Herod spoke first. “Azariah, I commend you. Her eye is healing nicely. By tomorrow evening, no Roman will be able to say that I have to flog my women into submission.”
“She is truly a unique specimen, my lord. It is a shame she cannot speak a word of our language.”
“She knows no Aramaic?” asked the king.
“Nor Greek, I’m afraid.”
“Latin?”
“A word or two at most.”
Herod shrugged off this complication.
“Well, it is of no importance. To carry out her responsibilities, she will not need to talk. The others chatter too much anyway.”
The courtiers in the room laughed, and one of them cracked a joke Naomi didn’t bother to translate.
For the next few minutes, we heard nothing but idle gossip. But then I could hear the approaching sound of marching feet.
“About half a dozen, I’d guess,” I whispered to Lavon.
The soldiers halted some distance away. One of their number broke off and came closer. He came to attention and saluted — I’d recognize that sound anywhere — and then I heard some brief shuffling before the man saluted once more and backed away.
Nothing happened for a minute or two. Then we heard a voice.
“It appears that Pilate is sending us a prisoner, my lord,” said Azariah.
I heard a brief grunt. Whatever was happening, the monarch didn’t like it.
“Despite holding the title of prefect, Pilate is only of the Roman equestrian order,” said Herod. “Yet he, a mere knight, presumes to tell a crowned king how to handle our affairs.”
From what Naomi said, this was a familiar complaint.
“A most lamentable circumstance,” said Azariah.
A brief period of silence followed.
Finally, Herod spoke again. “Well, who is this prisoner?”
“The message says that it is the Nazarene.”
“The Nazarene?”
“The same, my lord. He is a Galilean, so Pilate is sending him to us.”
We heard another grunt. Herod did not welcome this news.
“Just what I would expect. He fears a riot, and if one does occur, he wants someone else to bear the responsibility.”
“Yes, my lord. That is how I see it, too.”
As did I, though I regretted that we would never have the chance to find out whether Publius or Volusus had planted this idea in the governor’s head or if Pilate had thought of it himself. Both struck me as plausible.
“How was he caught?” asked Herod.
“Apparently, one of his followers saw the light.”
“No doubt reflected off some silver,” grumbled Herod. “Who arrested him: the Romans or the Temple police?”
“I don’t know. Whatever happened, though, he ended up in the hands of Pilate, who will crucify him; of that we can be certain.”
“Yes, but Pilate is afraid that his followers will cause a disturbance, like, um, what’s his name — ”
“Barabbas,” said Azariah.
“Yes, Barabbas. Pilate will not want to write a dispatch to the Emperor explaining why he could not keep order, so he seeks a way to blame any problems that might arise on me. Perhaps the Romans will use this as an excuse to remove a portion of Galilee from my jurisdiction as well, and keep its revenues for themselves.”
“That may be their intention.”
After last night’s shindig, I could feel Herod’s concern. From my limited observations, the king didn’t seem like the type who troubled himself much with budgets.
“What do you suggest?” Herod finally asked.
Azariah didn’t have a ready answer. Like all courtiers caught in such circumstances, he seemed to be stalling for time.
“You wanted to see him, my lord, did you not?” he finally said. “Perhaps he can work some sign.”
“You’re certain this is not the Baptist?”
“Positive, my lord. He and the Baptist are distinct individuals, though they are cousins, which would explain the resemblance.”
“That man tormented me to no end. I could not have let him live and kept my dignity.”
“No, my lord. You only did what had to be done.”
Another pause.
“Well, bring him in.”
I heard the sound of shuffling feet and metal dragging across the floor, as if soldiers were leading a prisoner bound by a heavy chain.
No one said anything at first. I suppose the king was examining whether the prisoner’s physical appearance matched what he had expected to see.
Finally, Herod spoke. “I hear you are a miracle worker.”
The man did not respond.
“The Romans have sent you to me. Show me a sign, and I can set you free.”
Again, silence; and sign or no sign, this was almost certainly a lie; unless Pilate had some new scheme up his sleeve that he hadn’t mentioned before.
Herod made the request again, and I could tell that he was becoming irritated. The prisoner, though, never uttered a word.
A little later, one of the retainers made a crack, but neither the king nor Azariah said anything in response. Then, finally, we heard a loud cry.
In English.
“Oh my God!”
Sharon’s breaths came rapidly. “Oh my God! My Lord!”
“What’s this?” I heard Herod say.
“Oh my Lord! My God!” she repeated.
Whatever Sharon was doing, the king didn’t care for it much.
“How does this one know the prisoner?” he barked. “I thought you said she cannot speak our language.”
“She cannot,” said Azariah. “I am absolutely certain of this.”
“Yet she grovels before him as if he were a king, and not me. Look at her! She is afraid even to look into his eyes.”
“I cannot explain it, my lord.”
I could feel the tension from our hiding place in the tunnel, though I suppose that was because my own stomach was turning in knots.
Nothing happened for a few moments. Then we heard Azariah bark an order and several pairs of feet trotted off.
They returned shortly, and after the next few words, we needed little imagination to visualize what was beginning to happen.
“As you know, some call him King of the Jews,” said Azariah.
“So,” Herod groused.
“Well, then,” said Azariah, “if he is a king, we also must honor him.”
I heard a loud guffaw from a distant courtier, but for the moment, the others kept silent. Like parasitic sycophants everywhere, Herod’s entourage waited to see which was the safe side.
The king himself said nothing for a brief instant, but then he, too, burst into laughter. “Yes, yes; you are correct. We must all bow before our new master.”
At this, the floodgates opened.
“A monarch must have a scepter, and a crown,” said one of the retainers.
I heard footsteps recede into the distance and return shortly thereafter. After a short interval, whoever it was must have been satisfied with his handiwork.
“All hail, King of the Jews,” I heard him declare.
“All hail,” shouted other retainers.
One even came forward with a bucket of water, with the excess sloshing over the side.
“We have run out of wine,” he said. “If it’s not too much trouble, we’d like you to make us some.”
“Hear, hear,” said another.
Then a woman’s voice burst out. “I will prostrate myself before my lord, just like the Amazon here.”
We could hear her throw herself to the ground.
“All hail, my lord and master” she said. “We celebrate your visit.”
Two other women joined her, and the mockery continued until the courtiers finally began to grow bored.
“What do you recommend that we do with him now?” Herod asked as the chamber fell quiet.
“Send him back to Pilate,” said Azariah. “Tell him we have paid homage to our king. He must now do the same.”
Laughter echoed through the room as guards led the prisoner away. We learned later that Herod then walked over to a prostrate Sharon and gave her a vicious kick in the side before launching into a couple of obscene hip thrusts.
“She wants a lord,” we heard him say. “Now, I will go to the baths. When I return, we will have a small festival, and I will show her who is lord around here.”