When the invitation arrived, it felt like the greatest
honour that could ever have been paid to us. My wife Louise was thrilled. She
went out immediately and spent a very great deal of money on clothing and shoes
for both of us and a handbag for herself; she booked us both in at Scissor’s Palace for haircuts, and herself in at The Body Beautiful, where she had
manicure, pedicure, massage, exfoliation and a colonic irrigation, for reasons
that escape me.
We talked
about it for weeks at the baths, at the shops, in the temple and at the Forum. No
less a person than His Majesty the King, yes, Herod Antipas, ruler of Galilee
& Peraea had graced us with a wonderful three-fold invitation. We were
invited to view his beautiful palace, along with high officials, military
commanders and other leading men of the province; we were invited to meet the
King and his wife and their daughter personally; and we were invited to attend
a grand banquet in honour of the King, for it was his birthday.
Louise spent
hours in the market and the Souk, looking for the ‘perfect gift’ for us to give
to Herod. Glassware? Livestock? Porcelain? Clothing?
‘Wasn’t there
anything more expensive?’ I asked, with a slight tone of sarcasm.
She didn’t
seem to notice. ‘Actually, I decided to buy this, not because it was the most
expensive item, but because Joseph told me this was a special piece made by his
boy. You know, that Rabbi Jesus. Apparently, this was his last piece of work,
and it shows all his many skills and great craftsmanship. It’s got to be his
best piece, and his last! Very valuable!’
I smiled and
placed it gently back in the folded tissue, within the card box, nestling in
the straw which filled the wooden casket, which slipped into the embroidered
silk sack. This thing had cost us a small fortune, but I reckoned it was worth the
risk
of overspending our budget, as Herod was powerful and we valued his favour.
The day of
the King’s birthday dawned bright and still, and we dressed in our new finery
with a sense of anticipation and nervousness. Neither of us had hob-nobbed with
royalty before, and while we had researched the correct behaviour and
courtesies (we knew practical matters such as always facing the King and eating
small morsels, not great mouthfuls), but we were still a little unsure about
the depth of bow or curtsey required, or how and when to ask to be excused for
calls of nature etc.
We were
pleased that the ride to the palace was uneventful, as one splash of mud or
burst of unfortunate-ness from the rear of the donkey might have been
calamitous for our clothing; this had been just one more thing to worry about.
I held out my arm for Louise to link hers through, and we stepped up to join
the queue of the great and the good, to have our invitations inspected, and to
hand over our birthday gift.
Then we were
escorted through the outer courtyards of the Royal Palace to the Most
Sanctified Rooms, where we sat in rows, awaiting the audience with the King. He
was running late, but he seemed to be in a good mood. He sat on his throne, and
we all lined up to the official audience with him. Now, Louise was a bit
disappointed with the way this turned out to be just a rushed tilt of the royal
head as each of us were announced, when she was expecting ‘a chance for a
chinwag.’ I cannot imagine for a moment what she thinks she has in common with
royalty. A complete disregard for hard-earned wealth, perhaps?
Anyway, this
part was soon completed, and we were herded through to the banqueting hall for
the royal Birthday feast.
The menu was
astonishing, with a wide range of meat, fish, seafood, game, vegetables and
breads, along with broths and pies and stews and casseroles and pasta dishes
and tureens of soup and copious quantities and varieties of wine, followed by a
range of fruits, creams, chocolate cakes, puddings and pastries, some with
ornate sugar work and all with cream or sauces. The cheese was incredible and
the quality of service immaculate. We ate our fill as the daylight faded.
Then it all
started to go wrong.
It had been nearly perfect up to this point (apart from the salami-machine
style ‘audience’) but the musicians were instructed to play a particular song
Louise has never liked, and I wasn’t all that fond of it, either. And the
dancing started – a form of dancing which didn’t seem to be fitting to the
occasion.
First, a
professional troupe, all rehearsed and co-ordinated, did their thing, which was
fair enough, if a bit raunchy.
Then the King
waved them off the dancefloor, and brought on some much less skilful dancers,
who were seriously underdressed and only knew how to establish three steps or connect four
moves – thrusting themselves, being sensuous in a clinical way that did nothing
for me.
Finally, the
King became less interested in them, and he clapped again to dismiss them. One
final dancer stepped up. She was a young teenager who wore a flimsy costume of
see-through fabrics, somewhat vulnerable to draughts, and gave a performance as
inappropriate as it was enticing. I watched with a growing concern, knowing she
was suggesting sexual allure and intimate promise, and directing this at the
King, as various layers of muslin were shed and strewn around the dancefloor.
And then, with a start, I realise Louise was nudging me.
‘You know who
that girl is, don’t you?’ she whispered.
‘No,’ I
answered, genuinely.
‘It’s his
daughter.’
‘What?’
‘Well, his
step-daughter. Salome.’
I was already
thinking it was a saucy performance for any teenager to present, but for a
relative, it was downright perverse.
Louise added
‘She’s also his step-niece, I think, or something, on account of his second
marriage.’
‘She’s his
relative, twice-over?’ I asked, incredulous. I looked at Louise, and tried my
best not to look at the girl any more, as she had removed far too much already
and any modesty she retained was being protected only by a couple of flimsy…
The dance
concluded with yet another discarded veil.
King Herod’s
lusty response was warm applause and cries of ‘bravo!’ and ‘wonderful!’,
followed by his outstretched arms towards the girl.
‘My dear, my
dear, how lovely you are! I love how you make the most of your beauty and dance
so very sexily. Oh, yes that was splendid! I am delighted! You deserve a reward
for that. What can I give you? It needs to be something really worth having.
Go, on, ask me. Ask me for whatever you want? What would you like?’
‘My lord,
your applause is sufficient reward…’ she said.
‘No, no,
don’t say that! I want you to have something, something special! What would you
like?’
‘Well, my
lord, a goblet of wine would be nice…’
‘No, no,
girl, you don’t understand. Have a little ambition! I am offering you up to –
say – half my kingdom. Use your imagination, and, by God, I firmly promise that
I shall give you whatever you want, as I say, up to that limit. I wish to be
generous to you. Go on, ask me for whatever you want.’
The girl
stood there, almost undressed, nonplussed. ’My lord,’ she said, falteringly, ‘
may I go and seek advice?’
The King
smiled, and gave a gesture of dismissal. ‘Go, then, but don’t be long!’
All the
guests began to discuss what had happened, and as servants distributed more
wine and nibbles, Louise offered me her opinion.
‘She should
ask for something like Galilee. Or large quantities of precious stones. He’s
not often in such a good mood, so she should strike while the iron is hot. Her
dance was disgustingly alluring, and he’s out of his mind with lust! She should
make the most of it!’
I was about
to reply, when the girl ran across the dancefloor towards the throne. She
hadn’t stopped to put on a robe or even another of those flimsy veils. She
stopped in front of the King, and knelt before him. As she did so, she glanced
at the doorway from which she had emerged, where her mother Herodias stood. The
Queen nodded encouragingly at her daughter.
She spoke so
softly that I didn’t catch her words.
Louise nudged
me and whispered ‘What did she ask for?’
I shrugged my
shoulders in ignorance.
The King
seemed somewhat displeased displeased with the request.
‘What’s he
upset about?’ Louise wondered.
‘Probably
she’s asked for something he didn’t expect, and now he can’t back out of his
promise – not in front of the whole crowd of us!’ I suggested.
He slowly
nodded to one of the servants, who went to act upon the order. The girl smiled
to herself and ran out of the hall (hopefully, in order to put some clothes
on).
The King’s
advisors approached him, and they discussed the situation. I was able to hear
the conversation.
‘My lord, I
fear you have made a promise that you may not wish to keep.’
‘Yes, yes, of
course, but a promise is a promise.’
‘My lord,
will you go through with the request? After all, it is a lot less than having
to give the girl Galilee or having to share the rule of the province with her…’
What could she possibly have wanted? I wondered.
What could she possibly have wanted? I wondered.
All of a sudden, Louise shrieked
and turned towards me, burying her head in my shoulder. Passing my wife,
through the assembled crowd of birthday party guests, came a servant carrying a
large platter. Dripping off the side of the silverware was a steady flow of
blood, falling onto the servant’s tunic, dripping onto the floor and
splattering some of the guests.
On the
platter was the severed head of John the Baptist, lying on its side. It was
hard to say what was more shocking: the sight of hacked, torn skin around his
throat; the bits of bone laid bare among various blood vessels and fleshy
tissue; his bloodied hair; the wide-eyed stare of a painful demise; or the
change in the atmosphere from one of deferential discussion to the damage of a
deadly decree.
The servant
stood before the King, and waited while other servants cleared some of the food
plates from the table. Then he slid the platter into the space. The King looked
away in horror at what he had commanded, at the same time signalling that the
girl should be summoned.
Blood
continued to drip from the platter, onto the tablecloth. The eyes of the
preacher continue to stare at the King, who tried not to meet his gaze. Herod
continued to look horrified at what had occurred.
The girl and
her mother re-entered the banqueting hall, approaching the table as the King’s
conversation with his servants continued.
‘We all know
you have some sympathy with John the Baptist, my Lord, as you have listened to
his preaching several times. You said you liked to listen to him.’
‘Be quiet,
you fool! Executing this man of God is a most serious matter, and I have
promised myself into a corner. I had no way out of this…’
One of the
advisors duly held his tongue, but another was bold enough to press the point.
‘He did criticise you, my lord, and that deserves punishment.’
‘All of these
so-called prophets and holy men, despite his fascinating ideas, he was stuck in
the past.’
‘My lord, he
criticised your relationship in principle, not you personally, and certainly
not the lady Herodias.’
‘He said our
relationship was offensive. That’s personal.’
‘Yes, my
lord, but he was suggesting that no-one should take their half-brother’s wife
to bed.’
‘Well, I was
angry with him, and that’s why he’s been kept in the prison in the dungeons of
the palace.’ The King was visibly annoyed at himself. ‘The lady always had it
in for him, and now my rash promise means she got her way.’
‘You have
greatly respected John’s insights, my lord.’
‘Indeed.’
’He has many
disciples; the one he said would follow him – the preacher Jesus of Nazareth –
has many more.’
‘I shall
cross that bridge when I get there.’ Herod tried
to ignore what he considered to be religious politics; he had a kingdom to rule[1].
The conversation went on and on, with various advisors agreeing the King was
right to keep his promise, and other sandal-licking behaviour. In the end,
Herod turned to the dancing girl. ‘Take your reward away with you!’ the King
whispered. ‘Give it to your mother.’
The Queen
smiled in victory, and instructed the servant to remove the head from the hall.
‘This isn’t
going to end well,’ Louise murmured. She has a habit of stating the blindingly
obvious as a way of covering up her feelings of awkwardness.
Well, it
seemed everyone else had the same impression, and the party broke up at that
point, as you might imagine. We were quickly ushered out of the banqueting
hall, and soon we were out in the courtyard. We could see the tables laden with
the birthday gifts provided by the many guests.
I immediately
regretted having given this foolish, evil man anything. But I could not bring
myself to join in when some guests started to sort through the birthday
presents, in order to remove the ones they had brought, while the two servants
who had been guarding the table were trying to stop them. I could not lower
myself to scrabble
about, attempting to withdraw my gift.
After all, I
thought, it had been handled, fashioned by Jesus, and who knows, some of what
he represents might rub off on King Herod when he opens his present; when he
unties the drawstring on the silk sack, lifts the lid on the casket, rummages
in the straw, opens the card box and unfolds the tissue, to discover the
crafted bowl turned, fashioned, designed, smoothed, inlaid and varnished by a
master carpenter.
Guests at Herod’s party witness
John’s execution
Do you think Louise found a suitable gift?
What are the dangers of saucy dancing (beyond the evident
lust-inducements)?
Is it possible (or instructive) to untangle the soap-opera of
relationships between husbands, wives, brothers, lovers, divorceés, daughters
and uncles?
Which specific sins led directly to the death of John the Baptist?
Can you identify the names of six games secreted in the text?
[1] Later Jesus was sent to Herod for
trial; the King asked questions, and was keen to see a miracle, but became
enraged when he would not perform for him. He mocked Jesus and sent him back to
Pilate. Check out Luke 23:7-12
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