Simon shook away the contemptuous thoughts about Salome; and, for better comfort, shifted his position against the tree. He absently plucked a dry seed-pod and slowly tore it apart. How wretchedly he had handled all that business with Johnny! It was Johnny's fault, of course, but he needn't have been so rough on the boy. After all, he had only reported what he imagined he had seen and heard; and they had all urged him to tell it. He said he had seen it with his own eyes, in broad daylight; had been standing beside the fellow; and a woman had seen it and fainted; and the man had made funny little squeaks, though you couldn't tell whether he was laughing or crying. Simon tried unsuccessfully, a couple of times, to make a funny little squeak like that; for this detail had impressed him deeply.
Now there was much clamour on the highway. The air was full of dust and the raucous shouts of the donkey-boys and the thud of blows on the bony rumps of over-burdened beasts. The Romans were cruel to animals; seemed to enjoy beating anything or anybody who couldn't fight back. And they ruled the world! If God was going to concern Himself with the behaviour of mankind, here would be a good place to lend a hand. Maybe we could have another flood; like the one that had drowned everybody but Noah and his family. Simon grew drowsy waiting for the donkeys to pass and the dust to clear. Noah had spent forty days in the big boat, along with all the animals; landed on a muddy mountaintop; nothing living but a grapevine. And Noah had made some wine—and got drunk. Well, you couldn't blame him much.
Of course, if Johnny had really seen what he reported, he wouldn't care whether he had a job or not. He would follow along after this Carpenter, and be content to live on bark and berries. Well, we would have to wait—and see. The boys might come creeping back in a day or two. They had to eat, didn't they? Nobody could nurse a grievance very long on an empty stomach. Simon came to his feet, stretched his long arms—and yawned mightily. Yes—they would be coming back. Their silly mother would see to that. Naomi would raise all hell until they returned to their jobs.
* * * * * *
The fleet rocked gently in the cove. A dory was tethered to the prow of
The Abigail.
That would be one of the boys doing his trick as watchman. The rest of them were on holiday, supposedly attending to their religious duties, though Simon surmised that they would be strolling idly about on the quiet streets of Capernaum, consorting with drunken legionaries from the neighbouring fort and guzzling raw new wine. That was about all a religious holiday came to: the older folk would be huddled together in the Synagogue, praying for their wayward whelps, who would show up an hour late in the morning with white tongues and red eyes. Simon had no patience with drunkenness and was frequently heard to say that any wine at all was far too much wine. It had been a long time since he had tasted a fermented drink.
Pausing at his own wharf, he drew in the floating live-box and filled a basket with perch. The palace would not be needing so many now that the number of residents had been greatly reduced, but the few who remained would see to it that they had enough to eat. Lysias, the steward who, during the family's absence, was always left behind in charge of the establishment, made no effort to economize and apparently gave but little attention to such trivial expenditures as the daily order of fish. Simon rarely saw the shrewd, stocky, swarthy Greek steward while the Tetrarch was in residence, but was always grimly amused at the swagger Lysias affected once his master had departed. Evidently the fellow had a high opinion of his charms. Simon gathered that the servant-girls were more than a bit afraid of him.
Slipping his hairy arm under the handle of the dripping basket, the Big Fisherman trudged up the winding driveway to the rear courtyard, noting that all operations on the new stables had been suspended. That would be because of the religious holiday. Not that the Day of Atonement would mean anything to the stone-masons and sculptors, who were all Greeks, but the hod-carriers and other unskilled workmen were Galileans. Their religion forbade them to do carving, but it was quite permissible for them to carry the hewn stones. Simon snorted, contemptuous of this hypocrisy. Nearing the kitchen entrance he heard gay, bantering conversation. The servants were celebrating the family's departure.
At sight of him, the girls poured through the doorway, all talking at once, and fluttered about him with hilarious greetings. Murza, the tall, dark Arimathean, who had never before accorded him better regard than a nod and a sniff, relieved him of the basket and patted him on his arm. She was pungent with wine. The Roman, Claudia, seemed a little drunk. Simon tried to be jovial, but the pretence was not easy.
'Doesn't the Big Fisherman feel well today?' Murza contrived a condescending smile.
'Well enough,' retorted Simon unpleasantly. 'Do I look frail?'
'You look sour,' said Leah—'as if you'd eaten something.'
'His own fish, maybe! No?' Claudia gave a shrill giggle.
Helen stood by, demurely studying Simon's glum indifference to the raillery which she couldn't understand very well. He gave her a brief smile.
'The Big Fisherman is in love!' shrieked Murza. 'It has taken his appetite.' She tossed a teasing glance toward the Greek girl, who smiled childishly and shook her black curls, though whether she did not comprehend or, comprehending, was showing a maidenly embarrassment, Simon could not tell. But it was an attractive little smile—whatever it meant—and his heavy frown cleared as he gave her a friendly look.
'See what I told you!' taunted Murza. 'That's his ailment: he is lovesick!'
'I think you're right—for once,' drawled Leah. 'And he's always pretending to be so tough—and strong—and manly: no use for women; just a big man's man! And now he cannot eat—for love!'
'He should be put in the dungeon along with the other solemn owl who does not eat! No?' Claudia laughed gaily at her own drollery.
'She's talking about our new prisoner,' explained Anna, with unexpected seriousness. 'The legionaries brought him in the day before yesterday. They said he had been living on grasshoppers and other roasted bugs—in the desert.'
'Well, you should be able to find some bugs for him,' remarked Simon, relieved at this turn in the conversation. 'It is late in the season for the larger bugs,' he added, 'but there should be plenty of the smaller ones in his bedding.'
'Not at all!' protested Anna. 'His cell is clean and comfortable. His Highness gave orders about that. He wants the man treated kindly: he thinks the poor fellow is crazy—but innocent of any crime.'
'What is he charged with?' inquired Simon unconcernedly.
'He is some sort of wandering prophet,' said Anna. 'Would you like to see him? He is a Galilean. And he is permitted to have visitors, though no one has come—so far.'
'Perhaps his friends are afraid to venture that close to a prison,' observed Leah. 'I'm sure I would be.'
Simon had straightened to his full height. He hitched manfully at his belt and spat vehemently on the ground.
'I don't visit prophets!' he growled. 'I hadn't supposed I looked that foolish.'
'Well, as for me'—Anna enigmatically arched her eyebrows to signify that she knew more than she intended to divulge—'I don't believe the man is crazy. Maybe he really is a prophet!'
'And how do you happen to know so much about this—this bug-eater?' grinned Simon. 'Are you his keeper?'
'I'm supposed to feed him. He will not eat—but he will talk. He talks all the time! You should hear him! Brrr! It frightens me! He says that a Great One has been sent—from Heaven—to free the slaves and throw the mighty from their high seats!' Anna's frown showed genuine anxiety. 'The whole world is to be shaken!' she added soberly.
'As I live—it is true—what Anna's saying,' confirmed Claudia excitedly. 'I was with her when he said it! The whole world is to be shaken! . . . Until its ears rattle!' she added, for good measure.
'You made that up,' sneered Leah. 'A prophet wouldn't say anything that funny.'
'But it isn't funny!' declared Claudia, grinning. 'Not if it's true! And Anna thinks it is; don't you, Anna?' She gave the sober-faced Jewess a thumb-jab in the ribs.' You do, too!' she went on, when Anna impatiently flinched and shook her head.' You were scared and you made off at once to your—what you call—Synagogue! No? Your tiresome old god is much too hard on you poor Jews. We Romans now—we have many, many gods. All kinds of gods. One takes one's pick of them, and if he does not please—pouf!' She airily kissed a rosette of fingertips and blew a negligent farewell to the incompetent deity.
If the half-drunken Claudia had expected a laugh, she was disappointed. Anna and Leah gave her a withering look. Murza scowled; she was not very religious, but she was superstitious and disapproved of sacrilege. Helen, who didn't know what it was all about and probably wouldn't have cared if she had known, turned to gaze complacently at the faraway blue mountains. Simon, who through Claudia's silly speech had remained staring at Anna's apprehensive face, took a step toward her.
'You say—this fellow said that a Great One is coming?' he demanded, so sternly that Anna blinked.
'He said the Great One has come,' replied Anna. 'He is here—now!'
'That's what he said!' put in Claudia, helpfully. 'I heard him!'
'Shut up!' rasped Leah, as if to a noisy terrier.
'Where?' demanded Simon, searching Anna's eyes.
'I know what you're thinking,' replied Anna, after some hesitation. 'There has been all this talk—about a Carpenter—who does strange things.' She had lowered her voice to the tone of a confidence. 'But—apparently the Carpenter is not our man. The Carpenter is said to heal diseases. This Great One isn't here to heal anybody: he's here to punish the rulers—and the rich!'
'I wonder if His Highness knows what sort of blabbing our prisoner can do,' remarked Murza. 'Perhaps he wouldn't have wanted the fellow handled so gently if he had heard some of his talk.'
'But'—argued Simon, undiverted by Murza's comment—'if this Great One is down on the rich, maybe he will aid the poor: why don't you ask the bug-eater about that, Anna?'
'Ask him yourself if you're so interested,' snapped Anna, tiring of the Big Fisherman's queries.
'Interested!' he retorted angrily. 'And why should I be interested? Your prophet is a crazy dunce who deserves to be locked up! And as for the Carpenter, he will soon turn out to be a fraud! They're both lunatics! Anybody who wants to believe in such nonsense is welcome to it!' Simon's voice was vibrant with indignation as he went on, 'I don't believe in any of this rubbish! All religion is rubbish! I don't believe in any of it! . . . Not in any of it, I tell you!'
His puzzled audience gaped at him for a long moment as he stood glowering. At length Leah broke the silence by remarking in a disgusted drawl: 'Well—who said you did?'
'I'll wager you do,' yelled Claudia, 'or you wouldn't be so hot and cross about it!'
The taunt rekindled Simon's anger and he muttered that all religious prattle should be prohibited—by law!—a suggestion that inspired Leah to remark, with a bitter, private smile, that he would probably go to hell when he died.
'And he will not like that!' laughed Claudia. 'He detests big crowds: I heard him say so! No?'
'You're a fool, Claudia,' said Anna, stifling a yawn.
'Perhaps—but I am a happy fool! You Jewish fools are much too sober and sad. No? What you need, on your holiday, is good cheer! Laughter! Singing! You should have a cup of wine to warm your cold bellies!' Claudia was whirling into a reckless dance. 'I myself shall bring you wine!' she trilled, as she made off, pleased to have had such a happy thought.
'You needn't bring any to me,' called Leah.
'Nor me,' said Anna.
'Then—I shall bring some to the Big Fisherman!' shouted Claudia, gaily.
'Go—and stop her, Murza,' said Leah. 'She will listen to you. And see that she doesn't take any more herself. She's had too much already. If she gets any worse, Lysias will whip her.'
'No fear of that,' sniffed Murza, without moving. 'Lysias has been warming his cold belly, too.'
'I must go,' mumbled Simon. 'I have work to do. If you'll empty my basket—'
Claudia was returning now, staggering under the weight of a massive tray laden with a huge pitcher and wine-cups. She breathlessly put her burden down on the ledge of the sun-dial and gave the company a bright smile.
'If Lysias catches you out here with that silver service—' warned Leah.
'Never mind my basket,' muttered Simon, moving off. 'I'll pick it up later.'
'But—how rude!' protested Claudia. 'Here I have gone to the trouble to bring you wine—in His Highness's beautiful silver—and you run away! and the Big Fisherman is said to be so strong and brave! Pouf!' She faced him with cool contempt. 'Very well—hurry off to your Synagogue, Big Fisherman! And say your prayers!'
Simon flushed with anger. Claudia, noting that her insult had bitten him in a sensitive spot, poured a cup full of wine and held it out to him, with a wheedling smile.
'I shouldn't have teased you: it wasn't fair. We all know you are so very big—and brave—and manly!'
'I wonder whether he is,' sniffed Leah negligently.
Stung by the indignities, Simon impetuously grabbed the cup and drained it. The heady wine warmed his throat and spread a pleasant glow through his vitals. Now that he had vindicated himself, he would furnish additional proof that he was no pious weakling. He handed back the cup and Claudia, giggling happily, refilled it.
'Better not lay it on too fast, Big Fellow,' advised Anna, as Simon tipped back his head.
'That's enough now, Claudia,' growled Murza. 'You don't want to get him into trouble. You can see he doesn't know how to drink wine. He'll be tight as a drum presently.'
Simon wiped his bearded lips with the back of his big hand, sighed contentedly, grinned foolishly, and made a deep bow which amused them all except Helen, whose tremulous smile showed anxiety.
They were relieved to see him go. With long, springing, military strides, the Big Fisherman made off toward the driveway—dizzy but exultant. He had never felt better in his life. He triumphantly swung his shaggy head from side to side, accenting his confident swagger with swinging arms and squared shoulders.