Chapter 8

‘I heard you tell the sentry your name, daughter,’ he said, when they had sat down together.

‘Would you like to call me Esther?’ She handed him a goblet of grape juice which he sniffed suspiciously. ‘It is not fermented,’ she said. ‘I pressed it only a few moments ago. Claudia told me you could not drink wine.’

‘I am a Nazarite.’ He touched the goblet with his lips experimentally, and then sipped it with relish.

‘Do the people of Nazareth not drink wine?’

‘I do not mean that I am of Nazareth. I am a Nazarite, which is a different thing altogether. There is a monastic order among us known as the Nazarites. We take a vow—or, as in my own case—it is taken for us at our birth; chastity, poverty, abstinence.’

Esther offered him the plate of wheaten bread. He put down the goblet and broke one of the small loaves.

‘That doesn’t seem quite fair,’ she ventured, ‘to have had a vow imposed upon you when you were only a baby.’

‘I have never regretted it,’ he said. ‘It is a good life.’ A shy, unexpected smile lighted his deep eyes. ‘And my name is John. It would please me—after so long away from home—to hear my name spoken by a friend.’

‘What a lonely life you have had!’

‘Not until recently. I have spent many years in solitude, pursuant to my Nazarite vow, but they have been spent under the open sky. I was not unhappy. But here, in this dark prison, I am quite desolate, friendless, and strangely beset with forebodings.’ He turned toward her with anxious eyes. ‘Tell me, daughter, were you able to see him?’

She had hoped to postpone this query as long as possible, for she was unprepared to answer it to his satisfaction.

‘Yes, sir—John—I saw and heard him yesterday afternoon. There was the greatest multitude I ever saw. It was gathered about him—in a pasture—not far from Bethsaida. I was amazed to see so many people. I wondered where they all came from. It was—’

He had been studying her face intently, as she laboriously put off the moment when she must tell him what manner of man she had seen. Divining her difficulty, he broke in upon her hesitations.

‘You were disappointed, I think.’

‘No, John, I was not disappointed—but I fear you will be. This man does not seem to be an avenger. He speaks with the most gentle, entreating voice I ever heard, a soothing voice that makes you very quiet—inside. He did not talk about punishment in store for wrongdoers, nor did he say that the mighty would be dragged from their seats, nor that those of low degree would be exalted. But he spoke peace and courage to the poor.’ She paused for a long moment. ‘And little children crowded about him—and he cured a small boy of his lameness.’