At first he did not seem to understand the interpreter. Vitellius gave Antipas a quick glance and he promptly repeated the Proconsul's order. Jacim placed his hands on the door and it slid into the wall.
A gust of warm air blew out of the darkness. In front of them a winding passage led downwards. They followed it until they came to the mouth of a cavern, much larger than the other underground chambers.
At the far end was an arched opening in the wall giving out on to the cliff face which defended the citadel on that side. A honeysuckle clung to the roof, its flowers reaching down towards the sunlight. A little stream of water trickled over the floor of the cave.
Inside the cave there were perhaps a hundred white horses eating barley from a long plank on a level with their mouths. Their manes were all dyed blue, their hoofs were clad in esparto slippers and the hair between their ears had been curled up over their foreheads like a wig. They had long flowing tails which they flicked lazily over their haunches. The Proconsul gazed at them, speechless with admiration.
They were magnificent creatures, lithe as snakes and light as birds. They could fly as swiftly as their riders' arrows, seize their adversaries wholesale between their teeth and topple them to the floor, run sure-foot over the most difficult rocky terrain, leap over precipices and gallop at full tilt across the plains all day long without tiring. A single word of command would bring them to a halt. As soon as Jacim walked in they came over to him, like sheep at the approach of the shepherd, stretching their necks forward and looking at him with anxious, childlike eyes. Jacim, as he always did, gave a husky, deep-throated cry which clearly delighted them; they reared up on their hind legs, eager to be let loose and to run free.
Antipas had feared that Vitellius would take these horses from him, and had shut them away in the place intended for animals in the event of a siege.
‘This is a bad place to stable horses,’ said the Proconsul. ‘You risk losing them. Sisenna, make an inventory!’
The publican took a tablet from his belt, counted the horses and wrote down the number.
Inspectors from the tax companies invariably tried to bribe governors in order to extort as much as they could from the provinces. This man nosed into everything, his eyes blinking and his mouth twitching like a ferret's.
Eventually they all went back up to the courtyard.
Here and there, set into the paving stones, were little round lids made of bronze that covered the water cisterns. The publican noticed one which was bigger than the others and which gave out a different sound when he walked on it. He went to each of them, striking it in turn and then, prancing up and down, he shouted out:
‘I've found it! I've found it! It's Herod's treasure!’
The search for Herod's treasure had become an obsession with the Romans.
The Tetrarch swore that no such treasure had ever existed.
Then what was underneath?
‘Nothing! A man, a prisoner.’
‘Let us see him!’ Vitellius ordered.
The Tetrarch hesitated, knowing that his secret would be revealed to the Jews. Vitellius was becoming irritated by his reluctance to open the lid.
‘Break it in!’ he called out to the lictors.
Mannaeï had gathered what they had in mind. He saw that they had an axe and suspected that Jokanaan was about to be beheaded. The lictor had landed the first blow on the covering, but Mannaeï stopped him, inserted a kind of hook between it and the paving stones and then, tensing his long thin arms, he gently lifted it until it fell back. Everyone was amazed at the old man's strength. Under the wood-lined cover lay a trapdoor of similar size. Mannaeï struck it sharply with his fist and it fell open in two halves. What they saw now was a hole, a huge pit with a set of unrailed steps winding down into it. Those who were close enough to peer over the edge saw at the bottom a vague shape which terrified them.
A human being lay stretched on the ground, his long hair running down into the hair of the animal hides which covered his back. He got to his feet. His forehead touched the grating which had been fastened horizontally over the pit and from time to time he disappeared back into the depths of his lair.
The sun glinted on the tips of the tiaras and the hilts of the swords; the heat thrown up from the paving stones was intense. Doves flew out from the wall friezes and wheeled above the courtyard. It was at this time of day that Mannaeï usually came to throw down seed for them. He remained crouching in front of the Tetrarch, who was standing close to Vitellius. The Galileans, priests and soldiers stood in a circle behind them. Nobody spoke. Everyone waited anxiously to see what would happen next.
First there came a great, cavernous sigh.
Herodias heard it from the far end of the palace and found herself strangely powerless to resist its summons. She threaded her way through the crowd, placed her hand on Mannaeï's shoulder and leaned forward to listen.
The voice grew louder:
‘Woe unto you, all Pharisees and Sadducees, you generation of vipers, you bloated wineskins, you tinkling cymbals!’
Everyone knew that this was Jokanaan. His name was passed from mouth to mouth. Other people came running to listen.
‘Woe unto you, O people! Woe unto the traitors of Judah and the drunkards of Ephraim, unto all who live off the fat of the land and are giddy with the fumes of wine!
‘May they pass away like the waters that run to the sea, like the snail that melts as it moves, like the stillborn child that sees not the light of day.
‘The time is at hand, Moab, when you must hide in the cypress trees like the sparrow and seek refuge in caves like the jerboa. The gates of your citadels shall be rent asunder more swiftly than the cracking of a nut, their walls shall crumble and your cities shall be consumed by fire. The scourge of the Almighty shall not cease! Your limbs shall be turned in your own blood, like wool in a dyer's vat. He shall tear you to pieces as with a new harrow and scatter your flesh in shreds upon the mountains.’
Who was this conqueror that he spoke of? Could it be Vitellius? None but the Romans were capable of such a massacre. People began to protest: ‘Enough, enough! Silence him!’
But the voice grew louder:
‘The newborn child shall crawl in ashes beside its mother's corpse. Men shall go at night, risking death by the sword to gather food among the ruins. Jackals shall fight over bones in public squares where old men once sat talking in the cool of evening. Your daughters shall drink their own tears and play lute music at the banquets of their new master and the finest of your sons shall have their backs bent double and worn to the bone by burdens too heavy to bear!’
The people recalled the history of their exile and all the trials they had endured. These were the words of the old prophets. The voice of Jokanaan rang in their ears like mighty blows that fell upon them one after another.
But the voice now became gentler, more mellifluous and song-like. It spoke of a deliverance that was at hand, of wonders seen in the skies, of a newborn child that places its arm in the dragon's lair, of gold in the place of clay and the desert blossoming like a rose.
‘That which is now worth sixty kikkars shall not be worth one obol. Fountains of milk shall spring from the bare rock; men shall eat their fill and fall asleep in the winepresses! Saviour whom I long to see, when will you come? Even now the peoples of the world bow the knee before you. O son of David, your reign shall know no end!’
The Tetrarch started back. He saw the existence of a son of David as both an insult and a threat.
Jokanaan began to berate Antipas for assuming the title of king:
‘There is no other king but the Almighty!’ He spoke with scorn of his gardens, his statues and his ivory furniture, comparing him to the ungodly Ahab.16
Antipas snapped the cord of the seal which hung from his neck and threw it into the pit, ordering Jokanaan to be silent.
But the voice answered back:
‘I will roar like a bear. I will bray like a wild ass and shriek like a woman in lab
our! Your incest has brought its own retribution. God has afflicted you with the sterility of a mule!’
There was a ripple of laughter, like waves lapping on the shore.
Vitellius was determined to stay and listen. The interpreter calmly repeated in the language of the Romans all the insults that Jokanaan was pouring out in his own, so that the Tetrarch and Herodias had to endure them twice over. He stood there gasping for breath, while she gazed open-mouthed at the bottom of the pit.
This man was fearsome to behold. Throwing his head back, he grasped the bars of the grating and pressed his face against it. They saw what looked like a tangle of brushwood with two burning coals glowing in its midst.
‘Ah! It is you, Jezebel! You who stole his heart by the squeak in your shoe! You whinnied like a mare. You set up your bed on the mountain-tops to perform your oblations! But the Lord shall tear away your earrings, your purple robes and your linen veils, the bracelets on your arms, the rings about your feet and the little golden crescents that quiver on your brow, your silver mirrors, your fans of ostrich plumes and the mother-of-pearl pattens which make you seem so tall, your proud display of diamonds, the scents in your hair, the paint on your nails and all the false adornments of your womanhood. There are not enough rocks in all the world for the stoning of adultery like yours!’
She looked around for someone to defend her. The Pharisees lowered their eyes hypocritically. The Sadducees looked away, afraid that they might offend the Proconsul. Antipas looked as though he was about to die.
The voice grew louder still, filling the air and rumbling around them like claps of thunder. Its echo bounced back off the mountains, multiplying itself and shaking Machaerus with redoubled force.
‘Prostrate yourself in the dust, O daughter of Babylon! Grind your own meal! Loosen your girdle, take off your shoes, hitch up your skirts and wade through the stream! Your shame shall be seen and your disgrace made known to all! You shall weep with anguish and your teeth shall break in your mouth! The Lord abhors the stench of your crimes! Cursed and twice cursed! May you die like a bitch!’
The trapdoor was shut and the cover fell back into place. Mannaeï wished he could have strangled Jokanaan.
Herodias disappeared. The Pharisees were outraged. Antipas stood in their midst, attempting to explain.
‘Certainly a man may marry his brother's wife,’ said Eleazar, ‘but Herodias was not a widow and what is more she had a child. That is what makes it a sin.’
‘No, there you are mistaken,’ countered the Sadducee Jonathas. ‘The Law disapproves of such marriages but it does not absolutely forbid them.’
‘What the Law says is neither here nor there,’ said Antipas. ‘I am being treated most unfairly! After all, Absalom slept with his father's wives, Judah slept with his daughter-in-law, Ammon slept with his sister and Lot slept with his own daughters.’
Just at this moment, Aulus, who had been asleep, reappeared. When they had explained what the argument was all about he sided with the Tetrarch. He said that they should not get so upset about such trifles and he laughed out loud at the priests' disapproval and Jokanaan's anger.
Herodias was half-way up the steps. She turned towards him.
‘You have no cause to laugh, my lord,’ she said to Aulus. ‘Jokanaan is telling the people not to pay their taxes.’
The publican asked them straight away if this was true.
Most of them said that it was true and the Tetrarch himself agreed.
It occurred to Vitellius that the prisoner might escape and that Antipas was behaving strangely. So he posted sentries at the gates, all along the walls and round the courtyard.
Then he went off towards his rooms, accompanied by the deputations of priests.
They all had grievances to air, although no one raised the issue of the High Priesthood. Every one of them insisted on being heard. Eventually Vitellius sent them all away.
Jonathas was just leaving him when he noticed Antipas standing in a corner of the castle wall and talking with a long-haired man dressed in white – an Essene. He began to wish he had not taken his side.
There was one thing that Antipas could take comfort from. Jokanaan was no longer his responsibility; the Romans would deal with him. And that was a great relief! Phanuel happened to be walking along the battlements. Antipas called him over and pointed at the soldiers.
‘They are stronger than I am,’ he said. ‘I cannot set him free. There is nothing I can do about it!’
The courtyard was now empty. The slaves were taking their rest. A fiery red glow lit up the sky on the horizon. Anything that stood upright was silhouetted against it in black. Antipas could make out the saltworks at the far end of the Dead Sea but he could no longer see the Arabs' tents. They must have gone, he thought. The moon was rising and a feeling of great calm came over him.
Phanuel stood beside him, utterly overcome, his chin sunk upon his breast. At last he told Antipas what was on his mind.
Since the beginning of the month he had been getting up before dawn to study the heavens, as the constellation of Perseus was at its zenith. Agala was scarcely visible, Algol was less bright than usual and Mira Ceti had disappeared altogether. From this he prophesied the death of an important person that very night in Machaerus.
Who might it be? Vitellius was too well guarded and they were certainly not going to execute Jokanaan. ‘Then it must be me,’ thought the Tetrarch.
Perhaps the Arabs were going to come back. Maybe the Proconsul would find out about his dealings with the Parthians! The priests were escorted by hired assassins from Jerusalem who had daggers hidden in their clothing. As for Phanuel's ability to read the stars, the Tetrarch had no doubts about it whatsoever.
Perhaps Herodias could help him. He hated her, it was true, but he knew that she could give him some moral support and the spell of his old attachment to her was not entirely broken.
As he entered her room, cinnamon smoke rose from a porphyry bowl. Powders, unguents, drapes that floated like clouds and embroideries light as birds' feathers lay everywhere.
He did not mention Phanuel's prediction or his own fears about the Jews and the Arabs. She would have accused him of being a coward. He spoke only of the Romans. Vitellius had told him nothing about his military plans. Antipas suspected he was in league with Caius, who was a close friend of Agrippa, and that they were planning to send him into exile. He might even end up having his throat slit.
Herodias, with an affected sympathy that barely disguised her contempt, tried to allay his fears. Eventually she took a strange-looking medal from a little box. Engraved on it was a portrait of Tiberius. This, she said, was all he needed to make the lictors turn pale and to silence their accusations.
Antipas, overcome with gratitude, asked her how she had come by it.
‘It was given to me,’ she said.
From under a curtain facing them a bare arm emerged, a young and very attractive arm which might have been carved in ivory by Polyclitus.17 It groped around, rather awkwardly yet at the same time with perfect grace, feeling for a tunic that had been left on a stool by the wall.
An old woman drew the curtain aside and passed the tunic through.
The Tetrarch remembered something he had seen not long before, but he could not quite place it.
‘Is that slave yours?’ he asked.
‘What does it matter to you?’ Herodias replied.
3
The banqueting hall was now filled with guests.
It had three aisles like a basilica, separated by sandalwood pillars with capitals richly carved in bronze. The pillars supported two clerestory galleries. A third gallery, ornamented with gold filigree, formed a semicircle at one end of the hall directly facing a huge rounded apse at the other end.
Glowing candelabra stood on the tables, which had been set out in rows from one end of the hall to the other, and formed branched clusters of light amidst the cups of painted earthenware, the copper dishes, the blocks of snow and the huge pile
s of grapes. Because of the great height of the ceiling, the red glow from the candles gradually faded as it rose and was broken into little points of light that shone like stars in the night through the branches of trees. Through the great bay window lighted torches could be seen on the terraces of the houses, for Antipas was also offering this feast to his friends, his subjects and everyone else who had come to Machaerus.
Slaves, watchful as dogs and their feet clad in felt sandals, moved from table to table bearing platters of food.
The Proconsul's table stood beneath the golden gallery on a raised platform made of sycamore. Babylonian carpets had been hung around it to form a sort of tent.
There were three ivory couches for Vitellius, his son and Antipas, one facing the hall and one at each side; the Proconsul sat on the left near to the door, Aulus sat on the right and the Tetrarch in the middle.
He was wearing a heavy black cloak, with the colour so richly applied that it was impossible to say what material it was made of. He had put rouge on his cheeks, combed his beard in the shape of a fan, powdered his hair blue and fastened it with a jewelled diadem. Vitellius still wore his purple laticlave draped diagonally across his linen toga. Aulus wore a robe of violet silk threaded with silver, with its sleeves tied behind his back. The ringlets of his hair were arranged in layers and a sapphire necklace sparkled on his breast, which was as white and well rounded as a woman's. Close beside him, sitting cross-legged on a mat, was a very beautiful young boy, with a permanent smile on his face. Aulus had noticed him in the kitchens and could not bear to be parted from him. He found it difficult to remember his Chaldean name18 and referred to him simply as ‘Asiaticus’. From time to time Aulus lay back at full length on his couch so that all that could be seen of him was his bare feet.
On his side of the hall were the priests and the Tetrarch's officers, some citizens of Jerusalem and the leaders of the Greek cities. On the Proconsul's side were Marcellus and the publicans, some of the Tetrarch's friends and dignitaries from Cana, Ptolemais and Jericho. Then, seated at random, there were mountaineers from the Lebanon, Herod's old soldiers – twelve Thracians, one Gaul and two Germans – some gazelle hunters, some shepherds from Idumaea, the Sultan of Palmyra and some sailors from Ezion-gaber. Everyone was provided with a cake of soft pastry to wipe their fingers on; arms stretched across the tables like vultures' necks to take helpings of olives, pistachio-nuts and almonds. Every face glowed with pleasure from beneath its garland of flowers.
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