“Herod’s Delusion”
A furious Master, fear-filled pride;
With appetite insatiable;
That is nearest, is all destroyed
what is left is
Lies…
Steam rolled off the hot rocks
on the far end of the pool, filling the vaulted room with a moistened haze.
Herod stretched out on the warmed marble slab as his masseuse finished scraping his body, exfoliating the skin, removing impurities, preparing for the oil.
Herod savored the ritual.
“If only the coldness gripping his insides could be scraped away as well…” The ridiculous thought seemed reasonable to him.
Scraping invigorated and cleansed the exterior, why not the growing coldness in the pit of his stomach, holding his emotions captive and making the bath less satisfying.
Sarbonius, layed the blade aside and began applying the oil with a kneading motion.
“More strength, Sarbonius!”
Herod’s words had a sharp edge. Sarbonius grunted his assent, as he worked his thumbs along the edge of the shoulder blade, his strong fingers pressed both sides of the spine, plying the trapezius muscles connecting the back with the shoulders and neck.
Herod prided himself in his Roman soldier’s physique, his muscles rippled against the pressure. Sarbonius redoubled his effort, massaging more deeply, releasing the coiled tension lying just below the surface.
Herod’s mind wandered…
Maraimne’s shapely image emerged before him. She too had soothed him, rubbing his shoulders, dispelling the tension at the end of the day.
Having none of the strength of Sarbonius’ grip, her delicate hands had surprised him with their therapeutic effect, and he had loved her more deeply than he thought possible.
His mind whispered her name longingly.
Maraimmne! The memory of her touch comforted him: For a moment he allowed himself to regret she was no longer his.
The tender emotion loosened the knot in his chest, but ended abruptly when the reality struck…
…SHE WAS DEAD!
Overwhelmed, his mind recoiled against her.
“Why did you turn against me!?” Your mother’s treacheries! “Alexandra!”
The thought of Maraimne’s mother gave vent to his embittered rage.
His mind’s eye turned to the apparition before him.
“Her plotting against me caused your downfall! All of you; Antipater, Alexander, Aristobulus:
Her own grandsons! All destroyed because of her treachery! “
How could you fall for your mother’s schemes?
My beautiful, treacherous wife! Why did you doubt me? How could you not know what happens to those who threaten me?”
“Why must I kill, to survive?”
Herod had sought the cleansing effect of the daily baths to lift his mood and dispel the spreading coldness in the core of his being.
But the dark cloud of suspicion had manifest itself with greater effect since his order for Maraimne’s execution by strangling.
Sarbonius turned his palms sideways and with a rapid chopping motion pounded his way up and down the length of his prostrate form,
the dull thudding sounds reverberated off the vaulted ceiling, bringing the morning ritual to an end.
A disturbance at the door to the bath greeted Herod as, in one motion, he rolled from his stomach to his back; sliding his legs over the edge of the slab, he moved to a seated position.
Sarbonius reached for a towel as Cornelius, his military attache approached and stood, awaiting Herod’s invitation to speak.
