The Big Fisherman (10 page)

There were some encouraging rains that autumn, much too late to benefit the burned pasture-lands, but giving promise of better fare next season. The winter, however, was bitterly cold and the snow alarmingly scanty.

The Arabian shepherd was not without his superstitions, nor was this fascination for the supernatural limited to the custody of lonely men who guarded their flocks in outlying regions, where fears and dreads were personalized. Almost everybody felt that an unusual epidemic of misfortunes hinted at retribution. And while the more intelligent disclaimed any interest in such witcheries, even the best of them might be heard to remark—though pretending not to mean it—that Someone or Something must have laid a curse upon Arabia.

For the following summer was the worst season that the oldest could remember, and in the fall there were but few caravans carrying hides and wool to the Port of Gaza. The young camels they would have brought to market in Petra, Jericho, and Joppa were too lean and shabby for profitable sale. There was very little surplus of grain to see the livestock through the approaching winter.

The air was tense with complaint and constraint. Somebody was to blame. The trouble all seemed to stem from Arabia's alliance with the Jews. Everyone was able to recall now how he himself had predicted, at the time, that no good could come of it. Of course no one held it against Arnon, for clearly she had suffered from it far more than anybody. And it would be cruel foolishness to frown upon the hapless child who symbolized that unfortunate union. But—even so—the visits of Arnon's friends became less and less frequent. She did not fret about it at first, realizing that everyone was weighted with worries at home, and in no mood for sociability.

Curiously enough, there was better pasture on Arnon's land than anywhere else for many miles. Her neighbours did not openly begrudge the Princess this bit of prosperity, but it did seem strange. One day a sheik remarked half-humorously that wherever you found a Jew located you might expect to see fat sheep.

'A Jew?' queried the friend who rode beside him. 'What Jew?'

'Had you not noticed Princess Arnon's pasture?'

'The Princess is not a Jew!' retorted his friend.

'No—but her child is.'

It was all but incredible, the speed with which this idle quip raced across the browned face of Arabia until it was repeated in the coldest tents of the hungry highlands.

But there were a few whose unswerving loyalty to the Princess made them all the more eager to show her friendly attentions as this unfavourable sentiment developed. Zendi and Rennah rode over every few days to make sure of Arnon's welfare. Although she was now a Princess only by courtesy, Zendi endeavoured to keep her informed of movements in the kingdom, as if she still had a right to know. One day he talked of the unfortunate expedition to Jerusalem, and reported that Emperor Tiberius had decided not to appoint another Jew as a ruler of Judaea. Henceforth the chief executive would be a Roman. The new appointee was already located in Jerusalem. He had been elevated from the Prefecture of Crete. His name was Pontius Pilate. Doubtless he would get along with the Jews. He was said to be a tactful conciliator.

'Will this affect the position of Antipas—in Galilee?' Arnon wanted to know.

'Probably not,' surmised Zendi. 'The tribute Rome receives from poor little Galilee isn't worth what it costs to collect it. Antipas could afford to pay their taxes himself and doubtless would do so gladly enough, just to preserve the title of Tetrarch.'

Sometimes Zendi and Rennah gave Arnon an opportunity to speak of the growing aloofness toward her, but she appeared not to be aware of it, and the painful subject was not discussed.

Frequently Mishma's pretty daughter-in-law Kitra came to spend the afternoon, bringing her four-year-old son Voldi, who had promptly taken a fancy to little Fara.

The warm friendship of Kitra and Arnon, begun in childhood, had ripened to a comforting intimacy, nourished perhaps by the fact that Princess Arnon was no longer of the King's household, while Kitra had missed being in that position by the mere accident of a delayed appointment of her father-in-law Mishma as Chief of the Councillors and, as such, the immediate successor to Aretas. They spent long afternoons together, happily watching their children's absorption in one another, for Fara had had no other playmates and Voldi had never taken such an interest in another child. Sometimes the two young mothers would wonder whether this tender little friendship might continue as their children grew up, though they admitted that it wasn't customary.

* * * * *

After three consecutive winters of such hardships as Arabia had never known, succeeded by scorched summers presaging further endurance of famine for both men and beasts, the snow fell in abundance. It fell endlessly and everywhere; on the mountains, in the valleys, covering great tracts of arid desert that had not seen any moisture for a score of years. It snowed and thawed and snowed again until the wadis were in flood. Spring came early, the sun was bright, all Arabia was a green pasture.

Men who had become so deeply depressed over their losses that they had actually debated whether, for the country's sake, it might not be advisable to carry Princess Arnon's child back to Jerusalem 'where she belongs,' were now glad that they had done no such thing, and some of them felt sheepish over having shared in these conversations.

It was hardly to be expected that such good fortune could happen again, but it did. Not only during the next winter, but the winter following, heavy snows blanketed the entire nation; and in the succeeding autumns long, heavily laden caravans trekked down the mountains and rounded the southern shore of the Dead Sea, and slowly marched to the old 'salt trail' from Engedi to Gaza.

Not infrequently some gratified shepherd, with silver jingling in his pouch, would remark that the young daughter of Princess Arnon, far from being a menace to Arabia, was bringing Jewish prosperity to the nation, to which his neighbour would reply, 'I always said you were a lot of fools for hating that pretty child!'

'But—you said yourself that she ought to be put out of the country!'

'If I did, that doesn't make you any less a fool for saying so.'

Everybody who had seen little Fara agreed now that she was the most beautiful child in Arabia, which was unquestionably true. She had the full, wide-set eyes and round face of a Jewess, and a much fairer complexion than her attractive mother. Her slim, lithe body was distinctly Arabian, as was her interest in outdoor life.

She had been lifted into a small saddle when she was barely five, the worshipful old Kedar walking alongside the pony. It was not long before she protested against such attendance. One morning when she was no more than six she appeared alone at the King's encampment, to the consternation of the household. Zendi himself rode home beside her to make sure she arrived safely. Arnon, quite complacent, met them at the door.

'You shouldn't let her do that,' reproved Zendi. 'She isn't old enough.'

'The pony is,' said Arnon. 'He wouldn't let her get into trouble. He follows her about like a dog.'

'But ponies are treacherous, Arnon. I should much sooner trust a horse.'

'That is quite true, sire. I shall let her ride one of the horses.' She had spoken half-playfully, but added, in a suddenly serious tone, 'Don't forget, Zendi, that my little daughter is every inch an Arabian! You were taught to ride almost as soon as you were able to walk—and so was I.'

This incident, trivial enough in itself, was reported to the Councillors, who received it—and its implications—with smiles and nods of approval. The child was unfortunately afflicted with alien blood, but it was clear that she was predominantly Arabian and deserved recognition as one of their own people. By the time the story was well circulated, losing nothing in its travels, little Fara was an accomplished rider, skilful and unafraid. And the rumour wasn't far from the truth.

But if Arabia had an imaginary picture of this growing child as a reckless rowdy, leaping half-broken racehorses over high hedges and deep wadis with the firm hands and pliant knees of an experienced cavalryman, there was another side of Fara's life which nobody saw but her own family—and King Zendi. Thanks to Ione, Fara was receiving a liberal education.

To all appearances, the beloved and indispensable Ione had fully adjusted herself to her Arabian environment, but it was a sorrow to her never to hear or speak a word of her native Greek. When little Fara was learning to talk, Ione amused herself by teaching her Greek words for familiar objects. When she handed the baby her porridge plate, she would say, 'Pinakos.' And Fara, ever eager to please Ione, would lisp, 'Pinakos'; and because Ione seemed so delighted, she proudly repeated the word, over and over. The little porridge plate was always 'pinakos' after that, and the little cup was always 'poterion' and the napkin was 'soudarion.' Arnon too enjoyed the game. 'Teach her to say "I love you," Ione.'

Taking the child on her lap, Ione said softly, 'Fara, I love you. Philo seh. Philo seh. I love you.'

'Philo seh,' repeated Fara dutifully, happily.

'Say that to your mother, Fara.'

Arnon reached out her arms and little Fara cuddled close to her.

'I love you,' whispered Arnon.

'Philo seh,' said Fara.

As the days went by, the intrusion of Greek words into their conversation was no longer a novelty that made them laugh merrily. Common nouns needed action. Words multiplied into sentences. Table-talk was conducted in Greek. After supper, on winter evenings, Ione taught Fara to write it. Happy to see her child profitably entertained, Arnon joined in these exercises, though she never acquired the effortless fluency with which Fara handled the strange language. By the time she was nine the little girl spoke Greek by preference.

One day, King Zendi called to inquire about their welfare and overheard Fara in the adjoining room talking to Ione. He broke off what he was saying—and listened—and then grinned incredulously.

'How long has this been going on?' he inquired.

'Ever since she was a tiny tot,' said Arnon. 'It's Ione's doing. I suppose there's no harm in it?'

'Harm? Of course not! I wish I knew some Greek myself.'

'But—you do; don't you, Zendi?'

'A mere smattering—picked up on my journey to Corinth. I often have errands in Petra. It would be much to my advantage if I could speak their language.'

Arnon laughed a little as she said, 'Perhaps Fara could help you.' To her surprise, Zendi did not see anything funny about this. He frowned thoughtfully.

'It just occurs to me,' he said, 'that we have, in our cabinet of curiosities, a scroll that the people of Petra presented to your father at his coronation. I shall bring it over. Maybe Fara might like to see it.'

The next afternoon he brought the scroll. Ione was invited in to look at it. She gasped with happy surprise. What a treasure! Unconsciously ignoring the King, she breathlessly explained the subject of the scroll to Fara in a long sentence utterly incomprehensible to their important guest. And Fara clapped her hands with delight.

'I would give much for that knowledge,' said Zendi soberly.

'It's easy, sire,' said Fara.

When he left, shortly afterward, Fara walked beside him in the paddock.

He took her small hand. The old master of the stables led forward a beautiful roan gelding. Fara's eyes shone.

'How do you like my new horse, Fara?' asked the King as he gathered up the reins.

'Prosphilay!' murmured Fara reverentially, patting the gelding's glossy shoulder. 'Prosphilay hippos!'

'What did you say?' demanded the King.

'Lovely!' said Fara. 'Lovely horse!'

Zendi chuckled and swung himself into the saddle.

'Kai megaleios hippikos!' ventured Fara coyly.

'And what does that mean?' the King wanted to know.

Fara shrugged a pretty shoulder, gave an enigmatic smile, and made a graceful curtsey. Zendi waved a hand and rode away. It was evident that Fara's final remark—whatever it meant—was complimentary.

After that the tribesmen were often amused to see their King cantering alongside Princess Arnon's pretty child, evidently engaged in serious conversation. One day, after a visit to Petra, Zendi presented his young preceptress with an armful of scrolls which he had bought. Ione, on her knees, laid them out in a row on the rug and caressed them with worshipful hands, murmuring, 'Thaumasia! Thaumasia!' To have such a rich library—it was indeed wonderful! Marvellous!

As for Fara's early knowledge of her origin, she had been contented with the explanation that her father was a Prince who had been required to leave them that he might perform his duties as the ruler of a faraway country. Now that she was asking for a little more information, Arnon would talk of the great cities in which she had lived with Fara's father, carefully avoiding any mention of her unhappiness.

'Will my father ever visit us?' Fara had asked wistfully.

'He would find it difficult,' Arnon had replied; and this was the exact truth. 'Great rulers,' she went on, 'have many cares.'

'But—does he not care—at all—for us?'

'A ruler's life, my dear, is not his own. His only concern is for the welfare of his country.' Arnon despised herself for what, in this case, was a ridiculous lie; but felt that it was an easy way out of a painful discussion. The time would come soon enough, she knew, when the whole matter would have to be faced; but she hoped to postpone it as long as possible.

Fara was beginning to be aware of her loneliness and singularity. She was nearing ten and growing very restless. She needed companions of her own age. It had been a long time since Kitra had brought Voldi along when she came to visit. One day Fara ventured to inquire how he was.

'Oh—that boy!' exclaimed Kitra, busying herself with her needlework. 'He thinks he is quite a man now. Growing so fast; tall as I am. You know how boys of that age are, Fara. They don't want to play with girls. All they think about is their horses—and hunting dogs—and archery—and fencing.' Her eyes slid past Fara to Arnon. 'You may be glad Fara is a girl. I never have a peaceful moment when Voldi is riding that unruly horse of his!'