Chapter 17

And while all this strange business of feeding five thousand people out of a little boy’s lunch-basket was taking place in the desert, a mere handful of Bethsaidans quietly buried John’s body in the village cemetery beside his long-departed father and mother. Frail old Rabbi Elimelech quaveringly intoned an ancient prayer for the peace of the prophet’s soul. Esther, who had returned only yesterday from her arduous labours in the hungry, thirsty, weary crowds that had followed Jesus during his eastern journey, tarried with Hannah until the grave was filled and covered it with garden flowers.

So—there was no revolution in Galilee. But the public’s attitude toward the Tetrarch and his household and his pagan guests, while lacking in any demonstration of hostility, became quite unendurable. Without waiting for The Augusta to come for him, a month hence, Antipas impetuously organized his retinue and made off early one morning for Caesarea, hoping to be lucky enough to find a vessel presently sailing for Rome. No spectators lined the streets to gape at the procession as it passed.

Fortunately for the harried Tetrarch, a dirty and dilapidated old freight-ship, The Ostia, was—at the moment of his impromptu departure from Tiberias—discharging the last shovelful of her cargo of Cyprian copper on one of the new wharves in Caesarea, and would sail home within a few days.

Among the small group of passengers who had disembarked from The Ostia was Sergius, the Prefect. Captain Malus, half expecting him to arrive, was at the wharf and greeted his master with a warm welcome.

‘And how is Felix?’ the Prefect wanted to know, as they rode together toward the Praetorium.

‘Very well, sir. He will be overjoyed to see you.’

‘Lonesome, I dare say,’ mused Sergius. ‘How has he been spending his time?’

‘He rides, sir,’ reported the Captain. ‘And he often visits the young Arabian, Voldi, in prison.’

Sergius scowled.

‘I do not like that, Malus. You shouldn’t have permitted it! I lock this fellow up for disobeying orders—and my son visits him. I won’t have it. Suppose all this should reach the ear of the Tetrarch!’

Malus meekly protested that there had been no instructions to forbid callers at the prison.

‘I had no authority, sir, to tell Felix where he might and might not go in your absence. I can’t think that any harm’s been done,’ he added. ‘The Arabian is still in prison…And—by the way—Antipas has just arrived in town with his large party. They sail for Rome on The Ostia.’

‘That dirty old tub?’ shouted Sergius. ‘The Tetrarch must be in a hurry.’

‘Yes, sir. Antipas made a mistake—all Galilee is buzzing with it, on the verge of revolt. Apparently it got too hot for him up there.’