Herod had never seen this little Greek before. He was just a common criminal, and as such, he’d been taken straight to the dungeon. No audience with the king. Just a death sentence and a cell. Still, there was something vaguely familiar about him, although from this distance it was hard to tell. Besides, Herod had to admit, all Greeks look the same to me.
It didn’t matter. Here he was, his mouth gagged and slack jawed, his eyes moving, taking in the exuberant faces with their fists raised in the air. Taking in the last few seconds they would ever see. Here he was, a reminder of Herod’s absolute authority. And the crowd couldn’t have been happier.
When he sensed they’d had their fill, Antipas handed Melchyor’s head to a guard, who carried it off to be stuck on the end of a pike, where it would shrivel in the sun for the next month or more. It was Gaspar’s turn, and like his smaller companion, he wasn’t going to go quietly. It took four guards to force him to his knees and all the strength of the rope men to hold him down. The executioner was determined to strike a clean blow this time, and he did — straight through to the stone block, with enough force to split the wooden handle of his ax. Once again, Antipas removed the hood and lifted the head for all to see. Once again, the crowd cheered wildly.
And when he felt they’d cheered long enough, Antipas handed the second head off and raised a hand in the air. The crowd fell silent. It was time.
“And now,” said Antipas, “we come to the criminal known as ‘the Antioch Ghost.’ A criminal who’s long stolen from the innocent people of Judea, who’s murdered so many of her brave soldiers in cold blood. A criminal who’s deceived many of you into believing that he’s a giant! Tricked you into thinking he could never be captured! And yet, my father — our mighty king — has done just that!”
A cheer went up, just as Antipas had intended it to.
“Now we shall see that this ‘Ghost’ is nothing more than a man! Now we shall see what happens to the enemies of Judea and her people!”
The cheering reached a fever pitch as the drums resumed, and the north gate swung open. Balthazar was marched out — a black hood over his head, his wrists bound behind him. As the guards led him into the center of the square, men and women stood on their toes and pushed each other aside, all trying to get a look at the legend. Those who did were almost universally disappointed by what they saw. This was no giant. This was just a man. A man who — like the late Gaspar and Melchyor — was struggling against his bonds. Trying to free himself, even now.
Watching from his little window above, Herod could see Balthazar struggling, too, fighting the guards as he was led up the steps of the wooden platform. Nothing could’ve made him happier. Not only was the Antioch Ghost going to die, but also he was going to meet his death like a coward for all of Jerusalem to see!
As if answering Herod’s thoughts, Balthazar did something completely unexpected and undignified as he took the platform. Something completely incongruous with the legend he’d cultivated, and far more embarrassing than struggling against his bonds.
He pissed himself.
Herod wouldn’t have known this had Antipas not noticed the dark circle on the front of the prisoner’s tan robes. Expanding. Working its way down his legs.
“Look at him!” cried Antipas, pointing to the evidence. “Here is your mighty Antioch Ghost! The Scourge of Rome soils himself in the face of death!”
Laughter and cheers erupted throughout the square. Insults came from every corner of the crowd. Herod couldn’t believe it. No… it’s too good to be true. His blackened teeth showed themselves once again. The legend of the Antioch Ghost would soon be as dead as the headless, piss-soaked body of the man himself.
Like Gaspar and Melchyor, Balthazar had to be forced to kneel in front of the stone block. Unlike them, he was kneeling in his own urine. His face was forced down onto the cool stone block and the rope pulled taut across his back. It took all the strength of the men holding it to keep him in place.
“And now,” cried Antipas, “we rid the earth of a demon!”
The crowd fell silent again as the executioner raised his spare ax. After pausing a little longer than usual for dramatic effect, he let out a grunt of effort and brought it down on the squirming prisoner. But as the ax fell, Balthazar gave a final pull against the rope with all of his considerable might, lifting his hooded skull halfway up off the block, making the blade miss his neck.
But there would be no dramatic escape for Balthazar today. For while the blade didn’t hit his neck, it did chop a sizable wedge into his brain.
He was dead.
So was the crowd. The cheering stopped. Exuberant faces turned quizzical — silently watching the spurts of blood that shot through the black hood. Watching the embarrassed executioner pull his ax out of Balthazar’s skull. This wasn’t the beheading they’d come for, the beheading they’d dropped everything to attend. This wasn’t the event they’d waited hours in the heat to witness. Their silence quickly gave way to boos.
Herod was more disappointed than any of them. Even in his last moment, the Antioch Ghost had refused to cooperate. Even in death, he’d managed to embarrass the King of Judea. Managed to mock his power. But… at least he was dead. True, it hadn’t been the execution he’d hoped for, but it had been an execution nonetheless. The goal of ridding the earth of a demon had been achieved. And that, in the end, was all that really mattered.
Antipas hurried onto the platform. Eager to win back some of the momentum, he ordered the executioner to finish the job — chopping the partially collapsed prisoner’s head off anyway. Hell-bent on redeeming himself, the executioner did the job in one blow, and the crowd cheered anew. Even Herod’s spirits were lifted by the sight of the Antioch Ghost’s head being finally and irrevocably separated from his body.
Just as he had with Melchyor and Gaspar, Antipas pulled off the hood and held the head aloft for all to see.
Only it wasn’t the Antioch Ghost’s head.
Just as it hadn’t been Melchyor’s or Gaspar’s.
The crowd kept cheering, and Antipas kept smiling — neither aware of what the Antioch Ghost actually looked like… or that this wasn’t, in fact, him.
But Herod knew.
From high up in his perch, he knew. He knew that the Antioch Ghost had beaten — no, humiliated — him. Humiliated him in front of his people. He felt such a rage crawling up his back, such an urge to scream. But he couldn’t find the voice. He was powerless. A powerless king, trapped in a tower named for the wife who’d humiliated him. Trapped in a body that humiliated him. He could only watch as his stupid, grinning son held the wrong head in the air.
II
Three wise men walked east across Jerusalem as the sun went down. Each with his head wrapped and his face covered. Each wearing the robes of a dead man.
Once again, Balthazar had relied on religion to set him free. It had never occurred to the dungeon guards that anyone, even notorious murderers, would harm a priest. It hadn’t occurred to the guards to remain in the cell, to protect their king’s religious advisors while they offered comfort to the condemned. Nor had it occurred to the guards to get a good look at the three wise men when they knocked on the cell door and announced they were ready to come out — their head coverings reconfigured to hide their faces.
The guards weren’t alone in their assumptions. It hadn’t occurred to Balthazar that three innocent men would pay for his freedom with their lives — struggling, screaming through their hoods and gags, and pissing themselves. His plan had merely called for overpowering the wise men, stealing their robes, binding and gagging them up with strips of fabric ripped from their own garments, and slipping out of the palace before anyone noticed the switch. He’d been sure that an alarm would go up when the guards reentered the cell and found the wise men bound, gagged, and half naked inside. Only it hadn’t occurred to Balthazar that they might not be the same guards.