After a wretched night of tossing about, of laboriously taking the puzzle to pieces and reassembling it in patterns equally perplexing, and of fantastic dreams—in one of which Johnny, pretending lameness, limped up to the Carpenter and had himself healed—Simon roused dully and prepared for breakfast. His head ached and he was very much out of sorts.
His place alone was laid at the table, which meant that Andrew had eaten and gone and that Hannah too had breakfasted. As for the Idumean ragamuffin, Simon hadn't given him a thought since leaving him yesterday in Hannah's care. Doubtless the youngster was well on his way by this time.
Seating himself, Simon folded his huge, hairy arms and rested them on the table. He knew that Hannah was aware of his arrival in the little dining-room, for he could hear her gentle voice in the kitchen monotonously reciting the Shepherd's Psalm, by which measure she habitually timed the boiling of his eggs precisely to his liking.
Presently he heard the door swing open behind him. That would be Hannah bringing him the eggs and a platter of wheaten bread and a large mug of spiced pomegranate juice. He did not look up. By that sign Hannah would know that he didn't want to talk and would slip quietly out again to wait until he summoned her. She already knew, of course, that he was disturbed about something. She was ever quick to perceive his moods; much too quick, indeed. Their close comradeship made it difficult for him to withhold confidences from her.
Now that the bread and butter plate had been put down before him, and the small earthenware bowl containing the eggs, Simon stared hard at the hand that served him. It was not Hannah's hand; it was younger and smaller. He slowly turned his head and gazed up into a stranger's face, his mouth sagging open in bewilderment. Whoever she was, the girl was beautiful, the most beautiful he had ever seen.
She smiled down into the Big Fisherman's dumbfounded eyes, a mischievous little smile that she seemed to be controlling with some difficulty.
'Are you surprised, sir?' she asked, in a throaty tone that he remembered having heard before.
For a moment Simon continued to stare at her, unsmiling and speechless. He shook his big, shaggy head. Something queer had happened to the world. Miracles could be had now for a penny a dozen. Cripples walked. Water became wine. Dirty and ragged camel-boys were transformed into comely young women. He lowered his eyes, blinked rapidly, and rubbed his fingers through his hair. Hannah came in from the kitchen, beaming.
'Joe turned out to be a girl,' she said unnecessarily.
Simon nodded, and gazed at his mother-in-law as if he had never seen her before.
'Her name is Esther,' explained Hannah, rather wistfully, as if hoping that Simon might overlook the girl's deception; and, when he had offered no comment, she said, 'The dress is Abigail's. You don't object to Esther's wearing it?'
'Sit down—both of you,' commanded Simon huskily, 'and tell me whether I am losing my mind.' This was said with such sober sincerity that Hannah laughed until she had to pat the tears from her eyes. Esther smiled shyly.
'There is a great deal about it, Simon, that Esther hasn't had time to tell me'—Hannah glanced at her encouragingly, as if to say that she expected to have the full story out of her by nightfall, at the latest—'but this much she wants us to know: her home was broken up by the loss of her parents, and now she is on her way to find her uncle, who lives somewhere in Galilee; not far from the lake, she thinks. It would have been unsafe for a young woman to travel alone in a strange country; so she cut off her hair, put on a boy's clothing, and—well—here she is.'
'You were lucky not to have got into trouble,' commented Simon, munching his bread. 'Risky business, I'd say. Anybody would know at a glance that you're a girl.'
'She fooled you,' said Hannah.
'I didn't look at her closely,' retorted Simon. 'I had other things on my mind. . . . Haven't you any relatives, down there in Idumea, who might have objected? Maybe you ran away.'
'Yes, sir,' the girl admitted. 'They would have detained me. I ran away.'
Simon devoted himself to his breakfast, frowning thoughtfully.
'Her story sounds reasonable enough,' said Hannah.
'So did her other story,' muttered Simon ungraciously. 'You think this uncle of yours lives in this vicinity, eh? What's his name?'
'Joseph, sir.'
'We have a number of Josephs hereabouts. What is your uncle's occupation?'
'He is a stone-cutter.'
'Think he will be able to support you—on a stone-cutter's wages? They are not very well paid.'
'My uncle is not a common labourer,' ventured Esther. 'He is skilled.'
'In that case,' said Simon, 'he is probably in the employ of the Tetrarch. They are rebuilding the stables at the palace.'
'Stables!' Esther's tone indicated that her Uncle Joseph was not likely to be at work on a stable, not even the Tetrarch's.
'Stone stables!' explained Simon.' White marble stables! The Tetrarch's Arabian horses live in mansions, while most of his subjects live in hovels; and they eat good food while the little children of Galilee often go to bed hungry. . . . The Tetrarch's stables are beautiful—ornamented with statues! . . . But your uncle would not be found at work on such carvings.'
'No?' Esther's uplifted brows wondered why her uncle wasn't competent enough to do sculpturing.
'He is a Jew, isn't he?' demanded Simon; and when Esther had nodded he said gruffly, 'You should know that the Children of Israel are not permitted to make graven images.'
'I thought that rule applied to the carving of idols,' said Esther.
'Apparently you Idumean Jews do not know the Commandments. High time you learned them! Hear the law: "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image or any likeness—of anything! Anything—that is in heaven above—or in the earth beneath—or in the water that is under the earth!"' Simon pushed back his chair, still glowering over Uncle Joseph's defection and his attractive niece's ignorance. 'However,' he added, as he moved toward the door, 'I have an errand at the palace this morning. I shall make inquiries. Perhaps you would like to go with me.'
'Let her rest here today, Simon,' urged Hannah. 'Tomorrow will do as well.'
The Big Fisherman paused in the doorway to remark testily that he wouldn't be going to the palace tomorrow; that if Esther wanted to find her uncle she might as well be about it without further delay; and Esther, thus advised that she had worn out her welcome so far as Simon was concerned, promptly consented to accompany him.
His frown cleared momentarily, but deepened again as he noted Hannah's expression of disapproval. For some reason she didn't want the girl to go. Simon shrugged and petulantly mumbled something that meant he didn't care a damn whether she ever found her uncle. Embarrassed by his asperity, Esther was tardy with a reply: and Simon, tugging on his cap, left the house without a farewell word to either of them. After the outer door had banged, Hannah remarked gently that Simon seemed to be upset about something.
'Me—perhaps?' inquired Esther.
'I don't think so,' said Hannah. 'You have done nothing to annoy him, my dear. . . . I never saw him—quite like this—before. Perhaps it has something to do with the fleet. I feel sure that Andrew knows, but it's hard to get anything out of Andrew. I never knew anyone who could keep his mouth shut as long—and tight—as Andrew. He was unusually quiet this morning; didn't say where he was going: perhaps to potter about the old house in Capernaum, for the fleet won't be going out today. It's a holiday.'
Esther offered no help in Hannah's dilemma. It occurred to her that Simon's quarrel with Johnny might account for his disaffection, but that was none of her business and she decided not to mention it. After a moment's indecision, she rose and announced that she would go—at once—and try to overtake Simon.
'He has been very kind—and I have offended him,' she said.
'Let me go with you,' said Hannah, 'as far as the highway.'
Even before they reached the gate it was evident that some unusual excitement had stirred the neighbourhood. People were pouring out of their doorways and walking rapidly toward the corner where the quiet street met the broad thoroughfare. Already a sizeable company had collected there, intent upon a procession approaching from the direction of Tiberias. They quickened their steps.
Observing David standing austerely apart from the others, but apparently waiting for whatever had brought them out, Hannah moved toward him to inquire while Esther sauntered on into the swelling crowd.
'The Tetrarch,' explained David absently, his eyes following Esther with undisguised interest.
'Of course,' remembered Hannah. 'The days have been so like summer, I hadn't realized it was time for their voyage.'
'So—that's the girl, eh?' rumbled David. 'A most attractive young creature! Bring her here, Hannah: I want to meet her.'
'You won't give me away, sir,' pleaded Hannah, and when David had reassured her, she followed Esther into the craning pack and told her to come and meet a good friend of Simon's. The girl only half heard. She was standing on tiptoe, completely fascinated by the slowly advancing cavalcade. Hannah took her arm.
'I suppose you know what this is about. The Tetrarch and his household journey to Rome every year at this season, to spend the winter.' And when Esther had nodded abstractedly, without taking her eyes off the road, Hannah urged, 'There will be plenty of time to see them. Come, please, and meet Master David.'
Esther turned reluctantly and followed.
'I told him I would bring you,' Hannah explained. 'David is our friend—but he is an eminent man, a lawyer, very learned, widely travelled. . . .' At that, Esther's steps lagged.
'But why should a man of such importance want to meet me?' she protested. 'And why does he stare so?'
'All old men stare,' said Hannah. 'They can't see very well.'
'They don't have to be old,' retorted Esther, 'to stare.'
Hannah thought this amusing and they were both smiling when Esther was presented. She curtseyed, but dodged the intrusive eyes. David bowed gravely, to Hannah's mystification and the girl's anxiety.
'Welcome to beautiful Galilee, my child,' he said in a tone of studied formality. 'It would be a pleasure to see more of you if our good Hannah consents. We must not detain you now. You are eager to have a glimpse of our beloved ruler and his charming family.' There was such forthright malice in his sneer that Esther darted an inquiry into his crafty eyes. Was he inviting her to share his contempt for the Tetrarch? Momentarily confused she fought her way out of the little dilemma by asking to be excused, and drifted quickly away to merge into the waiting crowd. David turned to Hannah and lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.
'She has told me a little more,' obliged Hannah. 'Her mother died recently, leaving her without a home. She is searching for an uncle, a sculptor, who, she thinks, lives near the lake.'
'What has become of her father?'
'Dead, I suppose. She didn't say.'
'Is this uncle presumed to be an Idumean?'
'I think so.'
'Well—I don't,' growled David. 'They do not produce sculptors in Idumea. I'll wager there isn't a chisel to be found in all that country. Their favourite tool is the dagger. . . . Has she offered any information about the device you found on her clothing? No? I thought not. And you didn't inquire: that was right.'
They moved closer to the highway where Esther was sighted in the front row of the spectators, the tall Sadducee observing that the girl was utterly absorbed in the approaching cavalcade, the vanguard of which was now only a few yards distant. Hannah noted that David's interest was not concentrated on the garish spectacle but devoted entirely to her mysterious guest.
The procession was led by a company of gaudily uniformed cavalry from the Roman fort at Capernaum. They rode four abreast, their mounts jingling with polished trappings. After the military escort had passed there was an open interval of a full hundred yards before the second unit came on, led by a distinguished figure on a superb white horse unmistakably of Arabian origin. The man was richly clad in a black tunic trimmed in red, red riding breeches, and glossy black boots. He rode alone. His grey hair was close-cropped and circled with a silver fillet.
Esther gazed hard at the haughty, dissipated face, at the wide-set, bulging eyes that negligently drifted over the crowd with a bored unconcern. Now the roving eyes swept the upturned faces of the area where Esther stood, transfixed, with a dry throat and pounding heart. An instant later they returned to her, the finely sculptured brows lifted a little and a mere wisp of a smile—compounded of surprise, insolence, admiration, and amusement—twitched the Tetrarch's lips. Esther's wide eyes gave no response. She was frightened.
There was a considerable interval before the luxurious litters were carried by. There were three of them, single-file, each borne by eight stalwart slaves—Greeks, Esther thought. The curtains of the first of the litters were tightly drawn. It bore Herodias, no doubt. The second was open, and the lounging occupant, a heavily-jewelled woman of thirty, smirked impudently through her paint. This, Esther knew, would be Salome. However notorious, she was indeed a beautiful woman: even her awareness of her beauty did not mar it. The curtains of the third litter were closed. Esther hoped she might hear a name whispered by someone in the crowd, but the occupant remained unidentified.
There came now a score or more of camel-borne men and women, most of them in their twenties and thirties; household servants, no doubt. The majority of them were handsome. They were evidently in a carnival mood, exchanging banter that made them laugh. Whatever might be said of the Tetrarch, it was plain that his retainers were well cared for and had no quarrel with their employment.
Trailing the camels, at a considerable distance, came a long pack-train laden with baggage.
Losing interest now, Esther was about to turn away when there was a sudden stir among her neighbours. A brilliantly uniformed cavalryman, leading his horse, had paused beside her. The people, with amazement and apprehension in their stares, drew hastily aside to make room.