“I was going to say that I cared little what happened to him or Antipas ... or, by great Jove, even Pontius Pilate.”
“Both Herod and Pilate have blundered. And I’m sure Sejanus will be hearing about it; that is, if he hasn’t heard of it already.”
Longinus nodded, then casually changed the subject. “By the way,” he commented, “that reminds me; what ever became of that carpenter you said the desert preacher hailed as the Jews’ Messiah? Has he begun yet the task of wrecking the Roman Empire with his hammer and chisels?”
“It’s just possible that he has, though not with any hammer and chisel.” His smile was enigmatic. “Certainly the Empire, if I understand him, isn’t built on any plan that he approves.”
“By all the gods, Cornelius!” Longinus, who had been sprawled in his chair with his feet propped on the low rampart, sat up with a start. “What do you mean?”
Cornelius held up his hand. “Now wait,” he said calmly. “There’s nothing to be alarmed about. You won’t need to report to Sejanus about the carpenter. But since I saw you last he has gained a great following, even among some of the more influential people. You remember that beautiful woman Herod took with him to Jerusalem, the one called Mary of Magdala?”
“Who could forget her?”
“I agree. Well, she’s a disciple of the carpenter now, and a different woman, they say; she’s forsworn the Tetrarch’s bedchamber.”
“Maybe”—Longinus grinned—“that’s because Herodias has moved in.”
“Could be; I don’t know. But the report is that she’s given up all her amatory pursuits in order to follow him. All up and down the seaside, in fact, the people are swarming to hear him and beseech his help.”