The Big Fisherman (50 page)

What to do now? That was the question. She confided in him as if he were a parent. Hannah would not need her much longer. She did not want to return to the palace. There was nothing for her to do in Galilee.

'But your friend Voldi will soon be returning for you,' suggested David. 'Perhaps you should go back with him to Arabia.'

Her face clouded.

'I must not do that to Voldi!' she declared.

'Well—it needn't be settled today,' said David reassuringly. 'When in doubt about what to do, it is usually wise to do nothing and wait for more light. Perhaps you should talk with Jesus. . . . And stay where you are until Voldi comes. You have promised him you would do that.'

* * * * * *

But Voldi, unfortunately, would not be coming.

It had not occurred to him, so courteously had he been treated during his brief stop in Caesarea, when on his way to Tiberias in Galilee, that his association with Proconsul Mencius had accounted for the freedom he had enjoyed there.

Now that he had returned, alone, it was natural that the authorities should take a fresh interest in his movements. He was cordially welcomed at The Domus Agrippa and given the best of accommodations; but when, in reply to their query about the probable length of his stay, he informed them that he wanted to remain until spring, the management felt obliged to report; for the Prefect's office had an active curiosity to learn what manner of business in Caesarea required the attention of foreign visitors.

Routine inquiries would have been made into the affairs of any Arabian, however insignificant he might be. But Voldi was conspicuous. He had the air of a person of privilege, he was well-dressed, he rode a valuable horse and the horse's trappings were mounted with silver. He had plenty of money. But he had no business acquaintances—and no business.

And so it was that on the third day after his arrival, Voldi received a polite note requesting him to call at the Prefect's office in the Praetorium. The interview, with no less a personage than Prefect Sergius himself, began cordially enough but soon settled down to serious business. The Captain of the Praetorian Guard was called in as an observer, and a scholarly young amanuensis began taking notes. The Prefect's queries were courteous enough to befit an examination of a foreign nobleman, it having been already established that the guest was the grandson of Mishma, the King of Arabia's Chief Councillor.

It would please the Prefect to know what errand had brought the young Arabian to Caesarea and whom he had come to see, and anything else that he wanted to say about his purposes.

Not having expected this inquisition, Voldi had made no preparation for it, and the story he hastily contrived was not very convincing to the shrewd old Roman, who had heard—and told—enough lies to be able to recognize one that had been so casually extemporized.

'So—you went to Tiberias to examine some ancient manuscripts belonging to the Tetrarch,' said Sergius dryly, 'but you were already aware that the Tetrarch was not in residence. Now, what led you to believe that you might be welcome in His Grace's absence?'

Voldi, appropriately embarrassed, explained that he had come a very long way to see these scrolls, that they really belonged in a museum available to the general public; adding that Lysias, the steward, had shown him every courtesy.

The old Prefect sniffed cynically and drawled, 'Your interest in ancient literature must be profound, sir. No one has ever confided to me that the men of your country have shown so much concern for learning. You say these scrolls you went to see are reputed to have belonged to Aristotle. How many Arabians are conversant with the writings of Aristotle? I'll wager that even your King Zendi doesn't know enough Greek to bid the time o' day to the Governor of Petra.'

Voldi grinned and replied, 'Just about that much, I think, sir.'

Sergius chuckled a little at that, but soberly resumed his interrogations.

'Now my young friend, the whole world knows that Arabia bears a grudge against Tetrarch Antipas—a very reasonable grudge, too, if I may say so. How do you happen to be so complacent about the indignity he wrought upon your Royal Family that you would accept the hospitality of his palace? Are you sure you weren't there to reconnoitre in preparation for a later visit? Tell me, please: where are you bound for—when you leave Caesarea?'

'I am going home, sir,' lied Voldi.

'Very well, then,' growled the Prefect. 'See that nothing interferes with your plan. You have the freedom of the city. Should you decide to return to Tiberias, it will be an error of judgment.' He pushed back his chair and rose. Turning to the Captain of the Guard, he said gruffly, 'You have your orders, Malus. When this young man leaves us, he is going back—directly—to his own country.'

After that, while Voldi did not have the uncomfortable feeling that there were eyes at his keyhole, he found himself acknowledging the respectful salutes of the Municipal Police wherever he went. They smiled pleasantly and lifted their spears to their foreheads when he strolled along the docks. When he exercised Darik, which was almost every day, he invariably fell in with a mounted patrol.

One bleak morning when he was aimlessly sauntering through the public rooms of The Domus Agrippa, Voldi came face to face with a handsome, well-groomed Roman of his own age, who bluntly confronted him with, 'You're the Arabian, aren't you?'

'Well,' drawled Voldi, 'I may not be the Arabian—but I am an Arabian.'

'My name is Felix,' said the youth.

'Oh?' replied Voldi casually. 'Is there anything I can do for you? If so I shall be glad to undertake it. I am not very busy.'

'My father mentioned you to me. He said you were a stranger in Caesarea, and might welcome a little attention. Father is the Prefect.'

Voldi grinned.

'It's good of you, Felix,' he said. 'I am a bit lonesome and restless here, though I must say your father has already provided me with plenty of attention. I can hardly turn round without stepping on a policeman.'

It was the young Roman's turn to be amused.

'Don't let that bother you! Important aliens in Caesarea always come in for a lot of oversight. But I'm not a policeman; and, personally, I don't care a damn where you go or what you are up to. . . . I thought you might like to take a ride with me into the country, just to kill time.'

'With pleasure!' Voldi brightened at the prospect. 'Perhaps I should tell you that I'm not supposed to leave the city by any of the northerly routes.'

Felix nodded in a manner indicating that he knew all about it.

'You're suspected of a hankering to make the acquaintance of the Tetrarch of Galilee. My father wonders why—and so do I. Antipas is a cad, you know; a noisy, vain, arrogant old pretender. I'm sure you wouldn't like him.' The Roman's eyes twinkled through this ironical speech, inviting the Arab to commit himself, but Voldi made no sign of understanding. The friendly son of the Prefect might not be a policeman, but this was no time to risk a confidence.

'Perhaps not,' replied Voldi indifferently. 'One can't be expected to like everybody.'

Felix chuckled over this forthright evasion.

'You win!' he said. 'Let's go for the ride. It's clearing off a little. I'll promise not to badger you about Antipas. . . . And when you meet him, you may slit his throat—with my blessing.'

The Prefect's home was only a short way away. Leading Darik, they walked to Sergius' commodious stables and a groom brought out a beautiful young sorrel mare. Felix ran his fingers under the saddle girths. Voldi liked that. It was commonly believed in Arabia that the Romans were careless about the comfort of their horses. Felix cared.

'I dare say you've noticed that this filly is an Arabian,' he said.

'Yes,' replied Voldi. 'I know her family. You probably bought her in Damascus.'

'My father did.' They mounted and rode toward the avenue. 'I'm told that you Arabians used to market your select stock, on a certain day, in Jerusalem; but—not any more.'

'We have lately resumed attendance at the camel-auction in Jerusalem—on the Jewish Day of Pentecost,' explained Voldi. 'But the horses still go to Damascus.'

'And why is that?' Felix wanted to know.

'Perhaps it's because the Jews aren't so much interested in horses,' guessed Voldi. 'The Syrians pay a better price.'

They were proceeding southerly on the coast highway, at a leisurely canter.

'Tell me about this camel-auction,' said Felix.

'I never attended it,' said Voldi. 'I never was in Jerusalem.'

'What is this Pentecost business about?'

'I don't know,' admitted Voldi. 'It's a Jewish feast-day; fifty days after—after something; I forget what.'

Felix counted on his fingers, and thought it might be fifty days after the Passover. Voldi nodded uninterestedly and said he supposed that might be correct. The horses, impatient over their mincing canter, changed their gait to a brisk trot. After an interval of silence, Felix slowed his filly to remark:

'The reason I happen to know about this annual Passover business: the Tetrarch always returns for it in the spring. He winters in Rome, and turns up with the sparrows about the Ides of March; makes much ado over his gaudy trip to Jerusalem. You'd think the Emperor had arrived. He has a toy Embassy over there; holds court for a couple of weeks; celebrates the Passover; and hurries back to Tiberias for the summer. . . . But—I suppose you know all about that.'

Voldi showed no interest whatsoever in this discourse and abruptly changed the conversation by remarking that the stableboys at The Agrippa had been taking good care of Darik.

'See how his coat shines!'

'They're probably feeding him on eggs,' said Felix. 'You'll be paying plenty for Darik's shine! . . . It won't be long now until Antipas appears. He will arrive on the Emperor's barge. You may have a chance to see him.'

Voldi showed vexation.

'You're wasting all that on me, Felix,' he declared crossly. 'My errand in this country does not concern old Herod Antipas. You surmise that because I am an Arabian I have designs on the Tetrarch. I am here on another matter.'

'I see you don't want to tell me,' said Felix reproachfully. 'Perhaps I could have helped you.'

'Perhaps—but perhaps not,' said Voldi. 'We'll see. Meanwhile, let us have no more talk about Antipas. I have no business with him.'

Felix pretended a childish pout.

'You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Voldi?' he asked petulantly.

'Don't be silly!' snapped Voldi. 'Of course I'd lie to you if there was any reason for it.'

'Well—you're candid, anyway,' laughed Felix.

'Don't be too sure about that, my son,' warned Voldi dryly.

Felix knew now that he had employed the wrong tactics for the relief of his curiosity. The Arabian, albeit amiable enough, wasn't going to have any confidences pried out of him; and his determined reticence made the son of the Prefect feel years younger than his tight-lipped acquaintance from the eastern mountains.

Their friendship ripened slowly. Having begun with a verbal fencing-match in which the Roman youth was much too hasty with his queries, forcing Voldi to a stubborn defence, they found it difficult to be at ease with one another. Felix was encouraged to talk about himself. His father had been appointed to the Prefecture five years ago, after long service as Captain of the Praetorian Guard in Rome. Felix had been left behind to finish his course in the Military Academy, and had come to Caesarea only last summer. He was free to say that he hated the town and was bored to extinction. His father had promised that he might return to Rome—'in a year or two'—but wanted him to acquaint himself with conditions in Caesarea. He did not say why, but Voldi could guess. The Empire was preparing to complete the subjugation of Palestine, and Felix would probably be in line for participation in it.

For something to say, Voldi remarked that life in Caesarea must be rather dull after living in the excitements of the Empire's capital.

'I'm slowly dying of it, Voldi!' confided Felix, adding, after a brooding silence, 'That may account for my ruthless invasion of your private affairs. My instinct tells me that you're tangled up with an adventure of some sort, and—'

'And you want to be in it,' assisted Voldi.

After that, they seemed to understand each other better. They sheathed their weapons. Felix continued his daily calls at The Agrippa, making himself at home in Voldi's apartment. On clear days they rode. It was an unusual comradeship, based mostly on their loneliness, boredom, and need of diversion. Felix frankly despised Aramaic and spoke it badly: he had been ecstatic when Voldi had aired his Greek.

'You're coming to Rome, some day,' Felix said. 'I'll show you the only city that really matters—in the whole world! Know anybody there?'

'Nicator Mencius,' replied Voldi.

'Indeed! He's one of my father's closest friends. How did you make his acquaintance?'

Voldi told him briefly, and was privately pleased to learn of this connection between the Proconsul and the Prefect. It might be to his advantage, some time, if he got into a scrape.

The long and tiresome winter finally blew itself out and spring came on. Voldi was beside himself with impatience to contrive some way of seeing Fara. She would be expecting him now and if he did not soon appear she would surely conclude that he had given her up and returned to Arabia.

One sunny afternoon the news was circulated in the lobbies of The Agrippa that
The Augusta
had been sighted. Everybody not otherwise engaged had hurried to the docks to watch the Emperor's beautiful ship come in. The main point of interest would be the disembarkation of the Tetrarch and his retinue and the setting forth of their garish parade for Jerusalem.

Voldi felt that this was something worth seeing. When he joined the huge crowd at the wharf,
The Augusta
had already docked and the important passengers were leaving the ship, the Tetrarch surrounded by an unusually large company of fellow-travellers who—according to the low-voiced chatter of spectators—had come from Rome to spend the summer.

Felix had failed to put in an appearance at The Domus Agrippa today. Voldi saw him now, sauntering in his direction; but, when he approached, he gave no sign of recognition. As Felix passed, almost brushing sleeves with Voldi, he muttered, 'This is no place for you. Better get out of here!'