My father read the betrothal contract, which was followed by a token payment of the bride price, passed ceremoniously from Nathaniel’s hand to his. I did not look at them.
“Do you attest to your daughter’s virginity?” the rabbi asked.
My head jerked up. Would they now make the pink-brown folds between my legs their business? Nathaniel leered, a reminder of the miseries that lay in store for me in the bedchamber. Father anointed the rabbi with oil as a sign of my purity. All of this I watched. I wanted them to witness the contempt shining on my face.
I cannot record how Nathaniel looked as he read the groom’s blessings, for I refused to offer him even a glance. I stared at the mosaic, imagining myself far away beneath the sea.
I am no lamb. I am no lamb. . . .
* * *
? ? ?
IN THE BANQUETING HALL Herod Antipas reclined on a luxurious couch, propped on his left elbow. He sat behind the center table of the triclinium while everyone waited to see who would be seated to his right and left, and who would be escorted to the sad little couches at the far ends of the tables. The only true and precise measure of the tetrarch’s favor was how near to him one was seated. We women—Phasaelis among us—were gathered at a separate table altogether, farther away than the hapless and wretched persons who would soon find themselves consigned to the distant seats. Here we would be served the less fine dishes and the poorer wines, just as they would.
Father typically received the seat of honor at Herod’s right—he boasted of it often, though not as much as Mother, who seemed to think Father’s power and glory extended to her. I glanced at Father, standing with Nathaniel, full of pompous expectation. How could he be so confident? His son had joined Antipas’s enemies and committed public acts of treason. The entire city knew of his actions—I could not believe they would go completely unnoticed by the tetrarch. Surely not. The sins of the son were visited on the father just as the father’s sins were visited on the son. Hadn’t Antipas once ordered his soldier to cut off the hand of a man whose son was a thief? Did Father truly think there would be no repercussion for him?
It had perplexed me that Judas’s rebellion had thus far yielded no apparent consequence to Father. It occurred to me now, however, that the tetrarch would strike at Father unexpectedly, in a moment when he could inflict the most humiliation. Mother’s face was strained with worry, and I could see she had the same thoughts as I.
We watched the men being escorted to their places one by one until only four places remained: the two seats of gloat beside Antipas and the two seats of shame at the end. Left waiting were Father and Nathaniel and two men unknown to me. Shiny diadems of sweat had formed on the brows of the two strangers. Father, however, showed no sign of concern.
With a nod to his palace steward, Chuza, Antipas had Father and Nathaniel escorted to the seats of honor. Nathaniel clasped Father’s arm, a gesture that seemed to celebrate the alliance the two of them had made. Father’s power was intact. Their treaty was safe. I turned to Yaltha and saw her frown.
The women dipped their bread and ate. They prattled and tossed back their heads and laughed, but I had no stomach for food or gaiety. Three musicians played the flute, cymbal, and Roman lyre, and a barefoot dancer, no older than I, leapt about with her brown breasts protruding like mushroom tops.
Visit a pestilence upon my betrothal. Let it be broken by whatever means God chooses. Unbind me from Nathaniel ben Hananiah. The curse I’d written formed lips of its own and repeated inside me. I no longer had faith God would hear it.
Antipas lifted himself from the couch with some labor. The music ceased. The voices hushed. I saw Father smile to himself.
Chuza struck a little brass bell and the tetrarch spoke. “Let it be known that my counselor and chief scribe Matthias has