“Nay, thou art a truculent and unbelieving fellow at heart,” said Peter easily. “Didst hear how the Master answered the priests but now? I could have laughed aloud to see them slink away like whipped curs.”
“Like whipped curs—yes,” muttered the other. “But they will return anon [pg 81]like ravening wolves, unless he declare himself. ’Tis folly—folly!” He turned and plunged hastily into the crowd, and Peter, left to himself, began to smite his great hands softly together. “He hath the power to put them all to silence,” he said half aloud. “He will do it—let no one fear!”
“I fear,” said Tor, suddenly speaking at the fisherman’s elbow. “I fear—for him.”
“What now, small one,” quoth Peter, staring down at the child with a displeased shrug. “Have I not told thee to keep thy distance?”
“Yes, but I will not,” said Tor doggedly. “Listen, Galilean. I heard the men in long robes speak of him. They hate him. They will kill him, if they can. Take care of him—thou.”
“My Master can take care of himself, [pg 82]boy,” said Peter boastfully. “He is a King; also, I am his servant.”
“Where is thy sword, servant of a King?” demanded Tor, eyeing him doubtfully.
“My sword—my sword?” stammered the fisherman. “I have no sword.”
“Then get one,” advised Tor briefly.