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Authors: Beatrice Gormley
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line, the Orange chariot pulled ahead of the Green. A satisfied smile spread over Antipas’s face, and he bowed to Pilate. “Your steward may pay the fifty pieces of gold directly to my steward, Governor. A thousand thanks!”
Pilate scowled and said nothing. Gundi held out her hand to me, and I dropped the denarius into it. Antipas said to Herodias with a low laugh, “Did you see Pilate’s face?”
The Orange charioteer, wearing the victor’s laurel crown, paused before the Governor’s pavilion. He raised his arm in a salute to Antipas. “Hail our patron, Tetrarch of Galilee and Perea! Hail, Lady Herodias!”
All eyes in the stadium were on the Tetrarch and his wife. Antipas acknowledged the charioteer with a wave, and Herodias also waved graciously. She turned to Antipas, her ruby earrings setting off the glow on her face.
But as Antipas looked at her, his satisfied smile faded. “My dove, there’s something I’ve been meaning to explain to you. You understand, once we leave Caesarea and enter Galilee, there are a few customs that the Tetrarch’s wife will need to follow.”
Herodias’s glow faded a bit. “Customs? What does my lord mean?”
“Living in Rome, you may have forgotten that the traditional Jews have a culture of their own. My father taught me to respect that. By his simple policy of not offending Jewish customs, he avoided many uprisings. So, in public—anywhere outside our private quarters in the palace—you must cover your hair. Your dress must be modest. And you must not speak to men.”
Herodias stared at him, her face ominously blank. Then she said, “I
must
do this? I
must
not do that? Am I not the wife of the ruler of Galilee and Perea?”
“There, you’re taking this personally!” Antipas picked up her hand and kissed her emerald ring. “I’m the ruler himself, but I’m not free to offend the Jews, either. I don’t eat pork—at least, not in front of traditional Jews. I don’t put graven images on the coins of Galilee.” Antipas laughed and went on in a lighter tone, “I’d forgotten that special law about the brother’s wife.”
“I don’t see anything humorous,” said Herodias.
“Let me explain, my dove. You remember Governor Pilate’s remark about John the Baptizer last night? The Baptizer was talking about a Jewish law that forbids marrying a brother’s wife if he’s alive. But if the brother dies, it’s actually one’s
duty
to marry his wife.” He laughed again. “Perhaps if Herod Junior were to have an—an
accident,
the Baptizer would start praising me.”
Now, it seemed, Herodias saw the joke, because her musical laugh rang out.
The next day we went to the amphitheater to see the games, and the day after that, we left Caesarea. I heard Antipas’s guards grumbling about missing the rest of the games, but I was glad I wouldn’t have to watch anyone else being killed. Excepting, of course, the chicken that had to be sacrificed at the Temple of Hermes, god of travel, to ensure a good journey. From Caesarea Maritima to Antipas’s new city on the shore of Lake Tiberias was only a chicken’s worth of a journey, two days’ travel. We’d stop in Sepphoris overnight, then go on to reach Tiberias about evening on the second day.
Antipas got into a carriage with his steward, Chuza, and his secretary, Leander, so that he could go over business matters during the trip. Herodias and I were to ride in another carriage with her jewelry cases, baskets packed with her cosmetics jars, mirror, combs, and curling irons, trunks full of silks, and several jars of her favorite honeyed wine.
“Would my lady not rather have the baggage loaded on pack animals, instead of crowding her carriage?” suggested the caravan master. I thought this was a sensible idea, since there was hardly any place to stretch out my legs. But Herodias answered, “I wish to keep an eye on my belongings,” and her tone did not invite further discussion.
The
Pilate scowled and said nothing. Gundi held out her hand to me, and I dropped the denarius into it. Antipas said to Herodias with a low laugh, “Did you see Pilate’s face?”
The Orange charioteer, wearing the victor’s laurel crown, paused before the Governor’s pavilion. He raised his arm in a salute to Antipas. “Hail our patron, Tetrarch of Galilee and Perea! Hail, Lady Herodias!”
All eyes in the stadium were on the Tetrarch and his wife. Antipas acknowledged the charioteer with a wave, and Herodias also waved graciously. She turned to Antipas, her ruby earrings setting off the glow on her face.
But as Antipas looked at her, his satisfied smile faded. “My dove, there’s something I’ve been meaning to explain to you. You understand, once we leave Caesarea and enter Galilee, there are a few customs that the Tetrarch’s wife will need to follow.”
Herodias’s glow faded a bit. “Customs? What does my lord mean?”
“Living in Rome, you may have forgotten that the traditional Jews have a culture of their own. My father taught me to respect that. By his simple policy of not offending Jewish customs, he avoided many uprisings. So, in public—anywhere outside our private quarters in the palace—you must cover your hair. Your dress must be modest. And you must not speak to men.”
Herodias stared at him, her face ominously blank. Then she said, “I
must
do this? I
must
not do that? Am I not the wife of the ruler of Galilee and Perea?”
“There, you’re taking this personally!” Antipas picked up her hand and kissed her emerald ring. “I’m the ruler himself, but I’m not free to offend the Jews, either. I don’t eat pork—at least, not in front of traditional Jews. I don’t put graven images on the coins of Galilee.” Antipas laughed and went on in a lighter tone, “I’d forgotten that special law about the brother’s wife.”
“I don’t see anything humorous,” said Herodias.
“Let me explain, my dove. You remember Governor Pilate’s remark about John the Baptizer last night? The Baptizer was talking about a Jewish law that forbids marrying a brother’s wife if he’s alive. But if the brother dies, it’s actually one’s
duty
to marry his wife.” He laughed again. “Perhaps if Herod Junior were to have an—an
accident,
the Baptizer would start praising me.”
Now, it seemed, Herodias saw the joke, because her musical laugh rang out.
The next day we went to the amphitheater to see the games, and the day after that, we left Caesarea. I heard Antipas’s guards grumbling about missing the rest of the games, but I was glad I wouldn’t have to watch anyone else being killed. Excepting, of course, the chicken that had to be sacrificed at the Temple of Hermes, god of travel, to ensure a good journey. From Caesarea Maritima to Antipas’s new city on the shore of Lake Tiberias was only a chicken’s worth of a journey, two days’ travel. We’d stop in Sepphoris overnight, then go on to reach Tiberias about evening on the second day.
Antipas got into a carriage with his steward, Chuza, and his secretary, Leander, so that he could go over business matters during the trip. Herodias and I were to ride in another carriage with her jewelry cases, baskets packed with her cosmetics jars, mirror, combs, and curling irons, trunks full of silks, and several jars of her favorite honeyed wine.
“Would my lady not rather have the baggage loaded on pack animals, instead of crowding her carriage?” suggested the caravan master. I thought this was a sensible idea, since there was hardly any place to stretch out my legs. But Herodias answered, “I wish to keep an eye on my belongings,” and her tone did not invite further discussion.
The
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