Chapter 14

Felix pretended a childish pout.

‘You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Voldi?’ he asked petulantly.

‘Don’t be silly!’ snapped Voldi. ‘Of course I’d lie to you if there was any reason for it.’

‘Well—you’re candid, anyway,’ laughed Felix.

‘Don’t be too sure about that, my son,’ warned Voldi dryly.

Felix knew now that he had employed the wrong tactics for the relief of his curiosity. The Arabian, albeit amiable enough, wasn’t going to have any confidences pried out of him; and his determined reticence made the son of the Prefect feel years younger than his tight-lipped acquaintance from the eastern mountains.

Their friendship ripened slowly. Having begun with a verbal fencing-match in which the Roman youth was much too hasty with his queries, forcing Voldi to a stubborn defence, they found it difficult to be at ease with one another. Felix was encouraged to talk about himself. His father had been appointed to the Prefecture five years ago, after long service as Captain of the Praetorian Guard in Rome. Felix had been left behind to finish his course in the Military Academy, and had come to Caesarea only last summer. He was free to say that he hated the town and was bored to extinction. His father had promised that he might return to Rome—’in a year or two’—but wanted him to acquaint himself with conditions in Caesarea. He did not say why, but Voldi could guess. The Empire was preparing to complete the subjugation of Palestine, and Felix would probably be in line for participation in it.

For something to say, Voldi remarked that life in Caesarea must be rather dull after living in the excitements of the Empire’s capital.

‘I’m slowly dying of it, Voldi!’ confided Felix, adding, after a brooding silence, ‘That may account for my ruthless invasion of your private affairs. My instinct tells me that you’re tangled up with an adventure of some sort, and—’

‘And you want to be in it,’ assisted Voldi.

After that, they seemed to understand each other better. They sheathed their weapons. Felix continued his daily calls at The Agrippa, making himself at home in Voldi’s apartment. On clear days they rode. It was an unusual comradeship, based mostly on their loneliness, boredom, and need of diversion. Felix frankly despised Aramaic and spoke it badly: he had been ecstatic when Voldi had aired his Greek.

‘You’re coming to Rome, some day,’ Felix said. ‘I’ll show you the only city that really matters—in the whole world! Know anybody there?’

‘Nicator Mencius,’ replied Voldi.