Claudia looked off to her left and settled back in her chair. “Herodias, why did they ever build this palace in such a desolate, rockbound region so far from everything?”
“I asked Antipas the same question. He said it was built more as a fort than a palace. This is near the southern boundary of the tetrarchy. Down there”—she pointed southward above a narrow valley fast greening with luxuriant vegetation—“beyond that stream with its banks lined with willows is the kingdom of Aretas. The Herods originally came from that region at the southern end of the Dead Sea, which was called Idumaea. So this fortress up here was built as a defense post.”
“Then Aretas isn’t far away, is he? By the way, what became of his daughter, the woman you displaced?”
“I don’t know, and what’s more, I don’t care!” She realized that she had spoken petulantly. “I didn’t mean to be short, Claudia. I have no reason to hate her, after all. And I have no idea that she or her father will attempt reprisal against Antipas. Any attack upon him would be an attack upon Rome, and surely they wouldn’t risk that.”
“I think you need have no apprehensions. But, of course, I know absolutely nothing about this King Aretas or his daughter. Generally, though, I understand, these eastern peoples are impulsive and vindictive.”
“But they’re also known to be very shrewd. Surely he would know he couldn’t defeat Rome.”
“If he calmly considered the situation, yes.” She shrugged. “I hope so. If Rome should be involved in war with the Arabian king, Sejanus and the Emperor would both be infuriated, and Sejanus, I’m sure, would place the blame for it upon Antipas ... and you.” She had been looking downward beyond the descending outcroppings of granite and limestone and sand to the great sluggish salt sea far below them. But now she confronted Herodias, her countenance plainly concerned. “Herodias, if Aretas should seek vengeance against the Tetrarch and you, what would the Israelites do? Would they fight him? Have they become reconciled to your being Tetrarchess? Do many of them still hold with that wild fellow we encountered that day on the river bank?” She paused, and suddenly her eyes were roundly questioning. “Wasn’t it to Machaerus that Antipas sent him? By the gods, is he here now?”
“Yes, and still a troublemaker. They say his followers have been coming here all the time since he’s been imprisoned. Haven’t you noticed all the Jews coming and going while we’ve been here? Look.” She indicated a point far down the slope where the trail to Machaerus led from the road paralleling the lakeside. “That group down there, I’d wager they’re coming here to listen to the fellow’s haranguing. And they’ll try to see Antipas and petition him to free the madman.” For a moment she watched the men coming slowly up the slope. “If Antipas had done as I said and had the man beheaded, he could have prevented all this; while that fellow’s alive there’ll be more and more agitation against us.” She hunched up a shoulder. “But what can one do with a person,” she said indifferently, “who is not only fearful and woefully superstitious but is horribly obstinate as well?” She stood up. “Excuse me, Claudia; you stay out here and sun yourself as long as you like. But I have some things to do before we sit down to Antipas’ birthday banquet, one of which, no doubt”—her brittle laugh echoed across the terrace—“will be to get him sobered sufficiently to attend it himself.”
31
The Tetrarch, mouth open, his thick lips grease-smeared and wine-purpled, snored sonorously; his round, closely cropped head, cradled in his hand, swayed in precarious balance on the column of his forearm which was pressed into the heavy cushion.