“Take it away!” Herodias screamed to a servant at her elbow. “Dispose of it ... quickly!” Without a word to her husband, she reached for her wine goblet and drank; then she drew up her feet, smoothed the skirt of her glistening stola, and settled herself comfortably on her elbow.
Equally calm, Antipas leaned over to speak to Longinus. “I regret, Centurion, that you didn’t reach Machaerus a few minutes earlier. But....” He gestured with resignation, then sat back on his couch. He was reaching for his wine glass when a palace servant approached, bowing. The Tetrarch nodded to him. “Yes?”
“Sire, a delegation has just arrived; the men declare they were sent by King Aretas. They maintain their mission is most urgent and they petition—indeed, Sire, they demand—that the Tetrarch give them audience this evening.”
“From King Aretas?” A heavy scowl darkened the Tetrarch’s full, round face. “Most urgent, they say?” He was thoughtfully silent a moment. Then he turned, glaring, to the obeisant servant. “Then bring them to us.”
“But, Sire”—the bowing man was rubbing his hands together nervously, palpably fearful—“they suggested that perhaps the Tetrarch would wish to receive them privately in his council chamber....”
“No! Who are they to tell the Tetrarch where he must receive them! Bring them to us, at once!”
“Yes, Sire. Yes, immediately.” The timorous fellow was backing away, bowing, as he rubbed his knuckles in his palm.
“Did you hear what the servant said?” Claudia whispered to Longinus, as the Tetrarch twisted his heavy hulk the other way to watch the retreating fellow. “I wonder....”
“Yes, so do I. And I’m sure Herodias does, too.” He turned to speak to Cornelius on his right. “You heard the servant?” Cornelius nodded. “Sounds like more trouble for the Tetrarch, doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Cornelius agreed. “This seems to be a bad night for the old fellow, a tough night, indeed.”