The First Minister bowed yet again to Herodias, in recognition of this courtesy, and, when the lady smiled, subsided into a chair. He was rather pleased with himself, for he was reasonably sure that nothing of the immense relief he felt showed in his face.
They were alone in the room, and Eleazar discovered an interesting contrast between husband and wife. Except for the jeweled rings that never left his hands, Antipas was quite plainly dressed, in an embroidered tunic without even a cloak over it. And he had neglected to comb his hair. He looked as if he might have come directly from his bed.
Herodias, however, had obviously taken some pains with her appearance. Her black hair shone from the brush, and her dress, of blue silk with white sleeves, was both modest and elegant, with only a loose white cord for a belt. Eleazar guessed that this was for him, that she wished to make the right impression, to avoid antagonizing him.
She was better prepared for this interview than was Antipas, probably in the contents of her mind as well as the adornment of her person.
“Come now, Minister—what am I to do?”
Antipas was afraid. He was hiding it behind a screen of bluster, but he was afraid. Herodias was afraid as well. That was useful.
“I would suggest to Your Majesty that this would be an appropriate time to end the purge.”
“Purge? What purge?”
The Tetrarch of Galilee and Perea seemed genuinely perplexed.
“The purge of the Baptist’s supporters, sire. They are being rounded up and imprisoned. Some of them have already been crucified.”
Antipas started to say something, but his wife touched his arm with her hand and he fell silent.
“Will that be enough?” she asked. “Simply to stop the purge?”
“No, Lady, but it will be a beginning.”
Herodias made no reply. She would have liked to, but she restrained herself. Eleazar allowed the silence to endure while he counted silently to five.
“I would urge Your Majesty to declare an amnesty,” he said finally. “‘The Tetrarch is moved by compassion for his subjects and forgives their errors,’ and so forth, and so on. I have no doubt that those chastened by a few months in prison will give no further trouble, and we need an interval of calm.”
“The Blessed One alone knows what the Romans will think,” Antipas blurted out, holding a hand over his eyes as if afflicted by the light.
Yes. Noah’s quotations of the imperial legate’s correspondence had had their effect. Nothing else could have frightened the Tetrarch into such cowering submission. Eleazar reminded himself that he must think of a suitable reward for the ironsmith.
“The Romans will think you are wise, sire,” the First Minister announced soothingly. “The Romans care only for domestic order and their taxes. The one insures the other. Any steps taken to pacify Galilee will be approved by Damascus—and by Rome.”
“It shall be as you think best, Minister,” Antipas answered wearily, his hand still covering his eyes. “I leave all of this to your management. And now…”
Eleazar made a small sound, as if clearing his throat, and Herodias, like a hunting dog that has found the scent, lifted her head. Again she touched her husband’s arm, and again he fell silent.
“There is more, of course,” she said, not so much to the Tetrarch or his minister as to herself.
“Yes, Lady. There is one other matter.”
“And that is…?”
“Caleb,” the First Minister answered, addressing himself rather pointedly to the Tetrarch. “He has demonstrated his unworthiness. I must assume my share of the blame, sire. I brought him to your attention. It was a mistake. When this crisis is past, I hope you will allow me to accept the consequences of my failure and retire from your service, but Caleb also must render his account.”
At last the Tetrarch, like a man coming out of hiding, lifted his hand from his eyes. He glanced first at his minister and then at his wife, who, almost imperceptibly, shook her head.
Yes, of course. She had already considered the probability that Eleazar would assume such an attitude and had coached her husband accordingly.
“I cannot part with you, Minister,” Antipas said, like an actor reading a part. “You must continue in my service, for I have grown to depend upon your wisdom. We will speak no more of blame. As for Caleb, rein him in if you will, but he too must remain with me. Have no fear—I will make it plain to him that he is your servant as well as mine.”
Eleazar placed his hand over his heart and, as well as one can while seated in a chair, bowed to the will of his master.
“Then I have a favor to ask of you, sire.”
“Name it.” The Tetrarch smiled benevolently, the interview having veered in a more comfortable direction. “You have but to name it, Eleazar.”
“My favor is this: that you will allow me to draw up a list of names, and that it shall be Your Majesty’s pleasure that no one whose name appears on that list shall be subject to arrest or shall be interfered with in any way without Your Majesty’s express warrant.”
The Tetrarch waved his hand, as if consenting to a trifle, and a faint trace of irritation registered in the Lady Herodias’s face.
“And of course, Minister,” she said sweetly, “you would expect to be consulted before any such warrant is issued?”
She had created the trap for herself. Eleazar smiled at her, almost pityingly.
“Lady, I advise the Tetrarch when and if he condescends to seek my opinion. I serve his will—nothing else remains to me. He consults me at his pleasure.”
He risked a glance at the humbled ruler of Galilee and Perea and then turned his attention back to Herodias. Antipas feared the Romans, and Eleazar could read their thoughts. It would be the Tetrarch’s pleasure to consult his First Minister on all matters touching his realm, and his wife understood that. For the moment, at least, Caleb was checked.
20
Among the small number of his followers, Joshua’s return to Capernaum was a cause for rejoicing. That first evening they all assembled at Deborah’s house for dinner and to hear the Master recount his journey.
Throughout the evening, as Deborah listened to Joshua describe his reception among the villages of the north, she found herself wondering, over and over again, what Noah would make of it all. Even Joshua related his adventures as comedy.
“In the countryside, it seems, nothing changes but the tax rates. Men have grown so deaf they can hardly hear the wind blow. They ask me, ‘Why now? Why do you say that God will come now?’ and all I can answer is ‘Why not now? We have Herod pretending to be a king, building cities of marble for the rich, and farmers being driven from their land like goats herded to pasture. The whole world has been given over to wickedness. How much longer can God be expected to stay His hand?’ They merely shrug and pick the lice out of their beards. It is like trying to wear away a stone by kissing it.
“Still, here and there I change a few hearts. You see, Deborah? I bring back to you three new disciples to feed.”
These three glanced away, not quite in unison, but as if they were suddenly ashamed of the bread they put into their mouths.
“They are welcome,” she said, smiling.
Hannah, in compassion, refilled their wine cups.
“And now I have eight,” Joshua went on, gesturing with his arm as if to a multitude. “When it pleases God to make them twelve, one for each of the twelve tribes, then we will be fortified, ready for the day of His coming. I am not discouraged. Galilee hears the truth, Jerusalem shall hear it, and then the world shall be brought to repentance. The harvest is sown and shall be brought in. All things proceed according to the will of God. All things.”
* * *
The three who had accompanied Joshua back to Capernaum were named Judah, Jacob, and John. Jacob and John were brothers, day laborers from near Chorazin, big, strong men who could agree on nothing except their devotion to Joshua, given to shouting at each other so that he called them the Thunder Brothers. N
evertheless, they fitted in easily to the rhythms of village life. They were poor and Galilean. Simon and his brother Andrew took them out fishing, so that they earned their keep.
Only Judah was a problem. His hands were soft from a lifetime of leisure, and his accent betrayed that he came from the south. To the others, for whom their little corner of Galilee was the world, he seemed almost a foreigner. He was a city dweller, and he had been rich. They did not know what to make of him, so they were suspicious.
At first his only friend was Levi, the reformed tax collector, who understood what it was to be an outcast. When Levi repented of his old life and became one of Joshua’s followers, Deborah had given him a job salting fish, that he might not starve. She did the same for Judah, and Levi taught him the work.
But Deborah too was suspicious. She could not justify her suspicions, even to herself, but they persisted. Judah said he was from Jerusalem, which would account for his accent. Deborah had never been to Jerusalem; however, she could credit that people who lived so far away would not talk like the fishermen of Galilee. She herself was thought rich in Capernaum but, like villagers everywhere, she imagined people from the cities to be rich beyond reckoning. She knew that rich people sometimes lost their money. But did not the rich and mighty have families, no less than the poor? Would not his family have helped him? Perhaps not.
She knew also that Judah had been baptized by John, because Joshua had witnessed it. And he had lapsed back into sin. Well, he would not be the first. There were those in Capernaum who had listened eagerly enough to Joshua, only to turn away at the last.
Yet there was something about Judah that seemed not quite real. The story and the man somehow failed to match. There was some flaw in Judah, which Deborah could not identify but only sense.
But perhaps her suspicions were no more than the sum of her village prejudices. A rich Judean from the city seemed out of place salting fish. Perhaps it was no more than that.
When Noah was away, as she had come to realize, she was given to brooding.
How many more days before he would come back? What was keeping him in Damascus, or wherever he was? Where was Damascus? Somewhere north, in the gentile lands—that was all she knew. She did not care anything about Damascus. The name was hateful to her. How many more days?
Then, late one afternoon, Hannah came back from the market.
“I saw him,” she said, smiling slyly. “He and his donkey were covered with dust, but it was him.”
There was, of course, no need to specify who he was.
“Perhaps I should have bought meat.”
Deborah could only shake her head. There was less than an hour until sunset—he would not come today. First he would go to Ezra’s, where he would see to his animal and clean up. Then, probably, he would go see Joshua. The one certainty was that he would do nothing to compromise her. He would wait until tomorrow, probably until the early afternoon, before he called.
But she wanted to see him. Now. Tonight. She didn’t care what the neighbors thought. She didn’t care if the whole of Capernaum believed that Noah the ironsmith was her lover.
“Go first to the Master. Invite him to supper. Insist. Tell him there will be honeyed lamb. He will not say no. And tell him to bring whomever he likes. Then go back to the market.”
And if Noah didn’t come with Joshua, she would send to fetch him at Ezra’s. It simply was not possible to wait through another night without seeing him.
As soon as Hannah was gone, Deborah went upstairs to her bedroom and washed her face and hands. Then she changed her clothes. Then she sat down and began combing her hair. Noah admired her hair, and tonight she wanted it to glisten.
Her preparations were not in vain. Two hours later, when Joshua arrived, he had Noah with him. Noah took her hand and smiled to show that he understood her cunning.
“You remember my cousin, who is back safely from a sojourn among the pagans,” Joshua announced. “Those people eat the most abominable things, so doubtless he is starving.”
“Then we must see to it that his hunger is satisfied. It was good of you both to come.”
“Goodness played no part in the decision, and you cannot pretend to be ignorant of the fact. You, better than anyone, know of my particular weakness for honeyed lamb.”
The evening answered all of Deborah’s reasonable expectations for it. Noah, as the more recent traveler, was allowed his fair share of the conversation and described the wonders of Damascus, which he said was a city greater than Sepphoris—in extent, greater even than Jerusalem, which Joshua disputed, perhaps only from motives of piety, since he admitted he had never set foot in Damascus. It was a point of little interest to Deborah, but she had the pleasure of listening to Noah’s voice, the music of which she was now quite sure she would never tire.
“Was the trip a success?” she asked, simply to fill a lull in the conversation.
Noah seemed to consider the point for a moment and then nodded.
“Yes, I think so. Damascus is a trade center that reaches into the whole of Asia, and I made many useful contacts. When I return home, I think I shall have to hire a new work space and begin training a new set of apprentices.”
“And you will prosper,” interrupted Joshua.
“That is possible. If I do I will provide the world with objects of use, and ten or fifteen young boys will earn money for their families and learn a trade, which will one day allow them to prosper.”
“I was not implying a criticism.”
“Yes, you were,” Noah answered, with a smile. “You see the misery that afflicts the countryside, and the vast wealth of princes and landlords, and you draw the conclusion that all wealth is a form of pillage.”
“I have offended you.”
Noah laughed and placed his hand on Joshua’s shoulder.
“You have not offended me. The world is burning down around us and you are throwing water on the flames. Sometimes, in your haste, your aim is a trifle defective, but if you wet the hem of my cloak I can overlook it.”
“Then you may become rich with God’s blessing.”
“And grow fat and complacent and learn to hold the poor in contempt. About that, at least, you are right. Indifference to the suffering of others is one sin God will not forgive.”
“Then there is no disagreement between us.” Joshua glanced at Deborah, holding her gaze for a moment as if to let her in on the jest. “For certainly when you are rich you will give all your money away.”
“Perhaps not all of it.”
* * *
Late the following morning, for he too was impatient, Noah called at the house of the fish merchant’s widow. He was received, as usual, in the garden, where Deborah looked as beautiful as he had ever seen her.
“Have you decided?” he asked, almost as soon as he had sat down beside her—it was simply impossible for him to begin with any other subject.
She lifted her hand a little away from her lap, and he required no other invitation to take it in both of his own.
“Yes.” She smiled, although she seemed almost on the verge of tears. “Have you?”
“I don’t think there was ever any decision for me to take. I think I knew the first moment I saw you.”
“Then it is settled?”
“We will be married?”
“Yes. Of course.”
They both laughed. It seemed so absurdly easy. A common impulse drew them together and, for the first time, he kissed her on the lips.
Then, to his surprise, she returned his kiss, allowing it to linger until his heart began to race.
After a while propriety reasserted itself and she drew away—not far, not more than a span, but enough to reclaim herself.
Still, she kept reaching out to him, as if to confirm his presence.
“How was your journey?” Deborah asked finally, simply because it was necessary to say something.
“Adventurous.” Noah smiled, showing his teeth. “Four days ago I thought I might never see
you again. I even thought I might be murdered. But the man I thought would slay me turned out to be a friend, and it seems both Joshua and I are out of danger. The Lord Eleazar has convinced the Tetrarch to end his purge of the Baptist’s followers. I have it all in a letter he sent me. Would you like to see it?”
As soon as he took it from his pocket, she grabbed it eagerly. It was a simple sheet of papyrus, covered with writing in a small, precise hand. She read it through in silence, only her lips moving, until she reached the end.
“‘Caleb is in disgrace and his wife has been sent home to Sepphoris, so even the Lady Herodias has noted a change in the wind.’ Who is the Lady Herodias?”
“Herod’s wife. Before he married her, she was his brother’s wife.”
“No! Is such a thing possible?”
Noah smiled. “It is if you are Herod.”
“‘I do not think Caleb is such a fool as to bother you again.’ Now that is good news.”
“Yes. It means we won’t have to go into hiding in Syria. We can live in Sepphoris.” He frowned suddenly. “Can you live in Sepphoris?” he asked her. “It is very different from Capernaum.”
“I suppose I can. Other people do, so why shouldn’t I? I will sell the house and business, and the money shall be my dowry. May I bring Hannah with me?”
“By all means bring Hannah. You would miss her.”
“Yes. For a long time she has been almost my only friend.”
“You will find another in my sister.”
“She will not resent me?”
Noah smiled and shook his head.
“She loves you already, and she has reason. Now she can marry her cloth merchant.”
This amused Deborah, and she wanted to hear the complete story of Sarah and the cloth merchant, which was of course impossible because Noah’s knowledge of the matter was confined to the public facts.
“But do not despair over my ignorance,” he told her. “She herself will tell you all that you might wish to hear. Sarah, who I think has been lonely, will confide many things to a sister that she would not tell her brother.”
The Ironsmith Page 20
