“Then, Sire,” she said, smiling demurely, “my request is simple and will rob the Tetrarch’s treasury of not one denarius. It is my wish”—she paused and looked the happily smiling Antipas full in his round face—“that the Tetrarch present to me on a silver platter the head of the Wilderness preacher called John the Baptizer.”
Claudia and Cornelius had been leaning out over their plates, avidly following the conversation of the girl and her stepfather.
“By all the gods!” Claudia whispered, without taking her eyes from the still calmly smiling Salome. “Now I understand. Herodias, by the Bountiful Mother....”
But she said no more, for Antipas was pulling to his feet. “Surely, child, I have not heard you correctly. Surely you would not wish to have the head of a man....”
“But you did hear correctly, Sire. And you have sworn to grant me my wish. I ask only for the head of the Prophet John.”
The Tetrarch, braced against the table’s edge, looked to his right and then left along the tables. The eyes of his guests were fastened on their plates; not one face was raised to help him. Antipas stood, drained of all levity; the impact of the girl’s inhuman request, so simply and heartlessly presented, had sobered him. He turned again to Salome and tried to affect a smile.
“Were you a man, a soldier, perhaps, seeking revenge upon an enemy ... but for a beautiful young woman of such charm and culture, who has danced for us so delightfully”—he shook his head sadly—“such an utterly strange request for a beautiful woman.” He seemed to be thinking aloud, talking more to himself than to the girl. “To want the head of a prophet of Israel, a man held in such esteem by so many of our Jewish subjects, a prophet who may indeed have been sent of Israel’s God....” He broke off, shaking his head as if in deep perplexity.
Claudia, watching Salome now, saw Herodias reach out and gently grasp her daughter’s arm. The girl, still standing, smiled cynically and tossed her head. “Nevertheless, Sire, that is my request. If, however, the Tetrarch wishes to dishonor his oath before this company and refuse me....”
The Tetrarch banged his fist on the table top. “The Tetrarch never dishonors an oath!” he shouted. “He withdraws no promises he makes.” He turned to face the two guardsmen at the door, the soldiers who had brought the Wilderness prophet into the banquet room and had escorted him back to the dungeon. “Guardsmen, you have heard the request of the Princess Salome. Go you now into the dungeon and carry out her request.” He paused. They stood stiffly at attention, awaiting his final command. “Do you understand?”
The men glanced at one another, then faced the Tetrarch. “We understand, Sire,” one said.