The Big Fisherman (61 page)

There was only one thing about this whole trip that had stirred the Proconsul's interest. He had been commissioned to deliver a letter to the young Legate recently appointed—for his sins—to command the Fort at Minoa. Mencius had not been informed about the contents of this letter, and his curiosity had nearly devoured him. All he knew about it was that the gaudily gilded scroll contained a message of considerable significance, for it had been written by the Emperor! What the half-crazy and wholly unpredictable old Tiberius might have to say to the incorrigible son of Senator Gallio was anybody's guess. The wayward young Legate, according to a freely circulated rumour, had been sent to this ill-conditioned outpost for publicly insulting the Regent, Prince Gaius. And now the Emperor was sending the impudent Marcellus a letter!

Mencius, feeling that he had to talk this over with somebody, had discussed the probabilities with his canny old friend Fulvius.

'It's unlikely,' he had remarked, 'that these royal tidings are felicitous. Tiberius wouldn't put himself to much trouble to make anybody happy; certainly not the roistering son of Gallio, who is ever denouncing the Government for its extravagances.'

'I'm not so sure about that,' Fulvius had replied. 'As for Senator Gallio's demand for economy, the Emperor himself is not a wastrel; and as for the youngster's ridicule of the Prince, the old man hates Gaius.'

'Granted—all that! But can you picture Tiberius writing a pleasant letter?'

'No, I really can't,' agreed Fulvius, 'and if I were you I should just hand it to the boy—and run.'

'Maybe the letter is a commission for Marcellus to some better command,' speculated Mencius.

'Oh, it might be anything!' rumbled Fulvius. 'The old codger's crazy as a beetle! For all you know, it's a notification to young Gallio that you have been appointed his successor at Minoa!'

'That's a pleasant thought!' growled Mencius.

They had left it at that. It wouldn't be long now before they might know the answer to the riddle. Tomorrow they would warp up against the dock at Gaza.

The morning was bright and clear. The long wharf swarmed with the usual pack of filthy donkey-boys and villainous camel-drivers. Pincus and his men were the first to leave the ship, and were promptly swallowed up in the noisy throng of competitive caravan-owners. More deliberately, the Proconsul and the Captain came ashore and mounted their stiff and clumsy horses. It was but a short ride to the fort, and they decided to dispose of their errand without delay.

'Something seems to have happened here,' remarked Mencius, as the heavy gates swung open to receive them. 'Marcellus has taught these lazy louts to act like soldiers!'

'Perhaps the Emperor has heard of it,' thought Fulvius, 'and wants the Legate to come back and renovate Rome. She could do with a bit of grooming.'

A bright young centurion appeared, smartly saluted, and asked if he could be of service. The Proconsul introduced himself and Fulvius. They bore a letter for the Legate.

'Our Legate Marcellus, sir, left here yesterday with a company of cavalry to attend the Jewish Passover at Jerusalem.'

'That's odd,' muttered Mencius. 'Since when has Minoa turned Jewish?'

The centurion risked a dry grin.

'It is an annual custom, sir. All our Palestinian forts send deputations to the Holy City during the Week of the Passover, to keep the peace.'

'And rattle our armour,' assisted the Proconsul. 'I presume your Legate is to be found through the Procurator's Insula?'

'Yes, sir.'

'We will have to proceed to Jerusalem, then, and deliver our message. It is urgent.'

Mencius was turning Brutus about toward the gate when the centurion invited them to tarry for such hospitality as the fort could offer, but the Proconsul declined. They must be on their way. At the gate he turned to say, 'This is a different place from the last time I saw it, centurion. Apparently your new Legate believes in brooms and discipline.'

'He does indeed, sir!'

'Tough taskmaster, eh?'

'He keeps the Legion on its toes, sir; but we like it better that way. The Legate is tough—but he's fair.'

'Fine!' approved Mencius. 'He must be enjoying his command at Minoa.'

'Yes, sir. Probably not, sir. I don't see how he could, sir. Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!'

The heavy gates closed behind them, and they laughed all the way up the road.

'The fellow has humour, sir,' chuckled Fulvius, with a fair imitation of the centurion's stiff drollery. 'He should go far, sir.'

'Yes, sir,' snapped Mencius. 'Probably not, sir.'

In an hour, the crew of
The Vestris,
unhappy over the brief shore-leave but with too much sense to protest, gave the old ship all the canvas she could carry and sailed for Joppa.

'Want to ride with me—to Jerusalem?' asked Mencius.

'Why not, sir?' said Fulvius.

* * * * * *

Esther had not been forbidden nor had she been invited to accompany the Master and his twelve close companions on their journey to Jerusalem.

No plans had been made for it and no advance announcement had been made of it. The portentous decision had come as a stunning surprise. Jesus, in his prescient wisdom, made no mistakes. How often they had all agreed that this was true! How often they had had occasion to chide themselves for questioning his actions! But this time, they all felt, he was headed—quite unnecessarily—for disaster.

Peter, deeply depressed, heart-sick with foreboding, had brought the distressing news to the supper table in Bethsaida on a Sabbath evening. They were leaving early in the morning, he said, travelling fast and with light equipment.

'Dear old Bartholomew!' murmured Esther. 'What will become of him?'

'He'll probably die of a heart attack,' said Peter, 'but he intends to come along.'

'And you think I'd better not go?' queried Esther.

'There will be nothing for you to do,' said Peter. 'No meetings along the way, no healings; just a steady march to the city—and into who knows how much trouble.'

For an hour they discussed the probabilities. Yes, Peter agreed, there would be hundreds, perhaps thousands of pilgrims in the city who had heard Jesus speak, scores and scores who had received marvellous benefits at his hands; but these friends of the Master were not organized; they could not be expected to defend him.

'They're country people, mostly,' Peter went on, 'people like Andy and me, and Johnny and James and Thad, people who lose their confidence and courage in the confusions of a great city.'

'But—surely,' exclaimed Esther, 'no one would dare to harm the Master when he is innocent of any wrong-doing!'

With a despairing sigh, the Big Fisherman tried to explain the dangers that threatened them. Jerusalem was the stronghold of all the mutually intolerant religious sects and political parties. They were ever on the alert to silence new voices that spoke the restlessness of the people.

Again and again, remembered Peter, deputations from Jerusalem had appeared in the Master's audiences asking questions intended to betray him as a seditionist. The very fact that the populace hung on his words and found comfort in them was an indictment of his loyalty to the ancient institutions of Jewry.

On the occasions of the Passover, these stubborn men were particularly attentive to any indication of a movement among the people in defence of their common rights. Indeed, it was said that during Passover Week when the city swarmed with home-coming Jews from the provinces—habitually ignored and neglected by all officials save only the tax-collector—the Roman patrols were under orders to disperse even the little groups that gathered on the street to hear a blind beggar sing! . . . Now—Jesus would appear in Jerusalem. There would be hundreds, perhaps thousands of people in the city who would crowd about him and entreat him to speak to them; and undoubtedly he would do so. . . . 'Oh, why does he put himself in this danger?'

Soon after supper, Peter had retired to his room, and when the women awoke in the morning he had already gone. They ate their simple breakfast in moody silence; and, after the household chores had been disposed of, Esther slipped out of the house and walked briskly up the hill to talk with David the Sadducee.

By some means the old lawyer had already learned of Jesus' decision to attend the Passover in Jerusalem. He greeted Esther soberly, and his replies to her anxious queries were anything but reassuring. David, of the ancient House of Zadok, knew more than the Big Fisherman about the conditions to be faced—by any popular prophet who might appear on the streets of the Holy City at the time of the Passover.

'Yes, my dear,' said David, 'our friend Simon has good reasons to be apprehensive. The most influential men in Jerusalem—the bankers, the lawyers, the rich merchants—cannot take the risk of a scramble on the part of the people. This Carpenter has talked quite freely, to great multitudes, about fair dealing, good measure, just weights and balances in the market-place. He has had much to say about exorbitant rents and usurious rates of interest. He has told stories of poor men who died of starvation on rich men's doorsteps.'

'That is true, sire,' put in Esther, 'but he has been equally critical of the greed and ill-will among the poor themselves. He has not tried to set the poor against the rich. He only wants everyone to be kind and charitable to everyone else.'

'Yes, yes, dear child, but the thing that Jerusalem will remember best is his bold denunciation of fraud and wickedness in high places. Even the Temple has not escaped his criticism!'

At that, Esther wanted to know how much influence the Temple was able to exercise, seeing the city was governed by the Romans. David proceeded to explain. It was a long and involved story.

Yes, he said, the Romans governed all Palestine and their will was supreme. In any clash with the Sanhedrin, the Insula would have the last word; that was true theoretically.

'But the Romans,' he went on, 'want no clash with Jewry now. They are deliberately preparing for the day when they will take full possession of this country, looting it and enslaving it. They could do it tomorrow if their armies were not engaged in the recovery of their losses in Gaul. When they are ready, they will strike. Until then, they want no friction. Pontius Pilate makes a gaudy show of authority, but he is under strict instructions to keep the peace of Jerusalem, whatever the cost to his personal pride. When Caiaphas, the High Priest, speaks, Pilate listens!'

David seemed to be talking to himself now. After a long, silent interval, he mumbled, 'Pilate scowls and squirms—but he listens. When there's any sign of unrest among the people, the merchants confer with the bankers and the bankers confer with the Sanhedrin, and the Sanhedrin confers with the Procurator.'

Esther had many questions she wanted to ask, but hesitated to interrupt the wise old man's monologue. Turning about to face her he asked, 'Did they tell you about Rabbi Ben-Sholem of Capernaum?' Without waiting for her response, David continued. 'It seems that some months ago a great crowd was waiting in the plaza for the Carpenter to speak. The Rabbi, beside himself with indignation, appeared on the porch of the Synagogue to denounce the throng, and he was reviled and ridiculed. His Regents failed to support him, and he has retired to Jerusalem. Ben-Sholem and the old High Priest were schoolmates. . . . You may draw your own conclusions, Esther. The Rabbi is not a man to forget or forgive an affront to his dignity.'

'But that unhappy affair wasn't the Master's fault, sire!' declared Esther. 'He rebuked the crowd for its discourtesy.'

'Yes—I know, dear child,' said David, 'but that didn't restore Ben-Sholem's wounded pride. He wanted no favours from the Carpenter.'

The old lawyer sighed deeply and drew his robe about him. It was chilly in the shade of the trees. Esther rose and they strolled toward the gates.

'I feel that I should go to Jerusalem,' she said.

'I shouldn't if I were you,' advised David. 'You have had enough trouble—and there is nothing that you can do.' He bade her good-day and slowly retraced his steps through the grove.

As Esther neared Hannah's house, she paused to note the little companies of pilgrims on the highway, setting forth on their annual journey to the Holy City. In each family group one of the younger men pushed a cart containing tents and provisions. Some of the larger carts were drawn by donkeys. The people moved along slowly, for it was a long trip on foot and they must conserve their strength.

Hannah was cutting an armful of roses. She wept inconsolably when Esther said she had resolved to go to Jerusalem. Silently they packed a rucksack with the necessities of the journey; and that afternoon they parted tearfully at the shady corner where the quiet street met the broad highway.

'Something tells me,' sobbed Hannah, 'that I shall never see you again! Never!'

Esther was too moved to make a reply. She kissed Hannah tenderly, and joined the plodding pilgrims. A friendly young woman told her it was a beautiful day, and she agreed; but her heart was heavy.

'Are you alone?' asked her new friend.

'Yes,' said Esther. It was true. She had never felt more alone in her life.

* * * * * *

It had been Peter's hope rather than his belief, as they set forth from Capernaum in the early morning of the first day of Nisan, that they might enter Jerusalem unobtrusively.

The city would be crowded with thousands of pilgrims, all of them scrambling desperately for a lodging-house within the walls or a tent-site in the suburbs. They might be so preoccupied with their own affairs that the arrival of Jesus would attract little attention. After the first half-hour on the highway, Peter wondered why he had tried to comfort himself with such a foolish delusion. He might have known better.

Everybody on the road—and they were all bound for the same destination—instantly recognized the Master, hailing him with joyous shouts, crowding about him, begging him to speak to them. It was not long before he was at the head of a procession that increased by the hour, by the mile.

James, stepping to the edge of the highway, looked backward and returned to his place between his brother and Andrew, and said, 'Remember the day in Bethsaida when he suddenly disappeared from the people who followed him? I wish he would do that now!'