Chapter 3

To the satisfaction of Arabia, young Zendi dealt quite generously with Princess Arnon. This he could well afford to do, for he had inherited from his father Ilderan large flocks of sheep, herds of cattle, and enough camels to outfit a dozen caravans on their regular journeys to the sea.

It was his right as the new King to take over the entire domain controlled by Aretas, but he immediately asked the Councillors to cede a tract of the King’s land to the Princess for the pasturage of livestock bequeathed by her father.

In view of the sympathy which the Arabians felt for their unhappy Princess, this warm-hearted display of kindness greatly advantaged the boyish monarch as he entered upon his duties. And it was clear that he would stand in need of his country’s loyalty, for but little snow had fallen during the previous winter and the competition for grazing grounds would demand firm and wise control when the midsummer sun had made the problem serious. By this magnanimous act, Zendi had made a good beginning. Even Mishma, who had come so nearly being the new king himself, expressed his belief that Arabia was in competent hands and gave the son of Ilderan his full support.

With the approval of the Councillors, Arnon’s establishment was set up on a broad plateau two miles south of the King’s encampment, and it seemed very much like home, for she was entitled to all the furniture and household retainers belonging to her father. At Zendi’s gracious suggestion, the royal ensign fluttered at her imposing entrance door and its replica was embroidered on her apparel. ‘And Fara is to wear the royal crest on her clothing too,’ Zendi had added, much to Arnon’s delight.

So many internal problems were distressing the King, the Councillors, and the tribal chieftains as this trying summer wore on, that the question of an immediate avenging of Arnon was abandoned. Affairs in Arabia were quite difficult enough without the added risk and responsibility of setting forth on a punitive errand requiring their best men and much valuable time. Word had drifted in that Prince Antipas and his disreputable wife had taken up permanent residence in Galilee. Very good, said Arabia. We will know where to find him. Let him be patient and wait our convenience.

A few of the more hot-headed young blades, still disgruntled over the recent fiasco in Jerusalem, demurred at this postponement, maintaining that the honour of Arabia was at stake and that any delay to deal out retribution might be interpreted by the Jews as a sign of indifference—or worse. To soothe the indignation of their reckless sons and nephews, the Councillors prepared an imposing statement of intent to right this wrong, which any impatient young Arabian might sign—and act upon—whenever he wished.

In the King’s main tent, where all state business was conducted and Council meetings were held, there was a massive oak table elaborately carved with devices relating to the interests of herders and shepherds. This venerated table had long served as the equivalent of a throne. Nobody remembered the name of the craftsman who had built it, for he had been dead at least three centuries, but it had been in uninterrupted use as a symbol of executive authority ever since the reign of the fabulous Terah, whose deeds of strength and skill had inspired the minstrels for many generations. On this table were laid documents of high importance: petitions to and edicts of the Councillors and decrees of the King.