The Big Fisherman (33 page)

Disheartened and ill, for his fatigue and sleepless anxiety had worn him thin, he listened dejectedly while King Zendi reported their unanimous opinion. It was their firm belief, solemnly declared Zendi, that no young woman in her right mind—as Fara had seemed to be—would attempt a solitary expedition into a hostile country with the intention of assassinating its well-fortified king. And it was the considered judgment of the Council that any effort to seek for her in that region would be an act of sheer lunacy.

Were the stronghold of Tetrarch Antipas situated twenty miles beyond the Jordan, continued Zendi, a thousand experienced cavalrymen might risk making an attack; but that a seventeen-year-old girl would travel, unattended, over seventy leagues of bandit-infested territory—to wreak vengeance upon a king in his fortress—was too preposterous to be believed even by a courageous young man whose loyalty and love and sorrow had driven him to desperation.

After Zendi had spoken there was a long silence which suggested that Voldi might defend his foolish idea if he desired, but he did not speak. Old Dumah cleared his throat to add a word.

'Even if she had been mad enough to attempt it, she would have come to grief long before now.'

Voldi suddenly raised his head.

'Do you mean, sir, that she may have been imprisoned?'

'Or worse,' muttered Dumah.

At that, Voldi rose from his place, fell on his knees before the King, and cried, 'I can no longer bear this anxiety, sire! I entreat you! Let me go and search for her in Jewry!'

Old Mishma, seated beside the King, whispered a suggestion. Zendi motioned Voldi to arise and told him to wait outside. It was a full hour before they called him back. The Councillors had risen from their seats and seemed restless to be off.

'At the request of your honoured grandfather, Voldi, we are permitting you to go. We will give you a certificate of your Arabian citizenship, requesting safe passage through all Jewry. You realize that this document does not have the value which would be accorded it in Macedonia, Petra, Cyprus, or Rome. If you get into trouble over there in Judaea or Galilee, it will be your own affair. We wish you well, my son; but if you do not return, no one will search for you.'

While Zendi was speaking, Voldi's grateful eyes drifted to his grandfather's sober face. What a grand old man was Mishma! When the King had finished, Voldi bowed deeply. Zendi laid a hand on his shoulder and wished him a safe journey.

'I shouldn't let you do it,' he added.

'If His Majesty were in my place,' ventured Voldi, 'he would take the chance, I think.'

'What weapons will you carry?' inquired Zendi.

'Only a dagger, sire.'

'Very good. It is better not to bear conspicuous arms. And try to avoid controversies, however trivial. And don't draw your dagger unless you intend to use it. . . . Another thing: you should be well provided with money!'

Voldi's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't thought much about money. He had never carried money with him; never had had occasion to use money. Old Mishma instantly lifted that weight.

'He shall have ample funds, my lord.'

Voldi impetuously reached for his grandfather's hand—and gripped it. Zendi stepped down from the dais, and was moving away.

'Arabia should be proud of you both!' he said.

At Mishma's request, Voldi rode home with him. It had been a long time since he had seen his grandfather in the saddle, and his heart swelled with admiration as he watched the effortless skill with which the old man handled the impatient bay stallion. Mishma's posture in the saddle was a score of years younger than his deep-lined face. They had little to say until they reached the old Councillor's gate: there they drew their horses together.

'Shall we say good-bye, sire?'

'Presently. Come in.'

Dismounting, they entered the luxurious living-quarters of Mishma's home. He disappeared into the adjacent bedroom and returned with a newly made money-belt. It was heavy with gold, so heavy that when Voldi took it he nearly dropped it.

'It is the amount you would have inherited, my boy.'

'Was it not dangerous, sire, to have so much gold in your possession?'

'True—but I have not had it many days.'

'Then—you had prepared it—for me?'

'I thought, at least a fortnight ago, that you would follow her. It is a great grief to me, Voldi. But I cannot detain you!'

It was a memorable moment. Their voices were low. They were both deeply stirred.

'I shall not expect to see you again. I am old.' Mishma's words were barely audible. He was talking mostly to himself. 'I had dreamed of you as a Councillor. We must give that up now. Whether you find her or not—we have already lost that opportunity. . . . But—I cannot find it in my heart to rebuke you. . . . As I grow older my ideas of values change. The girl is courageous. Not much wonder if you love her enough to throw your life away for her. . . . You may not find her. I doubt whether you will. If she is lost, do not hurry to return. You will have sufficient funds for a considerable amount of foreign travel. . . . If you find her, you will marry her. Do not bring her back here. You would both be unhappy.' . . . Mishma rose heavily and laid his hands on Voldi's shoulders. . . . 'Go now, my brave boy, and comfort your mother.'

After the painful scene in his own home, where Kitra, having made a valorous effort to control her feelings, finally gave way to a complete emotional breakdown, Voldi galloped away to pay his final respects to the King and receive his worthless passport.

At the last minute it occurred to him to say farewell to Ione, but the servants couldn't find her. Mounting his tall black gelding he rode away at a brisk trot toward the trail that descended to the Valley of Aisne.

A few hundred yards ahead, a woman stepped out of the wild shrubbery and waved an arm. It was Ione, thin and haggard, but surprisingly animated. There was no accounting for the caprices of an ailing mind. Ione, who had sunk to the depths of melancholy, now seemed almost happy. Voldi reined in his horse—and stopped beside her.

'Good, Voldi!' she cried excitedly. 'Go and find her! Here is a little gift for you!'

She handed up a parcel. It was about the shape and size of a baby's pillow, and soft to the touch. A scarf that she had knitted for him, perhaps, encased in an envelope of fine linen securely stitched on all sides.

'Am I to open it now, Ione?' asked Voldi.

'No, no! You've no time for that! It's just a little present.' She turned away, waving her hand and smiling. 'May all the gods attend you, Voldi!' she shouted as he put the spurs to Darik and rode on. But Ione's strange behaviour stirred his curiosity. A few days ago she was unapproachable, depressed, fear-harried, and clearly out of her head. Now that she had learned of his intention to search for Fara in Galilee, she was exultant! Perhaps she knew more than she had told about the events of that night when Fara had disappeared. He tried to reason it out. Ione had been sworn to secrecy! That was what had driven her crazy! In spite of all the opinions to the contrary, Fara had unquestionably started for Galilee, intending to keep her vow! Voldi was on the right track: there could be no doubt of that. It made him impatient to press on. But when he considered the many possible misfortunes she might have encountered, he despaired of finding her alive, unharmed.

That night he stopped for food and shelter at an unpromising caravansary situated on a small oasis at the southernmost tip of the Dead Sea. After an abominable supper prepared by a sullen, wizened old woman, he inquired of the testy inn-keeper, presumably her husband, whether a well-favoured young Arabian woman had ridden past that way on a bay filly—or perhaps rested there—some two weeks ago. And when the surly old fellow, with a frown and protruding lips, had shaken his head, Voldi prodded hard at his memory. Was he sure?

Of course he was sure! Would he be likely, he growled, to forget such a strange and pleasant sight? A young woman travelling alone in this country? No, sir; you could depend on him to remember seeing a well-favoured young woman! He chuckled slyly, and his withered old spouse scowled at him, which made him laugh unpleasantly.

Then Voldi tried to probe the old woman's recollection, but she hadn't seen a pretty young woman, alone, on a horse, here or anywhere else, ever in her life, which seemed to dispose of her as a witness.

Though it was still early in the evening, there was little to do but retire. They lighted a candle for him and pointed out the wretched hovel where he was to lodge. Shouldering his saddle-bags, he groped his way into the filthy and meagrely furnished hut. Quite weary but not ready to sleep, he sat down on the edge of the dirty cot, and for lack of any other occupation decided to see what Ione had given him.

Taking the parcel from his pack, he attacked the fine stitches with the point of his dagger. It was a tedious and exasperating task, for Ione had done her work well. At length he laid the cover back, and his eyes widened with astonishment. The linen sheath contained a long, heavy braid of hair! Whose—but Fara's?

Voldi took it up and held it against his cheek. He pressed his lips to it. His eyes were misty. Gradually the implications of Ione's gift dawned upon him, and he muttered an ejaculation of sudden understanding. Fara was impersonating a young man! This was Ione's way of telling him that he should not make inquiries about a girl! He was to look for a man! How dared Fara take such a risk? But here was the incontrovertible evidence that she had done so! Poor Ione wasn't as crazy as they thought. Voldi was exultant, but not for long. His apprehension soon cooled his joy. How could Fara hope to preserve so difficult an incognito? Sooner or later she must be discovered—and be worse off for her disguise.

He went to sleep, after hours of wakefulness, with the tender trophy on his pillow. Awake at dawn, he found his taciturn host pottering about in the stableyard.

'Let me ask you this question,' said Voldi sternly. 'Did you see a young man, an Arabian, in these parts about a fortnight ago—riding a bay filly?'

'That I did, sir,' replied the old man—'a handsome young fellow he was, and very well dressed, too. He stopped here; slept in the same room you had last night.'

'Uhh—what a room!' growled Voldi.

The old man chuckled shamelessly.

'That other young Arab didn't like the room, either. You should have heard him! Upon my word, sir, that young fellow could swear like a drunken sailor! I never heard such a mouthful of curses. Some of 'em were new words that I didn't know.'

Voldi looked puzzled for a minute—and then laughed.

'A pretty rough youngster, was he?'

'He was indeed, sir. He must be very rich; used to having his own way. He ordered us about as if we were slaves; though I must say he was not stingy.'

'Why didn't you tell me about him last night when I asked you?'

The old fellow's jaw sagged and a look of comprehension came into his crafty eyes.

'But you inquired about a young woman!' he countered. 'Might this young man you're asking for be the young woman you thought you wanted to know about last night?' He threw back his grizzled head and cackled shrilly. 'We thought there was something queer about him! He! He! Well, I still say that nobody ever cursed like that on this oasis—and many's the camel-driver we've put up!'

* * * * * *

Voldi broke out into loud laughter several times on his way to Engedi, but he had his sober moments too. Fara was indeed playing for high stakes. She might deceive the grumpy old pair at the filthy caravansary—but it was a long way to Galilee.

At Engedi the young Arabian—of a fortnight ago—was promptly remembered.

'A proud, haughty young fellow?' queried the innkeeper; and when Voldi had nodded, he went on: 'Do I remember him! Rich, he was! Rode a frisky bay mare with enough silver on her bridle and enough jewels on his riding-whip to have bought everything in my house!'

'Did you find him just a bit—disagreeable?' pressed Voldi.

'Just a bit!' grinned the inn-keeper sourly. 'He swore at me in three languages—Aramaic, Arabian, and Greek. He swore at the servants in Latin. Nothing pleased him.'

Voldi tried to be serious, but he couldn't restrain a chuckle.

'That's the fellow I'm looking for,' he said. 'He's a tough one—and no mistake! Did you notice which way he went when he left?'

'The old Salt Trail. Said he was headed for the port—and if he wasn't robbed before he got there, they probably cleaned him out in Gaza. Any man's a fool to ride through that pest-hole alone—even in broad daylight!'

'Did you warn him of that?'

'No—I didn't!' snapped the innkeeper. 'He was so damned sure of himself. It wasn't any of my business if he got into trouble.'

'I think my friend would be able to take care of himself,' bragged Voldi, with much more confidence than he felt.

'He certainly could with his mouth,' rejoined the innkeeper.

'Yes—and with his dagger too!' retorted Voldi, wishing he spoke the truth.

As he rode on, early the next morning, on the busy highway, his mind was troubled. So many misadventures might have confronted Fara. These lean, lazy, ragged fellows who led the camels in the long caravans, what might they not do to annoy and provoke a solitary rider who had taken no pains to conceal his wealth and rating? And the hawk-nosed, beady-eyed caravan-directors who looked Voldi over with such candid impudence, what would Fara's disguise amount to if they insisted on questioning her closely? Apparently she had felt that to be convincing in her new rôle she must be noisy and arrogant. Voldi hoped she wasn't overdoing it. She might meet someone who wouldn't be favourably impressed by her swagger and profanity. The poor dear wouldn't last very long in a fight.

At old Hebron he made inquiries at the two inns, but nobody remembered seeing a well-to-do young Arabian on a bay filly. After a couple of hours spent in asking questions, Voldi decided that Fara must have ridden directly on through the historic town without pausing. He fed and watered his horse, lunched briefly at the principal inn, and proceeded on his journey. It was a more fertile country now, and the donkey-carts were coming into the highway laden with melons, grapes, grain, and green forage.