“Or will I conspire with Longinus to lead Pilate into making further wrong moves, thereby getting him recalled and perhaps banished and permitting me to divorce him and marry Longinus?” Laughing, Claudia sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “You are so subtle, my dear, so very subtle.” Now she shook an accusing finger at her hostess. “But tell me, what will you do when Aretas’ daughter returns to Tiberias and demands her place as Tetrarchess?”
“She won’t return; Antipas is sending her a bill of divorcement. Surely you must know that I would see to that. In fact, I think she left with her mind made up that she was finished as Tetrarchess. My only thought—and that isn’t concern—is what old Aretas will do about it.”
Behind them now the lamps had been lighted in the palace. A brilliant full moon slowly climbed the sky above the little sea; both women lay back luxuriously to watch the moon mount higher, and before long their talk had slowed into silence. Suddenly Herodias realized that she had become almost senseless. She sat up with a start.
“By the gods, Claudia, we’re almost asleep!”
“We’re tired from the journey,” Claudia said, rubbing her eyes.
“Yes. Maybe we should go to bed. Can I have Neaera bring you something? Some wine and wafers, fruit, or a glass of hot milk?”
“No, not a thing. I’m still stuffed from the wonderful dinner. I only want to get to bed and to sleep. I am really quite tired.”
“You must be indeed.” Her smile, Claudia saw plainly in the brightness of the full moon, was positively devilish. It was impossible to mistake its meaning.
“Oh, that,” she laughed, then added, “but surely you heard him tell the Tetrarch he would spend the night with Cornelius?”
“Yes, I heard him tell the Tetrarch.” She stood up. “Let’s go to bed.” They crossed the terrace and entered the palace. “I’ll see you to your chamber,” she said.