The Ironsmith by Nicholas Guild Read Free Book Online Page B

protect a monster.
    And now, after waiting for more than two hours, he found himself bowing stiffly to the Lady Herodias, the Tetrarch’s wife, formerly the wife of her uncle, Herod Boethus, who was, incidentally, the Tetrarch’s still-living brother.
    She had come out at last to receive him, surrounded by perhaps a score of her women, among whom, standing behind and a little to the right of her mistress, smiling slyly at him, was Michal, the lady’s close friend and confidante and Caleb’s wife.
    In her youth Herodias had been a famous beauty, and even now, in her middle forties, she was handsome. Her hair had grown streaked with gray, but her eyes were large, lustrous and black and her full mouth suggested a sensuous nature. She was accustomed to fawning admiration from men, and even Eleazar, who loathed her, was forced to recognize her power to charm.
    Today she was even modestly dressed, with her arms covered. Her garment was of green silk, and a long white scarf covered her hair. The only touch of the harlot was her belt, which was of gold to catch the eye and was drawn tight to accentuate her narrow waist.
    â€œLady,” he said, taking her hand and, at the deepest part of his bow, placing it against his forehead. “You honor me.”
    â€œYet you did not always deem it so,” she answered, accepting his salute with a catlike smile.
    â€œTime is a great teacher, Lady, and has obliged me to acknowledge my error. I have prayed and made sacrifice in hopes of God’s pardon, and yours.”
    This made her laugh, a sound like music. They understood each other perfectly and no pardon was possible, only a wary truce.
    Eleazar had counseled his master against the marriage, suggesting, with perhaps more force than was politic, that such a union would be regarded as an abomination by the Tetrarch’s more pious subjects, among whom, he implied, he himself would be numbered.
    The Tetrarch, of course, married her anyway. And, of course, he had told his wife of his minister’s opposition.
    â€œThe Tetrarch is taking his massage,” she said. “Shall I have someone conduct you?”
    â€œI know the way, Lady. I thank you.”
    She offered her hand again, and again he bowed and touched it to his forehead.
    To Michal he also made a slight bow. She smiled her teasing smile, to which Eleazar had long since grown immune. There was a scandal behind that marriage as well, which was perhaps what recommended her to Herodias.
    As Eleazar made his solitary way along the palace corridors, the Tetrarch’s minister tried to clear his mind. Today he wished only to be the faithful servant of his master—faithful even to the extent of giving him advice he did not wish to hear. For he knew the Tetrarch was on the verge of making a dangerous mistake.
    Antipas, like his father, tended to corpulence, and at fifty, having reached an unwieldy girth and showing no inclination to place a check on his appetites, had adopted a regimen of steam baths and massage. Twice a day he subjected himself to the pummeling of a Greek slave, followed by half an hour of steam, a swim in a pool of warm water and, at the end, a cold plunge. He had been enduring this program for over a year with no detectable result. Every month he grew visibly heavier, and lately his breathing had acquired a squeaking sound, as if he were being throttled by his own flesh.
    Eleazar found him lying on his belly, a great expanse of pink flesh on a block of white marble, having his buttocks kneaded. His face happened to be turned away, but at the sound of sandaled feet against the stone floor he drew up his head and then allowed his chin to settle on his folded hands.
    â€œAh, minister. They neglected to tell me you were coming today.”
    This, of course, was not true, but such polite fictions were required for a ruler who would not have altered his daily routine for anyone less than the Roman prefect.
    â€œI apologize for the