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“Half my kingdom!”
. . . he roared. His guests howled with laughter as only those who have had too much wine can laugh. “Ask me anything!” He was now serious and swore with an oath. “By Jehovah! By all the gods in Rome, I will give it you!”
The girl turned and looked at her mother who simply nodded. This is the moment she had been waiting for, planning for. Salome knew what was required. “I desire that you give me here at once on a platter of polished silver . . .” she spoke in soft, sensual tones but so all could hear, pausing for dramatic effect, “the severed head of John the Baptist!” This she demanded with a flourish, as though she had actually asked for half the kingdom.
* * *
The scene in the prison was quick and merciful. The guard was met by the massive jailer. “It is time,” he said in quiet rectitude.
The jailer’s eyes fell. Massive man though he was, brutal though his reputation, he had no stomach for this. The blood he had shed in the arena seemed as nothing compared to what he knew he had to do. “Is there no other way?”
“None,” said the guard. “Place his head on this,” handing him the platter.
“Oh my God, no,” responded the jailer rolling his eyes. Whereupon he cried, “Baptist! Prepare to meet your God!”
* * *
Footsteps falling on the polished marble in the corridor. Herod glanced at the entranceway hoping that it would not be, yet at the same time, wishing it were over. The guard entered the room with John’s head rocking gently in a pool of blood on a polished silver platter. Salome’s self-assured countenance disappeared. She recoiled in horror. “Take it to her; I don’t want it. She’s the one who wanted it.” the girl whimpered. The guard set the platter at the feet of her mother. Herodias lifted her eyebrow and smiled.
* * *
When John’s followers heard of the execution, they came and took his body and buried it in a tomb. But they left the prison with a new disciple, his tunic stained with the blood of the prophet. Together, they traveled a week on foot to Galilee where they found Jesus and told him. Jesus' reaction was somber. He stared as if in disbelief, his eyes weakening. He then lowered his head and whispered, “It was only a matter of time.” He looked at the man whose tunic was covered with the dried blood of his cousin. His eyes filled with compassion. Cupping his hand against the ear of the man and holding his massive head with the other, he whispered words no one could hear. The old gladiator wept. Then Jesus withdrew to a solitary place.
* * *
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