Chapter 10

‘Very well,’ conceded Tony grumpily. ‘But I’ll expect you to see to it that your blood-letting Arab keeps his distance from my ship! If anybody sticks a knife into the Tetrarch while he is not in my custody, I shall make no protest; but—By Jove!—he’s not going to be assassinated on The Augusta!’

‘It’s a wonder the fellow makes these voyages,’ observed Mencius.

‘He can’t rot up there in Galilee all the year round! He’d go crazy! Nothing ever happens. He has no friends among his subjects. They all despise him…However—he may be in for more excitement than he wants presently. His Chief Scrivener was telling me, this afternoon, that something like a revolution is brewing—’

‘In sleepy, stupid little Galilee?’ scoffed Mencius. ‘You’re jesting!’

‘According to this scribbler, Pamphylios, it’s not an uprising against the government—at least not yet. It seems that a young carpenter has been haranguing great crowds. So far, he has said nothing to inflame the people. On the contrary, he has been urging them to be law-abiding and content with their poverty.’

‘And how could such soft words collect a crowd?’ wondered Mencius.

‘Pamphylios says the man has been healing the sick by laying his hands upon them,’ said Tony. ‘That, of course, is nonsense. Pamphylios admits he has no first-hand knowledge of it. But—the rumour is in the air and all Galilee is buzzing with these stories.’

‘Bad time for the Tetrarch to absent himself,’ remarked Mencius.

‘That’s what Pamphylios thinks,’ assented Tony. ‘But Antipas couldn’t be talked out of his customary excursion. Half the year, in Tiberias, he lives on his anticipation of the other half in Rome. The Scrivener says that a deputation of priests waited on His Highness a few days ago, pleading with him to silence the Carpenter; but Antipas made short work of them; told them they had better make their synagogues a little more attractive and useful—and maybe the people wouldn’t be congregating in pasture-fields to listen to this carpenter.’

‘Not a bad suggestion,’ put in Mencius, with a chuckle.

‘Any suggestion would be good enough, in the Tetrarch’s opinion, so long as he wasn’t hindered from going to Rome. He wouldn’t miss the pageants and games of Saturnalia—not even if the Sea of Galilee went dry!’

Mencius was soberly meditative for a while.

‘Ever hear of the Jewish “Messiah,” Tony?’ he asked irrelevantly.