Chapter 28

A fortnight had passed since the death of the King. Much snow had fallen, earlier than usual, but the sun shone brightly at midday, melting the drifts. Old men who remembered freely predicted a mild, open winter, which meant that Arabia faced the heartening prospect of ample pasturage and prosperity. This was good, especially in view of the fact that the nation was without a ruler. It was in seasons when the grass was scarce that the tribesmen quarrelled and fought and the country needed the control of a firm hand. When the traditional thirty days of mourning passed, the Council would meet and consider the appointment of a new King, it being quite obvious that Prince Deran was unable to succeed to the throne, a fact which the wise men discreetly deplored in their demeanour and conversation but to which they bravely reconciled themselves in their hearts.

At dusk one afternoon, Ione came into Fara’s bed-chamber to say that an old man whom she had never seen before was asking to see her.

‘A huge man!’ she said. ‘Very tall and very tired and very wet; someone important, I think,’ she added. ‘I brought him in out of the snow.’

Fara followed her quickly. At the sight of the visitor, who stood waiting, she stared incredulously for an instant, and then rushed into his arms. ‘Petros!’ she cried. ‘Is it possible? Is it really you?’

‘Have I changed so much?’ he asked.

She led him to the glowing fireplace and began tugging off his snow-covered robe. He sat down wearily and Ione knelt to unfasten the soaked sandal-thongs.

‘Your hair!’ exclaimed Fara. ‘Your beard! Even your voice is different, Peter! I’m afraid you have suffered deeply. But—’ she studied him candidly, intuitively. ‘But—whatever has happened to you, it has made you great!’ Her husky voice lowered to a tone of reverence. ‘Did the Master leave you in charge of his earthly Kingdom?’

Ione stood before them, wide-eyed with bewilderment, apparently unable to decide whether to listen or leave. Fara said, in Greek, ‘Petros, this is my dear Ione, of whom I have often spoken…And Ione, this is the Big Fisherman whom Jesus named Petros.’

‘A rock?’ murmured Ione. ‘Yes,’ she added quickly. ‘That is so! A rock! Yes—it is true!’ Impulsively she knelt at his feet; and Peter, taking both her hands in his, raised her up gently.

‘I am not to be worshipped, Ione,’ he said, in her own tongue. ‘I am only a man who has walked humbly beside a King. I give you his blessing.’

Ione supervised the preparation of a nourishing supper; and, after they had eaten, Peter and Fara sat by the fire talking earnestly until far into the night. Fara listened with increasing perplexity as Peter confided the nature of his errand in Arabia. A strange power had been bestowed upon him, he said. The Holy Spirit had enabled him to perform miracles of healing. He had made cripples walk!