Chapter 18

The oncoming winter season, so far, had not amounted to much in Caesarea; light, frequent showers, but no snow and no cold weather.

It had been Voldi’s intention to visit Jerusalem on his way home; but, once started on the south-bound road, he decided to retrace the course he had pursued in the company of Mencius.

At Joppa he spent a day touring the docks, surprised at the extensive operations in progress there, where the Romans were conducting harbour installations similar to those in Caesarea, though on a less lavish scale.

That the Empire contemplated an invasion had been plainly evident by the expensive works in Caesarea; now it appeared that the military strategists were not putting all their eggs in one basket. Frowsy old Joppa too was being converted into an available beach-head; and with such undisguised urgency and earnestness that it seemed the long-threatened Roman offensive might be imminent. All Palestine, preoccupied with her internal feuds, pretended not to notice. Perhaps Jehovah, who had fed the Children of Israel with manna in the wilderness, would take care of this situation. He’d better, thought Voldi, or the Promised Land was doomed: yes, and Arabia too, if the Romans thought it worth the bother of conquest; though they might not want Arabia, for the Romans had no taste for a nomadic life. They might be content to levy a high tribute on the Arabs and let them remain unmolested with their flocks and herds. It was high time, though, that Arabia considered the danger she faced. Voldi felt that he would have much to report to his King.

And so on, day after day, with brief, begrudged pauses at night for rest, he followed the much-travelled highways, through beautiful Askelon, drowsing in charmingly unseasonable sunshine, to wretched old Gaza, whose squalor, plagues, stenches, and wickedness no felicity of climate could forgive; and on and steadily on through ancient Hebron to parched Engedi and the Dead Sea. He made a half-circle of this dazzling white brine and turned east again over the blistered crust of the salt-flats into the Valley of Aisne.

Darik was so tired now that he didn’t care who knew it. Instead of picking up his feet smartly, as was his custom, he was shuffling and stumbling along like a spiritless pack-ass; but after the Valley of Aisne had been traversed and the winding road up through the hills lay before him, the tall black gelding, recognizing his homeland, renewed his strength. As they gained altitude, snow was encountered on the northern slopes, and when the shoulder of the high plateau was reached Voldi was happy to find an endless, undulating blanket of white that covered the hillsides and valleys as far as he could see in all directions. This was good! Arabia had the sure promise of a prosperous spring and summer. There would be fat cattle and sheep. Well-fed camels would produce strong, sleek foals.

Voldi breathed deeply of the crisp, tonic mountain air, inhaling it hungrily as if he ate of it. He rose in his stirrups and stirred echoes in the hilltops with boyish shouts. As never before, he realized how much Arabia meant to him. And Darik, noisily blowing his nose, tugged for an easement of the bridle-reins, tossed his head and stretched his long legs to a lope.