Chapter 9

Voldi suddenly raised his head.

‘Do you mean, sir, that she may have been imprisoned?’

‘Or worse,’ muttered Dumah.

At that, Voldi rose from his place, fell on his knees before the King, and cried, ‘I can no longer bear this anxiety, sire! I entreat you! Let me go and search for her in Jewry!’

Old Mishma, seated beside the King, whispered a suggestion. Zendi motioned Voldi to arise and told him to wait outside. It was a full hour before they called him back. The Councillors had risen from their seats and seemed restless to be off.

‘At the request of your honoured grandfather, Voldi, we are permitting you to go. We will give you a certificate of your Arabian citizenship, requesting safe passage through all Jewry. You realize that this document does not have the value which would be accorded it in Macedonia, Petra, Cyprus, or Rome. If you get into trouble over there in Judaea or Galilee, it will be your own affair. We wish you well, my son; but if you do not return, no one will search for you.’

While Zendi was speaking, Voldi’s grateful eyes drifted to his grandfather’s sober face. What a grand old man was Mishma! When the King had finished, Voldi bowed deeply. Zendi laid a hand on his shoulder and wished him a safe journey.

‘I shouldn’t let you do it,’ he added.

‘If His Majesty were in my place,’ ventured Voldi, ‘he would take the chance, I think.’

‘What weapons will you carry?’ inquired Zendi.

‘Only a dagger, sire.’

‘Very good. It is better not to bear conspicuous arms. And try to avoid controversies, however trivial. And don’t draw your dagger unless you intend to use it…Another thing: you should be well provided with money!’

Voldi’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t thought much about money. He had never carried money with him; never had had occasion to use money. Old Mishma instantly lifted that weight.

‘He shall have ample funds, my lord.’

Voldi impetuously reached for his grandfather’s hand—and gripped it. Zendi stepped down from the dais, and was moving away.