THE ROBE (36 page)

At mid-afternoon on the fifth day of that second week, he went to the
house of Benyosef, sauntering in casually to give the impression that he really
wanted to do business; for he had observed that, in Jerusalem, the serious
customer with his mind set on something he intended to buy invariably tried to
disguise his interest. The most ridiculous subterfuges were practised. The
customer would stroll in, pretending he had come to meet a friend, or that he
had lost his bearings and wanted to know how to find Straight Street. On the
way out he would pause to finger some article of merchandise. Apparently these
childish tricks deceived nobody. The more indifferent the customer was, the
more attentively the merchant hovered about him. It was evident that all
business in the Holy City was so full of mendacity that a man who gave evidence
of an honest purpose was immediately suspected of rank imposture.

Pausing indecisively in the open doorway of Benyosef's shop, Marcellus
glanced about in search of Demetrius. It was not going to be easy, after this
long separation, to confront his loyal friend with the cool stare of a
stranger. A survey of the cluttered shop failed to reveal the presence of
Demetrius, but Marcellus was not sure whether he was disappointed or relieved;
for he had dreaded this moment.

The clatter of the two antiquated looms slowed and ceased as he made his
way toward the venerable weaver who, he felt, must be old Benyosef himself. If
the aged Jew was alarmed at the presence of an urbane young Roman in his house,
he gave no sign of it. He maintained his seat on the bench of his loom,
methodically polite but not obsequious. Marcellus briefly stated his errand.
Benyosef shook his long white beard. His weaving, he said, was all custom work.
He had nothing made up to sell. If his client wished to order a coat, they
would gladly make it for him, and it would be a good one. But as for homespun,
it might be found in the bazaars; or, better, in the country. And with that
laconic announcement, he deftly scooted a wooden shuttle through the open warp
and gave the thread a whack with the beam that made the old loom shudder. It
was apparent that so far as Benyosef was concerned the interview had
terminated.

Four other men had been mildly interested, also a dark, handsome boy of
twelve, who had stopped romping with a dog to listen. One of the men was a
young Greek with a refined face, seated at a ramshackle loom adjacent to
Benyosef's. Marcellus surmised that this might be Demetrius's friend Stephanos.

Near the wall, behind the looms, sat two men who bore a marked
resemblance, one in his early thirties, the other considerably younger. They
were deeply tanned and simply dressed in country garb, their rustic, well-worn
sandals indicating that they were accustomed to long journeys on foot. This
pair, obviously brothers, might easily qualify as 'The Sons of Thunder,' though
the appellation did seem rather incongruous, for they appeared benign enough,
especially the younger whose expressive eyes had a marked spiritual quality. He
would have passed more reasonably as a mystic than as an agitator.

The fourth man, who sat on the corner of an inverted tub, was probably
sixty. He, too, was an outlander, to judge by his homely dress and the
shagginess of his grey-streaked hair and beard. Bronzed and bushy, he seemed
out of place under a roof. During the brief colloquy, he had sat gently
stroking his beard with the back of his hand, his brown eyes drifting lazily
from old Benyosef to the eccentric Roman who, for some obscure reason, wanted
to purchase articles of homespun.

At first sight of him, Marcellus thought this might be the man Demetrius
had referred to as 'The Big Fisherman.' He was big enough. But another glance
at the reposeful posture and the amiable smile assured Marcellus that if 'The
Big Fisherman' was a man of energy and something of a party leader, the hairy
one who lounged on the tub must be someone else, conceivably Barsabas Justus.

Now that the looms had gone into action again, Marcellus had begun to
doubt whether this was the time or place to introduce his question about the
possibility of finding a guide, but Benyosef had remarked that one might hope
to buy homespun in the country; so the query would be natural enough. As if
this were a fresh inspiration, Marcellus inquired, in his best Aramaic, and
addressing them all impartially, whether they knew of a man--well acquainted in
the northern provinces--who might be employed to accompany him on a leisurely
tour.

Benyosef, ceasing his racket, scowled thoughtfully, but made no
movement. The older brother shook his head. The younger calmly stared through
and beyond the inquirer as if he had not heard. The Greek, who might be
Stephanos, slowly turned about and faced the big man in the corner.

'You could go, Justus,' he said. 'You were intending to go home, anyhow,
weren't you?'

'How long do you want to stay?' rumbled Justus, after some deliberation.

'Two weeks, perhaps, or three--or a month.' Marcellus tried not to sound
too urgent. 'Once I am up there, and have found my way about,' he added, 'you
could leave me--if you had other things to do.'

'When do you want to start?' inquired Justus, with a little more
interest.

'Soon as possible. How about the day after tomorrow?'

'The day after tomorrow,' put in Benyosef, reproachfully, 'is the
Sabbath of the Lord our God!'

'Sorry,' mumbled Marcellus. 'I had forgotten.'

'Don't you Romans ever observe a day of rest, young man?' demanded
Benyosef, enjoying his right to be querulous.

'The Romans rest oftener than we do,' drawled Justus, encouraged to this
audacity by the broad grin with which Marcellus had met the old man's
impertinence.

'But not oftener than
you
do!' growled Benyosef, darting his
bright little eyes at Justus.

This was good for a chuckle. Even the younger brother turned about and
smiled a little. As if to prove himself a man of action, Justus rose and led
the way to a wooden bench in front of the house. Marcellus, with a nod to the
others, followed. So did the boy, who sat beside them, hugging his knees.

With more resourcefulness than Marcellus had expected, Justus led the
conversation about necessary arrangements for the journey. They would need a
small string of pack-asses, he said, to carry camp equipment; for some of the
smaller villages offered very poor accommodation. Four asses would be
sufficient, he thought, to pack everything including whatever might be
purchased.

'Will you buy the asses for me, and the camping tackle?' asked
Marcellus. 'Doubtless you could make better terms. How much money will it take?'
He unstrapped his wallet.

'You are trusting me to buy these things?' inquired Justus.

'Why not? You look honest.' Noting that this comment had brought a
little frown, he added, 'You would not be an acceptable visitor at old
Benyosef's shop if you were unscrupulous.'

Justus gave him a long sidewise look without turning his head.

'What do you know about old Benyosef--and his shop?' he queried gruffly.

Marcellus shrugged.

'The place is of good repute,' he answered negligently. 'Benyosef has
been in business for a long time.'

'That means nothing,' retorted Justus. 'Plenty of rascals stay in
business for a long time.' And when Marcellus had agreed to that with a nod,
and an indifferent 'Doubtless,' Justus said: 'There will be no need to buy
pack-asses. You can hire them, and a boy to drive them. Hire the tent, too, and
everything else.'

'Will you see to it, then? Let us be on our way early on the first day
of the week.' Marcellus rose. 'How much will you expect for your services?'

'I am willing to leave that to you, sir,' said Justus. 'As you heard
Stephen say, I had intended going home in a few days to Sepphoris in Galilee.
This journey will not inconvenience me. I have nothing to do at present. My
time is of little value. You may provide me with food and shelter. And I could
do with a new pair of sandals.'

'Well--I mean to do better than that by you,' declared Marcellus.

'A new robe, then,' suggested Justus, holding up a frayed sleeve.

'With pleasure.' Marcellus lowered his tone and said, 'Pardon the
question, but--but'--he hesitated--'you are a Jew; are you not?'

Justus chuckled and nodded, stroking his whiskers.

When they parted, a moment later, with a definite understanding to meet
at the Damascus Gate soon after sunrise on the next morning after the Sabbath,
Marcellus felt confident that the journey would be rewarding. Justus was a
friendly old fellow who would tell him everything he wanted to know. He was
just the type to enjoy reminiscence.

With his errand satisfactorily performed and nothing in particular to
do, Marcellus strolled back toward the busy, ill-flavoured marketplace, where
he idled past the booths and stalls, pausing to listen, with amusement and
disgust, to the violent rages of hucksters and shoppers over deals relating to
one small pickled fish or a calf's foot. Vituperations rent the air. Unpleasant
comments were made by customers reflecting on the merchants' ancestry. Insults
were screamed, and ignored, and forgotten, which, had they been exchanged in a
Roman barracks, would have demanded an immediate blood atonement. At one booth,
where he stopped to witness an almost incredible scene involving the disputed
price of a lamb kidney, Marcellus was surprised to find, close beside him, the
boy he had seen at Benyosef's shop.

Having had more than enough of the marketplace, he decided to return to
his inn. It was a long tramp. Turning about, at the top of the steps leading to
the entrance, Marcellus looked down toward the city. The boy from Benyosef's
was sauntering down the street. It was more amusing than annoying to have been
followed. On second thoughts, these people were quite within their rights to
investigate him as far as they could. Perhaps they wanted to know at what
manner of place he was stopping. Had he been a guest at the Insula, they would
have had nothing further to do with him.

That evening, as he sat in the walled garden of the inn, after supper,
studying the ancient scroll that Benjamin had given him, Marcellus glanced up
to find Stephanos standing before him.

'May I speak with you privately?' asked Stephanos, in Greek.

They walked to the far end of the garden, and Marcellus signed to him to
sit down.

'You were surprised not to find Demetrius,' began Stephanos. 'About a
fortnight after he wrote to you, he had the misfortune to be recognized on the
street by the Tribune with whom he had had trouble in Athens. No effort was
made to apprehend him, but he believed that the Tribune might seek revenge. In
that case his friends at Benyosef's shop might be involved--and we are in no
position to defend ourselves.'

'Where did he go, Stephanos?' asked Marcellus, deeply concerned.

'I do not know, sir. He returned to our lodgings and awaited me. We sat
up and talked nearly all through the night. Several of our men were in a secret
meeting at Benyosef's shop. We joined them an hour before dawn. Demetrius,
having bade us farewell, slipped away before the sun rose. He will return when
it is safe; when the Tribune has left. You may leave a letter for him with me,
if you like, or send it later in my care--should you find a messenger who can
be trusted. He confided to me that you were coming and asked me to explain his
absence. None of the others were told.' Stephanos lowered his voice, and
continued, 'Demetrius also confided your reasons for wanting to visit Galilee.'

'Just how much did he tell you?' Marcellus studied the Greek's face.

'Everything,' replied Stephanos, soberly. 'You see, sir, he wanted to
make sure that Justus would go along with you. He felt that I might be of some
service in arranging this. And when he began to explain the nature of your
interest in Jesus--with much hesitation, and many mysterious gaps in the
story--I urged him to make a clean breast of the whole business; and he did.
You can trust me to keep your secret.'

Marcellus had no rejoinder ready to meet this startling announcement.
For a time he sat quietly deliberating.

'Are they suspicious of me, at Benyosef's shop?' he asked, at length. 'I
was followed, this afternoon.'

'Young Philip is my nephew, sir,' explained Stephanos. 'I needed to know
where you were lodging. You need have no anxiety about Philip. He will not
talk. No one at the shop will learn of our meeting. I feared, for a moment,
this morning, that John might recognize you, but apparently he did not. He is a
dreamy fellow.'

'How could he have recognized me?' asked Marcellus.

'John was at the crucifixion, sir. Perhaps you may recall the young man
who tried to comfort Jesus' mother.'

'His mother. She was there? How dreadful!' Marcellus bowed his head and
dug his finger-tips into his temples.

'It was indeed, sir,' muttered Stephanos. 'I was there. I recognized you
instantly when you came into the shop, though of course I was expecting you. I
think you may feel sure that John did not remember.'

'You have been very kind, Stephanos. Is there any way in which I can
serve you?'

'Yes, sir.' The Greek lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Have you the
robe?'

Marcellus nodded.

'May I see it?' asked Stephanos.

'Yes,' said Marcellus. 'Come with me.'

They had been on the road for three days now, and the name of Jesus had
not been mentioned. For all his apparent ingenuousness, Justus was surprisingly
profound. His ready smile promised a childish capitulation to your wishes. His
deference to your status as a well-to-do young Roman was graciously tendered.
But your negligent prediction that Justus would be eager to talk about Jesus
had turned out to be incorrect. You were learning that there were a few things
which not even a wealthy, well-dressed Roman could acquire either by cajolery,
command, or purchase; and one of these things was the story of Jesus.