A.D. 30(48)

“No.”

“No. But then you hardly know me at all. That must change if I am to trust you.” He nodded at the arena. “Tell me, have you ever seen good hypocrites on the stage?”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“There is no finer entertainment in all of Galilee. Only the best of all hypocrites may take my stage. They take their roles seriously and perform perfectly, so one forgets that the role they play is not who they truly are.” He paused, then spoke softly. “You, on the other hand, are not the best of hypocrites. But I like you, so I will accept you as a queen.” He looked at me. “Fair enough?”

“I am grateful.”

He reached up and slipped my mantle off my hair so that it rested on my shoulders.

“If you are here to play the part, then you must look like a queen, my dear. These clothes will not do. And we must have you properly bathed.”

“Yes.” I was mortified and attempted to say what I’d come to say so that I could leave. “My father—”

“Did you know that my mother was a Samaritan? An outcast in the eyes of most Jews.”

He put his hands on his hips and stepped alongside the window, gazing down at the workers who slaved to repair the massive waterwheel behind the arena.

“Forgive me, I did not.”

“My mother was a Samaritan and my father was a monster who killed more Jews to maintain his seat of power than might die of natural causes in any year. My wife is a Nabataean. So you see, I am ruined from the start.” He turned to me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Herod’s words sought to trap me, I thought. Or perhaps he was only looking for acceptance from someone who, like him, wore the cloak of shame among his own. I decided to offer grace to the man.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you know the problem with most Jews, Maviah?”

“No.”

“They are terrified of being unclean. Even my insistence that you bathe is a part of the curse of my religion.”

“I too would bathe,” I said, hoping to move past his confession. “Is it so wrong?”

He ignored my question, for Herod heard only himself.

“Our God demands the highest forms of cleanliness. To be unclean is to be cursed and punished by God himself. He judges the unclean and commands his children to resist any who want to take his Holy Land. It is said that any illness or misfortune is God’s punishment for uncleanliness. And do you know what makes one unclean?”

“Only what—”

“Many foods are unclean and cannot be touched. No food may be eaten without first the washing of hands. Breaking bread with sinners and the unclean also makes one unclean. All foreigners are unclean and must not be touched. Menstruating women are unclean. Anyone who touches a menstruating woman is unclean. Women who have given birth are unclean—forty days if they have a son and eighty if they have a daughter, because daughters are not as valuable as sons, it is said. Anyone who touches a corpse is unclean. Anyone who touches someone who’s touched a corpse is also unclean. Anyone with a rash or fungus or skin disease, all such conditions which they call leprosy, is banished from the household and forced to wear rags and walk about crying, ‘Unclean.’ The laws are endless. For a rich man to follow them all is difficult enough; for the poor it is nearly impossible. What do you make of this?”

I chose my words carefully, because I knew that Herod, as well as Rome, was responsible for that poverty.

“I think that perhaps the Jewish god is the most demanding of all gods. Better to have the choice of many gods so as not to be victim of one who offers so little mercy. And yet the Bedu, too, resist any who take their land.”

He raised his brow. “So the queen is as insightful as she is beautiful. You see? It is always this insane fear of one god or another that precipitates conflict. If the Jews weren’t enslaved to their code of conduct for fear of their God, they wouldn’t harbor such vitriol at this Roman occupation. It would make my life so much more simple. Truly, they are more enslaved to their fear of God’s disfavor than to Rome, which occupies many lands that don’t hate it so much. Rome builds roads and provides security and opportunity in exchange for a simple tax. Still the Jews insist on rebellion for fear of God.”

“No man takes kindly to being under the fist of another,” I said. “The Bedu must remain free or they die.”

“Yes, the Bedu. And the Jew. And you, Maviah, for you are a woman under the fist of all men.”

I felt unexpectedly appreciative of his insight and this attempt to find a common ground between us.

He sighed. “But take courage. I don’t take the way of the Jews so seriously as their religious leaders. To touch a foreign woman does not sentence me to suffering but to passion.”