Laura Canon<\/p>\n
Afterwards, we sit in the ruins of the temple gardens. The wild ducks who fly north every summer have returned and whether they are surprised or not by what has come upon the city in their absence, by the ruins and the smell of death, they\u2019ve settled back on the grounds around the ornamental lake. They nibble the dead grass along the paths, quacking softly, as if content with such small things.<\/p>\n
Herod follows them with his eyes. To his mind they\u2019re not ducks but white peacocks, shining and pure, with jeweled collars and crimson feet and terrible cries which bring rain down from the clouds.<\/p>\n
It had seemed a wonderful joke, at first. That my mother, who wore too much make-up and was silly in a way that could only have been attractive when she was much younger, should marry such a man as Herod! My mother, that they should fight a war over her! It was exquisite. Herod was much too young for her and not the type to be soothed by a woman who liked to talk about why mangoes don\u2019t taste the same anymore and how hot the summers were now and how much she enjoyed her last trip to Egypt. (Eleven years ago, and in every one of those eleven years I\u2019d had to hear about the temple crocodiles and the Nubian boys riding donkeys.)<\/p>\n
One day I said to Herod: \u201cWhy don\u2019t you send her to Egypt again \u2013 for a long time?\u201d<\/p>\n
He just smiled and stretched out and asked me to dance for him again.<\/p>\n
He had gray eyes and curling hair and he never spoke his thoughts. He\u2019d had people killed, but then so had my father. It takes some nerve to point to a man, any man, and say, kill him<\/em> \u2013 but after all that\u2019s what having royal blood means.<\/p>\n It was another joke to call what I did dancing. I\u2019d tuck up my robes so they wouldn\u2019t catch my feet and hop around, twirling and clapping my hands. Once I saw one of the dancing girls \u2013 the real ones, who entertained at banquets \u2013 watching me and laughing out loud. But Herod didn\u2019t mind. He\u2019d watch my bare feet kicking the dust up and smile lazily, ignoring my mother and the fact that everyone else was bored already.<\/p>\n How should I know what I wanted? Staring off into the air he\u2019d list things \u2013 things he\u2019d had once maybe, or things he thought we ought to have, if our luck turned. Dishes shaped like cranes and fish; painted bowls that turned your hands blood-red while you washed them; salt from distant lands, less brittle than our local salt, with the taste of the sea and tints of purple; little potted trees, that we might plant and see if they would thrive; the bones of ancient giants \u2013 collecting such things was a craze in Rome; tiny grains of rice, with all the wisdom of the world written on them by blind men. Also jewels, of course \u2013 but after Mama no one could be impressed with jewels \u2013 and every kind of clothing and scent and headdresses.<\/p>\n Herod believed in these things. If I\u2019d named just one, he\u2019d have found a way to manage it.<\/p>\n Around that time a fad took the court for a new kind of drum that had been invented to the south, in the marshlands. It was a tiny thing, stretched with ostrich skin, but played right anyone could dance to it, they said. I found this to be true. Somehow I could catch the rhythm and then I hardly knew the hours passed, even as drummer after drummer stumbled away with swollen hands.<\/p>\n I wanted no more than to dance for the sun, outside, in the morning and again in the evening.<\/p>\n Now I like the city. I like the streets in the evening, when people come out to walk and boys and girls look at each other as they go by. But in those days I never went into the streets of the city. It wasn\u2019t permitted. So I don\u2019t know where the prophet came from. His name was John, and I believe he was arrested first for sleeping in the streets. Later they said he had insulted Mama, but I never believed that. Any real prophet could have seen that she wasn\u2019t worth it.<\/p>\n I thought maybe the real reason was that he wanted to be arrested, to get inside the palace and see what we looked like.<\/p>\n I laughed every time he opened his mouth. No one ever wore clothes, it was always \u201craiment.\u201d Every snake was a \u201cviper.\u201d When it thundered he foretold the future from it. He was scared of all birds but particularly the tame ducks and would circle away, muttering incantations, if one came near him.<\/p>\n Herod thought he must be very holy.<\/p>\n You see what I mean? If I\u2019d chosen anything off that list perhaps Herod wouldn\u2019t have wanted to keep the prophet. Now at last he had something worthy of the glory of our court. A holy man \u2013 a seer \u2013 who shook his fists and called down the wrath of heaven, who spoke in riddles, who bathed in the ornamental lake more often than any normal person would have thought necessary.<\/p>\n Perhaps the prophet would have liked me more if I\u2019d bathed more. Perhaps he\u2019d have noticed me if my feet weren\u2019t dusty and my hair didn\u2019t hang in rat-tails after I\u2019d been dancing. It\u2019s well-known that prophets don\u2019t understand women unless they\u2019re beautiful.<\/p>\n He was in the ornamental lake and I thought he wouldn\u2019t come out because of my presence. But he did. He strode out without shivering, water running from his long hair. His body was brown and twisted, his legs like the legs of the beggars and cripples outside the temple. I had to shut my eyes. It was terrible to think of such a twisted body being permitted in Herod\u2019s presence.<\/p>\n I knew then what I wanted.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy not myrrh?\u201d Herod said. \u201cI can get you myrrh anytime.\u201d<\/p>\n We hadn\u2019t had myrrh in months, truly.<\/p>\n \u201cA water clock,\u201d he said. \u201cA white rabbit with pink eyes. A room full of finches.\u201d<\/p>\n After that when Herod saw me coming he would turn aside. Even at dinner he ignored me. So I waited, and when Mama came back from Caesarea I asked again.<\/p>\n \u201cBut what do you have against this man?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA dead holy man is worth more than a live one,\u201d I said. \u201cPeople will come to see where he died. They might build a shrine and leave offerings.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHa!\u201d Mama muttered. \u201cNothing of value. Just flowers and such.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut if I put him to death\u2026\u201d Herod said, making a face.<\/p>\n \u201cBesides,\u201d I told them, \u201cI think the holy man is unhappy. I think he\u2019s going to run away.\u201d<\/p>\n At this Herod jabbed his spoon into the air. \u201cIf he runs away, I\u2019ll have him brought right back.\u201d<\/p>\n I looked over at Mama. \u201cAnd when I dance the holy man looks up at the ceiling, just like those philosophers from Rome used to, Mama, at father\u2019s court, when they came to visit and laughed at us.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat a memory you have!\u201d Mama said.<\/p>\n \u201cAh, I see it now,\u201d Herod said. \u201cSpiteful!\u201d<\/p>\n Let him think that. Sooner or later the prophet would run away. Already he sighed in the mornings, by the lake.<\/p>\n \u201cHas it been enough?\u201d he would say. \u201cI called out to them, I called them, I warned them\u2026 Is it my fault if\u2026? What was I supposed to do, then? Wasn\u2019t it enough?\u201d<\/p>\n He was looking at me but not looking at me. I danced away from him and turned a flip or two.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ll never get what you want,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I will.\u201d<\/p>\n Then his eyes, gold-brown, his thick eyebrows with their coarse strands of white hair here and there, rested on me, as if he\u2019d never seen me before.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy, what could you want, child?\u201d<\/p>\n What could I want? Better to ask, what could I have? All those things Herod had spoken of bringing me, and yet I knew if he moved heaven and earth he might only produce a droopy yellow-white peahen to peck in the gardens, or a single bowl or bag of salt, to be given to the care of the servants. And in time I would forget about them, or the peahen would die, and there would always be something else, a new craze from Rome, perhaps, a new drum, a new dance.<\/p>\n But the head of a prophet, a holy man\u2026<\/p>\n It would cost us nothing and no one else would ever have one. I knew it would please Herod, to be able to give me a gift like that.<\/p>\n They used the last silver tray, the one we always passed after dinner, with nuts piled on it. The neck part was horrible, so I didn\u2019t look at it. The eyes were open. They looked like my father\u2019s eyes, after he was stabbed.<\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t that different from the way I had imagined it. Still, I understood at once that it would be impractical to put the prophet\u2019s head on display. I ordered the servants to preserve it in brine and place it in a storeroom. Perhaps in time I\u2019d know what to do with it.<\/p>\n But the next week another one of my uncles declared war on Herod and brought Roman legions with him. Mama and I went to the seashore, until Herod signed a peace treaty. Then we didn\u2019t have the countryside anymore, just the city, and the city was in ruins.<\/p>\n The Romans had destroyed the palace and the temple gardens. The city was empty, for the citizens had been sold as slaves, but gradually those who fled came back. The servants who\u2019d hidden and survived said that some of the other servants had taken the prophet\u2019s head and buried it in the gardens. They thought it would protect them from the Romans. I made them dig for days but they said they couldn\u2019t find the spot again.<\/p>\n Later I thought that maybe they were lying. Maybe the Romans had taken my prophet\u2019s head. They took my little drum, after all, and, tell me, what would those big Roman soldiers want with a little drum like that?<\/p>\n So I lost the prophet\u2019s head, before I even knew what I wanted to do with it.<\/p>\n Herod tells me I\u2019ll marry his son. I\u2019ll be Queen of Armenia and I\u2019ll have peacocks and myrrh and golden lyres and all the horses in my stables will be shod with silver horseshoes.<\/p>\n But I want what I\u2019ve always wanted. Nothing more than to dance for the sun, outside, in the morning and the evening.<\/p>\n LAURA CANON<\/strong> lives in Henderson, Nevada and writes historical fiction, primarily young adult. She has been previously published in The Waterhouse Review.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Laura Canon Afterwards, we sit in the ruins of the temple gardens. The wild ducks who fly north every summer have returned and whether they are surprised or not by what has come upon the city in their absence, by … Continue reading