“The fellow’s a fool,” Claudia observed in a low aside to Cornelius, “but he does have courage.”
“Yes, he must believe that he’s serving his Yahweh and Yahweh’s Messiah,” the centurion agreed; “that faith must be the source of his courage.”
“Amazing. I cannot understand how these Jews can be so swayed by such silly superstition. I do wonder what Antipas will do with him; Herodias, if she could, would have his head off in a minute. And so would I, if he had talked to me as he did to her.” She tossed her head and smiled indifferently. “But why should I be concerned about this Jewish fanatic? I don’t care one green Campanian fig what happens to him.”
As she reached for her wine goblet, which a servant had refilled, Antipas set his down and stood up. The servant hastened to fill the Tetrarch’s. Antipas licked his thick lips. “By the beard of the High Priest,” he said, “I really intended to liberate the prophet. His imprisonment is on his own head.” He clutched the table’s edge to steady himself again. Then he grasped his wine goblet and drained it in one gulp. The servant raced around the table to refill the empty glass. Antipas picked it up and twirled it slowly on its slender stem, “Drink, my friends! Let us dispel this sudden gloom. Isn’t this the Tetrarch’s birthday? Drink! Drink!” He downed the wine as his guests, lifting their goblets, drank to their host. Antipas clapped his hands. “And now, music and the dancing women!”
The leader signaled to his men, and the musicians began their lively playing, as the Arabian dancers came scampering again into the hollow square before the tables. Antipas sat down, rested his head on the palm of his left hand, and with his right reached for the glass.
“Soon now he’ll be very drunk, and we can escape,” Cornelius whispered to Claudia. “He’s still afraid of the Wilderness preacher, and he will try to drown his fears in wine.”
“But he just ordered the fellow back to the dungeon.”
“He also fears Herodias. He’ll free John, though, as soon as he can do so without his wife’s knowing about it.”
The tempo of the music was increasing, and the women, refreshed by the long intermission they had been having and the food and wine they had been served, were fast approaching a frenzy of abandon in their wild convolutions and sensual writhings. For a few moments the jaded Tetrarch, watching the brazenly lewd gyrations of the dancing women, appeared to be gaining renewed stimulation. But quickly his interest faded; he sat up on his couch and straightened himself. “Hold!” he commanded, waving his hand aloft. “Enough of this. We are surfeited on dark women.”
The music stopped. “Let them go,” said Antipas, nodding toward the leader of the musicians. The man bowed to the Tetrarch and, turning, waved his dismissal to the dancers, who went tripping out. Once again the great triclinium was as still and the guests as suddenly silent as they had been at the dramatic entrance of the gaunt prophet.