And as with a gesture he signified that he had heard nothing, she snarled again.
Antipas turned to her reflectively, but it was of another that he thought—the brown-eyed bride that Arabia had given him, the lithe-limbed princess of the desert whose heart had beaten on his own, whom he had loved with all the [pg 27]strength of youth and weakness, and whom he had deserted while at Rome for his brother’s wife, his own niece, Herodias, who snarled at his side.
Behind her were her women, and among them was one who, as the cars swept by, turned her head with that movement a flower has which a breeze has stirred. Her eyes were sultry, darkened with stibium; on her cheek was the pink of the sea-shell, and her lips made one vermilion rhyme. The face was oval and rather small; and though it was beautiful as victory, the wonder of her eyes, which looked the haunts of hope fulfilled, the wonder of her mouth, which seemed to promise more than any mortal mouth could give, were forgotten in her hair, which was not orange nor flame, but a blending of both. And now, as the cars passed, her thin nostrils quivered, her hand rose as a bird does and fluttered with delight.
On the adjacent tiers were Greeks, fat-calved Cypriotes, Cappadocians with flowers painted on their skin, red Egypt[pg 28]ians, Thracian mercenaries, Galilean fishermen, and a group of Lydians in women’s clothes.
On the tier just beyond was a man gazing wistfully at the woman that sat behind Herodias. He was tall and sinewy, handsome with the comeliness of the East. His beard was full, unmarred at the corners; his name was Judas. Now and then he moistened his under lip, and a Thracian who sat at his side heard him murmur “Mary” and some words of Syro-Chaldaic which the Thracian did not understand.
To him Mary paid no attention. She had turned from the track. An officer had entered the tetrarch’s tribune and addressed the prince. Antipas started; Herodias colored through her paint. The latter evidently was pleased.
“Iohanan!” she exclaimed. “To Machærus with him! You may believe in fate and mathematics; I believe in the axe.”
And questioningly Herodias looked at her husband, who avoided her look, yet [pg 29]signified his assent to the command she had given.
The din continued. From the tier beyond, Judas still gazed into the perils of Mary’s eyes.
“Dear God,” he muttered, in answer to an anterior thought, “it would be the birthday of my life.”