Nicodemus invited Joseph to follow Jesus, saying that at a safe distance he would like to see him ride through the gates into the city; but Joseph, sorely troubled in his mind, could not answer him, and an hour later was hastening along the Jericho road, praying all the while that he might be given strength to keep the promise he had given to his father. But no sooner was he in Jericho than he began to feel ashamed of himself, and after resisting the impulse to return to Jesus for two days he yielded to it, and returned obediently the way he had come, uncertain whether shame of his cowardice or love was bringing him back. One or the other it must be, he said, as he came round the bend in the road into Bethany; and it was soon after passing through that village, somewhere about three o'clock, that he met his masons coming from Mount Scropas. Coming from my tomb, he said to himself, and, reining up his horse and speaking to them, he heard that his tomb was finished. We've chiselled a great stone to be rolled into the doorway, he heard one of the masons say; another uttered vauntingly that the stone closed the tomb perfectly, and Joseph was about to press his horse forward when the men called after him, and, gathering about his stirrup, they related that Jesus of Nazareth had been tried and condemned by Pilate that morning, and was now hanging on a cross, a-top of Golgotha, one of the masons said: you can see him yourself, Master, if you be going that way, and between two thieves. One of them was to have been Jesus Bar-Abba, but the people cried out that he was to be released instead of Jesus. As Joseph repeated the words, Bar-Abba instead of Jesus, as if he only half understood them, the masons reminded him that it was the custom to deliver up a prisoner to the people at the time of the Passover. At the time of the Passover, he repeated.... At last, realising what had happened, his face became overwrought; his eyes and mouth testified to the grief he was suffering; and he pressed his spurs to his horse's side, and would have been away beyond call if two of his workmen had not seized the bridle and almost forced the horse on his haunches. Loose my bridle, Joseph cried, astonished and beside himself. A moment with you, Master. Be careful to speak no word in his favour, and make no show of sympathy, else a Zealot's knife will be in your back before evening, for they be seeking the Galileans everywhere, at the priests' bidding. Before Joseph could break away he heard that the priests stirred up the people against Jesus, giving it forth against him that he had come to Jerusalem to burn down the Temple, and would set up another—built without the help of hands, of what materials he did not know, but not of stones nor wood, yet a Temple that will last for ever, the mason shouted after Joseph, who had stuck his spurs again into his horse and was riding full tilt towards a hill about half-a-mile from the city walls. On his way thither he met some of the populace—the remnant returning from the crucifixion—and he rode up the ascent at a gallop in the hope that he might be in time to save Jesus' life.
He knew Pilate would grant him almost any favour he might ask; but within fifty yards of the crosses his heart began to fail him, for, whereas the thieves were straining their heads high in the air above the crossbar, Jesus' head was sunk on to his chest. He died a while ago, the centurion said, and as soon as he was dead the multitude began to disperse, the Sabbath being at hand; and guessing Joseph to be a man of importance, he added: if you like I'll make certain that he is dead, and, taking his spear from one of the soldiers, he would have plunged it into Jesus' side, but Joseph, forgetful of the warning he had received, on no account to show sympathy with Jesus, laid his hand on the spear-head, saying: respect the dead. As you will, the centurion replied, and gave the spear back to the soldier, who returned to his comrades, it being his turn to cast the dice. They have cast dice, the centurion continued, and will divide the clothes of these men amongst them; and, hearing the words, one of the soldiers held up the rags that had come to him, while another spread upon the ground Jesus' fine cloak, the one that Peter had bought for Jesus with money that Joseph gave to him. That he should see the cloak again, and on such an occasion, touched his heart. It was a humble incident in a cruel murder committed by a priest; and the thought crossed Joseph's mind that he might purchase the cloak from the soldier, but, remembering the warning he had received, he did not ask for the cloak, nor did he once lift his eyes to Jesus' face, lest the sight of it should wring his heart, and being overcome and helpless with grief, the priests and their hirelings might begin to suspect him.
He strove instead to call reason to his aid: Jesus' life being spent, his duty was to obtain the body and bury it: far worse than the death he endured would be for his sacred body to be thrown into the common ditch with these malefactors. I know not how you can abide here, he said to the centurion; their groans make the heart faint. We shall break their bones presently; the Jews asked us to do this, for at six o'clock their Sabbath begins. And in this the thieves are lucky, for were it not for their Sabbath they would last on for three or four days: the first day is the worst day; afterwards the crucified sinks into unconsciousness, and I doubt if he suffers at all on the third day, and on the fourth day he dies. But, Sir, what may I do for you? I've come for the body of this man, Joseph answered; for, however erring, he was not a thief, and deserves decent burial. You can come with me to testify that I've buried it in a rock sepulchre, the stone of which yourself shall roll into the door. To which the centurion answered that he did not dare to deliver up the body of Jesus without an order from Pilate, though he was dead. Dead an hour or more, truly dead, he added. Pilate will not refuse his body to me, Joseph replied. Pilate and I are well acquainted; we are as friends are; you must have seen me at the Prætorium before now, coming to talk with the procurator about the transport of wheat from Moab, and other things.
These words filled the centurion with admiration, and, afraid to seem ignorant, he said he remembered having seen Joseph and knew him to be a friend of Pilate. Well then, come with me at once to Jerusalem, Joseph said coaxingly, and you'll see that Pilate will order thee to deliver the dead unto me. But the centurion demurred, saying that his orders were not to leave the gibbets. Upon my own word, Pilate will not deliver up the body unless I bring you with me; I shall require you to testify of the death. So come with me. The unwillingness of the centurion was reduced to naught at the mention of a sum of money, and, giving orders to his soldiers that nothing was to be done during his absence, he walked beside Joseph's horse into Jerusalem, telling to Joseph as they went the story of the arrest in the garden, the haling of Jesus before the High Priest, and the sending of him on to Pilate, who, though unwilling to confirm the sentence of death, was afraid of a riot, and had yielded to the people's wish. The account of the scourging of Jesus in the hall of the palace, and the bribing of the soldiers by the Jews to make a mocking-stock of Jesus, was not finished when Joseph, who had been listening without hearing, said: here is the door.
And while they waited for the door to be opened, and after the doorkeeper had opened it, the centurion continued to tell his tale: how a purple cloak was thrown upon the shoulders of Jesus, a reed put into his hand, and a crown of thorns pressed upon his forehead. We wondered how it was that he said nothing. We have come to see his worship, Joseph interrupted; and the doorkeeper, who knew Joseph to be a friend of Pilate, was embarrassed, for Pilate had sent down an order that he would see no one again that day; but, like the centurion, he was amenable to money, and consented to take in Joseph's name. There was no need to give him money, he would not have dared to refuse Pilate's friend, the centurion said as they waited.
Word came back quickly that Joseph was to be admitted, and after begging Pilate to forgive him for intruding upon his privacy so late in the day, he put his request into words, saying straight away: I have come to ask for the body of Jesus, who was condemned to the cross at noon. At these words Pilate's face became overcast, and he said that he regretted that Joseph had come to ask him for something he could not grant. It would have been pleasant to leave Jerusalem knowing that I never refused you anything, Joseph, for you are the one Jew for whom I have any respect, and, I may add, some affection. But why, Pilate, cannot you give me Jesus' body? His body, is that what you ask for, Joseph? It seemed to me that you had come to ask me to undo the sentence that I pronounced to-day at noon. The body! Is Jesus dead then? The centurion answered for Joseph: yes, sir; he died to-day at the ninth hour. I put a lance into him to make sure, and blood and water came from his side. At which statement Joseph trembled, for he was acquiescing in a lie; but he did not dare to contradict the centurion, who was speaking in his favour for the sake of the money he had received, and in the hope of receiving more for the lie that he told. On the cross at noon and dead before the ninth hour! Pilate muttered: he could but bear the cross for three hours! After the scourging we gave him, Sir, the centurion answered, he was so weak and feeble that we had to pass on his cross to the shoulders of a Jew named Simon of Cyrene, who carried it to the top of the mount for him. If he be dead there is no reason for my not giving up the body, Pilate answered. Which I shall bury, Joseph replied, in my own sepulchre. What, Joseph, have you already ordered your sepulchre? To my eyes you do not look more than five or six and twenty years, and to my eyes you look as if you would live for sixty more years at least; but you Jews never lose sight of death, as if it were the only good. We Romans think so too sometimes, but not so frequently as you.
And then this tall, grave, handsome man, whose face reflected a friendly but somewhat formal soul, took Joseph by the arm and walked with him up and down the tessellated pavement, talking in his ear, showing himself so well disposed towards him that the centurion congratulated himself that he had accepted Joseph's bribe. If I had only known that you were a close friend, Pilate said to Joseph—but if I had known as much it would only have made things more difficult for me. A remarkable man. And now, on thinking it over, it must have been that I was well disposed to him for that reason, for there could have been no other; for what concern of mine is it that you Jews quarrel and would tear each other to pieces for your various beliefs in God and his angels? So Jesus was your friend? Tell me about him; I would know more about him than I could learn from a brief interview with him in the Prætorium, where I took him and talked to him alone. A brief account I pray you give me. And Joseph, who was thinking all the while that the Sabbath was approaching, gave to Pilate some brief account of Jesus in Galilee.
So you too, Joseph, are susceptible to this belief that the bodies of men are raised out of the earth into heaven? I would ask you if the body is ridded of its worms before it is carried away by angels. But I see that you are pressed for time; the Sabbath approaches; I must not detain you, and yet I would not let you go without telling you that it pleases me to give his body for burial. A body deserves burial that has been possessed by a lofty soul, for how many years, thirty? I would have saved him if it had been possible to do so; but he gave me no chance; his answers were brief and evasive; and he seemed to desire death; seemingly he looked upon his death as necessary for the accomplishment of his mission. Have I divined him right? Joseph answered that Pilate read Jesus' soul truly, which flattered Pilate and persuaded him into further complaint that if he had not saved Jesus it was because Jesus would not answer him. He seemed to me like a man only conscious of his own thoughts, Pilate said; even while speaking he seemed to rouse hardly at all out of his dream, a delirious dream, if I may so speak, of the world redeemed from the powers of evil and given over to the love of God. This, however, he did say: that any power which I might have over him came to me from above, from his Father which is in heaven, else I could do nothing; and there was bitterness in his voice as he spoke these words, which seemed to suggest that he was of opinion that his Father had gone a little too far in allowing the Jews to send him to me to condemn to death.
His Father in heaven and himself are one, and yet they differ in this. So he was your friend, Joseph? If I had known it there would have been an additional reason for my trying to save him from the hatred of the Jews; for I hate the Jews, and would willingly leave them to-morrow. But they cried out: you are not Cæsar's friend; this man would set up a new kingdom and overthrow the Romans; and, as I have already told you, Joseph, I asked Jesus if he claimed to be King of the Jews, but he answered me: you have said it, adding, however, that his kingdom was not of this world. Evasive answers of that kind are worthless when a mob is surging round the Prætorium. A hateful crowd they looked to me; a cruel, rapacious, vindictive crowd, with nothing in their minds but hatred. I suspect they hated him for religious reasons. You Jews are—forgive me, Joseph, you are an exception among your people—a bitter, intolerant race. You would not allow me to bring the Roman eagles to Jerusalem, for you cannot look upon graven things. All the arts you have abolished, and your love of God resolves itself into hatred of men; so it seems to me. It would have pleased me very well indeed to have thwarted the Jews in their desire for this man's life, but I was threatened by a revolt, and the soldiers at my command are but auxiliaries, and not in sufficient numbers to quell a substantial riot. I will tell you more: if the legion that I was promised had arrived from Cæsarea the lust of the Jews for the blood of those that disagree with them would not have been satisfied. I went so far as to send messengers to inquire for the legion. But the man is dead now, and further talking will not raise him into life again. You have come to ask me for his body, and you would bury it in your own tomb. It is like you, Joseph, to wish to honour your dead friend. Methinks you are more Roman than Jew. Say not so in the hearing of my countrymen, Joseph replied, or I may meet my death for your good opinion.
The Sabbath is now approaching, and you'll forgive me if I indulge in no further words of thanks, Pilate. I may not delay, lest the hour should come upon me after which no work can be done. Not that I hold with such strict observances. A good work done upon the Sabbath must be viewed more favourably by God than a bad work done on another day of the week. But I would not have it said that I violated the Sabbath to bury Jesus. As you will, my good Joseph, Pilate said, and stood looking after Joseph and the centurion, who, as they drew near to the gate of the city, remembered that a sheet would be wanted to wrap the body in. Joseph answered the centurion that there was no time for delay, but the centurion replied: in yon shop sheets are sold. Moreover, you will want a lantern, Sir, for the lifting of the body from the cross will take some time, and the carrying of it to the tomb will be a slow journey for you though you get help, and the day will be gone when you arrive. You had better buy a lantern, Sir. Joseph did as he was bidden, and they hurried on to Golgotha.
Nothing has been done in my absence? the centurion asked the soldiers, who answered: nothing, Sir; and none has been here but these women, whom we did not drive away, but told that you were gone with one Joseph of Arimathea to get an order from Pilate for the body. That was well, the centurion answered. And now do you loose the cords that bind the hands, and get the dead man down. Which was easy to accomplish, the feet of the crucified being no more than a few inches from the ground; and while this was being done Joseph told the centurion that the women were the sisters of Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead; a story that set the Roman soldiers laughing. Can a man be raised from the dead? they asked; and if this man could do such a thing how is it that he did not raise himself out of death into life? To which neither Joseph nor the two women made any answer, but stood, their eyes fixed on their thoughts, asking themselves how they were to carry Jesus to the sepulchre, distant about a mile and a half. And it not seeming to them that they could carry the body, the centurion offered Joseph the help of one of his soldiers, which they would have accepted, but at that moment an ox-cart was perceived hastening home in the dusk. Joseph, going after the carrier, offered him money if he would bring the body of one of the crucified to the sepulchre in Mount Scropas for him. To which the carrier consented, though he was not certain that the job might not prevent him from getting home before the Sabbath began. But he would see what could be done.
Jesus was laid on the ox-cart, and Mary, Martha and Joseph following it reached Mount Scropas, in which was the tomb, before sunset. As I told thee with half-an-hour for thee to get home before the Sabbath, Joseph said to the carrier, his eyes fixed on the descending sun. Now take this man by the feet and I'll take him by the head. But will you not light the lantern, Sir? the carrier said; for though there be light on the hillside, it will be night in the tomb, and we shall be jostling our heads against the stone and perhaps falling over the dead man.... I have steel and tinder. Wherefrom the lantern was lit and given to Martha, who lighted them into the tomb, Joseph and the carrier bearing the body, with Mary following.
Jesus was laid on the couch beneath the arch, and when Mary and Martha had drawn the sheet over his face Joseph turned to the women, saying: now do you go hence to Bethany and prepare spices and cloths for the embalmment, and come hither with them in the early morning the day after the Sabbath. The carrier, who was standing by waiting for his wage, received it thankfully. Now, Master, if you want another shoulder to help with that sealing stone, I can give it you. But Joseph, looking at the stone, said it would offer no trouble to him, for he believed in his strength to do it, though the carrier said: it looks as if two men, or more like three, would be needed. But it is as you like, Master. On this he went to his oxen, thinking of the Sabbath, and whether Joseph had forgotten how near it was to them. He hasn't blown out his lantern yet. My word, he be going back into the tomb, the carrier said; maybe he's forgotten something, or maybe to have a last look at his friend. He talks like one in a dream, or one that hadn't half recovered his wits.
And it was just in the mood which the carrier divined that Joseph entered the tomb: life had been coming and going like a dream ever since he met the masons; and asking himself if he were truly awake and in his seven senses, he returned to bid Jesus a last farewell, though he would not have been astonished if he sought him in vain through the darkness filled with the dust of freshly cut stones and the smell thereof. But Jesus was where they had laid him; and Joseph sate himself by the dead Master's side, so that he might meditate and come to see better into the meanings of things, for all meaning seemed to have gone out of life for him since he had come up from Jericho. The flickering shadows and lights distracted his meditation, and set him thinking of the masons and their pride in their work; he looked round the sepulchre and perceived it to be a small chamber with a couch at the farther end.... Martha and Mary have gone, he said to himself, and he remembered he had bidden them go hence to prepare spices, and to return after the Sabbath. Which they will do as soon as the Sabbath is over, he repeated to himself, as if to convince himself that he was not dreaming.... God did not save him in the end as he expected he would, he continued: he'd have done better to have given Pilate answers whereby Pilate would have been able to save him from the cross. Pilate was anxious to save him, but, as Nicodemus said, Jesus had come to think that it had been decreed in heaven that his blood must be spilt, so that he might rise again, as it were, out of his own blood, to return in a chariot with his Father in three days.... But will he return to inhabit again this beautiful mould? Joseph asked, and striving against the doubt that the sight of the dead put into his mind, he left the tomb with the intention of rolling the stone into the door. Better not to see him than to doubt him, he said. But who will, he asked himself, roll away the stone for Martha and Mary when they come with spices and fine linen for the embalming? His mind was divided whether he should close the tomb and go his way, or watch through the Sabbath, and while seeking to come upon a resolve he was overcome by desire to see his dead friend once more, and he entered the tomb, holding high the lantern so that he might better see him. But as he approached the couch on which the body lay he stopped, and the colour went out of his face; he trembled all over; for the sheet with which Martha and Mary covered over the face had fallen away, and a long tress of hair had dropped across the cheek. He must have moved, or angels must have moved him, and, uncertain whether Jesus was alive or dead, Joseph remembered Lazarus, and stood watching, cold and frightened, waiting for some movement.
He is not dead, he is not dead, he cried, and his joy died, for on the instant Jesus passed again into the darkness of swoon. Joseph had no water to bathe his forehead with, nor even a drop to wet his lips with. There is none nearer than my house, he said. I shall have to carry him thither. But if a wayfarer meets us the news that a man newly risen from the tomb was seen on the hillside with another will soon reach Jerusalem; and the Pharisees will send soldiers.... The tomb will be violated; the houses in the neighbourhood will be searched. Why then did he awaken only to be taken again? Jesus lay as still as the dead, and hope came again to Joseph. On a Sabbath evening, he said, I shall be able to carry him to my house secretly. The distance is about half-a-mile. But to carry a swooning man half-a-mile up a crooked and steep path among rocks will take all my strength.
He took cognisance of his thews and sinews, and feeling them to be strong and like iron, he said: I can do it, and fell to thinking of his servants loitering in the passages, talking as they ascended the stairs, stopping half-way and talking again, and getting to bed slowly, more slowly than ever on this night, the night of all others that he wished them sound asleep in their beds. Half-a-mile up a zigzagging path I shall have to carry him; he may die in my arms; and he entertained the thought for a moment that he might go for his servants, who would bring with them oil and wine; but dismissing the thought as unwise, he left the tomb to see if the darkness were thick enough to shelter himself and his burden.
But Jesus might pass away in his swoon. If he had some water to give him. But he had none, and he sat by the couch waiting for Jesus to open his eyes. At last he opened them.
The twilight had vanished and the stars were coming out, and Joseph said to himself: there will be no moon, only a soft starlight, and he stood gazing at the desert showing through a great tide of blue shadow, the shape of the hills emerging, like the hulls of great ships afloat in a shadowy sea. A dark, close, dusty night, he said, and moonless, deserted by every man and woman; a Sabbath night. On none other would it be possible. But thinking that some hours would have to pass before he dared to enter his gates with Jesus on his shoulder, he seated himself on the great stone. Though Jesus were to die for lack of succour he must wait till his servants were in bed asleep. And then? The stone on which he was sitting must be rolled into the entrance of the tomb before leaving. He had told the carrier that he would have no trouble with it, and to discover that he had not boasted he slid down the rock, and, putting his shoulder to it, found he could move it, for the ground was aslant, and if he were to remove some rubble the stone would itself roll into the entrance of the tomb. But he hadn't known this when he refused the carrier's help. Then why?... To pass away the time he fell to thinking that he had refused the carrier's aid because of some thought of which he wasn't very conscious at the time; that he had been appointed watcher, and that his watch extended through the night, and through the next day and night, until Mary and Martha came with spices and linen cloths.
The cycle of his thoughts was brought to a close and with a sudden jerk by some memory of his maybe dying friend; and in his grief he found no better solace than to gaze at the stars, now thickly sown in the sky, and to attempt to decipher their conjunctions and oppositions, trying to pick out a prophecy in heaven of what was happening on earth.
His star-gazing was interrupted suddenly by a bark. A jackal, he said. Other jackals answered the first bark; the hillside seemed to be filled with them; but, however numerous, he could scare them away; a wandering hyena scenting a dead body would be more dangerous, for he was weaponless. But it was seldom that one ventured into the environs of the city; and he listened to the jackals, and they kept him awake till something in the air told him the hour had come for him to go into the tomb and carry Jesus out of it ... if he were not dead. He slid down from the rock again, and no sooner did he reach the ground than he remembered having left Galilee to keep his promise to his father; but, despite his obedience to his father's will, had not escaped his fate. In vain he avoided the Temple and refused to enter the house of Simon the Leper.... If he were to take Jesus to his house and hide him he would become a party to Jesus' crime, and were Jesus discovered in his house the angry Pharisees would demand their death from Pilate. If he would escape the doom of the cross he must roll the stone up into the entrance of the sepulchre.... A dying man perceives no difference between a sepulchre and a dwelling-house. He would be dead before morning; before the Sabbath was done for certain; and Mary and Martha would begin the embalmment on Sunday. He would be dead certainly on Sunday morning, and dead men tell no tales, so they say. But do they say truly? The dead are voiceless, but they speak, and are closer to us than the living; and for ever the spectre of that man would be by him, making frightful every hour of his life. Yet by closing up the sepulchre and leaving Jesus to die in it he would be serving him better than by carrying him to his house and bringing him back to life. To what life was he bringing him? He could not be kept hidden for long; he could not remain in Jerusalem, and whither Jesus went Joseph would follow, and his bond to his father would be broken then in spirit as well as in fact. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and for a long time his mind seemed like a broken thing and the pieces scattered; and as much exhausted as if he had carried Jesus a mile on his shoulders, he stooped forward and entered the tomb, without certain knowledge whether he was going to kiss Jesus and close the tomb upon him or carry him to his house about a half-an-hour distant.
As he drew the cere-cloths from the body, a vision of his house rose up in his mind—a large two-storeyed house with a domed roof, situated on a large vineyard on the eastern slopes of the Mount of Olives, screened from the highway by hedges of carob, olive garths and cedars. And this house seemed to Joseph as if designed by Providence for the concealment of Jesus. The only way, he muttered, will be to lift him upon my shoulders, getting the weight as far as I can from off my arms. If he could walk a little supported on my arm. He questioned Jesus, but Jesus could not answer him; and there seemed to be no other way but to carry him in his arms out of the tomb, place him on the rock, and from thence hoist him on to his shoulders.
Jesus was carried more easily than he thought for, as easily carried as a child for the first hundred yards, nor did he weigh much heavier for the next, but before three hundred yards were over Joseph began to look round for a rock against which he might rest his burden.
One of the hardships of this journey was that howsoever he held Jesus he seemed to cause him great pain, and he guessed by the feel that the body was wounded in many places; but the stars did not show sufficient light for him to see where not to grasp it, and he sat in the pathway, resting Jesus across his knees, thinking of a large rock within sight of his own gates and how he would lean Jesus against it, if he managed to carry him so far. He stopped at sight of something, something seemed to slink through the pale, diffused shadows in and out of the rocks up the hillside, and Joseph thought of a midnight wolf. The wolves did not venture as near the city, but—Whatever Joseph saw with his eyes, or fancied he saw, did not appear again, and he picked up his load, thinking of the hopeless struggle it would be between him and a grey wolf burdened as he was. He could not do else than leave Jesus to be eaten, and his fear of wolf and hyena so exhausted him that he nearly toppled at the next halt. A fall would be fatal to Jesus, and Joseph asked himself how he would lift Jesus on to his shoulder again. He did not think that he could manage it, but he did, and staggered to the gates; but no sooner had he laid his burden down than he remembered that he could not ascend the stairs without noise. The gardener's cottage is empty; I will carry him thither. The very place, Joseph said, as he paused for breath by the gate-post. I must send away the two men-servants, he continued, one to Galilee and the other to Jericho. The truth cannot be kept from Esora. I need her help: I can depend upon her to cure Jesus of his wounds and keep the young girl in the house, forbidding her the garden while Jesus is in the cottage. The danger of dismissal would be too great, she would carry the story or part of it to Jerusalem, it would spread like oil, and in a few days, in a few weeks certainly, the Pharisees would be sending their agents to search the house. With Jesus hoisted on to his shoulder he followed the path through the trees round the shelving lawn and crossed the terrace at the bottom of the garden. He had then to follow a twisting path through a little wood, and he feared to bump Jesus against the trees. The path led down into a dell, and he could hardly bear up so steep was the ascent; his breath and strength were gone when he came to the cottage door.
Fortune seems to be with us, he said, as he carried Jesus through the doorway, but he must have a bed, and fortune is still with us, they haven't removed the bed; and as soon as Jesus was laid upon it he began to remember many things. He must go to the house and get a lamp, and in the house he remembered that he must bring some wine and some water. He noticed that his hand and his sleeve were stained with blood. He must have been badly scourged, he said, and continued his search for bottles, and after mixing wine and water he returned to the gardener's cottage, hoping that casual ministrations would relieve Jesus of some of the pain he was suffering till Esora would come with her more serious remedies in the morning.
He put the lamp on a chair on the opposite side of the bed and turned Jesus over and began to pick out of the wounds the splinters of the rods he had been beaten with, and after binding up the back with a linen cloth he drew Jesus' head forward and managed to get him to swallow a little wine and water. I can do no more, he said, and must leave him.... It will be better to lock the door; he must bide there till I hear Esora on the stairs coming down from her room. She is always out of bed first, and if luck is still with us she will rise early this morning.
He tried to check his thoughts, but they ran on till he remembered that he must fetch the lantern forgotten among the rocks, and that he should follow the twisting path up and down the hillside seemed more than he could accomplish. Strength and will seemed to have departed from him; yet he must go back to fetch the lantern. He had left it lighted, and some curious person might be led by the light ... the open sepulchre would attract his eye, and he might take up the light and discover the tomb to be empty. It wasn't likely, but some such curious one might be on the prowl. Now was the only safe time to fetch the lantern. He daren't leave it.... At the first light Mary and Martha would be at the sepulchre, and the finding of a lantern by the door of the empty sepulchre would give rise to—
He passed through his gates, locking them after him, too weary to think further what might and might not befall.
And when he returned with the lantern he had forgotten he threw himself on his bed, remembering that he must not sleep, for to miss Esora as she came downstairs would mean to leave Jesus in pain longer than he need be left. But sleep closed his eyelids. Sleep! He did not know if he had slept. The room was still quite dark, and Esora did not come down till dawn; and, sitting up in his bed, he said: God saved him from death, or raised him out of death, but he has not raised him yet into heaven. He is in the gardener's cottage! If only Esora can cure him of his wounds, he continued, he and I might live together in this garden happily.
He closed his eyes so that he might enjoy his dream of Jesus' companionship, but fell into a deeper sleep, from which he was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It is Esora trying to descend without awakening me, he said. But nobody was on the stairs, and he stood listening on the landing, asking himself if Esora was at work so early. And then it seemed to him that he could hear somebody in her pantry.... To make sure he descended and found her before her table brushing the clothes he had thrown off. You must have been in my room and picked up my clothes without my hearing you, he said; it was not till you were on the second flight of stairs that I awoke. I didn't know that you rose so early, Esora. It is still dusk. And if I didn't, Master, I don't know how the work would get done. But the Sabbath, Joseph rejoined; and incontinently began to discuss the observances of the Sabbath with her. But even on the Sabbath there is work to be done, she answered; your clothes—a nice state you brought them home in, and if they were not cleaned for you, you could not present yourself in the synagogue to-day. But, Esora, Joseph answered faintly, I don't see why you should be up and at work at this hour and that girl, Matred, still asleep. Does she never help you in your work? Esora muttered something that Joseph did not hear, and in answer to his question why she did not rouse Matred from her bed she said that the young require more sleep than the old; an answer that surprised Joseph, for he had never been able to rid himself of his first impression of Esora. He remembered when he was a child how he hated her long nose, her long yellow neck and her doleful voice always crying out against somebody, her son, her kitchen-maid, or Joseph himself. She used to turn him out of her kitchen and larder and dairy, saying that his place was upstairs, and once raised her hand to him; later she had complained to his father of his thefts; for he brought his dogs with him and stole the larder key and cut off pieces of meat for them, and very often dipped jars into the pans of milk that were standing for cream. His father reproved him, and from that day he hated Esora, casting names at her, and playing many pranks upon her until the day he tipped a kettle of boiling water over his foot while running to scald the wasps in their nest—one of the apes was stung; it was to avenge the sting he was running, and no one had known how to relieve his suffering; his father had gone away for the doctor, but Esora, as soon as she heard what had happened, came with her balsam, and it subdued the pain almost miraculously.
After his scalding Joseph brought all his troubles to her to be cured, confiding to her care coughs, colds, and cut fingers; and, as she never failed to relieve his pain, whatever it was, he began to look upon her with respect and admiration. All the same something of his original dislike remained. He disliked her while he admired her, and his suspicion was that she loved him more for his father's sake than for his own—— It was his father who sent her from Galilee to look after him. There was no fault to find with her management, but he could not rid his mind of the belief that she was a hard task-mistress, and often fell to pitying the servants under her supervision, yet here she was up at five while Matred lay drowsing. This testimony of her kind heart was agreeable to him, for he had need of all her kindness and sympathy that morning—only with her help could Jesus be cured of his wounds and the story of his escape from the cross he kept a secret. He was in her hands, and, confident of her loyalty to him, he told her that he had left his door open because he wished to speak to her before the others were out of bed.
She lifted her face till he saw her dim eyes, perhaps for the first time: but ye haven't been in bed, and there be dust on thy garments, and blood upon thy hands and sleeves. Yes, Esora, my cloak is full of dust, and the blood on my sleeve is that of a man who lies wounded in the gardener's cottage belike to death. But thou canst cure him and wilt keep the secret of his burial if we have to bury him in the garden. It may be that some day I'll tell thee his story, but think now only how thou mayst relieve his suffering. Another time thou shalt hear everything; but now, Esora, understand nobody must know that a man is in the gardener's cottage. It is a matter of life and death for us. I am here to serve you, Master, and it matters not to me what his story may be; but tell how he is wounded; are the wounds the clean wounds of the sword or the torn wounds of rods? If he have been scourged—— A cruel scourging it must have been, Joseph answered. Now, before we go, Esora, understand that I shall send the two men away, one to Galilee and one to Jericho. Better both should go to Jericho, she said. I'd trust neither in Jerusalem. Let them go straight from here as soon as the Sabbath is over, the journey is shorter, and they'll be as well out of the way in one country as in the other. Esora is wiser than I, Joseph thought, and together they shall go to Jericho, and with an important message. But to whom? Not to Gaddi, who might come up to Jerusalem to see me. I'll send a letter to Hazael, the Essene, and after having delivered the message they can remain at the caravanserai in Jericho. Some excuse that will satisfy Gaddi must be discovered, Esora. I shall find one later. Both the men are now in bed, but if for some reason one of them should come down to the gardener's cottage! It isn't likely, Esora answered. Not likely, Joseph replied; but we must guard against anything. If thou knewest the risk! I'll lock the door of the passage leading to their rooms, and I'll do it at once. Give me the keys. She handed him the keys, and, having locked the men in, he returned, saying: the wounded man, whom thou'lt cure, Esora, may be here for a month or more, and till he leaves us thou must watch the girl and see she doesn't stray through the garden. I can manage her, Esora answered. But now about the poor man who is waiting for attendance in the gardener's cottage. What have ye done for him, Master? I picked from his back the splinters I could see by the light of the lamp, and gave him some wine and water, and laid him on a linen cloth. The old woman muttered that the drawing of the cloth from the wound would be very painful. I dare say it will, Joseph returned, but I knew not what else to do, and it seemed to relieve him. Can you help him, Esora? Yes, I can; and she began telling him of her own famous balsam, the secret of which was imparted to her by her mother, who had it from her mother; and her great-grandmother learnt it from an Arabian. But knowledge of the balsam went back to the Queen of Sheba, who brought the plant to King Solomon. Thou must have seen the bush in the garden in Galilee. It throws a white flower, like the acacia, and the juice when drawn passes through many colours, honey colour and then green. The Egyptians use it for many sicknesses, and it heals wounds magically. The sweet liquor pours from cuts in the branches, and care must be taken not to wound them too sorely. This plant fears the sword, for it heals sword wounds, so the cuts in the tree are best made with a sharp flint or shell, these being holier than steel. If thou hast missed the bush in Magdala, Master, thou must have seen it in Jericho, for I brought some seeds from Galilee to Jericho and planted them by the gardener's cottage. Esora, all that thou tellest me about the balsam is marvellous. I could listen to thee for hours, and thou'lt tell me about thy grandmother and the Arabian who taught her how to gather the juice of the plant, but we must be thinking now of my friend's agony. Hast any of thy balsam ready, or must thou go to Jericho for the juice?—you draw the juice from the tree? No, Master, Esora answered him, I have here in my press a jar of the balsam, and, going to her press, she held the jar to Joseph, who saw a white, milky liquid, and after smelling and liking its sweet smell he said: let us go at once. But thou mustn't hurry me, Master; I'm collecting bandages of fine linen and getting this kettle of water to boil; for this I learnt from a man who learnt it from the best surgeons in Rome: that freshly boiled water holds no more the humours that make wounds fructify, and if boiled long enough the humours fall to the bottom. I strain them off, and let the water cool. Thou mustn't hurry me; what I do, I do well, and at my own pace; and I'll not touch a wound with unclean things. Now I'll get some oil. Some hold Denbalassa is best mixed with oil, but I pour oil upon the balm after I have laid it on the wound, and by this means it will stick less when it is removed. But is thy friend a patient man? Wounds from scourging heal slowly; the flesh is bruised and many humours must come away; wounds from rods are not like the clean cut of a sword, which will heal under the balm when the edges have been brought together carefully, so that no man can find the place. This balm will cure all kinds of coughs, and will disperse bile as many a time I have found. Some will wash a wound with wine and water, but I hold it heats the blood about the wound and so increases the making of fresh humours. Now, Master, take up the pot of water and see that ye hold it steady. I'll carry the basket containing the oil and the balm.... It was the Queen of Sheba who first made the balm known, because she gave it to Solomon. But we must keep the flies from him; and while I'm getting these things go to him and take with thee a fine linen cloth; thou'lt find some pieces in that cupboard, and a hammer and some nails. I'm thinking there are few flies in the gardener's cottage, half of it being underground; but hasten and nail up the linen cloth over the window, for the first sun ray will awaken any that are in the cottage, and, if there aren't any, flies will come streaming in from the garden as soon as the light comes, following the scent of blood. No, not there, a little to the right, he heard her crying, and, finding a piece of linen and a hammer and some nails, he went out into the greyness still undisturbed by the chirrup of a half-awakened bird.
On either side of the shelving lawn or interspace were woods, the remains of an ancient forest that had once covered this hillside; paths wound sinuously through the woods, and, taking the one he had followed overnight, he passed under sycamore boughs, through some woodland to the terrace that he had crossed last night with a naked man on his shoulders. And he remembered how hard it had been to keep to the path overnight, and how fortunate it was that the gardener's cottage was not locked, for if he had had to lay Jesus down he would never have been able to lift him up again on to his shoulder. He had done all he could to relieve his suffering. But Jesus, he said to himself, is lying in agony, and if he has regained consciousness he may believe himself buried alive. I must hasten. Yet when he arrived at the cottage he did not enter it at once, but stood outside listening to the moans of the wounded man within, which were good to hear in this much that they were an assurance that he was still alive. At last he pushed the door open and found Jesus moving his head from side to side, unable to rid himself of a fly that was crawling about his mouth. Joseph drove it away and gave Jesus some more weak wine and water, which seemed to soothe him, and feeling he could do no more he sat down by the bedside to wait for Esora. A few minutes after he heard her steps and she came into the cottage with balsam and bandages in a basket, divining before any examination Jesus' state. He is in a bad way; you've given him wine and water, but he'll need something stronger, and, taking a bottle from her basket, she lifted Jesus' head so that he might drink from it. It will help him to bear the pain of the dressing, she said. Now, Master, will you roll him over on to his side, so that I may see his back. The pain, she said, looking up, when we remove this cloth on which you have laid him will almost kill him, but we must get it off. The water with which I'll cleanse the wound, you'll find it in that basket: it is cool enough now to use. Take him by the wrists and pull him forward, keeping him in a sitting position. Which Joseph did, Esora washing his back the while and removing the splinters that Joseph missed overnight. And, taking pleasure in her ministrations, she steeped a piece of linen in the balm, and over the medicated linen laid a linen pad, rolling a bandage round the chest; and the skill with which she wound it surprised Joseph and persuaded him that the worst was over and there was no cause for further fear, a confidence Esora did not share. He'll rest easier, she said, and will suffer no pain at the next dressing; for the oil will prevent the balm from sticking. We can roll him on his back now, and without asking any question she dressed his hands and feet.
Joseph thanked her inwardly for her reticence, and he nailed up the fine linen cloth before the window, saying: now he is secure from the flies. But one or two have got in already, Esora answered, and one or two will trouble the sick man as much as a hundred. We can't leave him alone; one of us must watch by his side; for he is still delirious and knows not yet what has befallen him nor where he is. If he were to return to clear reason and find the door locked he might lose his reason for good and all, and if we left the door open he might run out into the garden. It isn't safe to leave him.
And perceiving all she said to be sound sense, Joseph took counsel with her, and his resolve was that the two men-servants should remain in their house till the sunset That I should send them away to Jericho on my own horses will surprise them, he said to himself, but that can't be altered. A long, weary day lies before us, Esora, and we shall have to take it in turns, and neither can be away for more than two hours at a time from the house. Matred will be asking for instructions whether she is to feed the poultry or to kill a chicken. Though it be the Sabbath, she'll find reasons to be about because we would have her indoors. And when I'm watching by the sick man, Esora returned, she'll be asking: where, Master, is Esora? Thou'lt have to invent excuses. We've forgotten the servants, Esora. Give me the key. I must run with it and unlock the door of the passage. Do you wait here till I return.
He hoped to find his servants asleep, and his hopes were fulfilled; and after rousing them with vigorous reproof for their laziness, he descended the stairs, thinking of the letter he would devise for them to carry to Jericho. These men, Sarea and Asiel, were his peril. Once they were away on their journey to Jericho he would feel easier. But all these hours I shall suffer, he said. But, Master, they know the cottage to be empty. One never can think, my good Esora, whither idle men will be wandering, and the risk is great. Having gone so far we must have courage, Esora answered. Now give me the key, and I'll lock myself in with him; we'll take it in turns, and the day will not be as long passing as you think for. It is now six o'clock, he answered: twelve hours will have to pass away before the men start for Jericho. And then the night will be before us, replied Esora. I hadn't thought of the night, Joseph answered, and she reminded him that it might be days before his friend, who had been scourged, could recover sufficiently for him to leave. For he won't always remain here, she added. No! no! Joseph replied, and gave her the key of the cottage, and returned to the house to tell Sarea and Asiel that he hoped they would remain indoors during the Sabbath, for he wished them to start for Jericho as soon as the Sabbath was over. They shall ride my horses, he said to himself, and bear letters that will detain them in Jericho for some weeks, and if Jesus be not well enough to leave me, another letter will delay their return. It can be so arranged, with a little luck on our side!
The lantern suddenly flashed into his mind. He had left it on the table in his room and Esora would see it. But why shouldn't she see the lantern? The centurion and the carrier and Martha and Mary all knew that he had brought from Jerusalem a sheet in which to wrap the body of Jesus, and a lantern to light their way into the tomb. It would be in agreement with what he had already said to tell that he brought the lantern back with him, nor would it have mattered if he had not returned to the tomb to fetch the lantern. The lantern would not cast any suspicion upon him. But he had done well to refrain from closing the sepulchre with the stone, for the story of the resurrection would rise out of the empty tomb, and though there were many among the Jews who would not believe the story, few would have the courage to inquire into the truth of a miracle.
A faint smile gathered on his lips, and he began to wonder what the expression would be on the faces of Martha and Mary when they came to him on the morrow with the news that Jesus had risen from the dead.