Messiah: The First Judgement (Chronicles of Brothers) (26 page)

Her waist-length black hair swayed against her bare back to the music as her hands moved across her body, discarding each layer of sheer material until she stood clad only in the seventh sheer veil. She reached down and sensually caressed his swollen pot-bellied abdomen, then raised the last veil from her face, revealing the high cheekbones, the sensual crimson lips.

Herod put his hands over his face.

‘Enough! Enough!’ he cried, clapping loudly and slowly, until the entire Great Hall was on its feet, applauding.

‘More! More!’ they cried.

Herod motioned for her to sit next to him.

Herodias watched, alert, and nodded to Salome.

Salome sat down next to her stepfather on the satin pillows, drinking from his goblet and sharing his sweetmeats, whispering diabolical enticements into his ear.

Suddenly Herod rose, swaying in his semi-drunken stupor. He clapped his hands loudly, and instantly the music stopped.

He gestured to Salome to stand on the dais, then walked tipsily up to her. ‘Ask of me whatever you will, and I will give it to thee. I swear it this night, by the gods! Whatever you ask of me, stepdaughter, I will give it thee, unto the half of my kingdom.’

A cold smile glimmered on Herodias’s face. She and Salome stole from the banqueting hall outside, through the private corridor and into her opulent chambers.

Salome sat on Herodias’s luxurious bed, wrapping the purple perfumed silk sheets around her in triumph. Herodias scrutinized her own fading beauty in the hand glass, then turned to examine Salome’s fresh, pert features.

‘What shall I ask for, Mama?’ Salome giggled. ‘Up to half the kingdom!’

‘The old dithering fool,’ Herodias spat.

Salome paled. She knew to avoid her mother’s violent tantrums at any cost. She sat on the bed, suddenly silent.

Herodias nodded. ‘We shall silence the Baptist and his vile accusations forever. No longer shall he turn your stepfather and his subjects in Judaea against me, his rightful wife,’ she hissed. ‘We must preserve our place at the court; we can brook no interference by that viper. He must be silenced. Your very future depends on his being dead. Now, go back to Herod and ask for the head of John the Baptist!’

Salome gasped. Then a small wicked smile played on her lips. She hurried back through the great hall, then stood before Herod, demure and sweet-faced.

Herod laughed loudly. ‘You have chosen – so what is it to be, my sweet? Up to half my kingdom – was there ever such a generous father!’

Salome curtseyed.

‘Oh, Herod, great and just – and true to your vow,’ her voice was soft but clear, ‘I will that thou would give me the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter.’

Herod paled. He shrank in disgust from Salome, appalled. Then he turned to face the great hall, looking first at the senators, then at the merchants, until his gaze stopped at his generals.

‘I cannot, Salome. Anything ... anything but the Baptist’s head – my treasuries, my jewels, Salome ... my palaces, even, I beseech you...’

Salome stared past Herod to the entrance of the great hall, far in the distance, to where Herodias stood, a slim, shadowed figure.

Herod followed her gaze. ‘He is a righteous man,’ he muttered. ‘Not worthy of death.’

Herodias slid over the floors, then sidled up to him, whispering into his ear. ‘You made a vow, O great Herod, and a vow must be fulfilled.’

Herod bunched his fists, snapped out of his drunken state, his mind whirling.

‘The Baptist has done nothing worthy of death. I cannot.’ Chuza, his house steward, tried desperately to catch the eye of Joanna, who was praying under her breath.

‘You are
weak
, Antipas.’ Herodias’s imperious whisper seemed to reverberate into every corner of the great hall.

He started. She grasped his bangled arm, her violent, uncontrolled temper rising. ‘He turns the rabble against us. They hate us – they loathe me ... They spit at my carriage in the streets when I pass – I, wife of the tetrarch of Judaea! It is his poison; his tongue is as a viper’s.’

Herod stood like stone.

‘And what of your guests?’ she hissed. ‘
What
will they say when they leave Herod’s palace – that he was a man too weak and inadequate to keep his vow?’

Herod’s arms dropped like lead weights to his side. He sat down, his hand shaking so violently that he could scarcely hold his wine cup.

‘Malchus,’ he ordered in a weak, unsteady voice, ‘take the guard to the Baptist’s cell in Macherus and execute him.’

‘And bring us his head on a charger!’ Herodias screamed.

* * *

Lucifer stood on the roof of the Eastern Wing that housed Perdition’s royal aviaries, in front of hundreds of colossal gilded hell cages, feeding his pet carrion scavenger scouts from a large silver urn filled with freshly killed mansouth liver.

Charsoc bowed before him. ‘I request an audience, m’Lord.’

Lucifer washed his bloodied hands in a bowl that Balberith held out to him, then dried his hands fastidiously on an embroidered napkin passed to him by a courtier. He flung the napkin onto the floor, then walked towards Charsoc.

‘The Wort Seers of Diabolos have seen a portent, your Majesty.’ Charsoc bowed again. ‘A portent they say is related to the Nazarene. A veil.’

Lucifer stopped in his tracks.

‘The veil that hangs in the Hebrews’ temple,’ Charsoc continued.

‘
That
veil...’ Lucifer’s expression grew dark. ‘It hangs in the Holy of Holies.’ He tore the missive from Charsoc’s grasp. ‘The lone place on this planet where Yehovah
trespasses
and visits with the Race of Men.’ He scanned the missive. ‘The Wort Seers foretell it bodes ill for my kingdom.’ Lucifer frowned. ‘They saw it torn.’

‘It would be a most arduous task to tear, m’Lord,’ Charsoc replied. ‘My scouts report it is a most unwieldy looking shroud. Forty cubits long, twenty wide, of the thickness of one cubit and wrought in seventy-two squares. It needs at least three hundred priests to manipulate it. It has been said in the Race of Men that bulls tied to each side would not be able to rip the veil apart.’

‘Yet my finer instincts tell me the Wort Seers have seen truly – that it holds significance to Yehovah and the High Council in the affairs of the Race of Men. But torn ... why would it be torn?’ Lucifer paced up and down the eastern elevation, pensive.

‘It
protects
them..’ he muttered. ‘without it the Race of Men would be struck dead from the radiation of Yehovah’s presence.’ He turned to Charsoc. ‘Instruct the Black Murmurers to watch over this veil. Tell Marduk to report to me immediately of any unusual happenings.’ Charsoc bowed.

‘You word is my command, Your Excellency. I instruct the Black Murmurers immediately.’

Lucifer walked to the edge of the upper Pavilions, gazing over the desolate smouldering, lava wastes of hell that stretched as far as the eye could see. He looked down at the missive still in his palm, then raised his head to the pale amber horizon. Strangely troubled.

Chapter Twenty-five

The Hebrew

They stood silent on the steps of the temple in Jerusalem. Zahi, his face wrapped in cloth, rode in the carriage, veiled from view. Ghaliya sat on the opposite side, playing the rich merchant’s wife, with Jotapa, heavily disguised in a maidservant’s veils, at her right hand, next to Ayeshe.

‘Zerubbabel’s temple,’ Jotapa whispered. ‘Zahi, look – see how Herod has spent vast sums on its beautification.’ She stopped in mid sentence as a huge outcry erupted from the outer court of the temple.

There was a sound of loud shouting and the crashing of tables onto the temple floor.

A familiar voice raged like thunder. ‘You den of thieves! You
dare
to make My Father’s house a house of merchandise – a bazaar! Your incessant haggling – your profiteering from the poor...!’

Dove sellers and moneychangers scattered like geese through the Court of the Gentiles, past the carriage and Jotapa. Sacrificial sheep and oxen milled about and ran through the temple courtyard, to the sound of more crashing ... then silence.

Hundreds of onlookers gathered outside the entrance to the outer court. Waiting. Jotapa watched, fascinated, from behind her veil as a tall, lean, fierce-looking figure walked wearily out through the temple doors and across the temple courtyard, a makeshift whip of cords clasped tightly in His hands. She drew an involuntary gasp. Yes, it was Him – but – Why – He somehow looked much younger than her memories of their encounter in the desert. He could barely be thirty.

She studied the man on the temple steps. Then frowned, perplexed. Today there was no trace of the humour or compassion she had seen in the wilderness. His handsome features were grim, the strong chin set. She sighed deeply, lowering her eyes. She had initially found the Hebrew attractive ... dangerously attractive. But Jotapa was gifted with Aretas’ pragmatic shrewdness – she was no fool and she had sensed instantly that He was unavailable. She had known from their encounter in the desert that His only and overriding passion, like the monks of old, was His God. There would be no woman in the Hebrew’s life – of this she was somehow certain. She studied Him curiously. His dark eyes flashed like lightning as He wiped the tears from His eyes with the back of His hand – tears of anger, she was sure. She smiled faintly ... tears of passion.

Why was He so incensed?

She turned to Zahi, bewildered. Zahi gestured towards the temple.

‘The temple of the Hebrews has always been a great national treasury,’ he said quietly, his voice muffled somewhat by the thin gauze cloth. ‘Its vaults contain immense stores of private wealth. The deposits never sit idle, Jotapa. They are loaned at the very highest rates of interest by their moneychangers. I know from our sources that the temple archives in Jerusalem reveal inconceivable debts owed by the poor to the rich.It is not a pretty picture. The Jewish authorities are hated by the commoners. The Hebrew is discerning.’ Zahi paused. ‘And courageous.’

Jotapa stared, transfixed, as a small boy not more than four years of age, caught sight of Jesus and instantly wrestled himself away from his mother’s grasp, tearing across the pavement over to Jesus, nearly knocking Him over in his excitement. The boy latched on to Jesus’ legs and buried his head in His robe. Jotapa watched, fascinated, as the terrible fierceness dissolved from Jesus’ features. He drew the boy to Him and placed His hand gently on his head, His eyes gazing distantly ahead. The lash slipped from His hand onto the pavement. He tousled the boy’s head, then shook his mane of long dark hair out of his eyes and surveyed the courtyard. Still grim. Then drew a deep sigh.

Jotapa watched a dark striking young man who stood just behind Him, trembling with ill-concealed rage.

‘Master...’ The younger man gripped Jesus’ shoulder fiercely. Too fiercely.

Jesus turned to face him, and instantly Judas loosed his grip. Pale.

‘Master,’ he implored, ‘the authorities ... I worked so hard – they were just coming to accept You ... to accept the cause. You withdraw Yourself to Galilee when You could have been crowned king, and they think You’re in flight. ... You refuse to show Yourself openly, then publicly challenge the Pharisees – it all bodes ill, Master.’

Judas stepped back, taking in the scene of overturned tables and smashed merchandise. He put his hands to his head.

‘We’ll never set foot in the temple again ... We’re
ruined
. Some are even saying You have a
demon
!’ He threw his hands up in sheer frustration. ‘I know You are the Messiah, I believe in the cause’ – he gestured at Peter and the other disciples – ‘more than these men, with their incessant petty bickering. I would die for the cause. I would die for
You
, Jesus. You could put it right. Just take up their challenge and show them one sign from heaven,’ he pleaded.

‘The fear of man is a snare to our cause.’ Jesus turned His face to him. Forbidding.

‘And a snare to you, Judas Iscariot,’ He stated quietly.

Judas stared at him as though he had been literally lashed across the face. Hot tears rose in his eyes. He stepped back. For a fleeting moment, Jotapa thought she saw a vulnerability in Jesus, but as fast as it appeared, a terrible weariness took its place, as though He bore the weight of the whole world.

Then Jesus gathered the child in His arms, walked straight past Judas and handed the child gently to a large ruddy-faced man. ‘We will depart for Capernaum, Peter,’ He said quietly; then He walked across the courtyard, towards the street.

‘Let us go, princess,’ Ghaliya whispered nervously. But Jotapa was rooted to the ground. She shook her head, her gaze fixed on Jesus.

‘No, we stay!’ she declared. ‘We know why we are here.’

All at once as Jesus left the temple steps, throngs of men, women and children flocked around Him, clutching at His robe, His feet, His hands, until even His disciples could hardly make a path for Him through the crowd.