“I must confess”—Longinus grinned—“that unfortunately I am numbered among the other half. But what does Herodias think of her beloved uncle’s amours? Isn’t she jealous?”
“Oh, I’m sure she is ... what woman wouldn’t be? But she knows that in such activities she must share him. Antipas, I understand, is a true Herod.”
“Yes, and I have a strong suspicion that in such activities, as you express it, Herodias is a Herod, too.” He sat forward, serious again. “But what puzzles me, Claudia, is how I happened to be one of Antipas’ guests tonight. It must have been entirely through your arranging, but why on earth are you involved in a social way with any of these Jews?”
Claudia laughed. “Herodias and I have long been friends. You see, after her grandfather, old Herod the Great they called him, had her father and her uncle, his own sons, killed”—she involuntarily shuddered—“Herodias and her brother Agrippa were virtually brought up at the Emperor’s court. Agrippa’s a spoiled, arrogant, worthless spendthrift. Old Herod sent his other sons to Rome, too, to be educated—Antipas and Philip, Herodias’ husband now, and still another Philip....” She broke off and gestured to indicate futility. “You see, Longinus, old Herod had ten wives and only the gods know how many children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Do you know much about the Herods? They’re older than we, of course.”
Longinus shook his head. “No, nor do I care to. I think maybe I have seen some of them a few times, including this Philip, but I happily surrender to you any share I may have in any Jew.”
“But, Longinus, the Herods aren’t orthodox Jews. They even say that some of them, including Herodias and her no-good brother, are more Roman than we Romans. They’ve all probably spent more time in Rome than in Palestine. Why, they have about as much regard for the Jewish religion as you and I have for our Roman gods. Actually, Longinus, the Herods are Idumaeans, and they’re quite different from the rest of the Jews. The Jews are strict in their religious observances.” Abruptly she stopped. “But why, Bona Dea, am I telling you about the Jews? You have lived out there in Palestine, and I’ve never set foot near it. Your father has vast properties in that region, while mine....” She lifted a knee to the couch as she twisted her body to face him, her dark eyes deadly serious in the silver brightness of the moon. “Longinus, do you know about my father?”
“No, Claudia, nothing.”
“Of course you don’t.” She smiled bitterly. “That was a silly question. I don’t even know myself. I’ve often wondered if Mother did. But haven’t you heard stories, Longinus?”
“I was rather young, remember, when you were born.” But immediately he was serious. “Gossip, Claudia, yes. I’ve heard people talk. But gossip has never interested me.” A sly grin lightened his expression. “I’m more interested in your father’s handiwork than in who he was.”
“Prettily said, Centurion.” She patted the back of his bronzed hand. “But surely you must have heard that my father was the son of Mark Antony and Cleopatra?”