Herod Antipas, the king who killed John - a short story

               Pacing, pacing, up and down the cool inner halls of his palace. Despite being sheltered from the arid heat out of doors, sweat beaded on Herod's face. Servants scurried quietly past in their duties, afraid of being noticed when their master was in such a state. He paused in his pacing as Alexander, his clean shaven, Roman butler walked calmly towards him, followed by a shrinking servant girl carrying a platter laden with fruit, and a smaller boy carefully carrying a tray with a pitcher of wine and a goblet. The lad was concentrating so hard not to spill a drop that the tip of his tongue protruded.

               "My lord," Alexander said smoothly. "Come, sit, refresh yourself."

               "Refresh myself?" Herod roared, wiping the sweat off his upper lip. "There is no refreshment for me, haven't you heard? John the Baptist has risen from the dead! He is going about the countryside and cities preforming miracles! Am I never to be rid of him? Will he come before me? Will he want revenge?"

               "Bah," Alexander said, taking his lord and master's arm and leading him into a side room, where Herod's favorite items, treasures collected throughout his rise to power, were displayed. "This man you've heard of is named Jesus of Nazareth, and he is no threat to you, look around you! You have the greatest friends in Rome for your own. What is a poor man from the back woods to do with you?"

               Herod allowed himself to recline on the plump cushions, and arranged his rich scarlet robes around his ample middle. The girl came forward, holding the silver platter, laden with cooled fruits. The sight of the silver platter made his heart turn to ice within him as he envisioned the head of John the Baptist being handed to his wife’s daughter.

               "Take it away!" He cried. "Bring me something else, but not on anything silver!" Flinching as if whipped, the girl quickly backed away. Alexander raised an eyebrow, but nodded his head and followed her out of the room, his loose robe billowing as he walked.

               The boy, without someone to pour for him, stood still as a statue, holding his tray and looking as if he hoped Herod would forget he was there.

               Herod groaned and leaned his face into his hand, the images of his wife’s daughter and her flashing feet spinning before his eyes. Why had he promised her anything she desired? And before all his friends, too. He had been tricked! Tricked into killing the man the people considered a prophet. Herod himself had enjoyed listening to the tirades of the crazy man in his wild clothing. It had been true theater, like something from the days of old. Of course, recently John had been a thorn in his side, and truth be told he had wanted John dead and gone, but he had not wanted to be the one to do it. He needed the Jewish people to admire and love him! To know that he, and he alone, was the peacemaker between them and the crush of mighty Rome. If only John had kept his mouth shut about Herodias. His hand fluttered over his eyes. John had brought this on himself!

               Now, this Jesus was amassing followers, and performing miracles. What would this mean for Herod's reign? What would Rome think of him if they knew that there was yet another rabble- rouser gaining prestige under his very nose?

               Alexander returned with the girl at last, distracting the king from his brooding. This time she carried a large enameled plate with cold meats and soft cheese with plump grapes. She set the tray down beside him, and Herod reached out his jeweled fingers to rip a piece of meat. The flash of gold and rubies soothed him, as did a long drink of the excellent wine that Alexander poured out for him. He looked around the room at the treasures he had amassed, and smiled, comforted. He was untouchable. He had the ear of everyone important. Who had John been? No one! What trouble had his death caused? None! The problem of the raving prophet was finished. He would handle this Jesus with the same ease. This Jesus of Nazareth would be forgotten, old news, while he, Herod, was almost a god.

               "Oh, my lord?" Alexander said calmly. "The disciples of that prophet came and asked for the body, I told the prison guards to let them take it. I hope that was pleasing to you?"

               "Yes, yes," Herod waved his hand languidly, his foul mood washed away by his wealth and power. "That business is finished then."

               "Yes, my lord."

Read this story for yourself: Matthew 14:1-12

A few thoughts: 

I wanted to examine the villain here, Herod. I found it interesting in his story that he wanted John put to death, and yet he feared the crowd. It says in the Bible that he was grieved when Herodias' daughter asked for John's head. I wondered why? What was going on in his mind? In my imagination I see Herod as feeling as though he has "made it" in society, and desiring to keep on top. I see him putting his faith in earthly power and treasures, the opposite of what Jesus has been doing. Herod is swayed by his own emotions and desires, making him confusing and fickle. Jesus is firm in His faith in God, and so the two stand in sharp contrast to each other. 

Your turn!

Do you find my short story encapsulated your own imaginings? What would you have written different? What can we learn from Herod?