Salome (6 page)

“Never mind Cupid—Herodias was not pleased with me!” I grabbed the
stola
before she could fold it up. “Look—
onion sauce.
” I added, “She made me take her jewelry off as soon as we were out of the dining hall.”

Gundi smiled. “No, it wouldn’t please that one to see how Freya-Aphrodite favors you. But come on, who was smitten by the sight of you?” She kept asking until I admitted that the courtiers had stared at me.

“And so did—” I stopped. It seemed better not to speak of my stepfather.

Gundi seemed satisfied. Humming to herself, she shook out a drop of scented oil before her statuette of Aphrodite. I recognized that blue-glass scent bottle—it, too, was my mother’s.

EIGHT

BANDITS

The morning after Pilate’s banquet, there were chariot races. Before we went to the stadium, Herodias came to my room with a present. “Dear Salome, I’ve been selfish. I think
you
should have these opal earrings. Don’t protest—I know you want them! And they do look sweet on you. Suitable for a young girl.”

As Herodias fastened the opal earrings in my ears, I couldn’t help noticing the jewels bright as pomegranate seeds—but much larger—dangling from Herodias’s earlobes. She saw my gaze and smiled. “Do you like my new earrings? Antipas surprised me with them this morning. These are rubies, set in platinum.” She lowered her eyelashes demurely. “He looked into my eyes and quoted that Jewish proverb, ‘A good wife who can find? Her price is far above rubies.’ I was so touched.”

Herodias was flying high that morning. In the stadium, as the Tetrarch Herod Antipas and his wife were seated in the Governor’s pavilion, there was a flourish of trumpets. I caught a glimpse of her radiant face.

The rest of Antipas’s court took their seats behind the couple, and everyone hurried to make bets. Antipas favored the Orange team, so of course Herodias, Chuza, and the Tetrarch’s courtiers wore orange ribbons and bet on Orange. Governor Pilate and his officials were backers of the Greens.

I was caught up in the excitement, but just to be different, I decided to put my money on White. “Leander,” I said as he climbed the stadium steps past my seat, “a denarius that White wins the first race!”

Leander bowed to me, but he shook his head. “On principle, I don’t gamble, Miss Salome. Gambling gives honor to blind Luck.”

“It’s just for fun,” I protested. Leander could be such a stick.

With a glum smile he admitted, “In any case, I don’t have any money. I just sent my wages to my mother.”

Of course, Leander’s money was promised to his sisters’ dowry fund. I was a little ashamed of forgetting that, especially when I heard Antipas’s bodyguards teasing the secretary. “Gambling gives honor to blind Luck,” one man told the others in a mincing voice.

The guards guffawed, and another man called out, “The Greek would rather be back at the palace, reading a
scroll
!” I glanced over my shoulder at Leander, who certainly did look as if he wanted to be in a garden with Plato, not in the stadium among loud, sweaty soldiers. Today the guards were worked up into a feverish excitement.

I sat with Gundi right behind Antipas and Herodias. As the chariots lined up for the first race, Antipas was busy laying a wager with Governor Pilate. On the track below, a gong sounded, and the horses sprang forward. “They’re off! Go, Orange!” called Antipas.

“White!” I cried, shaking Gundi’s arm. “Look, White’s out in front! Are you still betting on Orange? My silver denarius to your copper
quadrans
!”

“As you wish, Miss Salome,” said Gundi.

On the racetrack, the chariots rounded the second turn. An attendant flipped a brass dolphin on a rail to mark the third lap. The White team had fallen behind, and Green was just barely ahead of Orange. “Show your best, Orange!” shouted Antipas. “Give them the whip!”

“Orange, Orange!” Herodias rose to her feet, along with the rest of the crowd. It was the final lap, with Orange and Green neck and neck.

“Go, White!” I called out, although my chosen team was now trailing by two lengths.

Just before the finish line, the Orange chariot pulled ahead of the Green. A satisfied smile spread over Antipas’s face, and he bowed to Pilate. “Your steward may pay the fifty pieces of gold directly to my steward, Governor. A thousand thanks!”

Pilate scowled and said nothing. Gundi held out her hand to me, and I dropped the denarius into it. Antipas said to Herodias with a low laugh, “Did you see Pilate’s face?”

The Orange charioteer, wearing the victor’s laurel crown, paused before the Governor’s pavilion. He raised his arm in a salute to Antipas. “Hail our patron, Tetrarch of Galilee and Perea! Hail, Lady Herodias!”

All eyes in the stadium were on the Tetrarch and his wife. Antipas acknowledged the charioteer with a wave, and Herodias also waved graciously. She turned to Antipas, her ruby earrings setting off the glow on her face.

But as Antipas looked at her, his satisfied smile faded. “My dove, there’s something I’ve been meaning to explain to you. You understand, once we leave Caesarea and enter Galilee, there are a few customs that the Tetrarch’s wife will need to follow.”

Herodias’s glow faded a bit. “Customs? What does my lord mean?”

“Living in Rome, you may have forgotten that the traditional Jews have a culture of their own. My father taught me to respect that. By his simple policy of not offending Jewish customs, he avoided many uprisings. So, in public—anywhere outside our private quarters in the palace—you must cover your hair. Your dress must be modest. And you must not speak to men.”

Herodias stared at him, her face ominously blank. Then she said, “I
must
do this? I
must
not do that? Am I not the wife of the ruler of Galilee and Perea?”

“There, you’re taking this personally!” Antipas picked up her hand and kissed her emerald ring. “I’m the ruler himself, but I’m not free to offend the Jews, either. I don’t eat pork—at least, not in front of traditional Jews. I don’t put graven images on the coins of Galilee.” Antipas laughed and went on in a lighter tone, “I’d forgotten that special law about the brother’s wife.”

“I don’t see anything humorous,” said Herodias.

“Let me explain, my dove. You remember Governor Pilate’s remark about John the Baptizer last night? The Baptizer was talking about a Jewish law that forbids marrying a brother’s wife if he’s alive. But if the brother dies, it’s actually one’s
duty
to marry his wife.” He laughed again. “Perhaps if Herod Junior were to have an—an
accident,
the Baptizer would start praising me.”

Now, it seemed, Herodias saw the joke, because her musical laugh rang out.

The next day we went to the amphitheater to see the games, and the day after that, we left Caesarea. I heard Antipas’s guards grumbling about missing the rest of the games, but I was glad I wouldn’t have to watch anyone else being killed. Excepting, of course, the chicken that had to be sacrificed at the Temple of Hermes, god of travel, to ensure a good journey. From Caesarea Maritima to Antipas’s new city on the shore of Lake Tiberias was only a chicken’s worth of a journey, two days’ travel. We’d stop in Sepphoris overnight, then go on to reach Tiberias about evening on the second day.

Antipas got into a carriage with his steward, Chuza, and his secretary, Leander, so that he could go over business matters during the trip. Herodias and I were to ride in another carriage with her jewelry cases, baskets packed with her cosmetics jars, mirror, combs, and curling irons, trunks full of silks, and several jars of her favorite honeyed wine.

“Would my lady not rather have the baggage loaded on pack animals, instead of crowding her carriage?” suggested the caravan master. I thought this was a sensible idea, since there was hardly any place to stretch out my legs. But Herodias answered, “I wish to keep an eye on my belongings,” and her tone did not invite further discussion.

The courtiers filled the rest of the carriages according to their rank. Antipas’s soldiers, armed with swords and spears, rode before us and behind us.

As Herodias and I settled ourselves on the cushions, Herodias’s maid, Iris, handed in a bag of roses. “They say we pass by some dreadful-smelling towns, my ladies.”

“Oh, yes,” said Herodias. “We’ll need to bury our noses in something sweet.” She explained to me, “The natives don’t use Roman sanitation, except in the cities that the Herods built.”

Herodias was still in a good mood this morning, chatting as if she’d never been angry with me over spotting her yellow silk
stola
—or was it over the way my stepfather had looked at me? “I see you’re wearing the opal earrings today,” she remarked. “They’re a little dressy, perhaps, for traveling—but why shouldn’t you enjoy them?” She smiled indulgently.

On the way out of the city Herodias pointed out the massive arched aqueduct that brought water to Caesarea. “My grandfather built that. As well as this road. Do you notice how smooth it is? It’s as good as any Roman highway.”

I was in a cheerful mood, too. Maybe Herodias was more respectful of me after seeing me as a young woman. She reported how Antipas had instructed her to behave (she didn’t know I’d overheard at the races), quoting his words in a pompous voice. I laughed and laughed. It was delightful to hear her making fun of Antipas for a change instead of going on about how wonderful he was.

“How did you like the mock battle yesterday?” Herodias changed the subject. “Wasn’t the Governor the most entertaining part of it?” She made me laugh again with her wicked imitation of Governor Pilate, jumping up and down as he cheered on the fighters in the amphitheater. “You’d think that clod was the victorious general himself. Obviously he believes his stint in the Roman army was the best time of his life. It probably was, poor fellow.”

“I felt sorry for the gladiators,” I said. “Did you see the two friends fighting back to back? They were the only ones left against the trident wielders.”

“My pet.” Herodias leaned forward to stroke my cheek. “I understand how you feel, but you need to realize that those men in the arena are desperate criminals. They deserve to die. Do you know what helped me when I started watching the games? I pretended I was looking at a battle in a wall painting, only the figures moved. Or I’d tell myself, We in the stands are like the gods on Mount Olympus, watching mortals fight for our entertainment. The games have nothing to do with us.”

I tried, just for a moment, to picture yesterday’s gladiator fights the way she advised. But what flashed in my mind was the instant when one of the fighting friends crumpled to the ground, wounded. Crying out, the other gladiator bent over him. Then he, too, was struck down. The crowd cheered for the victorious trident wielders, and slaves dragged the bodies away.

I pushed the memory away, but then instead I remembered that foggy morning on the
Ceres
when Simon had disappeared. “Herodias,” I said suddenly, “what really happened to Simon?”

She gave an annoyed laugh. “How your mind skips around! It was a pity about Simon, but he was such a fool, even aside from…He actually hinted that he’d ask for your hand in marriage if we gave him any encouragement.”

Herodias had not answered my question. But before I could protest, she turned the conversation to our new life in Tiberias. There would be boat trips on the lake, and we’d go to the theater and the spa. Tiberias had a fine marketplace, attracting traders from Gaul in the northwest of the Empire, from Babylon in the southeast, and beyond. Oh!—and especially for me, Herodias had spoken to Antipas about building a shrine to Diana.

It was pleasant to be alone with my mother, like old times, and so I didn’t remind her that I was to be married off, probably far from Tiberias. In any case, Diana, protector of maidens, wouldn’t be interested in me once I was married.

About mid-morning we turned off the Via Maritimus, the main trade route, and followed another road east. Parting the carriage curtains, I saw hills planted with vineyards and olive orchards and low hovels here and there. The buildings looked more like goat sheds than houses.

The hills sloped down to a broad plain covered with fields of grain. “There are some fertile farmlands in Galilee, aren’t there?” remarked Herodias. “After we get settled in Tiberias, I must get Antipas to deed me my own estates or perhaps a tax revenue.”

“Why?” I asked, thinking of the ruby earrings. “He gives you anything you ask for.”

“Yes,” she said, “but it’s not the same as having one’s own wealth. I lost my dowry when I left Junior, you see.”

A sober note in my mother’s voice made me glance at her. She was still gazing out the window, and there was a line of worry between her eyes. I felt suddenly uneasy myself, as if Herodias and I were not in a carriage, but in a little boat on the high seas. Then the moment passed. Smothering a giggle behind her hand, Herodias began to tell me some gossip about Procula, Pilate’s wife.

The road crossed the plain to a river, marked by the trees that grew thickly along its banks. Soon the forward section of our caravan, including Antipas’s carriage and most of the guards, disappeared into the wooded margin. Our carriage, too, followed the road into the trees. I smelled the pleasantly cool freshwater air, and finally I glimpsed the water itself through the oaks and sycamores. By this time, the other carriage was on the farther side and disappearing into the trees again.

Our carriage paused, and a guard rode up to speak to Herodias. “Lady Herodias, the ground is very soft at the river’s edge. It might be well to stop here and lighten the carriage before we ford the river. We can unload the baggage, take your ladyship and her daughter across, and return for the baggage.”

“Nonsense,” said Herodias. “I will keep my personal baggage with me, as I ordered at the beginning.”