The Ironsmith Read Online Free Page A

not my place to agree or disagree.”
    â€œYour loyalty to the Lord Eleazar is commendable, but I would have you speak your mind. Do you think such an insult to the Lady Herodias is to be borne?”
    â€œI am sure any such discourtesy was far from John’s mind, sire. I truly believe he intended to insult only you.”
    This made the Tetrarch laugh, and he put his hand back on Caleb’s shoulder.
    Today he loves me, Caleb thought, feeling the weight of that hand. Today I am a great favorite. And tomorrow?
    It is like keeping company with a wild boar. He watches you through fierce, greedy eyes, and the next instant he may run you down and tear you to pieces, spilling your guts on the ground with his tusks.
    But for now he laughs.
    â€œHowever, his attitude toward the Lady Herodias is not the main point,” Caleb went on, when the laughter had subsided. “If it were merely that, I would have agreed with the lord that the wisest course was simply to ignore him. He would be beneath Your Highness’s notice.”
    The Tetrarch seemed to consider this, perhaps trying to decide if his servant was being disrespectful. Apparently he decided not.
    â€œThen what is the main point? His influence with the mob?”
    â€œThe mob, yes,” Caleb answered. He felt himself sweating and hoped it didn’t show. “The mob is always dangerous. The question is, what has John been telling the mob? He preaches that God will soon come to restore the world, presumably to its Edenic purity. Were there any kings in Eden?”
    He did not wait for the Tetrarch to answer.
    â€œWe live in a fallen world, sire. This Scripture tells us, that through our own sinful nature we have lost Paradise. And without kings to rule us, we would tear each other apart. That is why Your Highness rules in Galilee, because it is the will of God. It is the mercy of God. The Baptist in his vast arrogance would set that aside. He conspires—”
    â€œConspires?”
    There were certain words, Caleb had learned, that sent a thrill of horror though the Tetrarch’s heart.
    â€œYes, sire. John has disciples.”
    *   *   *
    The officer in charge was a man named Zev, and he would probably never leave this place alive. He was over fifty and had been posted to Machaerus about ten years before, doubtless for some obscure offense. He did not give the impression he would last another ten years in the desert. Machaerus was not easy duty.
    But the officer managed to assemble a passable guard of honor when he opened the gates. Caleb followed him to the garrison office, where he was offered some indifferent wine.
    Zev smiled as he poured it, and Caleb experienced a twinge of injured pride. Was this rude soldier, who was old enough to be his father, patronizing him?
    Some men, even in youth, were blessed with commanding presences, but Caleb knew that he was not one of them. He was of no more than average height, and slender enough to give the appearance of weakness. Worse yet, even at thirty his face was unmarked by time and suggested a boyish inexperience. His beard had never grown in beyond a few ugly little tufts, which he kept trimmed so short that he almost looked clean shaven, after the Greek fashion. Sometimes, as in his dealing with the Tetrarch, who seemed to look upon him as a son, his apparent youthfulness was an advantage, but on occasions such as this it felt like a curse.
    Thus, before even tasting the wine, before even sitting down, Caleb took from his pocket the scroll that contained the Tetrarch’s warrant and opened it on the table for the commander’s inspection. Let him know that “the prisoner John, called ‘the Baptist’” was now under the authority of “my servant, Caleb bar Jacob, who is in possession of my perfect confidence.” For the convenience of his master, Caleb had written it all out in Greek, the only language the Tetrarch understood with any