The Big Fisherman (73 page)

'That is what I came to tell you, sir.'

For the next few minutes the young courier talked earnestly, the bewildered Proconsul listening in silence.

'It all seems very strange,' said Mencius; 'but I'll be there.'

'The Coppersmiths' Guildhall,' said the messenger, gathering up his reins. He spoke quietly to 'Israfel,' who bounded away into the darkness. And by the time Mencius had turned Brutus about in the direction of Gaza, the sound of the hoof-heats was faint in the distance.

* * * * * *

And so it was that in strangely convincing dreams, and by intuitive, compelling impulses, and many other indubitable signs, one hundred and twenty men, having no consultation with one another, turned their faces toward Jerusalem, arriving mid-morning of the Day of Pentecost, to receive tidings concerning the future of the Kingdom. Nothing like this had ever happened in the world before.

Not until they were halfway up the tortuous trail that ascended sharply from the Valley of Aisne did Darik give signs of recognizing his own country by jerking impatiently at the bridle-reins, noisily blowing his nose and picking up his tired feet with fresh interest.

Last night Voldi had put in early at the tavern in Engedi and had been on the road before dawn. Within an hour the sun was hot and its reflection on the white salt of the seashore was blinding, but there was no shade to rest in and Darik had been advised to get it over as soon as possible.

It was two hours past noon now, and they were climbing the narrow, well-worn road that clung to the mountain-side. At intervals on the zigzag trail there were evidences that travellers had paused to rest, for it was a rugged ascent. The foliage was becoming more abundant as the increased altitude tempered the midsummer heat.

Darik, sniffing the cool, blossom-scented air, was so improvidently overdoing his efforts to reach home that Voldi—unwilling to see him wear himself out—dismounted and led him off the trail into a heavily-shaded dell where a narrow little stream, edged with wild flowers, tumbled lazily over an eroded niche in a flat ledge of limestone. Loosening the hot saddle-girths and tossing the reins over a low-hanging willow-branch, Voldi strolled further into the sequestered bower. A shaggy white donkey was munching the fresh grass that grew luxuriantly near the water. Deeper into the thicket a young woman, quite unaware of his presence, was industriously gathering blackberries and devouring them hungrily. Evidently she was not far from her home, for her simple country dress was hardly appropriate for travel. Her head was bare and her curly black hair, unbound, had been tousled by the clinging vines.

Voldi sat quietly on the moss-grown limestone ledge, regarding her with interest; hesitant to speak for fear of startling her.

Presently her intuition seemed to warn her that she was not alone. For a little while she stood motionless in an attitude of listening; then turned her head slowly to glance backward over her shoulder. Suddenly her eyes widened and she threw up her berry-stained hands in surprise.

Leaping to his feet, Voldi dashed across the little stream and clasped her in his arms with ecstatic little murmurs of rapturous relief, kissing her sun-browned forehead and her sun-warmed hair, her cheeks, her half-closed eyes, while she hung limp in his embrace. Then, lifting her face, she offered him her parted lips and twined her arms around his neck, holding him so tightly to her that he could feel the racing of her heart. After a long, blissful moment, she slowly relaxed with a happy sigh, gazed up tenderly into his eyes and pressed her face against his breast.

'I was afraid I had lost you, Fara.' Voldi's shaken voice sounded as if he had just finished a gruelling foot-race.

She slowly nodded her head without looking up.

'We will never be parted again!' he declared.

Fara made no reply, but clutched his arms tightly and snuggled her cheek against his heart.

'Say it, darling!' he entreated. 'You are mine now—for always!'

She did not answer, but raised her face to his and impetuously returned his kisses without reserve.

'So—that is settled!' he exclaimed. 'You have made me very happy, dear!'

Gently releasing herself from his arms, Fara steadied her voice to say, 'Let us sit down—and talk, Voldi!'

Gathering her up in his arms, he carried her back to the stone ledge and sat close beside her. They were both bursting with questions about each other's recent movements. . . . Oddly enough, they had left Jerusalem by different routes on the same morning. . . . Voldi explained briefly that he had accompanied a caravan bound for Tiberias in Galilee. Fara's eyes widened.

'And then what?' she asked.

Well—then Voldi had left the caravan in the night—in the Samaritan mountains—and had ridden to Joppa and boarded a ship.

She did not press him for further details. After a little silence, Voldi insisted on knowing her story and she told him about her journey to Jerusalem, the wicked trial and conviction of her Master, and she wept pitiably as she remembered her last sight of him on the way to his execution. Voldi held her close and tried to comfort her.

'You heard nothing more—about his death?' he asked, gently.

'Was there more—to hear?' She raised her tearful eyes to search his face.

'Much more,' said Voldi. 'It sounds incredible, but—well—it is firmly believed by his disciples that Jesus left his sepulchre on Sunday morning and is alive again!'

Fara sat bolt upright and stared soberly into his eyes. Could such a thing be possible?—she wanted to know. Did Voldi believe it? . . . Voldi didn't know; didn't know whether it was possible; didn't know whether he believed it.

'But he was a man of singular powers,' he admitted.

'I saw him bring Hannah back from death,' pondered Fara. 'How faithless of us—to think that his power would die with him! . . . Voldi—I believe the story! I am sure he is alive!'

'If it is true,' reflected Voldi soberly, 'it will not be a local secret very long. A great many people, besides the farmers and fishermen of Galilee, are interested in life after death. It is no small matter that a dead man—any dead man—should return to life and walk the streets in broad daylight—and sit at supper with his friends.'

'Jesus did that?' Fara's eyes were radiant.

'That's what they're saying, dear.'

'I must go back—and find him!' she cried impetuously.

'That can wait,' admonished Voldi. 'If he is alive, he will stay alive. . . . You must see Ione now—and the King and Queen.' He glanced up at the sun.' And we should be on our way if we expect to get there before nightfall.'

Fara slipped her hand under his arm and searched his face thoughtfully.

'Think they will be glad to see us, Voldi?'

He hesitated a little before replying. 'Ione will: you may be sure of that.'

Thinking she detected some evasiveness in the tone and manner of his reply, she asked, 'But not the King and Queen?'

Voldi was leading the way toward Darik now. Turning about, he said, with a laboured casualness that only increased Fara's curiosity, 'Don't expect too much—and you will not be disappointed.'

She patted Darik on the muzzle and they imagined that he recognized her. Voldi picked her up lightly and tossed her into the saddle.

'You ride on to the King's encampment,' he said, 'and send a horse back for me. I'll be trudging along with your silly little donkey.'

'"Trudging" is what you will be doing,' laughed Fara, 'if you walk with Jasper. He never hurries.'

Voldi's face was sober as she gathered up the reins to depart.

'One more thing, dear,' he said. 'If Deran should be there, keep your temper.'

Her bewilderment showed in her reluctance to go, but Voldi waved her on. Digging her heels into Darik's ribs, she set out on the last lap of her home-bound journey.

After she had disappeared, Voldi wondered whether he should have been more explicit—or, better, should have said nothing at all about conditions in the royal household. Perhaps Fara's intuition might provide a partial explanation. She couldn't help remembering that Deran had shown himself to be unfriendly. Maybe she would guess that the jealous Prince would resent his return. It was difficult for Voldi to tell her that Deran was bitterly jealous of him: she would presently discover this without being told.

It had often occurred to Voldi that the King had unwittingly done him a disservice in appointing him to succeed his eminent grandfather as a member of the King's Council. Deran had been noisily resentful and derisive. Voldi's long-time comrades, approving his appointment, were treated to the Prince's scorn.

Before he left again, on the grim errand from which he was now returning, a dozen of Voldi's boyhood cronies, all of them sons or grandsons of distinguished Arabians, had invited him to join them on a stag-hunt deep in the wooded mountains. And that night around the camp-fire they had confided their bitter opposition to the Prince who, they said, had become so arrogant and so thoroughly detested by the people that his accession to the throne would amount to a national disaster. Voldi had tried to temper their anger. . . . 'He's young yet. Be patient. His attitude may change as he grows older.'

'The trouble is,' they told him, 'the Queen, who is passionately devoted to the Prince, encourages him in his folly.'

'And the King?' Voldi had asked.

Well—the gentle-spirited, peace-loving Zendi, whatever he might think of the situation, had done nothing about it.

'The fact is,' Museph had blurted out recklessly, 'Arabia needs a King with a loud voice and a savage temper; somebody like rough old Aretas, who could outyell and outcurse the toughest sheik in the land!'

At this juncture Voldi had said quietly, 'Let us forget now that this matter has been discussed. Such talk is treasonable—and we all know it.'

'Someone ought to tell Deran,' rumbled Raboth, 'just how thin the ice is where he walks!'

And Voldi had brought a laugh—and a conclusion to the talk—by reminding Raboth of the convention of mice that resolved to put a bell on the cat, and found that no mouse would volunteer to perform this service.

* * * * * *

All the way up the mountain-side Fara's thoughts were busy with Voldi's enigmatic warning of a cool reception. It was not like Voldi to imagine a feeling of animosity on the part of young Deran. The Prince had been overindulged and badly spoiled. Even as a child he had been rude and impudent. Doubtless Voldi, on his recent return to Arabia, had been given fresh evidence of Deran's unfriendliness.

Arriving at the King's encampment, Fara was instantly surrounded by a devoted company of servants, who swarmed out of the service tents and stables and paddocks. Ione, a mere shadow of her former self, was tearful and speechless with joy. Old Kedar dispatched a rider, with a led horse, to meet Voldi. So far, it was a happy reunion.

But an hour later, when the home-comers sat at supper with the royal family, their welcome lacked enthusiasm.

Fara was shocked to see how King Zendi had aged in the past three years. The hair at his temples was white. His face was thin and haggard. His smile was feeble and fleeting, and he had little to say. But what Zendi had lost in forcefulness Rennah had gained. Arabia had never been governed by a Queen: Arabia was distinctly a man's land. But as Fara glanced from the Queen's imperious face into Zendi's unresponsive eyes, it was clear enough that the peace-loving King had abdicated.

Deran strutted in late when their supper was nearly finished, and sprawled in his seat, nodding carelessly to their guests as if he had seen them within the hour. His face was flushed. It was easy to see that he had been drinking.

'It's going about, Councillor Voldi,' he remarked, with a patronizing grin, 'that you finally paid off that frail old rascal in Galilee. How did you do it? Stick him in the back while he slept?'

Voldi made no reply to the raw insult; seemed not to have heard it. Presently he glanced across the table and confronted Fara's indignant eyes. His look repeated the warning that she must control her temper. Quickly masking her sudden anger, she darted a wordless inquiry. 'Councillor?' Voldi knew she was inquiring about that. He had not told her.

There was a brief, awkward silence, which Rennah now broke with a dry trill of mirthless laughter.

'Perhaps Councillor Voldi doesn't think your remark is very amusing, Deran,' she cooed softly. . . . Then, turning to Voldi with a contrived smile to which he did not respond, she added, 'The Prince is such a tease.'. . . And turning to Fara, 'One never can tell when he's joking.'

'But it's easy to tell when he is not joking!' retorted Fara crisply. Voldi gently rebuked her with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Deran was having a good time now. If Voldi wouldn't quarrel, perhaps he could bedevil the girl into some reckless disregard of his princely rank. He turned on her with a sardonic chuckle.

'We observe that Princess Fara returns to us as sharp-tongued as ever. We had hoped that her long sojourn with her meek Jewish relatives—'

'Now, Deran,' interrupted his mother impatiently, 'there has been quite enough teasing, please.'

Voldi now surprised them by addressing the King, who had sat demurely through these indignities, occasionally shaking his greying head, but saying nothing.

'Sire, if I may be excused now, I shall go home and see my parents.'

'Of course, Voldi,' said the King, with obvious relief. 'You should go while there is still moonlight. We will see you tomorrow.'

Voldi promptly got to his feet, bowed deeply to their majesties, smiled for Fara, ignored the Prince, and straightway made his exit.

'And may I go now, please?' entreated Fara, in a half-whisper to the Queen. 'I have had only a glimpse of poor Ione—and she is waiting to see me.'

Rennah drew a pursed smile and nodded. Fara, bowing to the King, quickly left the room.

Deran leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms, yawned, and chuckled. 'That was fun.'

'You're a fool!' muttered his father.

'I'm sure Deran meant no harm, Zendi,' put in Rennah.

'Deran is a fool!' shouted Zendi.