“Then go.”
Quickly the two strode out of the chamber; their footsteps echoed as they marched down the hall. Antipas slumped on his couch, then lowered his head between his hands. Salome took her seat. She smiled as she and her mother whispered. The guests kept their places and were silent; the servants, moving about to replenish the wine goblets, walked noiselessly.
“The Tetrarch is making a monstrous mistake,” Cornelius said.
“Because he’s giving in to Herodias?” Claudia inquired.
“Because he’s ordering the prophet’s death.”
“Then you”—a faint smile crossed her face—“are afraid of the Jews’ one god?”
“I could be,” he answered unhesitatingly. “But that’s not my reason. I’m sure it’s....” He stopped. A servant had approached the Tetrarch’s couch.
“The Centurion Longinus?” The Tetrarch raised his bulky frame to a sitting position. “Indeed, bring him to us.”
At the sound of the Tetrarch’s words, Claudia looked up; her eyes followed the retreating servant. Antipas turned to her. “The Centurion Longinus has just arrived at Machaerus,” he said; “I’ve sent for him. Shall we make a place for him between you and Centurion Cornelius perhaps, my dear?” He grinned. “He must be famished from the long journey to this forsaken outpost.”
A moment later the servant escorted the centurion to the Tetrarch’s couch. Antipas greeted him cordially, presented him to the diners, and ordered the servants to set him a place at the table. When after a minute he was settled beside her, Claudia found his hand on the couch and squeezed it hard. “It’s so wonderful to have you here,” she said. “I can hardly wait to hear the news from Rome.”