Chapter 10
Publius and Geta set out the following morning as soon as the sky showed gray in the east and before he left the house Publius pressed a handful of good old Roman sestertii into Demos' hand. Tactful enquiries by Geta after the meal had revealed that the inadequacies of the old soldier's diet were more to do with poverty than taste. Rufus kept up appearances as best he could, but building the synagogue cost rather more than he had expected and Demos hinted darkly that the Jewish builders had taken advantage of the old man's generosity to bump up prices and slow down work in order to get as much money out of him as possible.
"Thanks," Demos whispered as he received the gift. "If you don't mind, sir, I won't mention this to the master. He'd send me after you to return it if he found out - but it will come in very handy, sir. Very handy indeed. He keeps open house, as you've seen for yourself, and he can't really afford it, sir. Most generous of you."
Following the instructions Rufus had given, as soon as he was outside the village Publius turned away from the lake and went straight up the hill. Half an hour later they passed the still-sleeping village of Chorazin, lying at the head of a steep valley, and they still had as far again or even further to climb to get out of the great valley in which Galilee lay. There were no other travellers this early in the morning, for which Publius was very thankful, and the few farmers trudging to their fields or already at work in them seemed harmless enough.
So far they had been following a dirt track, but a little beyond the crest of the hill they came to a good paved road and turned right along it, and on the level they were able to make better time. There was no lack of travellers now and Publius quietly thanked the gods that so many of them were gentiles and therefore posed no risk. From the snippets of conversation they exchanged with people they passed Publius learned that the road they were on ran from Caesarea to Damascus.
"Is that where you're going?" asked the man who told them this.
"No, friend," Publius called over his shoulder. "We're bound for Paneas."
"Pilgrims, eh?" the man grinned. "Say a prayer for me when you see the goats, will you? My sheep have an outbreak of the scab and need all the help they can get."
"What goats, Master?" Geta asked when they were a decent distance beyond the man.
"I've no idea," Publius said. "I presume he wanted us to pray to Pan, the god of woodlands and wild things, but what he meant by praying when we see the goats we'll just have to wait and see."
It was nearly noon when Publius spotted trouble ahead - a group of a dozen or so men striding along the verge beside the road. By their dress and hair they were Jews and a fairly rough bunch at that. As he came up to them Publius instinctively guided his horse over to the other side of the road to give them a wide berth and heard Geta's horse follow him, by which he guessed that Geta shared his misgivings. Publius glanced back at his slave and as he did so his eye caught sight of the young-ish man at the head of the group.
It was only a fleeting glimpse, but the man was looking straight at Publius and there was something in his eyes that, thinking about it afterwards, Publius could only describe as "a significant look". It was as if the man knew him and recognised him, as if he wanted to communicate something to him - yet Publius knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he had never seen the man before. The man half raised his arm and opened his mouth, as if about to call out to Publius, but Publius felt a sudden fear and instinctively kicked his horse in the ribs so that it broke into a trot and then a canter and within moments the group was well behind them.
"Who was that, Master?" Geta asked when they slowed down.
"Who was what?" Publius snapped, feeling somewhat foolish over his moment of panic and fearful lest the canter had harmed his horse.
"That man back there," Geta said. "I thought he knew you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Publius tried to put an amused smile on his face. "I've never seen him before. He was probably a dagger man, summing us up as targets," he joked. "Don't worry about him - what about dinner? Have we got any food left?"
"No, Master," Geta said. "We finished up the stuff we bought in Caesarea yesterday."
"Let's stop at the next inn we come to, then," Publius said. "It must be after noon and anyway, the rest will do the horses good."
It was a least another three miles before they came to an inn, a little whitewashed building by the side of the road. A large stable out the back indicated that it was a post house for the Imperial Messengers and Publius hoped it was a sign that the food might be better than most wayside inns provided.
He was not disappointed; the bread was fresh and the olives were plump, the wine was a quite reasonable local variety and there was a lentil stew flavoured with some herbs that Publius couldn't quite identify. The innkeeper himself served them, though the banging of pots out in the kitchen indicated that the man wasn't entirely on his own.
"Going far, sirs?" he asked when the meal was served and Publius and Geta were busy satisfying their hunger.
"Only as far as Paneas," Publius mumbled through his mouthful of stew.
"Paneas!" The innkeeper straightened up and came round the table to stand beside Publius. "Sir, I wonder if I might ask a favour? My daughter gave birth a couple of days ago and she's not picking up as she should - and the baby's a sickly little thing. Would you be kind enough to go to the Temple of Asclepius there and say a prayer for her? I'll give you the money to pay for it - or I'll take it off your bill, whatever you prefer. I'd go myself only I have the inn to care for and my wife's so busy looking after the two of them that she can't take my place as she usually would."
Publius looked up and saw that there were tears in the man's eyes.
"Of course." He swallowed hastily. "Of course I will. Good gracious man, no need to even talk about paying. I'm only too glad to help out. It's the least I can do - and may the gods remember it in my favour if ever I need help."
"Thank you, sir." The innkeeper wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and sniffed loudly. "She's my favourite. I've four boys, sir, and they're good lads, but she was the youngest - a bit of an accident, you might say, me and the missus not being as young as we used to be - and what with that and being the only girl and so on...." His voice trailed away.
"May the gods look on her with favour," Publius murmured.
"If you don't mind, sir," Geta spoke up, "I'll say a prayer as well."
The man opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything the door of the inn was flung open with a crash and a woman ran in and threw herself at the innkeeper. The man staggered under the impact and a look of sheer terror came into his face, for the woman was laughing and crying and seemed hysterical. It sounded like joy, but in view of what the innkeeper had been saying it was more likely sorrow. Publius and Geta exchanged glances that said the same thing - time to put a sum of money on the table and sneak quietly away. Their prayers in Paneas would not be needed now.
"Esther, my dear, what's wrong? What's the matter?" The innkeeper was patting his wife on the back and pushing her away from him at the same time so that he could look at her face. "Is everything all right? Is Ruth all right?"
"All right?" The woman planted a kiss on her husband's cheek and then whirled away from him to execute a couple of dance steps in the middle of the room. "She's better! She's well! She's completely cured!"
The inkeeper's face lengthened. "I'm sorry, sir," he said to Publius. "It's the shock, I imagine." He sighed. "Poor Ruth. Poor, poor Ruth."
The woman stopped and stared at her husband for a moment. "You idiot!" she said in an absolutely calm tone of voice. "Ruth is better. She is completely and utterly better. She's sitting up on the bed feeding the baby."
"But - but -" the innkeeper stammered.
"I was sitting there with her, putting wet cloths on her head to try and cool her down when Rachel came in and told me that Rabbi Joshua and his disciples were in the yard and did I want to ask him to heal Ruth."
"Rabbi Joshua!" Publius and the innkeeper spoke simultaneously. Publius leaped to his feet and the innkeeper took two quick steps towards his wife.
"Rabbi Joshua," she nodded. "Don't ask me what he was doing here, but of course I said that I wanted to ask him to heal our Ruth - I'd do anything that might help and we've all heard of Rabbi Joshua. I rushed out the door to find them standing around the well drinking from the bucket - our bucket! Can you believe it? I told him about Ruth and he came into the room, took her by the hand and she just got up out of the bed as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He smiled at her and left the room and that was that. The fever was completely gone and she says that she's never felt better in her life."
"And where is Rabbi Joshua now?" the innkeeper demanded. "I must go and thank him."
"I'm coming too," Publius declared. "I want to meet this man."
"I - I don't know," his wife looked puzzled. "It took me a little while to feel Ruth's forehead and then to fetch the baby for her to feed. It was only a minute or two, but when I came out they'd gone. I did look round for them, but there was no sign of him or his disciples, so I came straight over to tell you the good news."
The innkeeper dashed out of the room and was gone for nearly ten minutes. Publius and Geta had finished their meal by the time he returned and Publius had a denarius ready for the bill. The innkeeper came straight up to him.
"He's gone," he said. "There's no sign of him anywhere. I've sent the stable boy back along the road to Galilee but I don't have anyone to send in the other direction. You're going to Paneas, sir. Would you be so kind as to keep an eye out for Rabbi Joshua and if you see him, give him my thanks and tell him that I did come looking for him."
