughed lightly. “My prince’s eyes and ears are everywhere!” She went on in a softer tone. “I don’t see why you won’t send that man to the games master. A shipment of panthers just arrived at the amphitheater, and the games master says they need more prisoners.”

Antipas drew back. “You went to the amphitheater and talked with the games master? What did I tell you about—”

“Oh, never mind all those silly little rules!” Herodias stroked his arm. “Send him to the amphitheater. If you love me,
send the Baptizer to the amphitheater.
”

“Did any of the Jewish leaders see you with the games master?” demanded Antipas.

“The Jewish leaders this, the Jewish leaders that.” Herodias gave her musical laugh. “The Jewish leaders have laws against this; they would be offended by that…. I begin to wonder who’s truly the ruler of Galilee and Perea.”

“You know little of ruling,” said Antipas to his wife in a distant tone, “if you think a ruler can do whatever he likes. Only twenty years ago, there was a savage uprising in this area. The Romans sent in their troops, and the whole city of Sepphoris was destroyed.”

Herodias stepped back and turned away. Over her shoulder, she said, “Perhaps you think you can do whatever you like with
me
and no one will defend me. Know that I have powerful allies among the Herods—and in the Emperor’s court.”

Antipas had no reply—at least, not in Herodias’s telling of the scene.

That afternoon I went to see Joanna again. “Salome,” she said, “you told me how you loved to dance at the Temple of Diana. Would you dance for me today?”

“Oh, yes! I’d like to.” I hadn’t danced for months. I knew that I missed moving to music, but I hadn’t realized how much until just now. “Would you play the music for me?”

Joanna said she had little skill with the lyre, but Zoe could be my musician. I explained to the maid the kind of music I needed. I decided not to dance any of the sacred dances I’d learned at the Temple of Diana, but instead my springtime dance from the performance of
Demeter and Persephone.

With lemon blossoms tucked into my hair, I danced around Joanna’s garden. It wasn’t even as large as my father’s garden in Rome, and so I kept having to double back on my steps. This threw me a bit off balance, and I stumbled once or twice. But I only laughed, picking up the rhythm again easily. Joanna laughed, too, her face lit up.

“Oh, Salome!” she exclaimed when I’d scattered the last flower. “What a delight! You truly expressed the springtime, fresh and lovely.”

While Zoe went to get us a cool drink, I sat down on a stool beside Joanna. Still breathing hard, I rested my head on the edge of the couch. “Your hair is quite wild, my dear!” said Joanna teasingly. She smoothed the locks from my forehead, and I closed my eyes.

As Joanna stroked my hair, she recited a poem:

Thou dost show me the path of life;

in thy presence there is fullness of joy…

“That’s an old Hebrew poem,” murmured Joanna. “But I believe it can be just as true today. It reminds me of John the Baptizer in the Tetrarch’s audience hall, how he didn’t seem to notice the grandeur of the palace. I think it was because his eyes were on the ‘path of life.’”

Alarmed, I opened my eyes. Joanna shouldn’t be talking so freely to Herodias’s daughter. I blurted, “My mother and stepfather both know that someone sent a basket of food to John the Baptizer.”

Joanna stopped smoothing my hair. I sat up, feeling that I’d betrayed my mother. Or was I betraying Joanna by not telling her more?

“Did someone do that?” asked Joanna finally. Her face was closed, as if she’d thrown a veil over it. “How reckless.”

FIFTEEN

TWO HEROD BROTHERS

Meanwhile, preparations for Antipas’s fiftieth birthday celebration were in full swing. He planned a great feast, and he’d invited all the important men in Tiberias as well as those at his court. Some guests would come from as far away as Sepphoris.

The guest of honor would be my uncle Philip, Tetrarch of Gaulanitis, on the other side of Lake Tiberias. I’d seen him years ago when he visited Rome, but I didn’t remember him well. Philip was yet another of the Herod half brothers, by yet another wife of my great-grandfather Herod the Great.

During the midday rest a few days before the feast, I went to see Joanna. Visiting Joanna was becoming a habit with me, and I wondered if I might be making a nuisance of myself. But she always seemed glad to see me.

Today, though, Joanna’s maid met me halfway down the path to the steward’s house. Joanna wasn’t well today, she said. Her mistress hoped to be better tomorrow and to welcome me then.

Disappointed, I wandered back to the palace and into the main garden. On the high wall at one end of the garden, mosaic fish swam in a tile sea. Water poured from a marble dolphin’s head into a pool where real fish swam.

I sat on the rim of the pool, watching the flickering shapes. The fish were going busily about their fishy lives, not seeming to notice what a cramped little space they were in.

Footsteps, and a shadow fell across the water. I looked up, expecting to see Leander, for he often brought a scroll into the garden to read. Instead, my stepfather’s bulky form stood near me on the path. His cold dark eyes were intent on me.

I started up, but Antipas put a hand on my shoulder. “Stay,” he said. I sank back, and he sat down beside me. “You looked sad. Were you thinking of Rome? Are you homesick?” His deep voice was as rich as roast pork. “I think you’ll be pleased with the shrine to Diana that I’m building on the market square.”

I looked down at my stepfather’s robe, right next to my
stola
on the marble seat. It wasn’t like him to worry about my feelings. I kept my eyes down as I answered, “I do miss the Temple of Diana and the dancing.” I laughed uneasily. “My thoughts just now were silly. I wondered what the fish were thinking.”

“Not silly at all—very interesting.” His voice grew softer. “Do they worship us? We bring them food, after all. We have the power of life and death over them.”

I felt hot and shaky, not exactly with fear, although that was part of it. I had an impulse to jump up and flee, but wouldn’t that be rude? Maybe my stepfather was only being friendly. I glanced up at him, then quickly away.

He leaned closer to me, and his breath brushed the side of my face. “Pretty, sleek fish.”

The myth of the maiden Europa and the bull—Zeus in disguise—came to my mind. I stood up and took a step back. He also stood up, staring at me. Just as I was about to bolt, he turned and walked out of the garden without another word.

That evening, Herodias and I dined alone. I was uneasy, still agitated by what had happened at the fish pool. Had I behaved immodestly, giving my stepfather the wrong idea? It was not quite proper, for instance, for me to linger in the garden alone during the midday rest.

I was impatient to get back to my room, but Herodias insisted that we take a stroll on the terrace together. Linking her arm in mine, she chatted about this and that. “Doesn’t the jasmine smell sweet just after sunset?” She squeezed my arm fondly. “These private moments with my only child mean so much to me.”

“The jasmine
is
lovely,” I agreed. That seemed safe to say.

“I have a confession to make,” Herodias continued with a self-indulgent laugh. “Dear daughter, I admit that I’m a little jealous of your friendship with Joanna. Yes, I know I’ve devoted a great deal of attention to your stepfather, and perhaps that has caused a distance between you and me.”

“Not really,” I said. “Well—perhaps a little bit.”

“There, you see? And so naturally you have been drawn toward the steward’s wife. Salome, I don’t like to tell you this…but I think you need to know.” She paused and turned to clasp both my hands. Her back was to the nearest lamp, and its light shone on my face. “It is strongly suspected, on reliable information, that Joanna has
sent food to the Baptizer.
To our enemy. I am afraid the steward’s wife is a follower of the desert preacher.”

“I can’t believe that!” I muttered.

“I know,” sighed Herodias. “She seems so sweet, so mild. But if you think it over, I believe you’ll detect signs of her secret allegiance. For instance, what did she talk to you about this afternoon?”

“I didn’t—” I stopped, frightened. If I hadn’t visited Joanna this afternoon, what
had
I been doing? “I don’t remember….” I turned my face, doubtless covered with guilt, away from the light. “Oh, yes: we read poetry. Joanna recited a Hebrew poem.”

“
Mm,
a
Hebrew
poem. The kind of thing the Baptizer spouts.” Herodias nodded. “Well, my dear, I know I’ve revealed something shocking to you. I don’t ask you to take it in all at once, and I don’t forbid you to visit the steward’s wife. But keep your eyes and ears open, and report to me anything that strikes you as suspicious.”

“I will, I will.” I was relieved that Herodias didn’t seem to suspect my stepfather and me. And it should be easy to have nothing much to report about Joanna.

Still, I didn’t know what to think or what to do about Antipas’s attentions. I longed to confide in someone. The next afternoon, when I visited Joanna, it was on the tip of my tongue the whole time. But I stopped short again and again, afraid of how it would sound. I didn’t want Joanna to think badly of me.

Also—I still had the idea that I might use Antipas’s interest in me for my own benefit. I was quite sure Joanna wouldn’t approve of that. So I said nothing to her about Antipas, and I left the steward’s house discontented.

A day or so later, in the morning, I returned from the palace baths by myself. Gundi always went with me, but this time she’d gone back to my room early. I was feeling cheerful, for no reason except a general glow of good health. As I pranced along a colonnade, humming a hymn to Diana, a man stepped out from behind a column.

It was Antipas again. He stood in my way. His expression was almost pleading, as if he needed something badly. He didn’t greet me, but began talking in that voice as rich and strong as unwatered wine. “You’re as graceful as a nymph today.”

“Thank you,” I answered.

“My birthday’s coming, you know.”

“Yes, I know, Stepfather,” I said in a strained voice. I backed up against a column, feeling its fluted ridges.

Placing one hand on the column, with the other hand Antipas lifted the amulet hanging from my neck. He examined the charm, resting his hand lightly at the base of my throat. “
Hmm.
The stone is carnelian, isn’t it? Pretty, but not pretty enough.” His touch seemed to burn, but I stood still as a statue. “I want to give you a costly present on my birthday.”

A mixture of fever and alarm roiled my mind, but I had one sharp, clear thought. There
was
something Antipas could give me that I wanted very much. He could forgo the advantages of arranging a political marriage for me; he could send me back to Rome and the Temple of Diana.

But what did he mean by “a costly present”? Something like a pearl necklace? “I couldn’t accept it—what would my mother say?”

Antipas trailed one finger across the hollow of my throat, then slowly let the amulet slide down under my tunic. Finally he answered, in a voice almost too low to hear, “Does it matter?”

“I have to go now,” I gasped, and I almost ran down the colonnade away from him. Idiot! I scolded myself. I should have asked him right then. Would I get another chance?

Before I reached my room, something else began to worry me. Although I hadn’t seen anyone watching Antipas and me, I knew that a servant might have been lurking nearby. They had that knack of being invisible. What if Herodias found out that her husband was…
approaching
me?

Gundi, at least, heard about it within a few hours. As she was laying out my clothes for dinner that evening, she chuckled to herself. “So, Cupid’s dart has pierced the Tetrarch’s chest! Praise to Freya-Aphrodite—we’ll have our way yet.”

“What are you talking about?” I exclaimed, blushing.

Gundi gave another chuckle, nodding to herself knowingly. “Around the palace, they say that the bull is stalking Europa.
Gundi
says, a clever girl can put a ring in a bull’s nose.”

“Hold your tongue!” I snapped. My head was pounding, and so was my heart.

As for Herodias, she continued to sulk and quarrel with Antipas. Whenever I saw her, whether it was at lunch, at the baths, or in the garden, she went into long harangues about our family and the special nobility of her father’s line. “If only my father, Herod Aristobulus, had lived, none of this would have come to pass!” It was tedious to listen to her; at the same time, it made me nervous. Couldn’t she just make up her mind to get along with her husband—the husband she had freely chosen?

Meanwhile, Uncle Philip arrived from across the lake. His brother’s grand birthday celebration was still a few days away, but he and Antipas had business to discuss as rulers of neighboring territories. And it seemed that Philip had a third reason for visiting—me.

“This match would be ideal,” said Herodias with her winning smile. She was suddenly in a good mood again, maybe looking forward to appearing at the banquet as “Queen” Herodias. “It would cement Antipas’s alliance with his brother, and you’d be close enough, in Gaulanitis, to visit here often.”

“How can you talk to me like that?” I said. “Doesn’t this remind you of the way your delightful first marriage began? And you and Antipas don’t even respect Philip as a tetrarch.”

“Not every ruler can be an Antipas,” said Herodias serenely. “Anyway, when you go to meet Philip, be sure to look your best. Have Gundi curl the locks around your face. And wear your gold bracelet; it’s a stunning piece, and it sets off your slender arms.” I must have looked blank, because she went on, “You know the bracelet I mean! The double-headed snake.”

The gold bracelet that she and Antipas had given me on their wedding day. I’d never told Herodias about losing it, and I’d hoped she’d forgotten it. That was foolish of me. Guiltily, I explained now that I’d dropped the bracelet overboard the first day of our voyage.

“Salome, Salome.” Herodias shook her head. “How could you be so careless?” To my relief, she didn’t seem very upset. “Well, wear your matching amber bracelets, then.”

Philip sent a note asking me to meet him in the garden off the guest suite so that we could talk in quiet. My heart sank. I couldn’t refuse to meet him. Of course I would take Gundi as my chaperone, but her presence might not keep the old goat from
breathing
at me the way my stepfather had.

When I reached the garden, I was surprised to find a younger man than I’d expected. Philip’s hair was sprinkled with gray, but he was lean, and his face was boyish. I wasn’t even quite sure that this man was my uncle. “Uncle Philip?”

Philip started to say, “Greetings, Salome,” but then his jaw dropped and he simply stared at me. It seemed that he was surprised, too. “Salome?”

While Gundi stayed by the garden gate, spinning as usual, Uncle Philip and I sat down near the fountain. We talked about this and that. He asked me if we’d ever been back to the resort on Lake Sabazia, north of Rome.

“There was a shrine there that I liked so much, the way it was set into the hillside with the stream running down the rocks nearby.” Philip smiled at me. “As I remember, you put your sandal in the stream to play that it was a boat. You were so surprised when the water carried it away.”

I blushed.
I
remembered my mother making fun of me, and me whining and limping around with one sandal, and finally Uncle Philip carrying me back to the villa.

It seemed that Philip had built a shrine like that near his capital, Caesarea Philippi.

“The whole city is new and clean. Imagine the setting, at the foot of Mount Hermon. From every part of the city, you see the snowcapped peaks. And just outside the walls, I had a park set aside for the people to enjoy. There are meadows, woodland grottos, springs of freshest water. But the shrine is a particularly beautiful place…. I’d like you to see it.”

His words reminded me uncomfortably of the way Antipas had courted Herodias. Now I was nervous again. Would he nuzzle me? “I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said. I kept my eyes on the stone path.

“Salome,” said Philip quietly, “look at me.”

I raised my eyes, expecting to see a hunting stare like the one Antipas had fixed me with. But Philip’s eyes were sober and kind.

“Salome,” he said, “you must know that an alliance between you and me would be politically advantageous to both the Tetrarch of Galilee and Perea and the Tetrarch of Gaulanitis—me. Maybe you’re afraid that my brother and I will put our seals to a marriage contract without consulting your wishes. But my idea is for the two of us to become acquainted with each other and then for both you and me to decide.”