To the Death Read Free Page B

entrance hall to a comfortably furnished room where the wine steward and the housekeeper waited deferentially for instructions.
    After signalling for wine to be poured, Amal dismissed them with orders to bring the midday meal. Eleazar grinned at her, lowering himself onto a couch, taking a long pull on his wine and rolling his head from side to side to loosen the muscles in his neck. Amal, kneeling behind him, began to massage his neck and shoulders with perfumed oils. Her mother had been a valued Egyptian slave, mistress of the governor of Egypt, Pompeius Planta.
    When Amal was old enough to understand, her mother had told her “The blood of Idumaean kings flows in your veins, for I was bedded by Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee”. Amal knew there had never been any question of Antipas ever admitting paternity to any of his many bastard children, particularly a girl born of a slave, but that didn’t stop her from dreaming. She knew that being Antipas’ bastard made her cousin to Queen Berenice and her brother King Agrippa II, a client king the Romans had appointed to rule Upper Galilee and part of Jordan. He was also given oversight of the Temple with the authority to dismiss and appoint the High Priest of all Israel. In addition, the King was made custodian of the high priests’ vestments, without which they could not officiate at religious festivals.
    Eleazar grunted with pleasure, closing his eyes and giving himself up to the woman’s probing fingers. When Amal judged him to be sufficiently relaxed, she removed his sandals and washed his feet. While she was doing this, slave girls carried in trays of food and set out an array of dishes on low tables. He stretched luxuriously and ran an appreciative hand across the buttocks of one of the serving girls.
    Laughing, Amal dismissed them and leaning over Eleazar’s half naked figure, began to feed him. “He is dead?” Eleazar, his mouth busy with a breast of chicken nodded. “Will the Romans cause trouble?”
    Eleazar frowned while he considered this. He swallowed enough food to make a reply. “Possibly, though the High Priest thinks not”.
    Amal wiped his beard to which scraps of chicken were clinging. Eleazar was neither a tidy nor a silent eater. “And you?”
    Eleazar shrugged and said dismissively, “The Romans have got too much on their hands at the moment to bother about another Jewish prophet”. Swallowing the last of the chicken, he took a gulp from his cup, careless of the wine he slopped down his front. “There is unrest”, he grated, “throughout the region. Every day the Romans are harried by the nationalists. Meanwhile Rome has an emperor gone mad”. He paused to take another mouthful of chicken, smacking his lips appreciatively, before continuing, “Gaul, Germania and the Spaniards, sensing Rome’s weakness, are growing increasingly restless”.
    Amal, who was every bit as ambitious as her master and every bit as intelligent, didn’t reply. Eleazar had given her much to think about. Instead she continued to ply him with food, ensuring his wine cup was never empty.
    Eventually, relaxed and replete, Eleazar was ready for a different feast, but first he would sleep. Sprawled across the brocaded couch, his head supported by a cushion, he began to doze. When he awoke it was lamplight. The windows were un-shaded and opened. He could see the stars of the night sky. Incense spiralled lazily, its fragrance mingling with the scent of garden flowers carried on the warm air.
    Amal held out a wine cup. He drank greedily and struggled to his feet, farting loudly. The smell was appalling, but Amal ignored it. She knew that to Eleazar, she was simply a possession. Possessions don’t have feelings or sensibilities. Not that Eleazar ever bothered over much to consider others. It was only in the Temple that he behaved in a circumspect and respectful manner.
    Eleazar headed for the