The Big Fisherman (9 page)

'I am told that you belong to me,' said Arnon kindly. 'What is your name?'

'Ione, Your Highness,' said the girl, with another obsequious curtsey.

'You may address me as "Princess Arnon"—and you need not curtsey. Are you a good sailor?'

'I do not know, Princess Arnon.'

'But this is not your first voyage?'

'No, Princess Arnon. I was brought to Rome from Piraeus in a slave-ship when I was only ten, but we were crowded down deep in the hold, where it was always dark and there was no air. I was very sick, all the time. Perhaps I may do better if—'

'If you are allowed to breathe,' assisted Arnon. 'We will see to that.' She smiled reassuringly, and the girl's eyes softened. 'It will be a long voyage,' she added. 'I am taking you to Arabia.'

'I am glad, Princess Arnon,' murmured Ione.

'You are not sorry to leave Rome? You will not be homesick?'

'I have no home, Princess Arnon. I am glad to leave Rome. I shall be happy in Arabia.'

'But you were never in Arabia,' said Arnon, amused.

'No, Princess Arnon,' said Ione, 'but I know I shall be happy—if you are there.'

* * * * * *

The caravan wearily drew up before the King's encampment at sunset. Old Kedar was much moved as he helped Arnon out of the cramped camel-housing, lifting her down as if she were still a little girl. Word spread rapidly that the Princess had come home. Nephti met her at the door and tenderly placed the baby Fara in her arms. Arnon's eyes were misty as she looked down into the child's smiling face. The servants gathered about, making soft little murmurs of fond delight. The Princess inquired for her father.

'The King should be here soon,' said Kedar. 'They buried the good Chief Ilderan this afternoon.'

As the twilight came on, Aretas arrived, sober and moody over the loss of his great friend. Arnon's presence comforted him, but he was impatient to learn why she had been brought back by strangers. She tried to spare him, tried to take most of the blame, tried to temper his rising anger; but he demanded the full truth, and she told him everything. Aretas did not eat or sleep that night.

Next morning, well mounted couriers were dispatched in all directions with messages to the Councillors tersely telling the story. The Councillors, in turn, sent word to their tribal sheiks that an expedition would move at once upon Jerusalem. A mobilization of cavalry was ordered, the concentration to occur on the east bank of the Jordan near the village of Jeshimoth. By the fifth day two thousand armed horsemen were assembled.

The violent rage that had swept Aretas was not apparent now. That fire, still dangerously hot, had been banked. When the King spoke to his impatient troops he was composed. Arabia had suffered a great humiliation at the hands of the Jews. A swift and savage blow was to be struck at Herod, seeing that the despicable Prince Antipas was out of reach.

The Arabians needed no urging. They were so eager to proceed that the Councillors postponed the election of a successor to Ilderan. Indeed, it was with much difficulty that Aretas detained the vanguard until the contingents from far distances had arrived. Young Zendi would have taken a score of his reckless neighbours on ahead of the others had not Aretas spoken to him sharply.

'You may be the ruler of these brave men, some day,' he said, 'and it is not too soon to let them know that you have not only a courageous heart but a cool head.'

When the eagerly awaited order was shouted on that eventful morning they bounded away to the west, forded the river, scrambled up the bank into Judaea, galloped four abreast across the plain, through the startled villages, over the highways, into the palm-bordered avenue that bisected suburban Bethany. They dashed down the long hill from whose top the turrets and spires of Jerusalem shone brightly in the noonday sun. Still four abreast, they rode through the massive open gates, a score of bewildered guards and revenue officers scattering before them. They proceeded at full gallop through the narrow, winding, crowded streets, indifferent to the shouts and screams of the panic-driven crowds that scurried for safety in doorways and alleys. Now they had reached Herod's imposing palace, the Insula, where they drew rein. Lining up in precise ranks that filled the spacious plaza fronting the huge marble Insula, they dismounted from their wet horses and stood waiting while Aretas and the Councillors rode up the broad white steps and across the stone-floored terrace and up another flight of steps toward the impressive bronze doors.

A thousand Roman legionaries stood guard, but had received no order to obstruct the mounted Arabians. Perhaps the Legate was stunned out of his wits by the sheer impudence of these grim horsemen who had dared to ride up to the very doors of the Insula.

It struck Aretas strangely that so large a force guarded the King's palace. Surely he had had no word that the Arabians were making an invasion; or, if he had ordered out his troops to repel an attack, why were they standing there motionless?

Aretas shouted to the Legate, who approached respectfully.

'Take me to Herod!' he demanded.

'King Herod is dead, sire.'

'Have a care,' shouted Zendi. 'It is dangerous to lie to the King of Arabia!'

'I have told you the truth, sire,' reiterated the Legate calmly. 'King Herod died of a shock early this morning.' He gestured toward his troops. 'This is a Guard of Honour.'

'Open those doors!' commanded Aretas. 'I came to see Herod and I mean to see him—alive or dead!'

After a brief parley, Legate Julian gave the order. The great bronze doors slowly swung open. The mounted detachment moved forward.

'But, sire,' protested the Legate, 'I hope you are not going to ride your horses into the Insula! Surely you would show more respect for the King of the Jews!'

'Stand aside!' growled Aretas. 'I am not here to show respect!'

They rode into the marble-lined palace, down the broad corridor, inquired of a frightened sentry where Herod's body was to be found; and, upon learning that it was in the Council Chamber, proceeded to ride into the high-domed, beautifully appointed room. In the centre, on a bier, reposed the King of the Jews. The military guard, numbering a score, stood their ground. Forming a circle about the corpse, the Arabians sat for a long moment in silence. Aretas pointed his riding-whip toward the waxen face.

'It is clear we cannot take revenge on that!' he said calmly. 'And we have no cause to hew the Roman legion to pieces. And there is no Jewish army to fight.' Aretas dismounted and the Councillors followed his example. With bridle-reins in hand, they stood in a circle around the bier and held a conference. All were agreed that there was nothing further to do in Jerusalem. Dumah, dissatisfied, suggested that they hang Herod's body to a tree in the courtyard. Mishma—who was expected to be appointed Chief of the Councillors—objected to this on the ground that it wouldn't be dignified.

'It would be as dignified,' said Dumah, 'as what we are doing now!' For Mishma's bay mare had taken a step forward and was inquisitively sniffing the grey feet of the late king. Everybody chuckled. Even Aretas grinned. They mounted their horses, rode out of the Council Chamber and down the corridor and out into the warm sunshine. A report was made to the cavalrymen. They were instructed to be at ease and do what they liked until sunset.

Disappointed and disgruntled, they rode back into the business zone; and, after the manner of idling soldiers, made a nuisance of themselves in the shops and markets. No serious damage was done. One indignant old goldsmith remarked, 'Kindly leave your horses outside. You are welcome—but we have no accommodation for horses.' The Arabians thought this was funny and laughed heartily at the joke as they rode about through his bazaar, examining the expensive merchandise. Pleased that the Arabs did not loot his store, the goldsmith cheerfully answered all their questions.

'How do you happen to be doing business today?' they asked.

'We've had no order to close up,' replied the old merchant.

'You know that King Herod is dead, don't you?'

'Of course.'

'Sick very long?'

'Hadn't you heard?'

'Heard he was dead—that's all.'

'There's more to it than that! Prince Archelaus arrived from Rome last night, and he and the King quarrelled. Somehow the Prince was stabbed—accidentally, they say; and the King had a stroke—and died.'

The Arabians stopped browsing about the shop and surrounded the goldsmith inquisitively. Was the Prince badly hurt? Yes; he was said to be dying.

As the afternoon wore on some of the cavalrymen managed to find some wine, which gave them renewed interest in their mission of vengeance. They rode their horses into the lobby of the Temple, tore down several exquisitely wrought tapestries from the walls, and set fire to the High Priest's palace. But as for revenge—no one was satisfied. That could come later—when they had access to Antipas. He was the ruler of Galilee and would eventually return to his domain. Some day, they declared, a few picked men of Arabia would pay him a visit.

At dusk they set off in the moonlight for their homeland. Next morning, as if the expedition had not already acquainted itself with a sufficient number of unusual incidents, the King's white stallion misjudged the width of a cross-country wall and pitched his rider violently to the ground. They hurriedly dismounted and gathered about him. Aretas was dead.

Improvising a litter made of young saplings, they slowly bore the body toward home. That evening they camped on the plain near Jeshimoth. After their supper, eaten in silence, the troops assembled to hear Mishma confer the Kingship of Arabia upon Zendi, the son of Ilderan.

To the satisfaction of Arabia, young Zendi dealt quite generously with Princess Arnon. This he could well afford to do, for he had inherited from his father Ilderan large flocks of sheep, herds of cattle, and enough camels to outfit a dozen caravans on their regular journeys to the sea.

It was his right as the new King to take over the entire domain controlled by Aretas, but he immediately asked the Councillors to cede a tract of the King's land to the Princess for the pasturage of livestock bequeathed by her father.

In view of the sympathy which the Arabians felt for their unhappy Princess, this warm-hearted display of kindness greatly advantaged the boyish monarch as he entered upon his duties. And it was clear that he would stand in need of his country's loyalty, for but little snow had fallen during the previous winter and the competition for grazing grounds would demand firm and wise control when the midsummer sun had made the problem serious. By this magnanimous act, Zendi had made a good beginning. Even Mishma, who had come so nearly being the new king himself, expressed his belief that Arabia was in competent hands and gave the son of Ilderan his full support.

With the approval of the Councillors, Arnon's establishment was set up on a broad plateau two miles south of the King's encampment, and it seemed very much like home, for she was entitled to all the furniture and household retainers belonging to her father. At Zendi's gracious suggestion, the royal ensign fluttered at her imposing entrance door and its replica was embroidered on her apparel. 'And Fara is to wear the royal crest on her clothing too,' Zendi had added, much to Arnon's delight.

So many internal problems were distressing the King, the Councillors, and the tribal chieftains as this trying summer wore on, that the question of an immediate avenging of Arnon was abandoned. Affairs in Arabia were quite difficult enough without the added risk and responsibility of setting forth on a punitive errand requiring their best men and much valuable time. Word had drifted in that Prince Antipas and his disreputable wife had taken up permanent residence in Galilee. Very good, said Arabia. We will know where to find him. Let him be patient and wait our convenience.

A few of the more hot-headed young blades, still disgruntled over the recent fiasco in Jerusalem, demurred at this postponement, maintaining that the honour of Arabia was at stake and that any delay to deal out retribution might be interpreted by the Jews as a sign of indifference—or worse. To soothe the indignation of their reckless sons and nephews, the Councillors prepared an imposing statement of intent to right this wrong, which any impatient young Arabian might sign—and act upon—whenever he wished.

In the King's main tent, where all state business was conducted and Council meetings were held, there was a massive oak table elaborately carved with devices relating to the interests of herders and shepherds. This venerated table had long served as the equivalent of a throne. Nobody remembered the name of the craftsman who had built it, for he had been dead at least three centuries, but it had been in uninterrupted use as a symbol of executive authority ever since the reign of the fabulous Terah, whose deeds of strength and skill had inspired the minstrels for many generations. On this table were laid documents of high importance: petitions to and edicts of the Councillors and decrees of the King.

After much deliberation, the Councillors drew up a formal vow, impressively lettered in colours, stating that the undersigned hereby pledged himself to avenge the Princess Arnon by destroying Antipas, the Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea. The avenger was to choose his own time and manner of fulfilling his vow. It was his responsibility to decide whether he would perform it clandestinely and alone or with the voluntary assistance of others. But once he had pledged to do it, the task was in his hands and Arabia would expect him to keep his promise, whatever the cost.

The heavy sheet of papyrus was ceremoniously placed upon the table and the word went forth that it was there—with a stylus and inkhorn beside it—for any man to sign who felt urged to do so. But the blazing sun continued to scorch the grass, and every man was fully occupied with the desperate search for pasture to save what remained of his decimated flocks. Everybody agreed that the contemptible Antipas must be put to death, but he would have to wait for it until Arabia saw better times.

To Arnon, this tardiness to wreak vengeance upon Antipas was of small concern. It would be a dangerous business and whoever attempted it would almost certainly lose his life, for the stronghold in Galilee would be well guarded by the man who doubtless lived in fear of a reprisal. Quite enough unhappiness had already resulted from Arabia's pact with the Jews. She said that to Zendi, upon learning of the vow that the Councillors had prepared. 'I do not want to be responsible for any more trouble,' protested Arnon. 'Why not let the matter rest?' And Zendi had agreed that her suggestion was sensible enough, but added that all Arabia would sleep more comfortably when Antipas slept without prospect of waking.