Chapter 6

Helen stood by, demurely studying Simon’s glum indifference to the raillery which she couldn’t understand very well. He gave her a brief smile.

‘The Big Fisherman is in love!’ shrieked Murza. ‘It has taken his appetite.’ She tossed a teasing glance toward the Greek girl, who smiled childishly and shook her black curls, though whether she did not comprehend or, comprehending, was showing a maidenly embarrassment, Simon could not tell. But it was an attractive little smile—whatever it meant—and his heavy frown cleared as he gave her a friendly look.

‘See what I told you!’ taunted Murza. ‘That’s his ailment: he is lovesick!’

‘I think you’re right—for once,’ drawled Leah. ‘And he’s always pretending to be so tough—and strong—and manly: no use for women; just a big man’s man! And now he cannot eat—for love!’

‘He should be put in the dungeon along with the other solemn owl who does not eat! No?’ Claudia laughed gaily at her own drollery.

‘She’s talking about our new prisoner,’ explained Anna, with unexpected seriousness. ‘The legionaries brought him in the day before yesterday. They said he had been living on grasshoppers and other roasted bugs—in the desert.’

‘Well, you should be able to find some bugs for him,’ remarked Simon, relieved at this turn in the conversation. ‘It is late in the season for the larger bugs,’ he added, ‘but there should be plenty of the smaller ones in his bedding.’

‘Not at all!’ protested Anna. ‘His cell is clean and comfortable. His Highness gave orders about that. He wants the man treated kindly: he thinks the poor fellow is crazy—but innocent of any crime.’

‘What is he charged with?’ inquired Simon unconcernedly.

‘He is some sort of wandering prophet,’ said Anna. ‘Would you like to see him? He is a Galilean. And he is permitted to have visitors, though no one has come—so far.’

‘Perhaps his friends are afraid to venture that close to a prison,’ observed Leah. ‘I’m sure I would be.’

Simon had straightened to his full height. He hitched manfully at his belt and spat vehemently on the ground.

‘I don’t visit prophets!’ he growled. ‘I hadn’t supposed I looked that foolish.’

‘Well, as for me’—Anna enigmatically arched her eyebrows to signify that she knew more than she intended to divulge—’I don’t believe the man is crazy. Maybe he really is a prophet!’