The Implacable Hunter (13 page)

‘But I will wager a horse to a hen that he is still alive in
the flesh. Therefore, Paulus, it is possible that in your wanderings you may find him. If so, bring him back alive.’

Paulus said, slowly: ‘Of course,
if
he is alive as you say, then according to the Law he is an escaped felon. He was sentenced to death on the cross. In that case, we would crucify him again?’

I said: ‘Oh no, no! I would have him pardoned and exhibited as a curiosity. In death, having died at the right time, he lives as the spirit of a creed. Alive, he is dead indeed. … Joseph of Arimathea put his foot in it that time!’

‘If it could be proved, of course,’ said Paulus, ‘Joseph is guilty of a conspiracy –’

‘Oh, that is nothing. He could wriggle off that hook
without
the slightest difficulty. What I mean is, that with all the good intentions in the world, Joseph broke Jesus’s heart – he didn’t let him die at the appointed time. And so, if Jesus believed Elijah, as there is no reason to doubt that he did, the Prophecy was yet to be fulfilled; the Kingdom of God wasn’t at hand after all. Perhaps he tried to believe, for a moment, that between the time his senses left him on the cross, and the moment when he awoke in the sepulchre, he really had been dead? But then the pain must have
convinced
him that he was still alive and in the flesh, and his spiritual anguish must have been terrible indeed.’

‘A pitiful charlatan!’ said Paulus.

I said: ‘No. An honest man and a brave one. A charlatan would have slunk away under a veil of mystery, waited a few years, and then returned in glory. Jesus went straight to his men as soon as he could hobble, and said: “Here are my scarred hands, here are my scarred feet – feel me – I am wounded, but alive.” And after that he went away alone. No charlatanry there. He went to look for his death
elsewhere
. That is all. It is my guess that the unhappy man is still on his strange journey, seeking this death. Perhaps Judas went with him – he never went home to Karioth – but
this is the sheerest conjecture. Rumour has it that Judas hanged himself. I don’t believe that; he was too strict a Jew to commit suicide; he’s about somewhere. You will hunt where the tracks lead you.’

‘I will do whatever you tell me to do,’ said Paulus, looking me in the eyes. ‘I think I read you, Diomed. A prophecy should never be fulfilled in the prophet’s lifetime: a Jesus returned is a Jesus with the virtue gone out of him. He can never be as great as the shadow he cast with the light
behind
him. A dream come true is no dream at all – it is beautiful only in its own world. Am I right?’

‘You are. That was well put.’

He asked, abruptly: ‘Is it true that Tiberius is dying?’

‘I don’t know. He is very old.’

‘Who will succeed?’

‘Lap of the gods! Tiberius himself was an accident.’

‘But there will be changes in the world?’

‘The world is constantly changing. If you mean perceptible alterations in the existing order of things – why, there always are when Caesar dies. But by “the world”, I take it that you mean Asia Minor.’

‘Well?’

‘Well, there must be re-shuffles, readjustments, new appointments and a period of indeterminate flux.’

‘Riot? Revolt?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘In your mind, Diomed, is it conceivable that the rabble might clamour for a King Jesus while the Temple demand a Herod?’

‘In my mind, anything is conceivable.’

‘Then, just imagining this to be the case…?’

‘Then we should have to offer a third alternative of course, to keep order. In fact we might be compelled to impose such an alternative. Some popular man, preferably of a highly-placed family, in favour with the priests, in
accord with the merchants, attractive to the mob, and in sympathy with Rome.’

After a short silence he asked: ‘In such a turmoil would my Diomed be lost?’

I laughed, and said: ‘Oh no. I grow deep rather than high. I tend outwards rather than upwards. I am not tall enough to fell, and I might make too big a hole in the landscape if I were uprooted.’

‘I will do whatever you advise,’ said Paulus, and paused for a moment to listen. Dionë was singing again. ‘A pretty song,’ he said.

I told him: ‘It is an Armenian children’s dance. They do it with gestures. The words go:

It is addressed to someone who has broken a girl’s water-pot. They are a sensitive and a poetic people. You ought to hear the one they sing about Caesar.’

‘Caesar is very old,’ said Paulus, sighing, ‘and who can tell –’

But then my secretary came in. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘it is Ariaios.’

‘At this time of night?’

‘He said that he was obeying Barbatus’s orders. Barbatus said that he was to come precisely at this hour.’

‘Which Ariaios is this?’ I asked. ‘Ariaios the Greek?’

‘No, the lawyer, the Persian – the one they call Alexander Ariaios.’

‘Well,’ I said, with a foolish sensation as of a weight lifted off my chest, ‘that’s my third Alexander today, and I can rest in peace. Let him come in.’

‘Tarsus is full of Alexanders,’ Paulus remarked.

‘I told you that sometimes I am an old woman,’ I said; and still my neck tingled when I looked away from the north. ‘I never knew this Ariaios to bring good news yet.’

The face of Ariaios might, indeed, have been designed by some clever mask-maker to be worn by a harbinger of
misfortune
in a tragedy; it was of a dull, greenish pallor, with a sunken leaden mouth set in a deathly rictus that showed yellow teeth and grey gums. His voice had a certain hollow, hopeless sound, such as might come to the ears of a man dying of thirst when he drops a stone into a well and hears, after a breathless silence, the echo of a dry thud. He took a mouthful of wine with resignation, like hemlock, and swallowed it as if it had been a mouthful of gravel. He was nervous; he would have talked rapidly, if he could, and he, too, kept glancing over the terrace to the north as he handed me a packet of documents, while with his free hand he made a pantomime of squeezing the juice out of something.

‘From the noble Barbatus,’ he said. ‘Certain documents relative to the disposal of certain of his properties.
Conveyanced
and engrossed by me, and signed and sealed by the noble Barbatus in the presence of –’

‘Never mind the names and conditions of the witnesses,’ I said.

‘Also, this letter addressed to the noble Diomed,’ said the lawyer. ‘If the noble Diomed will read the letter now? The substance of the content of the rest I can tell the noble Diomed in a word; the detail may be read at your leisure, sir. The noble Barbatus has freed all his slaves, bestowing upon each a certain sum of money. And he has given to his three free servants each a sum of money which, in the event of his will being disputed, has been paid before the noble Barbatus’s death; that is to say, this evening –’

‘What the devil!’ I cried, and broke open the letter, and read:

Having
given
the
matter
due
consideration,
with
a
clear
and
contented
mind
and
a
grateful
heart,
I
intend
to
leave
this
world
tonight,
taking
with
me
that
in
which
all
my
desires
and
dreams
are
now
most
sublimely
and 
marvel
lously
embodied.
I
refer,
of
course,
to
the
divine
Eurynome.
Her
I
take
in
my
breast.
By
the
time
you
read
this,
dear
Diomed,
I
shall
be
asleep
on
my
pyre,
with
Charon’s
piece
under
my
tongue.
With
Eurynome
in
my
arms,
how
can
Hades,
who
left
even
hell
for
love
of
Persephone,
deny
us
courtesy?
Then
rejoice
for
me,
Diomed,
for
now
I
am
one
with
Perfection.
I
cling
to
so
elusive
a
thing
in
this
my
old
age,
and
if
I
let
myself
live
on
in
this
place
I
should
be
forced
to
submit
to
the
ignominy
of
the
vulgar
fear
of
death.
And
what
impious
hands
might,
after
mine,
caress
Eurynome?
My
blessing
upon
the
inspired
Paulus,
for
whose
everlasting
happiness
I
will
not
fail
to
solicit
the
gods
with
all
the
eloquence
of
which
my
gratitude
must
make
me
capable.

B.
       

And even to this, Barbatus must add an antiquarian
postscript
:

I
have
chosen
for
Charon
a
coin
of
great
beauty.
It
is
a
silver
piece
of
Akragas,
still
unhandled
as
mere
money,
engraved
on
the
obverse
by
Myron
with
the
chariot
of
Helios,
and
on
the
reverse,
by
that
master
Polykrates,
with
a
charming
composition
of
eagles
stooping
to
seize
a
hare:
Infinitely
more
graceful
than
the
blatant
Athenian.
Even
that
surly
ferryman
should
be
pleased.
I
think
ten
drachmæ
not
too
little,
and
not
too
much,
and
the
coin
does
not
distend
the
mouth.

B.
       

‘I wish Soxias had kept his damned cup for a spittoon,’ I said, showing the letter to Paulus.

He read, and shrugged. ‘Barbatus was out of his wits.’

‘Ah, so I feared,’ said Ariaios, ‘but –’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’ I said. ‘You feared so,
but
! So you
feared Barbatus was insane,
but
you followed his
instructions
,
but
you took his fee, and his business is here duly conveyed. Enough!’

‘
But
,’
said Ariaios, inexorably, ‘the noble Barbatus was perfectly composed, not at all demented, and it was not for me to question a gentleman’s right to dispose of his life or part of his personal property.’

‘The whole of his personal property,’ I corrected him.

‘In law, yes. Morally, perhaps. But in effect, noble Diomed, in effect?’

‘Legally, morally, and in effect,’ I said firmly, although I knew better.

Ariaios said: ‘Sir, sir – Barbatus’s pyre is in his walled park, and if the breeze changes, surely the house must catch, and a prince’s ransom will go to the flames with him! Oh sir, I have done my duty as a man of law – let me now do my duty as a citizen in warning you! There will be time to save the house.’

I had already called for my armour, and I contented
myself
with a contemptuous flap of the hand towards Ariaios by way of reply. I was well aware that a gentleman is as free to leave this world as he is free to come into it. In the matter of coming and going, the world keeps open house. But nobody worth regarding comes here out of the night, makes free for a lifetime, and then drifts off into the night again without leaving a little something, if only in courtesy. Even if he is carried away unexpectedly, his family, in common decency and respect, must assume that he has not forgotten Caesar – who may choose to exercise a paternal trusteeship on Grounds of Intention. Anyone who by
negligence
, let us say, allows a rich man’s valuables to be lost, stolen, or destroyed is – as may be, and will be, argued – responsible as an accessory to that loss or theft.

In a word: Barbatus’s family would have a great deal to
say in Rome in the way of excuse; and good heads had rolled for less than the worth of the least of Barbatus’s gems.

‘Look!’ said Paulus, pointing to the north.

There was a redness in the sky. ‘Here we go,’ I said,
cheerfully
; the prospect of action generally invigorates me. ‘Ahoy, Pugnax! My guard!’

‘May I come with you?’ Paulus asked.

‘No. Go directly home.’

I left, buckling my sword, but Ariaios followed on my heels. In sheer fear he had broken out in a dew, like a rancid cheese, and he smelled like one.