She’d been so young… so new and naive. He’d enjoyed her so many times, in so many ways. And though she’d resisted at first, Herod was sure she’d grown to enjoy him, too. But then he’d found the mark. The lesion on her breast. Within a day, there’d been another on her neck. Within a week, she’d been covered in them. Covered in sores that oozed a foul-smelling milk. Her eyes had gone yellow, her skin a deathly gray.
And then he’d seen it. The first lesion on his own flesh. Herod had ordered his physicians to carve it out, but two more had appeared in its place. Then ten more — each one oozing and foul, each one sucking the pigment from the surrounding skin until his entire body was gray and withered. Until his teeth rotted in his mouth and his appetite vanished. His physicians diagnosed it as leprosy, though they had to admit they’d never seen a form quite like this one.
A king. A builder of great cities… undone by the wretched disease of beggars.
No, Herod couldn’t go out among the people anymore, but he could still lead them. It took a bit of trickery, a bit of illusion. But he could still rule from the shadows, as he did now — standing in the tower named for his dearly departed wife, watching as the hooded Gaspar and Melchyor were led onto the platform, fighting every step of the way. Trying to pull free, as if they’d be able to escape. As if they’d be able to run past dozens of guards and thousands of onlookers with hoods over their heads.
The shorter of the two prisoners was dragged over to the block and forced to kneel in front of it. The stone had metal rings protruding from either side, through which a rope had been threaded. As soon as Melchyor’s hooded face hit the stone, the rope was laid across his shoulders. Guards on either side of the block then took the ends of the rope in their hands and pulled it taut, holding the prisoner’s body down despite his struggles.
“And now,” said Antipas, “the Greek known as ‘Melchyor’ goes to his death!”
The crowd went absolutely cold quiet. They wanted to hear this. Hear the familiar crack of a breaking neck and metal hitting stone. The executioner lifted his ax and held it aloft for several seconds, making the most of the moment. Then down it came. The crack of shattered vertebrae could be heard clear across the square, but not the clanging of the blade against the block.
It hadn’t gone clean through.
Quickly, as Melchyor’s body began to twitch and dark blood began to pour down the sides of the stone block, the ax was raised again and the job finished. The instant it was, Antipas pulled off Melchyor’s hood and lifted his head for the crowd to see — blood pouring down his forearm and onto the wooden planks.
Herod had never seen this little Greek before. He was just a common criminal, and as such, he’d been taken straight to the dungeon. No audience with the king. Just a death sentence and a cell. Still, there was something vaguely familiar about him, although from this distance it was hard to tell.
It didn’t matter. Here he was, his mouth gagged and slack jawed, his eyes moving, taking in the exuberant faces with their fists raised in the air. Taking in the last few seconds they would ever see. Here he was, a reminder of Herod’s absolute authority. And the crowd couldn’t have been happier.
When he sensed they’d had their fill, Antipas handed Melchyor’s head to a guard, who carried it off to be stuck on the end of a pike, where it would shrivel in the sun for the next month or more. It was Gaspar’s turn, and like his smaller companion, he wasn’t going to go quietly. It took four guards to force him to his knees and all the strength of the rope men to hold him down. The executioner was determined to strike a clean blow this time, and he did — straight through to the stone block, with enough force to split the wooden handle of his ax. Once again, Antipas removed the hood and lifted the head for all to see. Once again, the crowd cheered wildly.
And when he felt they’d cheered long enough, Antipas handed the second head off and raised a hand in the air. The crowd fell silent. It was time.
“And now,” said Antipas, “we come to the criminal known as ‘the Antioch Ghost.’ A criminal who’s long stolen from the innocent people of Judea, who’s murdered so many of her brave soldiers in cold blood. A criminal who’s deceived many of you into believing that he’s a giant! Tricked you into thinking he could never be captured! And yet, my father — our mighty king — has done just that!”
A cheer went up, just as Antipas had intended it to.
“Now we shall see that this ‘Ghost’ is nothing more than a man! Now we shall see what happens to the enemies of Judea and her people!”
The cheering reached a fever pitch as the drums resumed, and the north gate swung open. Balthazar was marched out — a black hood over his head, his wrists bound behind him. As the guards led him into the center of the square, men and women stood on their toes and pushed each other aside, all trying to get a look at the legend. Those who did were almost universally disappointed by what they saw. This was no giant. This was just a man. A man who — like the late Gaspar and Melchyor — was struggling against his bonds. Trying to free himself, even now.
Watching from his little window above, Herod could see Balthazar struggling, too, fighting the guards as he was led up the steps of the wooden platform. Nothing could’ve made him happier. Not only was the Antioch Ghost going to die, but also he was going to meet his death like a coward for all of Jerusalem to see!
As if answering Herod’s thoughts, Balthazar did something completely unexpected and undignified as he took the platform. Something completely incongruous with the legend he’d cultivated, and far more embarrassing than struggling against his bonds.
He pissed himself.
Herod wouldn’t have known this had Antipas not noticed the dark circle on the front of the prisoner’s tan robes. Expanding. Working its way down his legs.
“Look at him!” cried Antipas, pointing to the evidence. “Here is your mighty Antioch Ghost! The Scourge of Rome soils himself in the face of death!”
Laughter and cheers erupted throughout the square. Insults came from every corner of the crowd. Herod couldn’t believe it.
Like Gaspar and Melchyor, Balthazar had to be forced to kneel in front of the stone block. Unlike them, he was kneeling in his own urine. His face was forced down onto the cool stone block and the rope pulled taut across his back. It took all the strength of the men holding it to keep him in place.
“And now,” cried Antipas, “we rid the earth of a demon!”
The crowd fell silent again as the executioner raised his spare ax. After pausing a little longer than usual for dramatic effect, he let out a grunt of effort and brought it down on the squirming prisoner. But as the ax fell, Balthazar gave a final pull against the rope with all of his considerable might, lifting his hooded skull halfway up off the block, making the blade miss his neck.
But there would be no dramatic escape for Balthazar today. For while the blade didn’t hit his neck, it
He was dead.
So was the crowd. The cheering stopped. Exuberant faces turned quizzical — silently watching the spurts of blood that shot through the black hood. Watching the embarrassed executioner pull his ax out of Balthazar’s skull. This wasn’t the beheading they’d come for, the beheading they’d dropped everything to attend. This wasn’t the event they’d waited hours in the heat to witness. Their silence quickly gave way to boos.
Herod was more disappointed than any of them. Even in his last moment, the Antioch Ghost had refused to cooperate. Even in death, he’d managed to embarrass the King of Judea. Managed to mock his power. But… at least he was dead. True, it hadn’t been the execution he’d hoped for, but it had been an execution nonetheless. The goal of ridding the earth of a demon had been achieved. And that, in the end, was all that really mattered.
Antipas hurried onto the platform. Eager to win back some of the momentum, he ordered the executioner to finish the job — chopping the partially collapsed prisoner’s head off anyway. Hell-bent on redeeming himself, the executioner did the job in one blow, and the crowd cheered anew. Even Herod’s spirits were lifted by the sight of the Antioch Ghost’s head being finally and irrevocably separated from his body.
Just as he had with Melchyor and Gaspar, Antipas pulled off the hood and held the head aloft for all to
