The Big Fisherman (6 page)

'Has the Prince planned the villa?' she asked.

Mariamne stirred uneasily, reluctant to discuss the matter.

'Perhaps,' she said. 'He spent all last week in Petra inspecting a few of the beautiful marble villas built by wealthy Athenians. He may have told you.'

'He tells me nothing,' said Arnon.

Mariamne sighed deeply and rose to her feet.

'If you wish to go with us to the Temple, dear, you should be ready at noon. Your maid will tell you what you are to wear. His Majesty expects to leave the palace promptly at mid-day. It has been announced.'

'I hope I shall be prepared for the blessing,' said Arnon wistfully. 'I am much in need of it. Is there anything I should do? I'm afraid I do not owe anything that should be paid back; and I have spoken no hot words, though I have had them in my mind, which is probably just as bad. Perhaps if my husband were here I might ask him to forgive me for all the unkind things I have thought about him.'

The Queen drew a slow, sober smile and shook her head.

'In that case,' she said quietly, 'it is just as well that he isn't here.'

* * * * * *

It was traditionally considered a misfortune in royal households if a titled infant was a girl. The father of the hapless child was expected to be grumpy and the mother was ashamed of herself. But nobody seemed much upset over the sex of Princess Arnon's baby; certainly not Arnon herself, whose experience with one Prince had not made her eager to produce another.

Antipas was up in Galilee when it happened. But for a handful of servants, he had been spending his time alone. The new villa, on which more than two hundred skilled stone-masons had been engaged for five months, had risen a few feet above the massive foundation. One could easily imagine its oncoming beauty, even in the bewildering clutter of construction. The great oval pool, to be related to the house by a series of graceful arcades, had been completed—all but the mosaic lining, a tedious business, to be postponed until the Prince should be absent for a season. The marble flagging that bounded the pool, the exquisitely sculptured balustrades, and the commodious dressing-rooms were quite finished. Antipas had given much attention to the architecture and appointments of these sumptuous rooms, furnishing them so lavishly that he was using them for his living quarters. The pool had in every way surpassed his expectations. The warm water, reputed to be of invigorating quality, poured generously from stone lions' mouths in a steady flow that promised to be endless.

It was a great privilege, reflected Antipas, to be the ruler of the Province of Galilee. True, he had not yet become acquainted with any of his subjects, nor had he given a moment's thought to his executive duties, whatever they might be. He knew very little about the Galileans, except what everybody knew—that they were a stolid, inoffensive, pious people, who minded their own small business and had no ambitions to make their country known abroad. They grew their own grain, wine, flax, and wool. They fished in the Lake Gennesaret. Their men were adept at fashioning articles of household furniture, sometimes showing themselves to be excellent craftsmen. Their women wove serviceable fabrics for domestic uses. Their lives were self-contained and, in consequence, narrowly circumscribed. They almost never travelled beyond their own communities, except on the occasion of the annual 'Passover,' when considerable numbers of them made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where a week was spent in the performance of religious rites. Customarily they took along some of the products of their lathes and looms, which they offered for sale at the bazaars. They wore no distinctive costume, but were readily identified in the city by their accent and colloquialisms. They were a bit self-conscious and shy in the presence of urbane strangers, aware that they were considered outlanders.

Antipas felt that the task of governing these simple-hearted country folk would not be arduous. Doubtless their trivial disagreements would be quietly settled among themselves; and, as for possible entanglements with the other provinces, the Galileans, exporting and importing nothing of any value, would not be likely to invoke judicial aid. He had little or nothing to do; his wealth would enable him to live in luxury. Whenever he wearied of his lethargy, he could easily trek to Caesarea and sail for Rome.

Life in Galilee was still a novelty. Antipas had fallen in love with the entrancing view to be had from the eastern portico of the pool. At his command the servants habitually roused him early to see the dawn come in. It was a glorious pageant, with the steep banks of cumulus clouds transformed into symmetrical garlands of gold as the sun illumined them from behind the distant mountain range, while the beautiful Lake Gennesaret—which everybody, except the natives, called 'The Sea of Galilee'—reflected the deep blue of a further sky.

Then would come the dramatic moment when the sun itself would mount regally into the open, stripping the clouds of their gold and arraying them with silver. The slanting sails of the little fishing boats would flash brightly. The tall tower of the Roman fort, a mile to the north, and the squat dome of the Jewish synagogue, a mile further in the heart of Capernaum, would be flatteringly high-lighted. The untidy clutter of fishermen's shacks and wharves on the lake-shore would seem less ugly than picturesque. And the ruler of Galilee, suffused with a sense of well-being, would send for his breakfast.

Only one thing was lacking, congenial company. And on this eighteenth day of Adar that want was supplied. The arrival of Mark Varus was not a surprise, though Antipas had not expected him so soon. He had promised to come in mid-summer. Attended by half a dozen servants from home and a pack-train of baggage which had been disembarked at Caesarea, Mark had turned up in the late afternoon, warm, dusty, and noisy with his approval of all these impressive building operations. Antipas hugged him with fervour, then picked him up and threw him headlong into the pool, where he wriggled himself out of most of his clothing, his host following along the ledge with a pike-staff, fishing out the discarded garments as they accumulated in the water.

Presently, refreshed and clad, Mark joined his friend, who, sprawled at full length on an ornamented lectus, was in conversation with the butler concerning the arrival of a courier from Jerusalem.

'Make him comfortable,' the Prince was saying, 'and tell him we will see him in an hour or two.'

'He says it is urgent, sire.'

'Nothing is urgent—in Tiberias,' drawled Antipas.

'"Tiberias"?' queried Mark lazily, from the adjacent loggia. 'Name of your new villa?'

'Name of my new city!' declared Antipas. 'One of the most beautiful cities in all the world. All of it—every building in it—great and small—to be of white marble. You're planning to build your villa of white marble, aren't you?'

'Apparently,' chuckled Mark; 'though I hadn't thought much about it.'

'Are you ready now for a tankard of wine?'

'I've been ready this half-hour.'

Antipas clapped his hands and the wine arrived. They drank earnestly and their tongues were loosened. Mark was besought for the latest news of Rome. He shook his head dourly. Rome had quite lost her charm: many changes—and all of them for the worse. He did not bother to explain that his eminent father's disastrous defeat at the hands of the barbarous Germanic tribes had done the Varus family no good socially; Antipas could—and did—form his own conclusions about that. Mark would be glad enough, he went on, to change his residence. Rome was filling up with vulgar upstarts, rich nobodies busy with business; a strange crowd now at all court festivities. Old Augustus had his faults, to be sure, but he had some dignity. Tiberius had brought in an entirely new breed of favourites. He had made Rome the dullest place on earth. He hated games; considered them a waste of public funds. He was going in for all manner of economies, as if the Empire was on the verge of bankruptcy.

'Well—it is, isn't it?' mumbled Antipas.

Mark agreed that it was, and always had been, but it still contrived to carry on.

'This new Tiberian dynasty,' he continued, 'is going to strip the city of everything that made her name famous. All that we hear about now is the importance of making the land more productive and the common people more contented.'

'Sounds sensible,' said Antipas.

'That's what ails it,' muttered Mark. 'How can there be any pleasure in a country that has resolved to be—sensible?'

'Is Tiberius still thinking of a northern invasion?'

'He probably never entertained such a thought,' scoffed Mark. 'I'm surprised your father was ever taken in by that rumour. The Emperor is working night and day to rebuild his Western Army.'

'Indeed! I had supposed there was nothing left of it,' remarked Antipas ineptly. To cover his unintentional rudeness he added quickly, 'So—we no longer have anything to fear? That is good—if you're sure you know.'

'I've had it on the best of authority. You might have been spared that matrimonial alliance with Arabia. By the way'—Mark's eyes twinkled mischievously—'how has that little treaty worked out? Is she pretty?'

Antipas frowned slightly, shrugged the impertinence away, up-ended his goblet, sat up, blinked thoughtfully, and began slowly counting his fingers.

Beckoning to the butler he said, 'Tell the courier we will see him now.' Presently he was thrusting his jewelled dagger through the wax sheath of a heavily gilded scroll. In silence and without betraying any sign of interest—for he was aware of Mark's lively curiosity—he read the formal message from his mother. Signalling the courier, waiting at a little distance, he said casually, 'After you have rested, you may return to Jerusalem. Convey our regards to Their Majesties and our good wishes to the Princess Arnon, for her health and happiness. And you may say,' he added, as an afterthought, 'that the child's name is Esther.'

'Why do you want her called Esther?' asked Mark, with childish impudence, when the courier had bowed himself away.

'Because she was born on the fifteenth of Adar, a feast-day in honour of Queen Esther.'

'Never heard of her. What's she queen of?'

'Persia—a century and a half ago.'

'Jewess?'

'Of course.'

'Why "of course"? Persia is not a Jewish country.'

Antipas dismissed this query with a negligent gesture, adding that he was not an authority on Persian history; but Esther, a very beautiful Jewess, had once been Queen of Persia, and did Mark want to bet anything on it?

'Is your baby a Jewess?' hectored Mark. 'Half Arabian, isn't she?'

'That will not matter much,' yawned Antipas. 'She will be brought up as a Jewess.'

'In my poor judgment,' declared Mark, suddenly serious, 'it's going to be an awkward situation for her, all her life. A very unfortunate combination—half Arab, half Jew.'

'Not so bad as you think,' said Antipas reassuringly. 'Both nations will want to claim her.'

'You know better than that!' said Mark. 'Neither nation will accept her, much less claim her! My guess is that your Esther is going to be a very unhappy little girl.'

'Well,' muttered Antipas, 'it's too late to fret about that now.' He held up his goblet for refilling. 'Of course, you've no idea how beautiful this pool will be when the lining is in. I'll show you the designs after dinner. They are absolutely incomparable!'

* * * * * *

Again it was Tishri. The summer was over and the grass was tipped with white in the mornings. Varus had left for Rome, gratified with the Prince's assurance that he would be joining him in a couple of months, after he had paid his respects to his family.

Arriving home, Antipas had spent a leisurely hour refreshing himself after the tedious journey. Strolling into the Queen's apartment as casually as if he had taken leave of his mother an hour ago, he eased himself into a deeply cushioned chair and waited for her appearance.

'Antipas!' Mariamne threw her arms about him, hugging him hungrily. 'You have stayed away so long! We wondered if we were ever to see you again!' She held him at arms' length. 'You're brown as a peasant.'

He patted her on the cheek.

'Beautiful as ever!' he declared. 'How do you do it?'

They sat down together on the divan, Mariamne gently caressing his tanned forearm.

'You've seen Arnon?' she inquired anxiously.

'Not yet.' Noting his mother's frown, he added, 'Naturally, I wanted to see you first.'

Mariamne accepted the tribute with a wisp of a smile, but grew serious again, shaking her head slowly.

'I think I should tell you, my dear, that your neglect of Arnon has all but broken her heart. You might at least have written her a friendly letter—about the baby.'

'Sorry,' muttered Antipas. 'I've been very busy. The villa, you know. I must tell you all about it. You see, when I first thought of it—'

'The villa can wait,' said Mariamne crisply. 'In the name of common decency, you should go at once to see your Princess—and this beautiful child, Fara. Come—I shall go with you if that will make it any easier.' She rose and tugged him to his feet.

'Why do you call the child Fara?' inquired Antipas testily. 'I named her Esther.'

'You may call her Esther if you like.' Mariamne's tone was frankly indignant. 'But Arnon has named her Fara!'

'Against my wishes?'

'Of course! Why should Arnon pay any heed to your wishes after the way you have treated her?'

'She is my wife!'

'Oh—is she? I thought you had forgotten.' Mariamne was angry now, and her words came hot and fast. 'I don't want to upset you, my son, the first hour you are home, but not everyone has forgotten that you married the Princess of Arabia. King Aretas remembers! Your father has had a message from him. He will tell you.'

Antipas searched his mother's eyes and swallowed noisily.

'You mean—the Arabian is hostile?'

'Your father will tell you,' said Mariamne. 'Come! Better do what you can to make amends to Arnon.'

'No!' growled Antipas. 'I shall not be applying for any Arabian's pardon—not even Arnon's! And if this sullen shepherd, who calls himself a king, has the effrontery to dictate to a Prince of Israel—'