They talked of other things and then Benjamin, looking grave and leaning a little forward, asked:
“Are Pella’s activities known to you, or am I the first to bring the news?”
“Pella,” Caspar repeated, knitting his brows.
“Who is he?”
“From what I hear, he claims to be a son of the old King of Jexal. There was a son, I remember, who got on very badly with his father and went to live in Armenia. That would be almost twelve years ago now. I have no liking for carrying bad news, but I thought a word of warning wouldn’t come amiss.”
“A son of the King lives here, in Jexal. He was in this place this morning. He’s no threat to me, so why should I be warned against one in Armenia?”
“Ah, but he is no longer there, or so they say. He is in Rome, trying to interest Caesar Augustus in his cause.”
“His cause?”
“His claim to the throne, here.”
Caspar knew Caesar Augustus by name; he ruled in some place half a world away, separated from Jexal by deserts, by mountains and seas and dozens of other kingdoms; and he had won his right to rule by his sword, just as Caspar had won his. So much he knew from talking to
travellers, and that was thesum of his knowledge. He was not perturbed, but he was puzzled.
“What does it matter to the King of Rome who rules in Jexal?”
“Nothing. But that is the way the Romans work. They seize upon someone else’s quarrel and march in to restore order, as they call it. They did it in my country. Order they restored, but not the ruling house. They set up a puppet king, Herod of Idumea, who is not even a Jew. Worse, he is not even a good man.”
“And you really think it likely that they would come here?”
“Who am I to say? Their decisions are unpredictable, their methods are not. They reach out and establish themselves and then they build a road to link the new possession with the old. And this I have noticed; Augustus sees himself as a second and greater Alexander; Alexander moved to the East; it seems to me not unlikely that Augustus should turn his eyes this way.” Caspar made a grunting sound.
“This needs thinking about.”
“It does. In your place I should think of it often and heavily,” the old Jew said, gravely; he liked this strange young man, this barbarian with whom from the first he had felt at ease. The next remark must be worded carefully, he thought.
“In Roman eyes Pella’s claim is legitimate enough to justify action on their part—if they wish to take action. Of course, there is another -possibility.. ..”
“And that is?”
“Something else I have seen done. An emissary may come to you, secretly, and suggest that you pay tribute; a ten per cent levy on all the goods that pass your custom houses. Then, if you agree to pay, you are Rome’s friend, and Pella will one day be fished out of the Tiber. Body of a man unknown.”
“And we,” Caspar exploded, ‘who fight hand to hand and would never betray those who had eaten our salt, are called barbarians!”
“My people,” Benjamin said, ‘were once equally scrupulous. There was a woman called Jael who killed, with her own hands, the leader of an invading force. It was a laudable action, but she is not reckoned amongst our noble women; it is held no against her that she had first fed him.”
“In many ways your people and mine sound somewhat akin,” Caspar said.
“Tell me, how do your people accept the rule of Rome?”
Like all really pious Jews Benjamin tended to overlook the vast numbers of his countrymen who had settled down under Roman rule and concentrated rather upon the few who were rebellious, the guerillas in the hills who still actively carried on the war, the civilians who thought up cunning ways to avoid taxes. Unwittingly he painted for Caspar an entirely false picture, leaving him with the impression that Rome’s hold on Palestine was infirm and feeble compared with his hold upon Jexal. By the end of the evening the conscientious old Jew realised this and tried to give his host some idea of the strength and magnitude of Rome, but it was like warning a child who had never seen water except in a jar or a goatskin against the danger of drowning. Caspar simply did not understand. And somehow Benjamin let slip the fact that in Jerusalem six hundred legionaries were stationed. Caspar said : , A “There are Five Hundred of us. The Jexalians had an army of seven thousand.” And it was all very well to say that Rome was different. How different? And why? This man was a simple soldier from the desert, with no more; imagination than the table on which he leaned his elbow, no more comprehension of politics than he had of mathematics-and five hundred seemed to be the limit of his reckoning.
The time for parting came. Benjamin said, “I thank you for your hospitality. Peace be on this house.”
Caspar said, “Go in safety, and return soon. In my tent you are always welcome.”
He realised that his tongue had slipped and smiled, waving his hand.
“My tent!” he said.
Soon after he went to his bed and slept and dreamed that a thing, brute-face and very hairy, but recognisable to him in some mysterious fashion as Pella, was about to rape the girl called Ilya and that he was going to her aid, with his knife in his hand, but someone from
behind hit him, a sharp chopping in blow on the wrist and his knife had fallen to the floor and the noise of its falling had wakened him, short of breath and sweating at every pore.
After that she had haunted his dreams. Most often she was in some distressful situation from which, always impotently, he tried to save her; sometimes the situation was reversed; at such times most commonly he was dying of thirst and she, ploughing her way through the sand, was bringing him water. She’d stumble and spill it, or she’d reach him and the cup, the jar, the gourd she carried would be empty, or full of something un-drinkable, horse’s urine, mud, chaff, a crumpled silk scarf which he desperately pulled out, yards and yards and yards of it.
He never mentioned his dreams to anyone—to whom could he mention them? Outwardly life went on. He issued an order that he had been meditating for a long time. All the beggars in the city were to be rounded up, confined in one place and given one good meal a day. He’d hated the sight of them himself and he had seen them through the eyes of visitors, a blot, a scar.
The Vizier said, “But if it is known that we feed beggars they will flock in, from Babylon, from Samarkand.”
“Not on my terms,” Caspar said, ‘when I say beggars I mean those incapable of making a living; the blind, crippled and witless. Any able-bodied fellow who wishes to eat the bread of idleness can be made blind, crippled or witless.”
So beggars had ceased to infest the streets and there were less than twenty in the asylum he had provided.
He had issued another order, too. Anybody coming into Jexal from the West was to be brought to the Palace and interrogated. He always asked about the Romans, and so far he had learned nothing more than Benjamin had told him; Pella’s name had never been mentioned.
To the Vizier Caspar had mentioned Pella, introducing the subject by demanding why he had never been informed of the man’s existence.
“Because, to us, he is no longer alive. Ten, twelve years ago, he took his portion and went away, for ever. Not only is his name never to be mentioned; in the book of records it was blotted out; it is as though he had never been born.”
“Why?”
“He was…” the Vizier hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
“I will not say a bad man, but a bad Jexalian, and a bad son and a bad prince. Always he was in opposition to his father and his family, so much so that if his father said, “It is a fine day”, he would say, “Not so!” He gathered about him a few of the same mind, young men who could not agree with their elders. Then there came the time when it is necessary that he should marry and beget an heir. Since he was so high,” the Vizier measured the height from the floor, ‘he has been promised as husband to a princess whose people have been our friends always. Peace and much trade had resulted from that promise. But will he marry her? No, he will not. He has fallen in love,” the Vizier’s voice was edged with scorn, ‘with a woman in the market, a woman who sold doves for the temples; she was a widow. On his knees his father beseeches him, saying marry the one you are promised to and beget a son, that is all I ask; the market woman can be your concubine. But that does not suit. Prince Pella….” The -Vizier’s face turned pale and sweat shone on his brow.