These were high captains and many of the chief politicians of Galilee, most of them Roman gentiles. They felt privileged to be here, invited to celebrate the Tetrarch's birthday. When Herod gave a party, one could expect wondrous and unexpected pleasures. The hot baths followed by opulent feasting and flowing wine were powerful tools in the hands of someone like Antipas. He had not his father's penchant for unilateral control nor would that kind of power ever again be conferred upon a provincial king. But this Herod still knew how to play the game. He knew how to get what he wanted from Rome. The affectation of his birthday celebration was a perfect device for such political purposes. Before these men left, he considered, his power in Galilee and perhaps beyond would be consolidated.

And they were his "friends," as much as anyone in his position could possess friends. They at least lent the appearance that they endorsed him. After all, Caesar was far away, and Herod could offer, well, amenities.

An attendant appeared who approached the Tetrarch whispering in his ear as Herod gorged his mouth with a large, succulent, black Medjool date, imported from Morocco. Thereupon he smiled and clapped his hands for attention. "Friends," he announced, "Distinguished guests, dignitaries, tribunes and captains of Caesar's legions. I have just been advised that my wife has prepared a gift for my birthday." Smiling with pleasure, he gestured toward the curtain-shrouded colonnades and said, "May I present to you Salome (he pronounced "Sal-O-May," enhancing the drama), the most exotic flower of Israel . . ."

Another cymbal loud enough to shock-assault the ears, sounded; reverberating among the marble columns of the palace; and followed instantly by wild beating African drums. Entering the room from both sides, two lines of dark skinned young women moved rapidly and gracefully into a circle, clothed in colorful beads, gold chains, necklaces and ostrich plumes, pulsing to the music of drums, jingling bells and boshghabaks from Persia. After a moment of stunning pageantry, just enough to accentuate the heady sense of anticipation, all of the instruments ceased on precise cue, creating a dramatic, silent, pause. Having formed a circle, and raising dark arms in such a way that it gave the appearance of blossom petals swaying in the wind, the lovely brown maidens kneeled. Suddenly, Salome arose from the center, a white petal, appearing as it were, from nowhere, a vision of shimmering sensuality, her white flesh giving the appearance of a rising, emerging, receptive pistil from the midst of the human flower.

Her hips and legs were draped with sheer, translucent blue silk; a bright gold cluster of olive leaves barely covering the convergence of her thighs held in place by wisps of gold chain. A serpentine strand of gold beads encrusted with emeralds encircled her breasts, and a large sapphire nested in her navel, her silken black hair laced with gold filigree. The illusion of nudity enhanced the fluidity of her hips punctuating each soft throb of a solitary drum breaking the poignant silence. Herod and the men in the room gasped in murmurs of pleasure.

Salome danced. Her lithe, youthful movements rose and fell with what was now a chorus of thumping drums, inviting a feast for aroused eyes, building to crescendo, then diminishing into whisper of movement, tiny bells and silver tassels clinking in syncopation. Slowly and purposefully she danced to each man, pausing, teasing, taunting, inviting. At length, this exotic, dancing apparition approached Herod's table. Reclining on the table before him, she seized his goblet of wine and drizzled the wine slowly, strategically over her body inviting him with her eyes to drink. Blood surging, Herod leaned toward her--breathless . . .

"Stop!" It was the voice of Herodias, commanding, insistent.

Throbbing drums ceased instantly. The girl, as if to tease again, swung velvet smooth legs slowly from the table. "Would my husband take this child in front of the elite of Rome?" Herodias herself appeared, it seemed, also dressed to dance. She was a picture of mature sensuality. "Would he prefer an untested child to seasoned experience?"

In his drunken stupor, Herod was apoplectic. "What do you want?" he said to Herodias, his voice rasping with anger and lust. "What are you doing? I know you seek something of this."

"Is it not your birthday my husband?"

Salome stepped forward moving with deliberation, each step titillating with sensuality. This had its effect. Despite Herod's sense of being manipulated, he was helpless before this display of sexual anticipation. Herodias gestured to the other dancers who then stood. In a practiced move each dancer touched the place where their costumes were fastened, swayed their bodies gently and their costumes fell to their feet. "Happy birthday, darling. These are yours; for your pleasure and the pleasure of your guests."

Herod appeared somewhat a fool as he stood behind the table on which Salome now sat, her legs curled beneath her. "Salome awaits you, my husband." And then she paused, "for a small compensation . . ."

"Half my kingdom!" roared Herod. His guests howled with laughter as only those who have had too much wine can laugh. "Ask of me anything!" He was now serious and swore with an oath. "By Yach-Weh! By all the gods in Rome, by all the gods who have ever lived, 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, hoping 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.

Despite the wine-induced redness in his face and the heat of his evil passion, Herod paled. He would have preferred she ask for half the kingdom. This he had not expected. Although he had once considered John's execution, his thoughts toward the prophet had changed. He was no longer minded to do this. Herod rose slowly from the cushions. But he had sworn. In front of all these Galilean nobles he had sworn to give this girl anything she wanted. This had become political. He could not now refuse her. His guests looked at him in amused anticipation. As if by magic, the chief of the bodyguard appeared as though expected to be summoned. The witch is well prepared, he thought. He waited, not wanting to do this but seeing no escape. At length, he nodded his head to the guard who thereupon left the room.

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 gleaming 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 silver platter. Salome's self-assured countenance disappeared. She recoiled in horror. "Take it to her; I don't want it," she shrieked in disdain. "She's the one who wanted it." The child moaned and whimpered as if caught in the act of something she did wrong. The guard set the platter at the feet of her mother. Herodias, pleased that her plot had uncoiled so perfectly, raised her eyebrows with a trifling smile.

When John's followers heard of his execution, they came and took his body and entombed it in a nearby cave. 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 teaching in the Synagogue of Tiberias, and told him. His reaction was somber. He stared as if in disbelief, his eyes weakening, tears welling. He then lowered his head and whispered, "Then it is done. 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. In realizing the import of these whispered words, the terrible enormities of his life eviscerated of evil, the old gladiator wept. The life and ministry of John the Baptist, in contrast with the Hebrew prophets of old, were extremely brief, as were, of course, the life and ministry of Jesus. While these ancient prophets had a lifetime of service to God, into the abbreviated work of our Lord was packed the unfolding of mankind's redemption, indeed, the redemption of the whole of creation. The lives of the patriarchs and prophets were, in most cases, filled with the issues of living, of wives and children. Not so with Jesus and John. What, one wonders, were their expectations of life and ministry? Their lives were filled with followers and friends, but when life on earth ended, they were both hardly into their thirties. Jesus then withdrew to a solitary place to assuage his grief.