T
he young doctor was wrong. Herod lived three more days before he succumbed. That night, everyone left the king in peace except for the slaves. Sitting by the bed in waning candlelight, the slave awoke to the sound of intermittent buzzing. No one had remembered to close the windows. Since the slave had not heard the young physician, he did not do so. It was not long before Herod’s exposed intestines were covered with flies. This condition continued for hours through the next day before someone thought to cover the patient’s stomach.
Two day’s later, just before the king breathed his last, he awoke screaming. His mouth covered with foaming, bubbling spittle, his words incoherent, his eyes glazed with fear and approaching death, he could not stop screaming. One of the physicians thought to examine the incision. Perhaps it was encrusted, causing additional pain. He removed the coverings and the loose-fitting bandage. The stench staggered him, turning his head in a futile attempt to reach fresh air. Turning again to attend the monarch, he viewed the wound for the first time in almost three days. Instantly gagging, he vomited. The king’s belly was crawling with maggots. Herod the Great died in his physician’s vomit, worms writhing in putrescent tissue.
