“And if it was Herod?”

The girl raised her almond eyes to the prince and said nothing.  He almost lost his head with the sweetness of the shining eyes.  “You are an enchanting witch, you!” he whispered.  “Desire of me what you will.”

The beauty had been primed by her mother, who wished to be revenged on John, whose prophecies might tear her from her kingly lover.  The daughter breathed the words:  “A dish for your table, O king!”

“A dish of meat?  Speak more plainly.”

“Let your bridal gift be a dish of rare meat on a golden charger.”

“I do not understand what you want.”

“The head of the Baptist.”

The king understood, turned aside, and said:  “Horror, thy name is woman!”

Then she wept and murmured between her sobs:  “I knew it.  A woman is nothing to you but a flower of the field.  You cut it down so that it turns to hay.  And hay is for asses.  You care more for the man who has mortally insulted yourself and my mother than you do for me.”

“Indeed, I do not!  If he deserves death, you shall have your desire.”

“When does he whom the king loves deserve death?” groaned the girl, and sank into a swoon.  He lifted her up, drew her to his breast, and what her words could not accomplish the embrace did—­it cost the Baptist his life.

The banquet was most sumptuous.  The most delicious viands, gathered from every quarter, and sparkling wines graced the table.  Harp players stood by the marble pillars, and sang praises to the king.  Herod, a garland of red roses round his head, sat between the two women.  He drank freely of the wine, and so hurriedly that the liquid dripped from his long, thin beard.  Was he afraid of the last course?  It appeared at midnight.  It was covered with a white cloth, and only the beautifully-chased edge of the charger was visible.  Herod shuddered and signed that the dish should be placed before the young woman who sat on his left.  She hastily pulled off the cloth, and behold! a man’s head; the black hair and beard, steeped in the blood that ran from the neck, lay in the charger.  It stared with open eyes at the woman who, filled with voluptuous horror, leaned closely against the prince.  Then the mouth of the head opened and spoke the words:  “The Kingdom of God is near at hand!”

Horror and confusion filled the banqueting hall.  “Who dared to say that?” shouted several voices. “’Twas the head of the prophet who prophesies even in death!”

Then a tumult arose in the palace, for this was the most terrible horror that the golden halls had ever seen.  Long-restrained fury suddenly burst forth—­the town was in flames, the men of Jerusalem rioted.  The women were torn from Herod’s side, and flung into the streets to the mercy of the mob.  The prince was forced to fly.  The story goes that in his flight he fell into the hands of the Arab king, who avenged his despised daughter in a terrible manner.  Thus were godless hands stretched forth from Herod’s house against him who bore witness to the coming One.