was the worst thing that happened to us.
Not long thereafter, a slave appeared at our door to lead me to the Antonia’s northern gate, where Publius and a small contingent of soldiers waited with horses. The Romans weren’t exactly patient, either. As soon as I climbed onto my mount, they took off at a rapid clip.
I hadn’t been on a horse since I stumbled off a worn-out old nag at summer camp in the eighth grade, so I don’t recall much about the journey other than struggling to hang on for dear life, to the great amusement of my companions.
Fortunately, the distance to Herod’s palace was not great, and we could travel by the light of the full moon. By some miracle, I managed to arrive in one piece.
I handed the reins to a groom and followed Publius into the palace, careful to maintain the requisite two paces behind the Roman officer. Herod greeted him profusely and beckoned the centurion to accompany him into the great hall.
As for me, I might as well have been furniture. I followed behind my “master” without saying a word.
I’ll say this for Herod: the man enjoyed grand style, and it took some effort not to gawk. Even I could see that the king had employed some extraordinarily skilled craftsmen.
In contrast to the bare
Even the supporting columns were works of art. Sculptors had carved elaborate designs into each one, though in keeping with the traditional Jewish prohibition against the rendering of living creatures, they had confined their patterns to intricate geometrical arrangements.
To top it all off, gold candelabras and oil lamps illuminated the exquisite silk draperies, cushions and pillow cases.
The king himself stood at the center of attention, and his appearance matched roughly what I had expected. He was a couple of inches taller than his subjects — about five foot seven, I guessed. His black, somewhat curly hair was trimmed short, as was his beard, in the custom of the day. He wore a purple silk robe and a jeweled gold crown, topped off with enough bling to do an LA gang leader proud.
***
We stayed in the reception area only long enough for slaves to wash the Romans’ feet. When they had finished, Herod gestured for Publius to lead the way into the great hall. There, servants directed our party to the head table, which turned out not to be a table at all.
Rather than sit in chairs, Herod’s guests reclined around what Lavon called a
Surprisingly, the head of the table was not the center position. From my vantage point, the king’s
Once Herod had been seated, his favored guests joined him, while the B and C list made do with the twenty or so similar “tables” scattered throughout the banquet hall.
Publius pointed to a station along the wall, about twenty feet away, and gestured that I should remain there. Then, he turned his attention back to the king.
A few minutes later, scantily clad servants brought in wine and the first course, and not long after that, the festivities moved into high gear.
It was strange, as I thought about it: despite the two-thousand year interval, Herod’s banquet struck me as little more than an over-the-top version of a Las Vegas strip club.
A poorly compensated work force dispensed copious amounts of alcohol to the same drunken, obnoxious patrons, who spent their evening ogling naked women gyrating to tunes of bad musicians. In truth, the only things lacking were televisions tuned to sports channels along every wall.
Once I could see that no one paid me any mind, I turned my attention away from the festivities and forced myself to concentrate on my real objective.
Unfortunately, I saw no obvious answers.
The hall itself was an open space about a hundred feet long and half as wide. Massive cedar beams spanned the ceiling, supported by the occasional stone pillar. Aside from the main entrance, though, I saw only two other exits: a set of double doors at the end opposite from my position and a narrow opening not far from the king’s table.
I was certain that the latter passage led either to Herod’s bedchamber or to a place of refuge outside, but I had no way to know for sure. The two surly guards stationed on either side didn’t look like they’d allow me to take a quick peek.
Meanwhile, the banquet picked up steam: more dancing girls, more wine; and I’ll just say that whatever inhibitions the diners might have had coming in disappeared in short order.
***
After an hour or so, a man pushed through and made his way to the head table. He whispered into Herod’s ear, and the king visibly brightened.
“Publius, you are a fortunate man,” he said. “They are bringing me my Amazon.”
Herod waved his hand and the raucous crowd grew quiet.
Two eunuchs escorted Sharon into the banquet hall from the doors at the far end, leading her with thin golden chains they had fastened to a gold collar clasped around her neck. That, and the first-century equivalent of a G-string, was the full extent of her attire.
I could see that her captors earlier in the day had not been gentle. Though she had been bathed and perfumed and whatever else the palace attendants could manage on short notice, no makeup could conceal the purple welt on her cheek, nor hide the fact that her left eye had swollen almost completely shut.
Herod must have already known of her injuries, for he made no comment about them. Instead, he seemed transfixed by her presence.
That wasn’t hard to understand. Her lithe, athletic figure could still stop traffic, and I’ll give credit where it’s due: she stood tall, and walked forward with a dignity that I could never have mustered under similar circumstances.
Their procession continued until the eunuchs had brought her within an arm’s reach of the king. Then, they unwound about six more feet of chain and took two steps back.
Herod just looked her up and down for a couple of minutes. Then, he held up a golden goblet.
“A toast to my Amazon,” he said. “At last, a woman with spirit.”
The guests raised their goblets.
“In fact, she is such glorious sight that I’m tempted to enjoy her right now.”
I struggled not to react. Before Sharon’s arrival, a number of Herod’s guests had been doing exactly that with other women.
To my great relief, Publius quickly stepped in.
“Your highness, you surprise me,” he said.
“In what way?”
“I agree she is a glorious specimen, but I was led to believe that your Amazon was truly without blemish. This one looks like she has been whipped into the hall. Look at her face: I doubt she can even see out of that eye.”
“I did no such thing.”
“I am certain that you did not, but perhaps those in your service were not as discerning.”
The king didn’t reply, though I did see the first hints of doubt cross his mind.
“I could understand why a degenerate Parthian might have to resort to such means to obtain female companionship,” said the Roman, “but it is ill suited to a great king such as yourself.”
Herod stared forward, unsure of his next action. Meanwhile, Publius laid it on thick.
“Your majesty, we all know that when women encounter a real man, you cannot keep them away. For instance, I am told that last night, the girls literally fought among themselves for the chance to leap upon your
