The Implacable Hunter (10 page)

‘Oh, absolutely,’ I said.

But something that had puzzled me for the past six months was suddenly explained. I had wondered, sometimes, at the furiousness of Paulus’s hatred for the Nazarenes: they seemed too little for such a bitterly concentrated hate, in a great world where there were so many big things worth hating if one were that way inclined. I had thought, at first: ‘The Nazarenes are simply something on which this untried hunter uses his little skill and his great energy,
burning
up the drippings of a rich but half-cooked imagination while he chases the hare and makes believe that he is
hunting
the lion.’

Then, when I knew him better, I said: “No, he is a servant of the spirit of the hunt, but reason tempers his zeal: he would not be hunting if he were not driven by a conviction that the death of the poor little hare is somehow necessary to him. He will hate that hare, therefore, as long as it lives. It is in his way. He wants to prove both to Rome and to Jerusalem that he is a necessary man, and so he will kill that Nazarene hare if he bursts his heart in the chase. So Rome will say: “You have helped to keep our peace”, and Jerusalem will say: “You have helped to cleanse our house”. In a nutshell, Paulus is ambitious.’

Now I understand something more. It had come into my mind when I said that Absalom was the son of a king, and had died hanging from a tree. The rumour persisted that Jesus Christ was of the blood royal. Pilate, splenetic by nature, and at his most pointlessly spiteful when he was in a jocular mood, had pinned over that filthy and degraded carcass on the cross, a sign saying: ‘This is Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.’ After all, if Jesus had not made this claim, he never denied it. This was more than Paulus could bear. He might have forgiven the Nazarenes their heresies. He would never forgive them their Jesus. He loathed Jesus, in his heart of hearts, as a kind of ghostly usurper of his private throne, an interloper coming between himself and his
hopeless
,
magnificent dream. And now every Nazarene was a little Jesus, and his personal enemy.

And here, too, was the origin of Paulus’s ‘loneliness’.

Poor young man! He could take your love for granted, but he felt that he would never know anyone big enough to receive his own. Unrolled, the love of Paulus – vain man! – was great enough to spread over a kingdom; it would suffocate anything less.

Perhaps one day some philosopher will synthesise my proposition; that our most abrupt, unpredicted and mad actions have been the longest in secret premeditation. They are old, imprisoned dreams bursting the seals. If they burst in the right direction and at the right time, you are a great man. If they do not, you are a madman.

I said: ‘Well, well, there is a kingly quality in any true soldier. In battle he feels in him a certain greatness, once his first fear is gone. He has been drilled to know that he is only a part of his company, yes. But when the critical moment comes, he feels that his company is only a part of himself…. And touching the matter of that, do you know that there has been a stink of The Fish in the Damascus garrison?’

It may be remembered by the likes of Tibullus that the secret symbol of the first Nazarenes was the Sign of the Fish, thus:

It could be made, as it were accidentally, as I did while I was talking, in three movements of a wet wine-cup. Some said that it had been evolved by one or other of Jesus Christ’s disciples, one of the Galilean fishermen whom Jesus had promised to make a fisher of men. Others, that it was brought in by Sidonians who used to worship the fish-god,
Dagon. Others again said that the Fish symbolised
everlasting
life, resurgence, the death and resurrection of the body – that, in short, it was nothing but the eternally erect penis of the old god Priapus, borrowed for the sake of
convenience
. There was talk, also, of Poseidon, or Neptune; however this may be, for a little while we referred to Nazarene influence as ‘A stink of The Fish’.

‘Among Roman soldiers?’ Paulus asked.

‘Why not? If there is one thing the Nazarenes are not, it’s exclusive. They are astonishingly catholic. A large
proportion
of them are Jews, of course, it being a Jewish cult. But there are no fees, no mysteries, nothing. All you have to do is say you believe; and be you circumcised or otherwise, black African, blue Briton, dog-faced Scythian, they wash you in water and your past is gone and forgotten, and you are with Jesus from then on. So, one fine morning, while the officer was inspecting his company on parade, two legionaries stepped out of the ranks, dropped shield and spear, drew their swords, and offered them hilt first to the amazed centurion in the name of King Jesus, the Son of God! Non-violence, as you know, is one of their tenets.’

‘I know about their apish tenets,’ said Paulus. ‘But what happened?’

‘Oh, I imagine the men were flogged to death without much delay, in the presence of all the rest. But the matter gives one food for thought. A sect like that could be truly dangerous – the slave laughs at the whip, the criminal laughs at the judge, the soldier offers his sword to the enemy, crying: “King Jesus! King Jesus! King Jesus!”’ I watched Paulus; his mouth tightened a little. ‘King Jesus is all very well, so long as his kingdom is not of this world, as I am told he said. But when we come around to obstruction and passive mutiny, it seems to me that his followers are acting with a distinctly temporal as well as spiritual effect.’

‘Will Rome tolerate this?’ asked Paulus.

‘It remains to be seen how long our patience will last. I’ll tell you one thing, though – it is regarded as very unlucky, just now, for a soldier to hold up his sword with the hilt pointing away from him; and civilians are regarded as suspect, out Damascus way, who wear their knives or daggers in that fashion or even cross their fingers to avert bad luck. Such things are well worth noticing, Paulus. The sword reversed is the universal sign of submission, surrender, non-resistance, self-immolation if you like, and it is the easiest sign in the world to make – with a finger dipped in wine, with two sticks, with anything you like; the sign of the gallows, so:

– convenient, useful, in fact unavoidable in architecture, bridge-building, the making of domestic furniture, arms; and even in arithmetic, because you can’t calculate without the use of the
X
, which is the same figure with a short arm turned sideways. If I were a Nazarene organiser, I’d adopt that sign; everybody has it. And if I were you, I’d watch for its being made out of place; because the Nazarenes are already a kind of secret society, and they must have a quick, easy sign, and a countersign. For all these little things you will keep a sharp eye open, because as soon as real pressure is brought to bear on them, the Nazarenes will go
underground
.’

‘Yes, they would not fight,’ said Paulus bitterly.

‘Why should they? Fight, and be exterminated for armed revolt, and they a scattered handful? Fanatics they may be, but they aren’t complete fools. Besides, they are pacifists, and if they die for their faith, why, there is waiting for them Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God, King of the Jews, in whose
bosom there is eternal bliss. They are one with the Oneness of things.’

‘And yet they
shall
fight,’ said Paulus, through his teeth.

I pretended to sigh. ‘Such a lot of trouble out of such a little village! Nazareth. Mud huts! But what was Rome, once upon a time?’

‘Does Diomed mention Nazareth and Rome in the same breath?’ asked Paulus.

‘Why not? Believe me, my boy, concerning mud – the gods play with any clay that keeps their hands occupied. “Nazarene” is as good a stamp as any. Theirs is a faith for slaves, and most men in the world are slaves.’

‘Under Rome,’ said Paulus, spreading his hands like a shopkeeper and bowing his head in mock humility.

I said: ‘You know what happened when the razor tried to sharpen itself at the expense of the file? It ruined itself. Only fools try to split meanings in order to be clever. I was about to say, every man is a slave who has a hunger, be it for bread or love or power or peace; and the Nazarene was a hungry man’s prophet. He can take on something of the colour of his surroundings, therefore. So he is the helpful fallen log that turns out to be a crocodile, the patch of shade in the desert that becomes a lion, the bright green grass that is a quicksand. He dresses himself in your immediate need. He is sweet flesh for the leper, a new sensation for Little Lucius, a fresh speculation for Soxias – and a stepping-stone for high-climbing Paulus. Eh?’

Thoughtfully tracing little crosses with his finger-tip, Paulus said: ‘If you offer the hilt, you get the point. If the Nazarenes submit, they perish; if they resist, they perish. But I think they will resist. And oh, then …!’ He drew a hissing breath.

I said: ‘I hope they do, just a little, for your sake.’ And I thought: ‘If you imagine that I am to let you whip up an important insurrection, so that you may have the glory of
putting it down, my dear young friend, you are
mistaken
.’

He read my thought, and said: ‘It is a bad doctor who lets the wound heal before the pus is drained. They are a mixed lot, as you say; and surely some of them must draw iron. The slave concept is very pretty in the preaching, but can a wolf turn into a lamb overnight?’

‘If not overnight, then never,’ I said. ‘The lamb was there all the time; when the wolf’s skin wore thin, the lamb came out … or vice versa. I know men who have changed heart overnight.’

He saw that I was hinting at what he had told me about himself and his mother, for he darted a sharp glance at me, and then looked away. I went on: ‘A little provocation is sometimes necessary, judiciously applied. Your analogy of the doctor is apt; but sometimes the life of the patient comes out with the pus. The body has its own ways of healing itself, and these the good doctor must know – ask Melanion. Did Rome wipe out Judaea because a few orthodox fanatics took up arms?’

‘No, but –’

‘There is no
but.
Where we are sending you, you will behave with disciplined moderation in your temporary capacity as acting peace officer and magistrate on circuit.’

‘You are sending me? Where, Diomed, where?’

‘To Jerusalem and Damascus, to begin with. It pleases Rome, for the time being, to support your Temple in its suppressive action against the Nazarene agitators.’

‘Oh, Diomed!’

‘Yes, I know, I know,’ I said. ‘It is “Oh, Diomed” and “Oh, Diomed”, and this is what you have been praying for, and all that. But this is not a holiday, and an affair for kicking up the legs. It is a very serious matter, like a man’s first battle. It is a mission, and you must accomplish it almost alone. By this I shall learn what you are worth. Success or
failure depends upon your cool judgment and your correct conduct.’

‘I am proud,’ said Paulus, ‘I am very proud to have been chosen.’

‘So you ought to be,’ I said. ‘It is a matter of life or death for you. I don’t mean that it is at all dangerous; only if you fail us, well, you might as well resign yourself to selling hides and lending money to the farmers for the rest of your life – and that would be death to my friend Paulus, I think.’

‘It would!’ He appeared cool enough now; but a pulse had begun to beat in his throat.

‘Several names were considered. All were eliminated but two – yours and one Lazar of Lachish.’

‘Son of Isaac of Lachish – woollen cloth, fine leather, and parchment – a weakling,’ said Paulus, blowing away an imaginary feather.

‘Very likely. I had a voice in the matter, and my vote went to you. Keep still, keep still – the fact that I regard you as a sort of very young brother, or, if you like, half-grown son, had nothing to do with it. I voted, as I think, wisely. And for the first time in my life I believe I shall have had the good fortune to please everybody in the course of duty. When you were last in Jerusalem your father’s friends liked you for what they called – believe me or not – your “learning, zeal, piety, and pleasing demeanour”. And your father has almost as many friends as he has enemies – he knows how to make them, in the right quarters. But your father’s enemies agreed with his friends on this occasion, saying among themselves: “Pride goes before a fall. Give that haughty little fastidious Pharisee his head, and he will make a perfect fool of himself. He is too young, too hot-headed, and too
inexperienced
for such a mission. He will come back in
disgrace
, and that pious old fraud Joseph will never hold his head high again.” Such Romans as know you say: “Really, for a Jew, Paulus is almost half civilised. A Jew isn’t
necessarily
a bad sort, once he has learned white men’s ways. Send little Paulus to purge the Nazarenes, by all means – an educated Jew hates wild Jews as a dog hates wolves”…. Something like that.’