The Big Fisherman (5 page)

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Arnon was given but little time to brood over coming events. Preparations for the marriage proceeded with breath-taking speed. Every day couriers arrived from Jerusalem to inquire of the Princess—or, more correctly, to report to the Princess—what were her wishes in respect to details which, in the opinion of an Arabian, were childishly trivial, but apparently important enough to warrant a laborious journey from the Jewish capital.

The vanguard of servants and equipment began to appear in increasing numbers. Long caravans toiled up the tortuous trail from the valley floor, widening the bridle-path to a hard-beaten road. Skilled Arabian seamstresses and weavers worked in feverish haste on the wedding garments for the Princess and her attendants.

Tactfully, mercifully, Aretas had dispatched Zendi to faraway Corinth on an errand no less important than the conclusion of a pending deal to lease another large parcel of land in the north to war-weary Greeks. It was a relief to Arnon when Zendi, pressed for time, called to say farewell; both of them glad that the leave-taking was done in the presence of their fathers. Arnon couldn't have borne it, she knew, if they had had their final moment in seclusion. Poor Zendi! He had been so determined to deal manfully with his sorrow that he had hardly raised his eyes to hers when they parted.

The thousand sheep were led to another pasture, and on their grazing ground an awe-inspiring tented city rose. Soldiers in colourful uniforms made camp with such dexterity and precision that Arnon was forced to admire their skill. They did not squat in small huddles, an Arabian custom, to discuss what procedures were best. They knew exactly what to do. This, thought Arnon, was probably the way everything went in the outside world beyond her untamed but beloved mountains. Though firmly loyal to Arabia and its haphazard way of doing things, she felt a tug of excitement over being made a part of that competent society whose urbane representatives were now demonstrating their disciplined self-assurance.

Now delegations of wealthy Arabian sheiks swept by on their sleek horses and entered the tents their servants had prepared on the broad plateau, each contingent accompanied by entertainers: minstrels, magicians, field athletes, acrobats, and comedians.

Then came the awaited day of King Herod's arrival with Prince Antipas, their tall camels resplendent with costly housings and trappings of gold and silver. Proudly, haughtily, the impressive caravan swung past the encampment of King Aretas and came to rest a few hundred yards away. With fluttering heart, Arnon watched her father and the Councillors greet the party from Jerusalem. It was a dizzying spectacle. King Herod was undeniably a distinguished personage and the Prince was tall and handsome. And there was the High Priest, guessed Nephti, Arnon's lifetime nurse, who was holding the tent-panel open to see. Doubtless he had come, added Nephti, to conduct the wedding.

'I had not realized it was to be a Jewish wedding,' said Arnon.

'The Jews like ceremonies,' declared Nephti.

'And we don't?' asked Arnon childishly.

'Ours is more simple. If you were marrying Zendi—'

'Don't, Nephti!' murmured Arnon. 'You promised me.'

'I am sorry, Princess. I only meant to explain that you would have taken his hand, in the presence of the Councillors, and promised to obey and serve him all the days of your life.'

'And will I not be asked to obey and serve Prince Antipas?'

'Of course—but it will take longer, I suppose. The Jews are like that.'

Nephti closed the leather panel as the girl turned aside soberly. Her intuition read Arnon's thoughts. These strange people from afar were of immense interest, but they were of another world.

'I had hoped that Queen Mariamne might come,' said Arnon. 'You saw no women in the party, Nephti?'

No—the whole event was to be a man's affair: a political transaction, in which one woman would be included because she was necessary. Gladly would they have done without her, reflected Arnon, if that were possible. The wedding was a confirmation of an international alliance. The treaty had been formally written on a sheet of papyrus, duly signed, and now it must be ratified. Arnon was but so much sealing-wax stamped on an official document. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with a sense of heart-sickening loneliness.

That evening there was a banquet attended by the Kings, the Prince, the High Priest, several ranking members of the Sanhedrin, and the Arabian Councillors. After an hour's feasting on the part of the men, Arnon was brought in to be introduced. She felt and looked very small and helpless.

Antipas stepped forward to greet her. He took both her hands in his and smiled down into her timidly upraised eyes. It was an experienced smile that skilfully appraised and evidently approved. For a moment the silence in the tent grew oppressive as they waited for an opinion from the beautiful young Princess. Presently she gave a shy, tremulous smile—and the suspense lifted. They all breathed freely again; and, with the exception of Aretas, exchanged glances of relief and satisfaction. Herod drained his goblet and smacked his lips. It was good wine. And—what was still better—by this time tomorrow the alliance would be an attested fact and he would be ready—if need be—to confront Tiberius.

Now that the month of Tishri had come and the trees were taking on rich colours, Arnon's homesickness became almost insupportable. Jerusalem was slowly strangling her. But for the understanding sympathy and tenderness of Queen Mariamne, she would have died or gone mad.

Nature had not intended that Arnon should be surrounded by walls. Because her own people were of necessity nomadic they had built no cities. Indeed, the Arabians were contemptuous of cities, considering them pestilent prisons, stultifying to both body and spirit.

Every morning, in the far away and long ago, Arnon had risen at dawn to breathe deeply of the invigorating mountain breeze and rejoice in the peace of a silence broken only by the distant tinkle of camel bells. But here in Jerusalem she felt stifled, caged. Late in the morning she would struggle back to consciousness, finding herself hungry for clean, bracing air. The beautifully wrought antique tapestries which curtained her luxurious bed gave off a sickening odour of mould and the exquisite mosaics leaked the sour stench of disintegrating plaster.

Added to the tomblike atmosphere of her spacious bed-chamber was a conglomeration of city smells seeping in from the outside, smells of old and decaying things: old walls, old towers, old markets, old stables, old cobbled streets. There were plenty of distasteful sights, sounds, and scents in this ancient city, but the worst thing of all was the stagnant, fetid air.

Every day now, Arnon woke nauseated; though the servants—who found nothing wrong with the air—graciously assured the foreign Princess that her morning sickness was due to her condition, always adding, piously, 'For which the Lord God of Israel be praised!'

On this tenth day of Tishri, Arnon tugged herself loose from a nostalgic dream of riding swiftly beside her father in a noisy mountain storm, galloping, galloping hard, quite out of breath, with big splashes of warm rain pelting them. Half-suffocated and drenched with perspiration, she gazed up dully into the smiling eyes of the Queen.

Mariamne was the most beautiful woman Arnon had ever seen. She was in her early fifties, but seemed much younger, for by her abstemiousness she had retained a youthful figure. She had all the traditional dignity of a queen, but none of the arrogance. Arnon had known from the first moment of their meeting that she was going to like Mariamne. The Queen had no daughter and Arnon had never known a mother. Their friendship was instant and mutual.

But in spite of the affection she felt for her charming mother-in-law, Arnon had extended no confidences. Her father had warned her to guard her tongue in the presence of these people. 'Spies are always friendly, and free to share their secrets with you.' Sometimes it had been difficult to observe this reticence, her intuition assuring her that Mariamne's devotion to her was sincere.

'How are you, my child?' asked the Queen gently.

'Very warm,' mumbled Arnon; 'and a bit sick, as usual. I shall feel better when I've had something cold to drink. You are up early, Your Majesty. Have you had your breakfast?'

Summoning a servant to bring the Princess a goblet of cold pomegranate juice, Mariamne sat down on the edge of the bed.

'I am not to have breakfast this morning, my dear. This is a fast day.'

'All day?' Arnon's eyes widened incredulously.

'Until evening. Then there will be a bountiful feast. You are not expected to do any fasting, but we will want you to attend the banquet.'

Arnon sat up in bed, pushed her tousled black hair out of her eyes, and inquired what this fast was about.

'It is the Day of Atonement,' explained Mariamne. 'Of all our special occasions this one means the most. It really begins the day before, with all the faithful Jews going about making things right with one another—doing neglected duties, paying their debts, returning things borrowed, and asking forgiveness for wrongs done and hot words spoken. Damaged friendships are mended, estrangements are cleared up. And then today—with clean hands and a right spirit—everyone brings a gift to the Temple and receives a blessing.'

Arnon's eyes shone.

'It is very beautiful!' she whispered. 'May I do it, too? It would be a relief—to go to the Temple and be blessed.' She bowed her head dejectedly. 'My heart has been so bitter.' Slowly she raised tear-filled eyes. 'Your Majesty, I have been very unhappy.'

Mariamne slipped an arm around her compassionately.

'Arnon, dear, would you like to call me "mother" instead of "Your Majesty"? Don't do it if—if it takes an effort,' she added, 'but it would please me.'

With that, Arnon's tears overflowed and she sobbed like a little child.

'I should like to,' she murmured brokenly. 'You have been so good to me. I want you to be my mother. That's the way I think of you.'

Mariamne drew her closer.

'Tell me, Arnon,' she said softly, 'has the Prince been unkind to you?'

Arnon indecisively shook her head, but the pent-up tears ran unchecked. When she could speak she said, 'No; he has not mistreated me—mother. I see very little of him, you know. But the Prince is a busy man. He can't be spending all his time entertaining me.'

'Men are always busy, my dear.' The Queen's usually placid voice showed a trace of asperity. 'There are the games at Gath and a new Greek play at Askelon—and other important engagements.' She paused for a moment. Dropping her tone of raillery, she went on, 'Our Antipas is really a sweet boy. He wouldn't intentionally hurt a fly. But he is selfish and spoiled. How could it be otherwise? Too much money; too much leisure.'

'And too many people wanting to win his favour,' added Arnon.

'Sometimes I have thought,' said Mariamne soberly, 'that a baby Prince should be left on the doorstep of an honest, frugal, hard-working family and brought up as their son until he is about—'

'Twenty?' suggested Arnon, when the Queen had seemed at a loss for the right figure.

'Forty!' amended Mariamne. 'Then he should be brought to the throne, knowing what his people need. As it stands, there is nobody in the kingdom quite so ignorant of his duties as the ruler himself. He lives in a different world.' After an interval of silence she asked, abruptly, 'Is anything else wrong, dear?'

'Almost everything,' confessed Arnon. 'Everything but you! It may be my own fault. I cannot be myself here. In my own country I am happy and free. I love to ride. The shepherds wave a hand and smile as I pass by and I wave my hand and smile too. We are friends. Their wives and daughters weave gay scarves for me and I visit them when they are sick. Often I stop at their tents and play with the little children.'

'That is as it should be,' approved Mariamne. 'And they are not in awe of you, as the King's daughter?'

'They call me "Princess," but when we play they do not throw the game away to humour me. Maybe that is what ails a royal family: they are allowed to win all the games. . . . Here in Jerusalem I am a Princess; always, every hour, a Princess. I am unused to these stiff ceremonies—people bowing worshipfully—and backing out of the room. I have to change my costumes half a dozen times a day, and none of them is comfortable. Everything is strange—and I am becoming a stranger even to myself.' Her voice broke completely. 'Please—may I not go home—just for a little while?'

There was a long delay before Mariamne replied.

'I wish you might, Arnon. Doubtless the King would consent if it were not for this military alliance. If it should come to the ears of the Emperor—'

'I understand,' said Arnon weakly. 'Let us think no more about it. . . . And—I should like to go with you to the Temple. Is the Prince going with us?'

Mariamne frowned and shook her head.

'Antipas set off early this morning for the north. You know he has been made the ruler of Galilee?'

'Yes, mother. He did not tell me, but I heard a friend congratulate him on it, at our wedding. Are we to live in Galilee?'

'Part of the time, perhaps,' said Mariamne uncertainly. 'Antipas is a restless fellow. He does not like to stay long in one place. The King is building a Galilean embassy here in the city. Antipas will spend a couple of months every year in Jerusalem, attending to provincial business. He loves Rome, and I dare say he will want to be there occasionally. At the moment he is infatuated with the idea of building a beautiful villa on the western shore of the Lake Gennesaret in Galilee.'

Arnon brightened.

'That would be lovely!' she exclaimed. 'I have heard so much of that beautiful Sea of Galilee. Perhaps there would be sailing!'

Mariamne did not share Arnon's sudden enthusiasm.

'I doubt whether the Prince would be interested in sailing. There are some warm springs on the western shore. Antipas, who loves bathing, will build commodious bath-houses in connection with his villa. I think he hopes to induce a few of his wealthy Roman friends to build villas there.'

Arnon's interest gradually faded. Instinctively she gathered that the Queen had thought it time for her to know what manner of life she should anticipate. But perhaps Antipas had not included her in all—or any—of his plans. If he had expected her to live with him in Galilee, he might have inquired what sort of home she would like.