Chapter 6

Claudia was returning now, staggering under the weight of a massive tray laden with a huge pitcher and wine-cups. She breathlessly put her burden down on the ledge of the sun-dial and gave the company a bright smile.

‘If Lysias catches you out here with that silver service—’ warned Leah.

‘Never mind my basket,’ muttered Simon, moving off. ‘I’ll pick it up later.’

‘But—how rude!’ protested Claudia. ‘Here I have gone to the trouble to bring you wine—in His Highness’s beautiful silver—and you run away! and the Big Fisherman is said to be so strong and brave! Pouf!’ She faced him with cool contempt. ‘Very well—hurry off to your Synagogue, Big Fisherman! And say your prayers!’

Simon flushed with anger. Claudia, noting that her insult had bitten him in a sensitive spot, poured a cup full of wine and held it out to him, with a wheedling smile.

‘I shouldn’t have teased you: it wasn’t fair. We all know you are so very big—and brave—and manly!’

‘I wonder whether he is,’ sniffed Leah negligently.

Stung by the indignities, Simon impetuously grabbed the cup and drained it. The heady wine warmed his throat and spread a pleasant glow through his vitals. Now that he had vindicated himself, he would furnish additional proof that he was no pious weakling. He handed back the cup and Claudia, giggling happily, refilled it.

‘Better not lay it on too fast, Big Fellow,’ advised Anna, as Simon tipped back his head.

‘That’s enough now, Claudia,’ growled Murza. ‘You don’t want to get him into trouble. You can see he doesn’t know how to drink wine. He’ll be tight as a drum presently.’

Simon wiped his bearded lips with the back of his big hand, sighed contentedly, grinned foolishly, and made a deep bow which amused them all except Helen, whose tremulous smile showed anxiety.

They were relieved to see him go. With long, springing, military strides, the Big Fisherman made off toward the driveway—dizzy but exultant. He had never felt better in his life. He triumphantly swung his shaggy head from side to side, accenting his confident swagger with swinging arms and squared shoulders.

What the Italian trollop had said was true: the Jews did take themselves too seriously; they made the business of living a sad and sorry undertaking. As for himself, Simon was now resolved to be more light-hearted in the future. Any Jew so concerned over the world’s wickedness that he would withdraw alone to the desert—and eat bugs—was entitled to all the pleasure he could find in it: Simon would have no part in such foolishness. Nor would he give another thought to the penniless Carpenter.