Chapter 4

Having brought no camping equipment except a pair of camel-hair rugs, Fara slept for the first time in her life under the open sky. She retired early, for there was little else to do. A half-grown boy had been given a few pennies for bringing water to Saidi, after which Fara had removed the saddle and bridle, carrying them to a grassy spot near a cypress tree. During the slow twilight the people quietly pitched their simple camps, and by the time the stars appeared in full splendour the pasture-field was still. Occasionally a tired baby cried, a dog barked, there was a brief argument among the pack-asses; but the people were quiet. Fara wondered whether they slept or reflected soberly on the strange words they had heard. The distinguished men from the city—what were they thinking? Ruth’s mother—did she say to herself that at least she was innocent of any fault? And what would this peace-loving prophet think if he knew that one of his interested auditors was on her way to kill her own father? It was a long time before her mental confusion gave way to her bodily fatigue. She went to sleep wondering whether Arabia, too, would be warned of what was coming. And would anyone speak to the Romans about it? Surely the world was larger than Judaea.

Even before dawn there was a stir of activity. Fara rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, sat up and combed her boyish hair, drew the red bandeau down over her forehead, rolled up her rugs, and set off to see how Saidi had fared. Saidi was gone! There was the stake to which she had been tethered, but Saidi was nowhere to be seen. Doubtless she had contrived to tug loose and wander away. She might even be well started for home. Intelligent horses were known to do that.

After fruitless inquiries of the men and boys who were attending to their beasts, Fara decided to climb the hill for a wider view. As she reached the summit, her heart beating hard with the exertion and alarm, she shaded her eyes and carefully surveyed the plain below, every rod of it, from the faraway north to the congested encampment; but there was no sight of Saidi. She suddenly felt so weak and faint that she laid a hand against the trunk of a tree for support against the westerly morning breeze. She started at the sound of a voice immediately behind her.

‘What are you looking for, daughter?’

Fara turned slowly to confront the prophet, who was regarding her with sober eyes.

‘My horse,’ she replied unsteadily, returning to her search of the valley. ‘She must have wandered away in the night.’

‘May have been stolen,’ suggested John, advancing to stand beside her.

‘Surely no one, among these people, would steal!’ said Fara.

‘There is no place in this greedy world, my daughter, where men do not steal.’

There it was again—’my daughter.’ Fara hoped she had misunderstood, the first time; but there was no doubt about it now. Somehow he knew. But she must listen, for he was speaking quietly, almost as if to himself.