Chapter 2

Disappointed and disgruntled, they rode back into the business zone; and, after the manner of idling soldiers, made a nuisance of themselves in the shops and markets. No serious damage was done. One indignant old goldsmith remarked, ‘Kindly leave your horses outside. You are welcome—but we have no accommodation for horses.’ The Arabians thought this was funny and laughed heartily at the joke as they rode about through his bazaar, examining the expensive merchandise. Pleased that the Arabs did not loot his store, the goldsmith cheerfully answered all their questions.

‘How do you happen to be doing business today?’ they asked.

‘We’ve had no order to close up,’ replied the old merchant.

‘You know that King Herod is dead, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Sick very long?’

‘Hadn’t you heard?’

‘Heard he was dead—that’s all.’

‘There’s more to it than that! Prince Archelaus arrived from Rome last night, and he and the King quarrelled. Somehow the Prince was stabbed—accidentally, they say; and the King had a stroke—and died.’

The Arabians stopped browsing about the shop and surrounded the goldsmith inquisitively. Was the Prince badly hurt? Yes; he was said to be dying.

As the afternoon wore on some of the cavalrymen managed to find some wine, which gave them renewed interest in their mission of vengeance. They rode their horses into the lobby of the Temple, tore down several exquisitely wrought tapestries from the walls, and set fire to the High Priest’s palace. But as for revenge—no one was satisfied. That could come later—when they had access to Antipas. He was the ruler of Galilee and would eventually return to his domain. Some day, they declared, a few picked men of Arabia would pay him a visit.

At dusk they set off in the moonlight for their homeland. Next morning, as if the expedition had not already acquainted itself with a sufficient number of unusual incidents, the King’s white stallion misjudged the width of a cross-country wall and pitched his rider violently to the ground. They hurriedly dismounted and gathered about him. Aretas was dead.

Improvising a litter made of young saplings, they slowly bore the body toward home. That evening they camped on the plain near Jeshimoth. After their supper, eaten in silence, the troops assembled to hear Mishma confer the Kingship of Arabia upon Zendi, the son of Ilderan.