“And did my queen suggest that my people hate me?”
“No, my lord.”
He leaned back, looking off.
“We don’t see eye to eye, Phasa and I. Our union honors my treaty with Aretas—that is all, and this we both know. You see my problem, dear Maviah. What good is the throne if I cannot find love in the arms of my own queen? And yet what good is a wife if I have no throne?”
He was thoughtful, considering his own question.
“So you will understand that I cannot afford to further upset Aretas. With this in mind, I must regretfully decline your request.”
He said it all without looking at me, and I was too stunned to respond.
“I have decided instead to send you to Aretas.”
“Aretas?” I sat up quickly. “He’s now the enemy of my father.”
“And so you are enemy to me, are you not? I will send you as my gift.”
He meant to betray me.
“How dare you?” I cried. “I offer you all the Kalb under Rami to wrest back control of the northern trade route with Rome’s help and you would send me to my death?”
His face showed no anger, only amusement.
“You do have spine. I like that. But I have no desire for more gold. Love is the only gift I long for.”
He was asking for my love? Confusion spun through my mind as I considered the possibility that this was only Herod’s way of wooing me. Even so, I knew that Herod wasn’t interested in a whore’s love. He wanted a woman’s heart, and he surely knew that threats would not buy him mine.
I saw then what I assumed to be the truth about the tetrarch of Galilee. Herod Antipas was a complex man of the heart, whose own had been turned to stone by a wife who could not reciprocate. He was indeed sick for love. He might risk his bond with Aretas for a woman who loved him, but not for glory or gold.
If so, I had to offer him my heart, or I would be sent in chains to Aretas, who would learn the truth of Rami’s plans to betray him.
For the sake of my people and my son, of Judah and my father, I felt compelled to change Herod’s heart toward me by whatever means necessary.
I reached for the wine and filled my chalice. Then his, to the brim. Without waiting for him, I drained my own for courage and set the goblet down.
Herod looked at me from beneath an arched brow. “You mistake me. I do not long for your love.”
“But you must.” I picked up his glass and held it out to him. “Drink.”
I only hoped that my boldness, born of fear more than experience, would play to my favor. He hesitated, then took the chalice, amused.
“Drink it,” I said.
Surprisingly, he did. All of it. “Is that all you offer, Queen? Wine?”
“No. I offer far more, but you seem incapable of appreciating the weight of my offer. So my first gift to you will be proper thinking. You’ve studied the Greeks, I’m sure.”
“Of course. I’m surprised you have.”
“Then you know the value of proper lines of thought. Proper thought would suggest that letting Rome decide what to make of my offer would gain you far more than making the decision for them.”
I slipped off my sandals and settled down to my belly, propped up by my elbows, calves bared. Surely I could speak Herod’s language.
“Proper lines of thought would suggest you have nothing to risk in taking me to Rome—it is your duty. Aretas would accept that much. Rome would demand it.”
None of this seemed to influence him. I reached for the wine and filled his goblet yet again.
“Proper lines of thought would also suggest that for a lovesick man to ignore the company of a beautiful woman while taking such matters under consideration is foolish.” I handed him the wine. “As you said, what good is a throne if you cannot enjoy its spoils?”
“Wine is not conducive to proper lines of thought,” he said.
“Not for the common man, but I’ve heard it properly lubricates any king’s mind.”
“Well then… you are more queen than I had thought.”
“You see? Now you are finally thinking. So drink. Enjoy your last night before setting off to Rome.”
He drank, only half this time, but by now he’d had five or six cups and I was sure that even he could not withstand its powers.
“I’m not convinced,” he said, warming to my game. “Show me more of your… thoughts.”
I lowered my hand and traced his knee with my finger, daring him with my eyes to resist. “First you will show me yours. Tell me what you are hiding from me. You have nothing to lose by taking me to Rome, and yet you refuse, thinking that Rome will never learn you rejected my gift of the trade routes. But you are wrong. Rome will learn.”