By the time she reached Antipas, who was complacently viewing the building of rustic trellises at the far corner of the vineyard, Herodias had burned out her rage and was almost disposed to be companionable. Her husband nodded, smiled, and wondered what was on her mind.
'Really, my dear,' she began, 'something must be done about these unhappy people of yours.'
Antipas nodded.
'I know,' he said. 'It's getting worse every day.' Presently he brightened a little. 'How about a dinner party? Something amusing. We will invite a few prominent citizens in to meet them.'
'Who, for instance?'
'Well, there are Jairus and his pretty wife Adiel. Legate Julian, of course. Perhaps young Joseph of Arimathaea might come and bring his sister Tamar. Old David the Sadducee is learned and has been everywhere. His eminent friend Nicodemus Ben-Gorion, who is retired in Cana, would be glad to come, I think.'
'It doesn't sound very lively,' mumbled Herodias.
'We can attend to that,' promised Antipas.
Within an hour he had dispatched messengers bearing irresistible, cash-down invitations to several professional entertainers; a renowned magician of Caesarea, a troupe of harpists in Jericho, a famous family of Damascene acrobats, and a crippled girl of Cana who was reputed to have a remarkable voice. The date set was the twenty-second of Iyar, the Tetrarch's birthday, now three weeks distant.
Such was their host's enthusiasm over his project that even the Romans began to show a pallid interest. Fadilla said he would like to talk with this well-travelled old David the Sadducee. Julia Drusus, still incorrigibly romantic in spite of many rebuffs, cornered Herodias to ask eager questions about the rich young Joseph of Arimathaea, to which her hostess replied dryly, 'Julia, of all the fools I ever met, you are the silliest.'
When the couriers had returned from their errands it was found that all the entertainers would be on hand except the singer from Cana, who wasn't well enough to make the journey.
Replies from invited guests were less satisfactory. Joseph of Arimathaea and his sister Tamar were sorry (or said they were) that they could not come. The eminent Nicodemus Ben-Gorion was troubled with rheumatism and couldn't travel.
Legate Julian, as was to be expected, sent word that he would be honoured, though Antipas knew this was a lie and that if he ever got into any serious trouble Julian would let him stew. Jairus and Adiel were pleased to accept, as was David the Sadducee, though his aged sister Deborah was not well enough to accompany him. Antipas then dispatched a surprisingly amiable note to David saying he had been advised that there was a charming young woman, said to be a ward of the House of Zadok, who would be warmly welcomed, to which the old lawyer replied that there was no such person in his household. This brazen effrontery annoyed the Tetrarch, but he decided not to make an issue of it. As the time for the party drew near, the very thought of it wearied him. His Roman pests would be bored by such tepid and dreary entertainment. Harpists! Acrobats! Jugglers! Bah!
* * * * * *
Meantime—while Voldi fretted in prison and Antipas was unwittingly contriving an event that would make his name stink wherever and whenever it was uttered—all Galilee was astir with the news that the Carpenter of Nazareth had come forth, with the spring flowers, to resume his public ministry.
No such excitement had ever choked the highways of any Palestinian province. Crowds! Confused and confusing crowds, immeasurably larger than had followed the prophet and wonder-worker last summer. They came from further distances now: from the hinterlands of Northern Galilee and Perea; yes, and from Samaria, too, though the Samaritans abominated the Galileans and only the most urgent business could induce them to cross the border.
They came on foot, on donkeys, in carts, on cots. Some prudently brought tents and provisions; some carried only a blanket and slept on the ground, buying, begging, or stealing their food. Thrifty hucksters made the most of their opportunity to fleece the hungry, peddling stale bread, rancid fish, and fly-blown sweets at exorbitant prices. Vagabond minstrels and shabby outlanders with tame bears and mangy monkeys set up booths alongside the food vendors. And the crowds increased hourly.
Every foot-path, every lane, every grass-grown donkey-trail for miles and leagues were tributaries to the highways that intersected at little Cana, where the resident population—as if ruthlessly shouted out of a peaceful slumber—stared bewilderedly at the mounting horde of strangers, and wondered whether the old well in the central plaza would survive. On Jesus' earlier visits they had welcomed him. It was a bit different this time. They were still friendly to him, but they wished they could have him all to themselves.
The amazing news had spread far and wide that the miracle-worker of Nazareth was healing lepers! This had added the spice of adventure to these strange doings. Last season, Jesus had healed the blind, the deaf, the crippled. Such disabilities were deplorable, but they were not contagious. Leprosy was quite another matter! The leper was not only doomed, he was dangerous! The very word struck terror! Nobody was safe from the threat of it, not even the well-to-do, accustomed to clean living. By no means was it the exclusive monopoly of filthy ragamuffins. All you needed to do to become infected, was to drink from a cup that a conscienceless leper had touched, or accidentally tread upon a discarded bandage.
Oh yes, there were laws, plenty of them, intended to protect the public. Once a man had contracted the disease, whatever his social rating, he was for ever outcast, required to associate only with persons similarly afflicted. When he met anyone on the road he was expected to withdraw to the wayside bushes and shout 'Unclean!' It was a living death, destroying the body piecemeal.
When the word went forth that Jesus was curing leprosy it was natural that he should have plenty of clients eager to avail themselves of his services. It was their custom, when travelling very far from the camps provided for them, to move in groups of ten or a dozen, and when a party of them would show up for healing there was an understandable consternation in the great throng. When the cry 'Unclean!' was shouted, at the rear of the crowd, nobody tried to stop them. The legionaries, on hand to keep order, scampered out of their way; and at whatever sacrifice of dignity, the multitude cleared a wide path for the visitors. However bitterly the throng—comprised of all manner of discordant sects—might disagree about everything else, there was a complete unanimity in their sudden resolution to make way for a company of lepers.
The first time it happened, only two men stood their ground and calmly waited for the hapless crew to draw near. They were Jesus and Simon. Simon had his jaw set and his big fists clenched to tighten his courage, but he stayed by Jesus' side. And when the Master had spoken the words that healed them, Simon grasped the leader of the party by the hand. After they had turned to go, their faces contorted so you couldn't rightly say whether they were laughing or weeping, Jesus gave Simon a comradely smile that made the Big Fisherman's eyes swim. Jesus hadn't said anything to him, but that approving smile had given him stature. Andrew, John, James, Philip, and Thaddeus, who had retreated to a safe distance, gathered about Simon with admiration on their faces. There was no longer any doubt which one of them deserved to stand closest beside their Master.
It was a quiet, awe-stricken crowd that slowly closed its broken ranks and listened again to the interrupted message of Jesus. Making no reference to the dangerous miracle he had performed, he continued to speak about the security of a life that is lived by faith. There were, he said, two habitations from which one might choose one's place of spiritual residence. One of these houses was built upon the rock of faith: the rain might pour in torrents and the tempest might rage; but that house would stand firm, for it was founded upon a rock. . . . 'Upon a petros,' he had added, for the benefit of whatever Greeks might be in the audience. . . . The other house was built upon the sand; it might be good for fair weather, but it could not survive a storm.
That evening, after the people had been dismissed to return to their homes or their encampments, Jesus and his small party of companions rested after supper in the shelter of a grove on a secluded hillside. The Master sat a little way apart from the others, for he was very tired. But he listened to the low voices as they reviewed the unprecedented events of the day.
Philip, always proud of his Greek ancestry and his own familiarity with the language, remarked, 'I wonder where he picks up his Greek words. He uses them frequently. Did you notice how he said "petros" when he talked about the rock?'
Nobody made any comment on that. They were tired of Philip's Greek.
Then they fell to discussing again the marvellous powers of the Master and their speculations as to how he had come by these amazing gifts.
'I was listening to one of these conversations in the crowd today,' remarked Andrew. 'One of the old men from Nain said he believed that Jesus is the great prophet Elisha returned in the flesh.'
'Why Elisha?' wondered the newest member of the group, one Judas from the town of Kerioth.
'Perhaps because Elisha once healed a leper,' explained Andrew. 'Don't you remember? The Scriptures say that Elisha cured Naaman, a great one of Syria; made him bathe in the Jordan.'
Alpheus chuckled softly at the recollection of this old legend, and remarked, 'Naaman objected at first, willing to bathe—but not in the Jordan.'
'You've a good memory, Alpheus,' observed James.
'My father often told us the story,' said Alpheus. 'He thought it was quite funny.'
'My father,' drawled Andrew, 'never thought that anything found in the Scriptures could be funny.'
Apparently nobody cared to pursue that subject any further and there was a long interval of silence before conversation was resumed.
'Almost everyone seems to think,' said John,' that Jesus must be one of the ancient prophets restored to life.'
At this point in their conversation, held in subdued tones to avoid disturbing the Master's much needed rest, they were suddenly startled by his voice, inquiring, 'And you! What do you think of me? Who am I?'
They all shifted their eyes to Simon, whose courageous display of faith that afternoon had earned him the right to be their spokesman. After a long, thoughtful pause, the Big Fisherman came to his feet and declared, in a deep, impressive voice, 'Master—I believe that you are the son of God!'
A hush fell upon them.
'Simon, son of Jonas,' said Jesus, 'henceforth your name shall be Peter—Peter the Rock! It is upon your faith that I shall build my Kingdom!'
* * * * * *
At the close of the sixth eventful day in Cana, when the excitement over his words and deeds was at its height, Jesus astounded his companions by announcing that he must return to Capernaum tomorrow. He gave no reasons for his impulsive decision, nor did they press him for an explanation, though it seemed strange to them that he should now retire from so promising an opportunity for preaching his gospel.
At daybreak the next morning, the little company took to the highway, leaving the Big Fisherman behind to tell the crowd when it assembled that the Master was unexpectedly required to go back to Capernaum, but would rejoin them here within a few days. They could remain or return to their homes as they pleased. The disappointing news was variously received. Persons who had brought their sick from afar resolved to wait. Many disgruntled curiosity-seekers decided to go home. Hundreds of the younger and more agile members of the crowd, men mostly, started immediately for Capernaum. Something spectacular might happen there and they didn't propose to miss it. And throughout the morning scores more made up their minds to follow; so it was a long, straggling procession that made the hot and wearisome journey north to the western shore of Lake Gennesaret.
Peter, well spent by fast walking, overtook the Master and his company near Hammath. He had hoped that by this time Jesus might have confided his reasons for this journey, but apparently he had not done so. He was leading the way, at a swift pace, fully preoccupied by his own thoughts. The others were too tired to talk.
The further they went, in a silence that seemed ominous, the more the Big Fisherman worried over the possibilities of trouble in Capernaum. Without doubt the Master would speak, and there was no telling what he might say. Already there were enemies awaiting an opportunity to discredit him. The priests, old and young, were almost unanimously against him; had held conferences about him; had appealed to the Sanhedrin; had sent a deputation to the Tetrarch. . . . There was Rabbi Ben-Sholem! Would he remember, with any gratitude, the skilled service Jesus had performed in his house? Of course not! Not that stiff-necked, vain old Pharisee! . . . And Jairus! The labourers on his estate had often dropped their hoes and scurried away to join the multitude that swarmed about the Master, whenever he spoke. Doubtless Jairus had been glad enough to see Jesus leave the Capernaum area, and would now be exasperated to find him returned. Jairus, if he wanted to, could have him silenced.
At the northern outskirts of Bethsaida, the Master's steps shortened and Peter quickly came abreast of him.
'I shall stop, for a little while, at Hannah's house,' he said. 'You may proceed with the others. I shall join you at Andrew's cottage.' With that, he turned off the highway, and walked slowly up the shady street.
The vanguard of the pursuing crowd, now close on the heels of the little company, came to a stop and seemed bewildered. The Big Fisherman turned and shouted, not very pleasantly, that the Master had paused for a moment's rest at the home of a friend; and they were not to follow him. This appeared to satisfy most of them, but scores broke from the procession and ran in the direction Jesus had taken. Shortly afterward they drifted back, apparently mystified. Somehow they had lost track of their quarry, as if the ground had opened and swallowed him up. Men who had not joined them in the chase pressed queries upon them: What had become of the Carpenter? Where did he go? But they could not say . . . And it was never explained. . . . Broad daylight! A clear view in all directions! It was very strange!