"Thou canst feed him, and Lazarus entertain him with his merry speech-making," Mary observed quietly as she took the nestlings from her veil.
"And what wilt thou do for thy distinguished guest?" Anna asked of Mary.
"I will watch with great care these little nightingales so that they may live in the thicket by the spring just over the garden wall. And next year when Zador Ben Amon doth pass with his camel train from Damascus will their sweet song welcome him home."
"No greater guest doth come to the Passover than Zador Ben Amon—and he hath an interest in thee, Mary."
"Yea—a greater than he hath come to the Passover," said Anna. "From Rome hath Pilate come, so sayeth my father, and with a retinue of servants that doth make Herod green with envy. And speech hath it that the wife of Pilate doth dazzle the eye with such gorgeous apparel as is seen only in the Roman circus."
"Glad is my heart," said Martha, "that Herod be undone in the glory of display for apeth he not the Romans? Herod is great when there is none greater, but ever doth Rome send the greatest."
"Nay, not Rome sends the greatest to the Passover." It was Debora who spoke. "From Capernaum cometh he."
"Capernaum of Galilee?" Martha exclaimed. "The home of fishermen?"
"Yea, verily. From Galilee doth a prophet come the like of which hath not been seen since Elias was taken in a chariot of fire and whirlwind."
"Thou dost speak strange words," Mary observed. "Who is this prophet?"
"He is called Jesus of Nazareth, for there did he live before his home was at Capernaum."
"Nazareth," Anna repeated with curling lip. "Nazareth is a town of beggars and thieves, so sayeth my father. Can any good thing come out of Nazareth? My father hath mentioned the name of Jesus—was he at the Passover feast last year?"
"Yea, and the Feast of Tabernacles," Debora answered.
"Jesus of Nazareth," Martha repeated, putting her hand to her forehead. "Methinks Lazarus did mention the name when Joseph of Arimathea was our guest. Dost thou remember, Mary?"
"The name? Yea, I remember. But what of it? None said he was a prophet."
"Listen," Debora said, leaning eagerly forward and half whispering: "Knowest thou not that Israel hath long been dispersed and scattered like sheep without a shepherd? Knowest thou not that the cohorts of Rome guard the Sacred Temple and profane the Sanctuary of the Most High? Knowest thou not the heart of Israel hath long waited for the king who shall restore again the throne of David? And knowest thou not that the time is at hand for the coming of the promised one? Aye, even so hath he already come, and his name is Jesus."
"By what sign is he the Messiah?" Mary asked.
"By the sign of a prophet, and the greatest of all prophets is he. Once was I at the home of Peter when his wife's mother lay sick of a fever. Her skin was hot as if her couch were in a bake oven; her eyes did shine and vain was her babbling. Then came the Prophet of Galilee. On her head where the heat raged he placed his hand. Close and firm he held it as if he were holding down a struggling world. And lo! The struggling world grew quiet. The vain babbling of the parched lips ceased. Then did he speak. Aye—Mary, Martha, Anna—to hear his voice—deep like unsounded depths, mellow like the music of the viol and restful as when small waves play upon smooth shores. Twice did he speak. There was stillness. His eyes were fastened kindly on the face of her who lay beneath his touch. Then did she open her eyes. Her lips did part in a smile. She arose and by the open casement did stand to breathe deep of the cool air. And those who had gathered in the street to set up the death-wail, did cry, 'A miracle! A miracle!'"
"But it is not a miracle to heal those who are not dead. Do not theRabbis heal the sick?" Mary asked.
"And the prophets are all dead," Martha added.
"Wait and see," was Debora's answer.
In a gala dress of blue with silver embroidery, Martha, her faithful Eli close at hand and girt in a clean towel, awaited the coming of Passover guests, for the few days preceding the Feast were used for visiting, and Lazarus and his sisters had many friends. The first guest to arrive was Huldah, wife of a Temple scribe. Martha opened the door. The servant took his place behind a stool near the door with a basin of water.
"Sit thee down," Martha said after greetings. "Let thy feet be cooled.The way is dusty for ten thousand feet press to the City of David."
"Yea, from all the world they come to see the Temple of the Jews," Huldah answered. "For a week hath the ring of the hammer sounded over the hills where the roadways are made safe, and tombs are fresh whitened that none be rendered unclean. All Jerusalem is a guest chamber. Where is Mary?" and she glanced about the room.
"She is in the garden with Anna and her Capernaum guest Debora. And Debora hath been saying a prophet hath arisen the like of which hath not been seen since Elijah went up in his fiery chariot."
"A prophet! A prophet!" exclaimed Huldah, greatly interested. "Whence cometh he?"
"From Galilee—but the maidens are coming. Ask Debora."
In festive attire and carrying flowers, Anna and Debora entered the room, followed by Mary, gowned in clinging white caught high on her breast and falling away leaving her arms bare. Her hair had blown softly about her face. Her cheeks were like almond blossoms and a white veil caught around her head by a carved silver chaplet, fell over her shoulders. After the greeting, Huldah turned to Debora.
"Hast thou said a prophet cometh from Galilee?"
"So I have spoken."
"Out of Galilee ariseth no prophet."
"From Galilee cometh Jesus of Nazareth."
"Jesus of Nazareth!" Huldah exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
"Hast heard of him?" Martha inquired.
"Jesus son of Gamaliel, successor to Jesus son of Damneus; Jesus son of Sie; Jesus son of Phabet! Be there no end to the Jesus' sons? And now cometh the worse of them all. Yea, I have heard of him. A wolf in sheep's clothing—a false prophet is he. Never was he taught in the Temple school, yet doth he dare within its sacred portals to teach others. By an evil one is he led."
"Why dost thou say by an evil one?" asked Debora.
"Dost thou, a daughter of Israel, so ask? Aye, is it not evil to speak against the traditions of the Elders? No worse to blaspheme the Temple itself! Is not Israel the chosen of God, and hath it not been written there is no salvation outside Israel? Had there been no Jew the Law from Sinai had not been given and we too would be unclean as the Gentiles. What worse could one do than set at naught the traditions of the Elders? But this is not all. He doth both harvest and winnow on the Holy Sabbath."
"Harvest and winnow on the Sabbath?" Martha asked in surprise.
"Yea, and this is not all. He is a friend of publicans."
"Publicans? Those vile wretches who filch from the pockets of Israel to pay for the pageantry of Rome?" It was Anna who questioned.
"Yea, and this is not all. He is also a friend of the defiled Samaritan, friendly as a brother is he with these heathen—and—and—" she whispered, "he keepeth company with harlots."
"Harlots!" exclaimed the maidens under their breath.
"Yea—what manner of prophet thinkest thou this be?"
"Hast thou thyself seen the evil things of which thou beareth witness?"Debora asked of Huldah.
"Nay, but such are the reports."
"Our guest Debora hath both seen the face of him and heard his voice,"Mary observed.
Huldah laughed. "And what so easy for a false prophet to deceive with smooth speech and searching eyes, as a maiden's heart? But enough of such talk as doth vex the Rabbis. See thou my cloth of gold? With my needle I shall make it gay with crimson pomegranates." Huldah took her embroidery from her bag, and the young women stood around admiring her work when voices were heard outside. Martha turned to the lattice window and looked out.
"More pilgrims are coming. A mother in Israel is to be our guest. She cometh with a neighbor and leaneth heavily on her staff. Mary—Mary! It is Elizabeth. Hasten to meet her."
Mary hurried out. When she had gone Huldah asked, "Who is this agedElizabeth?"
"Knowest thou not? She is the mother of John the Baptiser whose head Herod did give as a bauble to the vile Herodias." Huldah rose hurriedly and looked out the window.
"The mother of John Baptist, he who did come from the caves of the mountains with the garment of a wolf, the beard of a lion and the voice of a bear. Jerusalem turned out to hear the man. Possessed of a devil was he. Aye, and the hair of his mother be white like the cap of snow that sits on Hermon's head. Verily a foolish son bringeth down his mother's hair in sorrow. If the Rabbis are not able to teach the Law, shall one wild from the desert be able? For attending to business not his own lost he his head."
"Lean on me," said Mary, just outside the door. "My feet have not traveled the hard path so long."
"The blessing of Jehovah on thee, my daughter," Elizabeth replied as they came up the steps. In ample black drapery and wearing a widow's headdress, the aged woman entered. "Peace be to this house and to thy hearts, my daughters," she said with upraised hands. She was conducted to a wide armchair, and Mary threw back her black mantle and Eli unloosed her sandals.
"There are many pilgrim feet pressing toward the Passover Feast,"Huldah said.
"Yea, my daughter. And some whose feet pressed the pilgrim path last year have gone on a longer pilgrimage, a farther journey than to the City of Zion—yea to the Heavenly Zion have they gone." Elizabeth rested her head wearily against the back of the chair and tears rolled down her withered cheeks. Mary knelt beside her and taking her hands said gently, "Weep not! From our brother have we heard what Herod hath done. It was cruel, aye, cruel as the grave to take thine son—the only son of thine old age. But weep not!"
"Cruel as the grave! So seemeth it. Yet the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. The Lord truly blessed me in that it was given me to be the mother of a prophet. Strange too, was it, for the spring-time of my life had gone. Yea, the ten years had passed after which the Israelite may give a writing of divorcement to a barren wife. Yet did the love of my husband live and in the fulness of time to us a son was born. A Nazarene did he grow, neither cutting his beard, nor drinking wine nor looking on women. And as Elijah came from the wilds of Gilead to confound Ahab, so came the son of my bosom from the wilds of Judea crying in the ear of an adulterous generation, 'Prepare ye! Prepare! There cometh one after me whose shoe latchet I am not worthy to unloose.' And as he did declare, so hath that mightier appeared—aye, the hope of Israel. Not a Nazarene is he. Came he both eating and drinking and loving womankind, and lo! of him they say 'a wine bibber and a glutton.' But, daughters, wisdom be justified of her children. Lo, he that hath been promised to restore again the glory of Israel is even now in the City of our God!"
"Strange words thou speakest," said Huldah.
"Thou dost not speak of Jesus of Nazareth?" Mary asked.
"Even of him," the aged woman answered.
"Art thou of his acquaintance?" Debora asked with interest.
"Even more, for was not the mother of her who bare Jesus even the sister of my father?"
"Thy kinsman he is? Thou hast looked upon his face and heard the wondrous voice that doth drive away fever?"
"Yea, have I seen and heard, both the son and his mother and father, for twice did I visit under the roof of my cousin."
"His mother—what of her? Is she skilled in savoring rich sop?" Martha asked.
"She hath not possessed the wherewithal to make rich sop, yet in her veins runneth the blood of kings. Of the house of David hath she come."
"And where hath she been in hiding, this royal-blooded Jewess?" Huldah asked.
"In the rude home of a Galilean peasant, for poverty hath been her lot.Yea, in the stone feed-trough of a cattle shed was Jesus born becausehis father had not the price of keep at the inn. A little lad atNazareth was he when I first saw him."
"A little lad," Mary repeated. "What manner of little lad was he?"
"Beside his mother's knee he heard stories of the brave and mighty of Israel. He walked with his mother by the sea and in the fields. He loved the fowls of the air, the hares and the foxes. And such questions did he ask as no man hath wisdom to answer. While his mother toiled he played with the children of the village. When they played funeral right vigorously would he weep with the mourners. When they played wedding with those who piped, piped he, and with those who danced, danced he until his small garments, like wings, flew apace. Mild was he and obedient, yet when his hand was lifted in wrath it did strike hard. Once he did fight. Aye, and a good fight it was and over the wall did he send with the speed of a wild ass and fierce blows, a lad twice his size. His mother did bind his black eye in a fig leaf poultice and tell him fighting were not good for little lads. I remember yet his face as he did make answer, 'Woman, know'st thou not our father David did smite a giant which did torment Jehovah's chosen ones? Even so did I smite him who was plucking hair from the head of a feeble child who could do naught but cry out. For this did I send him over the wall, and no more will he do this evil thing when I am nigh.'"
"Blessings on him," laughed Debora, clapping her hands.
"My heart goeth out to such a lad," Mary said.
"What for?" Huldah asked. "For making bloody another lad's nose?"
"If so be that to bloody a nose is the only way to stay the hand of oppression."
"And yet another time did I see him," Elizabeth continued. "At a wedding in Cana, when he had grown to man's estate. Merry were the guests with feasting and shouting when the wine did fall short. In an outer room were some firkins which Jesus did order filled with water. When the water was drawn out, it was wine."
"This is no sign of a prophet," Huldah answered quickly. "Ofttimes have I with a cup of grape sirup well thickened, made a kid skin of wine. What sign hath he given of being a prophet that hath not already been given?"
"From the dungeon my John asked this question," Elizabeth answered slowly. "After other things did Jesus say, 'Tell John I have come to bring the gospel to thepoor.'"
Huldah laughed heartily. Then she said, "Of a surety this is a sign no prophet hath given. The poor? Who taketh account of the poor? Poverty is a visitation of Jehovah. Ever have the poor been despised and forsaken. Cursed be the lot of the poor—yea, thrice cursed!"
"Yea, cursed be the lot of the poor. Even was this the lot of Jesus of Galilee. Oft was his food but dried locusts. Oft bore his thin garments many patches. Oft was a heavy yoke put on the burden of his childish shoulders. For this pitieth he the poor."
"Locusts for the belly; patches for the back; a yoke for the shoulders!Shame on Israel that of this sort it would call a king—even fromGalilee where women labor in the field and men like cattle toil!" andHuldah's lip curled with scorn.
"The toiler toileth that Herod may make great banquets. Pilate doth ride in a golden chariot and Caesar feed men to tigers. When cometh the King of the Jews, such will be done away with, for again will slaves be set free and the Year of Jubilee proclaimed."
"A king must be a King—not a herder of sheep or a driver of oxen," wasHuldah's emphatic reply.
"Was not our glorious David a keeper of sheep before the crown was put upon his head? Not whence he cometh, but the kind he is, doth decide the quality of kings," Mary observed thoughtfully.
The table was set for the evening meal in the home of Lazarus. Martha was in the kitchen urging Eli to more speed in final preparations, and Mary was arranging a bowl of vari-colored lilies on the table. Entering the room Martha paused to look at her sister. "Mary," she exclaimed, "thou dost spend time as though lilies made fit eating."
"Fit eating? Nay, but Zador Ben Amon doth sup with us to-night. From the splendors of Rome hath he come. Shall we not set forth for him the better splendors of lilies in all their glory? And should I not help make joyful the coming of Joel who hath been away two weeks?"
"It is wine in the cup and meat well seasoned that doth delight the heart of man."
"The perfume of flowers doth breathe of giving. So do they breathe of love which doth ever give, until a woman giveth herself to be loved of a man as thou art promised to Joel. How strange and holy a thing is love!"
"Mayhap it is strange; mayhap is [Transcriber's note: it?] is holy.But get thou the sop bowls. Joel and Lazarus are coming."
"Ha! ha! ha!" The laughing voice sounded just outside the door. "The face of him was like—ha! ha!—it was like—like—" and again the words ended in laughter.
"Like what was the face of him?" a second voice asked.
"A mild ass well beaten,—ha—ha!"
"Lazarus is in a merry mood to-day," Mary said to Martha.
"It taketh not much to gladden his heart," was Martha's answer, as the two men entered the room. When Joel had kissed Martha and exchanged greetings with Mary, she said to Lazarus, "Thou comest in good spirits, my brother."
"Yea," replied Joel, "a bit of wit doth make him to bubble over like sour wine in a kid skin, and thrice doth he bubble at wit from the lips of a prophet."
"Is there a prophet given to wit?" Mary inquired.
"Nay, not to wit," Lazarus answered. "To wisdom he is given, yet in his wisdom doth often sparkle wit."
"Who is this prophet that causeth thy pleasure?" Mary asked.
"Another Jesus—Jesus of Nazareth this one is."
"Is there none other at the Passover Feast than he to talk of?" was Martha's question. "Naught have we heard from our guests to-day save of him. Now again hear we more."
"Lazarus is much taken with his teachings which he calleth wisdom.Methinks his sayings are hard, eh, Lazarus?"
"Yea, hard sayings," the master of the house replied seriously, as he settled himself on the window couch. "Yet is there that within them which giveth wine its flavor," and again he laughed.
"What was the saying that did please thee?" Mary asked.
"Knowest thou what the Law sayeth about graven images? Aye, to touch one defileth a Jew. With fierce righteousness do those in authority contend for observance of the letter of the law. Was not much blood spilled when Pilate sought to put an image of Caesar in the Temple? The Galilean Prophet oft setteth aside the Law. For this reason do the Scribes and Pharisees seek to entangle him. Taking council, they did say to him, 'What thinkest thou? Is it lawful to give tribute to Caesar, or not?' Hard by stood many with their ears well open. And near at hand stood I. Upon him who spoke and those his followers, did the Galilean look. Then did he say, 'Why tempt me, ye hypocrites?' With these words did the countenances of his tempters grow long like their beards and take on a grievous expression like a beast unjustly berated. 'Show me the tribute money,' said he. With exceeding quickness were their hands thrust into their pockets, while the eyes of those who stood by watched close. As the Prophet of Galilee did take on his palm the coins, the corners of his beard did twitch yet was his voice grave as he said, 'Whose is this image and superscription?' With one voice they did answer, 'Caesar's'—and by my most precious beard so bore the coins the image of Tiberius! Dost thou get the flavor of the situation? Breathing out fierce contention for the letter of the Law, go they about with their wallets stuffed with images—stuffed with images of Tiberius! Ha! ha! ha! Thou shouldst have seen their faces when those who stood by to see them entrap the Galilean laughed at them boisterously."
The story told by the young man ended in a hearty laugh, which was entered into by the others.
"Did he make answer?" Mary asked.
"Aye. Listen now if thou wouldst hear wisdom. Giving their images back to those who sought to entangle him, he said, 'Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's.'"
"Had they an answer?" It was Mary again who questioned.
"None save the face of them. It were enough—ha! ha!"
"Lazarus is much taken with this man," Martha observed. "Art thou, too, gone after him, Joel?"
"Nay. I like him not. Far be it from the business of a Galilean peasant to tell a merchant of Jerusalem that riches be a curse."
"And hath he said this to thee?" Martha inquired in astonishment.
"Yea, at the gate where my camel did stick and skin his nether quarters."
Lazarus laughed again as he exclaimed, "Enough it were to make dry bones shake! Such a sight! Tell it, Joel."
"Lazarus doth make light of matters sorely vexatious," Joel said without smiling.
"What did happen, Joel?" and there was concern in Martha's question.
"My camel train bearing great stores of silks had come from Damascus. The city gates were gorged with pilgrims so that my men did lead their beasts to the far side of the city wall where the small gates are. Here, when the camel would have walked under, he could not for the bales of silk that did wedge against the stones. Then did we strip the beasts, yet were their frames too large. Then did we get them on their knees and while some did pull, others did push. I stood with those in the rear and most mightily did I push until sweat did drop from my head and much straining did rend mykittuna."
"Didst get the camel through?" Martha asked anxiously.
"Yea, save the patch of hide he did leave sticking on the stone walls."
"Thou shouldst have seen," Lazarus laughed, "thou shouldst have seen thy Joel. Like a dog of the hills did he pant and like the swine of the heathen did he grunt."
"Were there bystanders to witness thy sad plight?" Martha asked the question of Joel.
"Yea, hard by stood a small company, one of them in the garment of a Rabbi. Beholding the struggling he said, 'Verily, verily, it is easier for a camel to get through a needle's eye than for a rich man to get into Heaven.' Then did those about fasten searching eyes on me, and I like him not."
"The truth doth fit close, friend Joel. Now to me did he also make a hard speech, yet I like him the more for his plain speaking."
"And hast thou too had speech with the Galilean? Tell me, my brother?"Mary asked.
"Lazarus would be his disciple," Joel remarked.
"Lazarus! Our brother? The son of a Sanhedrin Pharisee be the disciple of a Galilean?" and there was consternation in the voice of Martha.
"Thou hast spoken," he replied quietly, arranging himself more comfortably on the couch. "The Law have I studied since the days of my father. Hillel and Shammiah have I poured over and of Philo have I sought knowledge. Yea, even of the heathen Socrates have I sought knowledge. But, it is vain. The traditions of the Elders do weary me for at last tradition is no more than tradition. What avails fierce contentions over the ashes of the red heifer, the waving of willows or the pouring of holy water? Whether the Sadducees or the Pharisees gain the contention the burden remaineth the same. At times have I thought of turning to the spade and apron and white robe of the Essenes where there be no Aaronic priesthood or bloody sacrifice."
"But this Jesus—is he an Essene? Hast thou heard aught of his teachings?"
"Yea, Mary. In the Temple doth he tell of a Kingdom where the Law shall be less and justice and liberty more, a Kingdom of Brotherhood which the sword bringeth not but which cometh as spring-time brings a new earth. Wonderful did this teaching sound, and as I did drink it in, turned he his face to me as if my lips had called him. And I did know, even as his eye rested on mine, that I should love him, yea, as if he were a brother. Again did I draw near as he did pass on Solomon's porch, and again did his eyes find my face. Then did I ask what I should do to be his disciple. 'Keep the commandments,' was his answer. 'All these have I kept from my youth up,' I made answer. But it were not enough."
"It should be enough. What more doth the Law require?" Joel asked.
"Yet," observed Mary thoughtfully, "there be no virtue in keeping the Law which bids us not steal, so long as the belly is full of red wine and rich mutton."
"Or in coveting thy neighbor's fat wife when a shapely Martha is promised. Eh, Joel?" Lazarus questioned.
They all laughed. Joel's reply was, "Not virtue, nay. But where is virtue in the hard sayings he did put to Lazarus?"
"A hard saying truly," Lazarus repeated. "He did bid me sell my possessions and give to the poor."
"The Law doth not allow but a certain portion for the poor."
"Thou sayest truly, Mary. Yet him whose disciple I would be, says,'Give all.'"
"Thy vineyards and wine presses?" and Martha's face was troubled.
"Thy olive orchard?" and Mary too expressed concern.
"Yea, and thy home and garden and fountain and thy chickens and lilies,Mary," Joel answered quickly.
"An evil spirit doth work in his head," was Martha's observation.
"Why said he this to thee, my brother?" and Mary stood by Lazarus with perplexed face.
"That I should love him more than all these."
"He doth require much love."
"Yea, verily, much love doth he require for much doth he give and everything doth he make of love. Sorrowful I turned away. Yet will I see him again. But, Mary—Martha—look thou at the western sky. Hast thou made ready for our honored guest, Zador Ben Amon, who arriveth shortly? Fortunate is he as those of the House of Annas since with the money-changers hath the High Priest given him a place so that he hath riches more abundant than us all. Since he hath been our guest before, his heart hath become settled on Mary and of her hand hath he spoken to me already."
"And thou wert not slow to say 'yes.'" There was joy in Martha's question, though it was not a question.
"'The heart of a woman should go out to him whose wife she would be; and the heart is not worn on the hand. Tell thy desire to Mary.' This said I to Zador who seeks her hand."
"Listen!" exclaimed Martha.
The sound of wheels on the pebble strewn incline just outside, told the approach of Zador Ben Amon.
The face of Zador Ben Amon was divided into two halves, the upper of which reached from the line of his black beard that ran straight under his cheek-bones, to the lower edge of his elegant head covering. Prominent in this half were the eyes of Zador Ben Amon, but whether those of a wolf, a fox or a saved son of Israel, was a matter of reciprocity depending on the kind and condition of profit-making at hand. The lower portion of the money-changer's face was again divided into two halves by a thin white line running from lip to chin; this line was preserved by choice oils applied liberally to his beard hair. The solidity of Zador Ben Amon, whether financial or otherwise, was suggested by the broad back of his short body and in the square shape of his feet, whose bones bulged in spite of the best of sandals. To cover his broad back, Zador had a wonderful cloak of blue with a purple stripe above the border where crimson pomegranates were embroidered. With this cloak over his arm, for the season was getting too warm for more back covering than the usual garment, with new hand-wrought silver buckles on his sandals, a jaunty sash with deep knotted fringes, and with hair and beard perfumed, he made his way to the home of Lazarus at Bethany.
The wheels of his carriage had not yet turned from the door when Zador Ben Amon was welcomed by Lazarus and bidden through the open door, inside which stood Mary and Martha and Joel. His greeting to Martha was brief. Toward Mary he advanced with smiling face, as if to embrace her. "Nay?" he questioned as she drew back. "Didst not thy brother tell thee I have decided to make thee my betrothed?"
"The words my brother spake I did not so understand," she replied, stepping yet farther back from him.
"Then hath the pleasure been left for Zador, son of Amon, to tell Mary of the House of Dates that he hath come to make her his betrothed and hath brought her a fit gift."
"But I know thee not save as a friend of my brother Lazarus, nor dost thou know me."
"And what needst thou to know save that I am among Israel's rich and mighty and would take thee to wife? And what need I to know of thee more than that thou art fair and a woman? Doth the hungry beast not know its heart's desire? To thy brother have I spoken."
"And hath Lazarus given you knowledge that my heart is in his keeping?"Mary asked.
"Hearts!" Zador exclaimed, laughing like one well fed. "Lazarus, thy fair sister doth take hearts into account rather than shekels and talents of gold."
"Perhaps there is wisdom in the words she speaketh when she saith you know her not," and Lazarus smiled. "Seat thyself and make ready for a better acquaintance."
"Thou speakest," Zador answered heartily, glancing toward the window-seat. "But before thou layest my cloak aside would I show it to the maidens. At a great price I secured this," and he held it toward Martha and Mary.
"Its colors are most beautiful," Mary said.
Martha had slipped her hand inside the folds and was closely examining the needlework.
"From hem to hem the pomegranates reach," Zador explained, noticingMartha's interest. "Doth not the needlework far exceed that ofIsrael's workers in fine thread?"
"The workmanship is wonderful. Yet here are loose stitches at the top of the border."
Zador caught up the cloak hem and examined it with careful eye as he said, "Thou knowest. On the morrow will it be mended. But now, since Zador hath come to know that Mary and Martha delight in rich apparel, let him tell them of garments that dazzle the eye for glory and riches."
"Robes of Rome?" Martha asked with keen interest
"Yea, as I saw them in banquet hall and amphitheatre."
When the guest's cloak had been carefully put aside and his feet washed, the group gathered in the wide window-seat where he reclined, to hear news from Rome. "Hath the fame of the garment of Lolilla Pauline come to your ears?" he asked.
"Nay," answered Martha.
"Of seed pearls was it covered and over the pearls lay leaves of emerald. Forty million sesterces did it cost. Thou holdest up thy hands? Then will I tell thee of one that did cost fifty million sesterces—the like of which eye hath not seen before. On a robe of pearls sprinkled with diamonds, sat a peacock of great size so that his head did rest on the shoulders of the wearer and the tail of the bird did cover her back. And of rare jewels was this bird made; emeralds and rubies and topaz and sapphire and amethyst and opals and jacinths, set with such skill as to make the breast-plate of the High Priest a bauble. What delighteth the heart of a woman more than rich wearing apparel?" The question followed his description of the jewels and he laughed heartily at Martha's expression of amazed delight.
"Yet another garment would I tell thee of, such a one as eye hath not before seen." He stopped to laugh heartily. "A garment it also was of many colors," and again he laughed. "In that which is filthy and cast away do rag-pickers stir and strive. And when they have great stores of that which is vile and useless, do they sew it together into a garment and sell it for a pittance to a slave to cover his naked body. Such a rag-picker's garment saw I. Such a sight—sold for such a pittance."
"But might not the pittance paid for a rag-picker's garment be more to the slave than fifty million sesterces to one whose toil earned not even the first of them?" asked Mary.
"Ask me not questions about slaves, the rabble. Thou knowest they are but broilers and vile."
"Perhaps," Mary answered thoughtfully, "if slaves and the rabble were better fed they would broil less. Doth not Baba Metzia say 'When the barley in the jar is finished, quarrels come thundering through the house'?"
"Thou knowest nothing of slaves and the rabble, fair Mary. Never are the poor content. Give them bran and vinegar and they want herbs. Give them herbs and they want lentils. Give them lentils and they want sop of mutton. And once sop-fed will they cry aloud for the mutton itself. Cursed be the poor, by God. Let them be accursed." And the money-changer nodded his head in approval of his speech.
"Yea, accursed be the poor," said Lazarus. "Yet it seemeth not so much according to the curse of God as to the greed of man. To the rich their riches come by inheritance as came mine. Or cometh riches by great cunning and skill in taking from others."
"As cometh mine," Zador Ben Amon laughed, rubbing his hands and looking from one to the other for approval. "And even now my palms grow hot for that which shall come into them from my Temple booths at the Passover. But how dost thou reason, Lazarus? If there are rich and mighty must there not of necessity be the poor and weak?"
"Yea. Yet is this according to the Law of Moses? According to the Law was not grain left in the corners for the gleaners? Was not stealing and lying forbidden among Israelites? Was usury not forbidden under great penalty? And was not the year of Jubilee proclaimed? Hath the Law no meaning?"
"Like fire is the Law, a good servant but a bad master, my friendLazarus. But let us not talk of the Law but of the Great Feast.Gorged with pilgrims from all the earth is Jerusalem and this year'sTemple business will exceed all bounds. Never did I see so many andstrange peoples."
"Even wonder workers—eh, Mary?" Joel said.
Zador Ben Amon looked toward Mary for an answer.
"He speaketh of Jesus of Nazareth, methinks," she replied.
"Who is he?" and he turned to Lazarus.
"A Galilean Rabbi."
"Galilee is not noted for furnishing Rabbis. Hath he been taught in the Temple?"
"Nay. Yet in the Temple teacheth he such wisdom as hath not before been taught by any Rabbi."
"And he works wonders," Martha added.
Zador Ben Amon laughed heartily. "Women believe all things," he said. "There are no wonder workers but sorcerers. Even Eunus, who had the whole Isle of Sicily bewitched, did spit out fire by first putting fire in his mouth. So doeth this Jesus his wonders by Beelzebub—if indeed he doeth them."
As the time for dining drew near, the scent of cooking meat reached the nostrils of Zador. He sniffed and smiled approval, saying, "The savory odor of thy well seasoned meat bringeth to mind the meat and wine of the banquet at which the Roman noblewoman wore the blazing peacock." Again Martha showed keen interest. "In myrrhine and jeweled vases were the wines served and the nightingales' tongues on platters of pure gold," and he watched for the effect of his words.
"Nightingales' tongues!" Mary exclaimed.
"Of a truth. It seemeth past reason that enough of meat so small should be secured to banquet on. Yet when Rome would banquet, all things are hers. Into far places goeth the fowler with his snare and by the thousand are the fowls of the air sent in, to be burned, save the tongues of them."
The eyes of Mary were fastened on the face of her guest in bewildered amazement. "And you ate nightingales' tongues?" she again exclaimed.
"By the gold plate full. Savory beyond telling was the dish and my appetite was at best."
The eyes of Mary turned from the face of Zador.
"Mary hath three unfeathered ones she spendeth much time feeding," Joel remarked after a short silence. "She would have them grow large."
Zador looked at Mary, leaned his head against a pillow and laughed. "And so our Mary would sup after the manner of Rome. Three nightingales? The tongues of them all will not make a taste!"
A flush tinged Mary's face as she said, "Dost thou think I would nourish the lives of nestlings to pluck from their throats their tongues?" and she cast a straight glance at the reclining man.
"Of what other use are they?" and a mild expression of interest showed on Zador's face.
"Hast thou forgotten the song?"
"Song? Hear the woman, Lazarus, my friend! But a moment ago she did put a value on hearts. Now songs have a value. The heart of a woman and the song of a bird! Are they worth shekels or talents, my fair Mary?"
"The love of the heart is priceless," she replied, "and there is music of value more than gold talents."
"Are not the silver trumpets of the Temple music enough for thee?"
"Such music is indeed sweet. But there is yet other music."
After Mary had excused herself and gone into the garden a few moments later, Martha said, "She hath gone to feed her nestlings."
"Then will I show you the rare gift I brought thy sister," and from a leather case taken from inside his cloak Zador drew a delicately wrought anklet of gold set thick with shining green chalcedony. From it hung bangles, like bits of fine gold lace, carrying, each in the center, a precious stone of changing color. At sight of it Martha gave an exclamation of delight, and Lazarus and Joel looked at it with interest. "My betrothal gift to Mary," Zador Ben Amon said with undisguised admiration as he turned it about and shook it so that the tinkling of the bangles sounded. "From Ceylon came the garnets and the emerald from Ethiopian mines. When hath man given his betrothed so rich a gift? Proud will thy fair sister be to receive it."
"I would have Mary come," Lazarus said, and leaving the house, he went into the garden. At the far end Mary was sitting under a glossy green pomegranate which was in full crimson blossom. Clad in white and with her silver bound veil falling softly about her, she made a picture worth pausing a moment to view. She held the nest of young birds in one hand and moved the other slowly over them, until, roused by the wing-like motion, they opened wide their yellow mouths for the food she dropped in. Lazarus watched a moment before seating himself near her. "Mary, my sister," he said, "Zador Ben Amon is an Israelite high and mighty and hath set his heart on thee."
"Nay. Nay," she replied quickly. "He is a heathen and his heart is set on shekels and talents."
"He hath brought thee a betrothal gift."
Mary was silent until she had closed her hand over the crying nestlings. Then she turned to Lazarus. "Dost thou want me to leave thee, my brother?"
"Nay, nay, Mary. Not so. I would keep thee always if thou wouldst. Yet there cometh a time when a woman's heart goeth out to another man than her brother. Thou art different from Martha and setteth much store on things not sold in market places. Let not thy answer come from the mouth of a nightingale. When thy arms grow hungry for little ones and thy breast casts about for him who shall be father to them, Zador Ben Amon—"
Further words were cut short by an exclamation from Mary who drew back in horror.
"What is it?" and Lazarus looked about. "What abominable thing cometh nigh thee?"
For a moment Mary made no reply. With her brother's reference to little ones which should come of her union with the money-changer, she had felt again the passion unspeakable that had for the moment gripped her at touch of the Bedouin baby's lips. Yet as it swept through her now it was the passion of utter revulsion, such passionate revulsion as had stamped itself on her face when her brother looked about for some ugly, creeping reptile. "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings cometh wisdom," she seemed to hear the Rabbi say again, and without understanding the mystery of the wisdom, she knew it had come through the mouth of the Bedouin baby. "Not from the mouth of a nightingale shall my answer come," said Mary. "But if thou lovest me, speak no more forever of wedding me with this Jew. It hath been revealed to me there is no wisdom in it."
"He will press the matter with thee. He is a guest under my roof and aSadducee of power. Choose well thy way."
"I have already made choice. To the home of Anna do I go for the night. She hath called me, for her father is in Jerusalem."
"Is this wisdom?" asked Lazarus thoughtfully.
"It is a favor to Anna, and Zador Ben Amon will not miss a foolish lover of songs when he doth lay hold of Martha's choice meat."
Together Mary and Lazarus walked toward the house. When they reached the big stone bench, Zador stood waiting. Lazarus passed on, and because he insisted, Mary sat beside the Temple money-maker. He put the cloak carefully over the back of the seat and from its folds drew the anklet. Uncovering it, he thrust it suddenly before her, watching eagerly for her first impression.
"What thinkest thou? Is this not a fit betrothal gift for a Roman noblewoman?"
"It is most beautiful," she answered quietly.
"It is thine, my Israelitish princess—my Mary!" he exclaimed with all the interest she had not shown. "Draw up thy skirt for with my own hand would I fit it to thy white and shapely ankle," and his narrow black eyes shone with the anticipated pleasure.
Mary drew away saying, "Nay, nay. I wear no anklets."
"See," and he held it toward her. "Its jewels will tinkle on thy skirt like the silver bells on the High Priest's robe. What soundeth more pleasant to the ears of a woman?"
"But I care not for wagging nose rings and tinkling anklets," she replied.
"And thou wouldst have another gift than this?" Zador asked, his disappointment apparent.
"Nay. No gift would I have. When there is no betrothal what need of a gift?"
Zador Ben Amon turned his eyes on Mary. "No betrothal!" he exclaimed. "No betrothal! Thou dost jest. Where is the woman who would do less than be betrothed to Zador Ben Amon? Take thou the gift. As the price of thy heart was it fashioned and I make my oath that no other woman shall possess it. Here," and he held it toward her. She made no move. He placed it carefully on the wide stone arm of the bench. "There is thy gift and palsied be my arm if my hand toucheth it again. It is thine." And Zador waited for Mary to speak. "Thou dost disturb me much!" And his voice suggested anger when she made no move to take the gift, and arising he went to the pool beside which he stood with bowed head.
After watching him a moment, Mary's hand sought the border of his cloak. Her fingers felt the loose thread in the wide hem. Lifting the anklet, she slipped it inside the hem and pushed it around to one side of the garment.
"On the morrow when he mends the rent he will find that I neither took it nor must his arm suffer palsy for withholding it from me," and she smiled. Then she arose. "Zador Ben Amon," she said, "I go to the home of Anna whose father doth not return from Jerusalem to-night. Farewell."
With a start he turned his face to her. A few quick steps brought him to her side and he would have thrown his arms about her but she gathered her veil tightly and said, "Touch me not!"
"Touch thee not? Am I a god of wood?" and before she had stepped aside his fingers touched her.
"My brother sitteth just behind the lattice. Wilt thou that I call him?" Zador Ben Amon stopped. Mary cast one swift glance at him. "Devourer of songs unsung," she said slowly, turning her back on him.
He watched her cross the court and pass through the gate into the yard of Simon the Leper. When she was beyond sight he stepped hurriedly back to the bench. He glanced cautiously toward the house. He ran his hand over the stone where he had placed the anklet. He shook his cloak. He dropped on his hands and knees and searched the grass carefully. "The woman hath taken it and I have me no recourse," he muttered angrily. "A curse upon her! But this is not the end of it!"
The palace occupied by Pilate, Roman Procurator of Judea, during his visitations to the once Jewish capital, was one of the gorgeous and perpetual monuments to the architectural skill of Herod the Great and his almost inconceivable expenditure of gold. Had Pilate built it for himself it could not have been more to his liking, containing as it did apartments in size from the closet of a slave maiden to halls of state large enough to banquet whole companies. The favorite state apartment of Pilate was always first set in order. A palace within a palace was it, pillared into twelve compartments which yet made one whole. The frieze of the twelve compartments was surmounted with the twelve signs of the Zodiac and paintings of meat eaters. The side walls were decorated with fauns and naked bacchantes carrying vases of flowers. The gleaming pillars that reached to a ceiling of great height were entwined with carved ivy and vine branches. There were couches, one of bronze ornamented with tortoise shell and gold, the cushions of which were Gallic wool dyed purple; another near it was of ivory and gold and across it was thrown a wolf skin robe. Corinthian vases nobly wrought of fine brass were filled with palms tied with gay ribbons, such as were waved in the Roman circus. Back of the couch covered with wolf skin was a pedestal wreathed with fresh flowers, and the fragrance of incense from cunningly wrought metal lamps perfumed the air.
With the coming of Pilate came a retinue of servants and soldiers, and always guards stood at all entrances inside and out of the palace. In the palace of Pilate all was in readiness for the Passover guests certain to be on hand, for Rome sent many visitors annually to Jerusalem. Claudia, wife of the Procurator, herself enjoyed the impressive crowds that gorged the great city and was out sight-seeing daily. On the third day before the great Feast, she returned to the palace before the time of Pilate's arrival, and pushing aside one of the magnificent hangings that lent a touch of barbaric color to the gorgeous apartment, she entered and looked about.
"Margara! Zenobe!" she called. At sound of her voice, from behind another hanging, two slave maidens appeared. "Take thou my cloak, Zenobe," she said, uncovering a splendid gown heavy with spangles of silver and rare lace, "and bring back the jewels that have been under guard since we left Rome. And thou, Margara, freshen my hair while I sit and rest, for Pilate doth come shortly."
"Aye, Pilate doth come shortly—and for Pilate doth Claudia dress her hair." The words were spoken softly.
"Yea," Claudia said, laughing, "for Pilate doth bring guests from theSenate at Rome. In the court of Caesar have these men oft dined, andRoman women wear jewels the gods envy. But so hath Claudia jewels,rare jewels that have been handed down to her from her grandfatherAugustus and her mother Julia."
Zenobe returned shortly with a closed casket which she handed to Claudia with a key. From it ornaments and strings of jewels were taken and handed to the maid.
"On my arms fasten thy bands and make my throat to sparkle, and whenMargara hath dressed my hair, twine it thick with shining stones."Claudia rested herself on the wolf skin couch and as the two slavesdressed her hair and ornamented her body, she talked with them.
"Strange sights I saw in Jerusalem this day. The city is packed with odd peoples from every land. Indian princes saw I from beyond the Ganges. African lion hunters, their black bodies bare save for strings of golden nuggets; Arabians swinging on crimson decked camels; chieftains from Assyria whose purple cloth was gay with blue and yellow stones; Scythian savages whose garments were no more than suns and moons and fishes marked upon their knees, all these I saw. Aye, strange peoples making a strange show and a strange babel."
"Yea, and strange tales are about," Zenobe half whispered.
"What tales hast thou heard?"
"No more than that the dead are turned to life."
"A strange tale indeed—too strange, my little maid."
"It doth come from a Roman centurion."
"Hath a centurion died?"
"Nay, but his servant, sick unto death, was restored by a wonder worker."
"Whence came this wonder worker?"
"He is a Jew. I know not more, but the centurion telleth it broadly."
"Whence got thou the story?"
"From thy scarred eunuch, my mistress."
"From my scarred eunuch? And where got he the story?"
"I know not save he hath it."
"Call thou my eunuch to me."
With flying feet Zenobe hastened to obey. Meantime Margara finished her work of hair dressing, exclaiming, "Thy hair is most beautiful!"
Claudia arose, arranged the folds of her luxurious train and twisted several strings of jewels over her bare arms. She had started across the shining mosaic floor when Zenobe returned followed by a large and finely shaped slave with a scarred face. His swarthy body was scantily attired. Claudia gave him recognition, and stopping in front of her he made low obeisance and then stood straight and rigid as a statue.
"To-day," Claudia said, "I stood in the portico of the Tower of Antonio from which watch is kept over the Temple of the Jews, and gazed upon the surging crowds. Saw I all manner of mankind from infants to giants, black, brown, red and Roman, and of every kind methought. Yet doth my maiden tell me there is one I have not seen—a wonder worker that is a Jew. Hast thou heard aught of this?"
"Yea. A wonder worker is Jesus of Nazareth."
"Never did I hear his name. Whence came the Jew?"
"From Galilee. There liveth the centurion who told of him."
"Galilee? Galilee? It is somewhere I know not of. Whence got thou the story?"
"A slave of the centurion chanced to be in thy palace garden. He did tell much."
"How went the story?"
"The servant of the centurion was ill unto death. The Jew did turn death to life. To turn mourning into joy, they say, hath he come into the world."
"To turn mourning into joy. A glad mission. Hast thou heard aught else?"
"The centurion's slave did tell much."
"What?"
"That the Jews are a strange people. Long before thy mighty Rome was dreamed of by the gods, most noble mistress, was the Kingdom of the Jews great. In this same Jerusalem was there a temple of pure gold which did throw back the sun itself into the sun's face for brightness. And a king sat on a throne of gold. Wealth had this king surpassing that of every nation, and wisdom had he so that among the wise of all the earth none had such wisdom. Also, had this great people seers and prophets from whose eyes the veil of time was lifted so that clear as noonday did their vision behold that which was to be. And, lo, most noble mistress, out of the mouths of three soothsayers hath a prophecy been recorded of a king who shall restore again the throne of their glory. This do the Jews believe, aye, as they believe in sun and air. And it is whispered, most noble mistress, that this wonder worker from Galilee is the long looked for king. Ah, that his kingdom might come!"
"What mattereth his kingdom to thee?"
"It doth hold promise of liberty to those in bondage and freedom to those sore wounded. It would let men be free, as Rome doth not. Such a king would be a saviour, and I would love him, even as I hate Rome!"
"As thou hatest Rome? Fear'st thou not to speak thus?"
The eunuch moved a step nearer Claudia and threw back his shoulders, exclaiming, "What have I to fear at the hand of Rome? Nothing save my life hath Rome left me, and this I scorn. By sword or cross or ravening beast may Rome take my life and I would smile in her face. Ah, have I not sore scars to speak my hatred? Here"—and he drew his finger over a long scar on his face—"here is where the sword of Rome lay open my face, yea, wide open as the lips of a crying child. And on my back, most noble mistress, thou mightest hide thy white fingers in the welts cut by the stinging thong. And seest thou my arm? Here is flesh cooked sere as the shell of a tortoise. Thus have blade and thong and branding iron of Rome marked me with wounds and commanded my lips to silence. Yet have these scars each one a thousand silent tongues crying ever 'Hate! Hate! Hate!' But here," and he threw back his tunic and placed three fingers over a scar on his breast, "here is a scar I love. My life it is—my satisfaction—my victory over Rome which Rome hath no power to take. Aye, the victory of this scar, most noble mistress, Rome with her armies, her spears, her torch nor her power of stretching writhing bodies on hewn trees, hath no power to take! In this I glory! This is my victory and sweet is the scar to the heart of thy scarred eunuch."
Claudia moved near the slave and looked closer at the scar. "It doth lie snugly near thy heart," she said. "Thou art a strange scarred eunuch to call such a one sweet—aye, to call a wound in thy flesh a victory."
"There is a story, most noble mistress."
"My scarred eunuch hath a story? I have thought so since Pilate made thee mine."
"Yea, a story. Would that my lips might tell into the ear of the nobleClaudia the story of the scar thy late-bought slave doth bear."
"There is yet time before Pilate cometh. Tell on."
"Where the blue Aegean washes the shores of sunny Thrace," the eunuch began, with a far-away look in his eye. "Yea, in the land of Sparticus, that bravest of all fighters for the freedom of mankind, there lived my people and there lived I save when to gain knowledge I attended the schools of Greece. Fields had my people where the vine hung purple as the sky at midnight and grain did we garner golden as the belly of the tiger hide beside our hearthstones. Rich was my father's house in fields, and rich were his sons in wine and stores and flocks. Golden were my arms with cunningly wrought bracelets and around my neck hung gems from far lands.
"But richer than purple wine, or golden bands, or jewels, was the look of her whom I loved. White were the arms she hung around my neck, as milk and ivory. Pink like the first flush of the morning were the cheeks my lips pressed. Dark was her hair and soft like smoke in the evening, and her eyes shone like stars on the bosom of the sea. Blue as the summer sky were the veins that lay like tender lace over her virgin bosom. Her breath was fragrant like flowers behind damp stones and sweet was her voice as the music of waves when rainbow foam kisses rainbow foam and is lost in one embrace. And she was mine; and I was hers and a cot at the foot of a violet hill was ours.
"The sun shone. The breezes blew. The flowers bloomed. The clusters hung purple. The grain stood golden. And then—aye, then came Rome—Rome the scourge! Rome the curse! Rome the wolf! With fire, sword, rapine, murder—came Rome! When the invading army crossed the bounds we took refuge in a walled city. Soon we were surrounded by a forest of glittering spears. I was an archer on the wall, and we showered the brutes that hid under the bristling steel. But their shields made a phalanx which did toss back our arrows as a bull tosses stubble. Against the wall did they hurl mighty stones which did come with fierce fury, and with a great beam did they batter our walls as a ram doth batter a thin hedge. For days did we withstand. I fought with mad fierceness, for she whom I loved cheered me from beneath the wall.
"Then did the enemy without the city throw balls of burning pitch. Our men did fight the fire until their hands were blistered, yet came those balls of fire. And when flames were consuming us, the gates of the city were broken and the hand of Rome did have us in its power. With many of my fellows was I taken away and made fast to a great tree near by the tent where a Roman chieftain did collect spoil. Of the lithe of limb who were taken captive, some were to be made gladiators, but the fierce screams of others of my countrymen, mingled with Roman curses, told of a more ignominious fate than the arena. For this was I marked. Fierce was the passion of my bosom that my heritage of the gods should be sacrificed on the bloody edge of a Roman knife. While yet I stood chained did my eye catch a sight that did freeze my boiling blood fast in my veins, steep my breath in curses and turn my vision to mad blackness, for into the tent of the Roman chief I saw her carried whom I loved—she who was mine.
"I tore at the chain until blood did ooze from my flesh. Aye, and the gods did see my plight. My weapons had the hand of Rome taken save a knife hid in my tunic. Shortly was I to be taken to the chief to be robbed of my armlets. Then did all the gods show me favor, for as I went into the tent the chief was called out. Save for the time an eye doth twinkle was he called out. Yet I rushed behind the curtains which did hide the maiden. Swift were my words as the falcon flies and gleaming was my blade in my hand ere the words did pass my lips. And swift as light falls, bared she her bosom, and here, on the spot where we had dreamed a little head would lie which should be ours, I drove the keen blade in deep—deep drove I the blade, kissing her lips. And she did laugh—laugh like a happy child and press her lips to mine. I drew the dagger dripping red from the heart of my Thracian love and stuck it to my bosom bidding her strike it hard. But the stroke fell short. Even as the first blood met the blade was I struck low by the sword of Rome which lay open my face. Aye, seest thou? Seest thou the face of thy slave? And when he beheld blood bubbling from my face and pumping from my breast, did the Roman chieftain laugh.
"Aye, how Rome doth love blood! Rivers of blood! Seas of blood! With the blood of my face dripping on to the blood of my breast I looked into the face of him who had laughed at my blood, and I did laugh—laugh in the face of Rome and shout with victorious shouting, 'My blood may'st thou have! Aye, from a thousand wounds may thou steal it—shout over it—drink it, if thou wilt! But never shall the hand of Rome pollute her whom I loved! Never shall the feverish lips of thy foul lust stain her sweet breathing!' Again did the chieftain smite me across the head, and darkness came. When I awoke blood was there from a third wound, yea, most noble mistress, that wound which did rob me of man's most sacred possession. Yet again did I laugh in the face of Rome, laugh with the joy of a victor and praise the gods, for around the neck of him who had smitten me would never twine the ivory arms of her I loved. Neither would the hand that had made me a thing of wood, caress the blue veined breast of her who was mine. For this I love the scar! Sweet is the scar, most noble mistress, of thy eunuch's sore scarred love! Sweet is the scar!"
During the recital of her slave's tragic story, Claudia had shown much interest. "Is there more?" she asked, when he paused.
"Yea, that which doth delight the heart of Rome—the Triumph. When as captives we first saw Rome, great was the rejoicing in the city whose sword rules the world. With garlands were the buildings gay. The streets were strewn with flowers, and the populace was robed in white. The victor came in a golden chariot with its four white horses and its stately lictors. Proud was he in purple robe and crown of laurel and he smiled as the trumpet tones of the heralds rang out and the populace shouted praise in thunderous tones. With the captives and the spoils of war came I, chained, and the rabble did shout in my face. So also did my heart shout. For far from the marble courts and gilded palaces that hid the polluted couches of helpless maidens, she who was mine rested in the dust of Thrace with the winds of the Aegean sobbing where she lay. And as these desecrators did exult, so did my heart thank the gods for the steel of my blade, the strength of my arm and the pale dead face of my love! Most noble mistress, I have done. Dost thou understand?"
"I understand thou hast been cruelly robbed," she answered.
"Yet have I not been robbed of that which maketh a man to think."
"Hast thou thoughts? What is the wisdom of thy thinking?"
"On the shores of the sea have I seen the storm make mountains of water, yet the depths were not moved from their holdings. Down from the mountains hath the wind raged and hath fought me for my mantle, which ever I held tighter. From the hand of Rome comes the sword which doth scar and rob and pollute. Yet it doth not subdue."
"This thou hast observed. What meaning hath it?"
"Even this. What the storm can not do with much thundering, the tide doeth at will. What the wind can not do with loud battling, the sun doeth in silence. What the sword can not do though blood be spilled like water, the mind of man can accomplish."
"Thou speakest wisdom. But how doth this put a light on thy scarred face?"
"A vision hath been given of a kingdom greater than that of Caesar's, wherein the bruised and beaten and scarred who toil and starve that idlers may gorge, shall be accounted greater than those who rule by the might of the sword."
Claudia crossed and recrossed the room several times after the slave spoke these words, the silence unbroken save by the tinkle of her strings of ornaments. Pausing before him she said, "As the tide is greater than the storm; as the sun is greater than the wind; as the mind of man is greater than the sword, so shall there be a kingdom greater than that of Caesar? Is this what thou sayest?"
"Not I, but the Jew that teacheth in the Temple."
"Hast heard this from his own lips?"
"Thou knowest I have not. Save as the centurion's slave hath spoken know I nothing."
Claudia bent toward the slave, so near the jewels swinging from her shoulders lay on his arm, as she whispered, "Wouldst thou hear the Jew?"
"Ah, that I might—that I might," and the sad eyes of the eunuch filled with tears.
"Thou hast my permission. Nay, even more, it is my command. Go thou daily to the Temple of the Jews and bring me word."
"Be it permitted a slave of Rome to enter the Temple of the Jews?Sweet is one scar, but there are no others like it."
"The Tower of Antonio stands guard against the Temple and behind its frowning walls hides the arm of Rome. Into one court thou art permitted to go. Here if any say thee nay, reply thou, 'I am the property of Claudia, wife of Pilate.'"
"Thy kindness doth make my heart glad. With rejoicing will I go and come again to thee with the wisdom of the Jew."
"Keep thou thy ears open and thy mouth shut. Understandest thou? Go now. Bring wreaths of flowers. Thy master, Pilate, will soon come with Roman Senators."