XLVIDISENTANGLED THREADS
AsDion and Agathocles went their way from the trial scene on Ophel, they narrated to each other the events of the score of years of their separation.
During Dion's childhood the war between Macedonia and Rome was in progress. General Agathocles had been commissioned by King Philip to proceed to Italy, and there, if possible, negotiate terms of peace. During his journey he was set upon by bandits, his credentials from the King stolen with his baggage. Entering Roman territory he was seized by the military authorities, who had been warned of his coming as a Macedonian spy; and, having no documents to disprove the charge, he was sentenced to the life of a quarry slave in one of the many isles which the blustering Republic was constantly adding to its domains. Here he remained for a score of years, until the overthrow of Philip's ill-fated son, Perseus, at the battle of Pydna, made Macedonia no longer a menace to Roman dictation over the entire country between the Adriatic and Ægean. Since the veteran warrior was supposed to have no longer cause in which to draw his sword, it was restored to his hand.
But the years of his degradation and cruel maltreatment had grown in the gallant man such hatred of Rome that he quickly sought an occasion in which to display it.
At his liberation Greece was helpless at the Roman's feet, but the kindred Greek monarchy of Syria presented itself as an obstacle to further conquest of the republic in the east. Agathocles therefore hastened to offer his service to Antiochus.
Had not this political motive actuated the old warrior, a more tender incentive would have been sufficient for his joining the Syrians. In Macedonia he learned that Dion was still living, and that he had joined the army of Antiochus. Agathocles soon traced his son to the forces operating against Palestine; and, after campaigning for awhile in Persia and Cœle-Syria, he secured his own transference to the army under Lycias. This Governor hailed the old soldier, whose reputation had survived the years of his supposed death, and gave him command of a Macedonian contingent.
"But how came you, Dion, to join with these Jews?"
"My father, I have never forgotten the words you spoke to me when a child—though your face and form had faded from my memory. You taught me always to hate a tyrant. Then Rome was the taskmaster of Macedonia. In hatred of Rome I gave my sword to Antiochus just as you did. In my ignorance I imagined that he might some day come to be the avenger of our country's disgrace. But Antiochus is himself a monster, such as even Italy cannot breed. In his army here I found myself a tool of an atrocious despot. Father, it was because I am son of an Agathocles that I gave myself to these poor people who are defending their land, their homes, their altars, from this ravening beast."
"Had you no other thought, my son?"
"Not at first," said Dion, "but I have since learned to believe in the religion of these people. They worship with sincerity. We are hypocrites. What Greek would shed a tear if his carved god were taken away? But these Jews bleed at the heart for the sacrilege Antiochus offers in Jerusalem. I have seen old men drop dead beside their desecrated altars—dead from the shock of their grief at the dishonoring of their God. I have seen others die with such tranquillity of mind amid outward torture that I could not but believe that their souls were drawn from their bodies by the kiss of the divinity they prayed to. Father, I have seen peasants who had never practised foil or been in a battle, suddenly gifted with skill to overthrow the armies of Apollonius and Seron and Gorgias and Lycias. What is the meaning of such things as you and I saw at Bethzur, but that this Judas hurls the very bolts of Jove or of his Jehovah of Hosts, as the people call their God? I have seen a woman of the Jews, a mere girl in years, do deeds such as are scarcely invented in our stories. She is possessed of more wisdom in council than a tentful of our Generals. She believes that her God helps her—and so do I."
"Is she a beautiful woman?" queried Agathocles, with a knowing glance at his companion.
"Aye, the fairest of women, father. Pygmalion would have thrown away his chisel if he had seen the daughter of Elkiah."
"I do not doubt it, since my Dion has evidently thrown away his Greek sword for her sake."
"Not for her sake, father; but for the sake of a cause which produces such a woman and such men, such faith and such heroism."
"And such beauty. Eh, my boy? Have I not been young? Dion, you are in love with this woman, up to your eyebrows, and therefore can see nothing except through her shape. The mists on the shore make pebbles look like castles, so the witchery of this beauty magnifies everything Jewish. Hush, boy! I know it. I have been as young as you."
Both lapsed into silence, except for an occasional ejaculation from Agathocles: "A Jewess! Well, why not? One must love something."
Was the old soldier merely tantalizing the young man, or was he voyaging over the seas of memory? At length he put his hand upon Dion's shoulder.
"This Jewess, my boy; is she very fair? Is she like the picture of your mother?"
"No, father; she is very different. Yet in soul they must be like; for surely the gods—surely the Lord could not make two so faultless without repeating the model."
"And she a Jewess! Well! well!"