John the Baptist, herald of Christ

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Herodias was the most beautiful woman in all of Judea. She was grace incarnate, her demeanour kinder and softer than the ancient queen Jezebel. Her charm was beyond compare, and her radiance and benevolence shone forth with great splendour. She was the wife of King Herod, having previously been married to his brother, Phillip. Was Herod not, after all, the king of Judea, whose realm was under the protection of Rome? He was powerful, and Herodias inspired strength and authority in him. Yet the prophet John the Baptist had always rebuked Herod for having taken his brother’s wife as his own. His reproaches displeased Herodias, to the point where she could no longer sleep at night. Yet Herod himself held John the Baptist in great esteem. Over and over he told Herodias: “He is a just and holy man, who spends his days preaching in the desert! And in truth, I enjoy hearing him speak.” But on this night, the moon was glimmering over Judea. Herod, climbing into bed after Herodias, embraced her tenderly.

  “I want to feel your hands on my face, your breath on my neck, and your lips on mine. I wish to run my fingers through your hair, feel your legs between mine, and for us to embrace until the coming of the dawn light.” 

“Herod!” Herodias replied. “I wish to invite all of Judea to the palace for a feast.”

“In whose honour, my darling?” asked Herod.

“It is for a favour...” murmured Herodias, leaning in to kiss him.

The sun was setting over the desert, and the wind rose up as Herodias’ servants prepared the palace for the festivities. Her attendants wanted for nothing. They wore close-fitting linen garments under long, flowing woollen tunics. Herodias saw to it that all her maidservants wore white at all times – only she could wear colours in the palace, along with the womenfolk of Judea. The queen had all she could desire. Her form was adorned with earrings, nose rings, bracelets, necklaces, chains, hair nets and golden talismans, engraved with the sacred word of Law. Law, indeed! In truth it meant little to her, for was she not the most beautiful woman in all of Judea? Her beauty had shaken an entire kingdom under Roman protection, and the sweetness of her voice could awaken the desert wind. Herod could refuse her nothing.

The sun was now one with the horizon. At the palace, no detail had been overlooked. Soft white bread had been piled in wicker baskets, with roasted lamb and wheat grains laid out on a long silver platter. Heavy bronze trays were stacked with mutton and lentils, to be mopped up with flatbreads of flour and olive oil flavoured with mint and cumin. Around the dishes lay piles of fresh figs, grapes and pomegranates, and there were many dishes of succulent Jericho dates.

The evening began with dancing, and the guests wafted gaily from one room to another. Each hall was decorated with gilded arches and shimmering garlands. The trays kept coming, and the wine of Pompeii flowed in streams. Salome, Herodias’ daughter from her first marriage, was lying on a divan alongside the king. The queen observed them, striking a dignified pose and popping plump grapes between her lips. She was pensive, rolling the blood-red seeds between her fingers. How would she put her request to Herod? The king loved John the Baptist, who gathered crowds by the thousands along the river Jordan. He lived in the desert, surviving on locusts and honey. He was humble, honest and pious. But Herodias was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, after all, and she had cunning to match her charms. Moreover, she was mother to a devoted daughter, who had inherited all of her many charms. Just then, Herod asked Salome to dance for the guests. “If I am satisfied with your dance of the seven veils, I will give you anything you wish,” the king told her. “That is a promise; the promise of a king.” Herodias smiled as she read those words on her husband’s lips, though she concealed her impatience beneath her imperious manner. Then, beautiful Salome began her dance. The silken veils caressed her amber skin, her hips swayed and her feet skipped, and her dark eyes shone like burning coals. The king applauded, then watched with surprise as the girl went to her mother, and said:

                  “What may I ask of the king?”

                  “I want the Baptist’s head on a golden platter!” the queen replied.

Meanwhile, John the Baptist was in chains, held in the king’s secret dungeon. The Romans had captured him from under the nose of his legions of followers, just five days ago, near the sacred river Jordan where John had baptized Jesus of Nazareth. Gone were his days in the desert, and the Jordan was far behind him, flowing peacefully in its bed. Still, he would continue to prophesy. He stretched out his arms and cried aloud to the heavens: “He is a king! The king of kings! My most beloved son! He shall reign in triumph. Do you hear me, up there? He is a king! And this king does not baptise in the water, but in the fire. He is king for all eternity; he is the king of kings as Zechariah foresaw. Rejoice, daughter of Zion! Utter cries of joy, daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. He shall enter Jerusalem as king! Do you mark me, ye guards of Rome?” John the Baptist pulled on his camel skin to cover his nakedness. Then he smacked his hands together, he raged, he thrashed, he thundered, looking up at the unreachable white circle of the outside world. “He is king! The dove soars in the sky; he is king of kings as Isaiah predicted. Do you hear me, Roman soldiers? Do you wish to have this head? Then claim it! Come and cut it off! Stone me, as you did Zechariah! I am not afraid. He is king! Even Isaiah is not worthy to speak his name. Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honour Galilee of the nations, by the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan. My head is yours; come and cut it off. He is king, for all eternity!” It was then that John the Baptist heard a heavy door opening, and the clacking of chains. The Roman guards were coming down to fulfil Herodias’ request. The prisoner went on: “I am the voice that cries in the desert! I am John the Baptist, son of Elisabeth! I am the voice of the desert!” The Romans brought him out into the dunes, away from prying eyes. His head fell before his knees.

The voice of the desert was silenced.

Alan Alfredo Geday