The nerve strain that seemed tearing the soul of the High Priest was communicating itself to the congregation when the tense and awful stillness was broken by a shout. "Thou art the King!" a mighty voice called above the heads of the people. "Jesus of Nazareth, thou art the King!"
With an involuntary sigh of relief the people turned from the silent actors in the drama taking place under the Beautiful Gate, to learn who had spoken. A third time the shout rang out: "Thou art the King!" Now the people saw. It was a fisherman supported above the crowd on the shoulders of two Galileans. He shook a dingy red head-cloth as he shouted. The suppressed feeling of the crowd now gave way to a great murmur like that of a sea with a tide turning in, but before there was a demonstration a wild cry sounded through the court.
A soldier standing beneath the shouting fisherman had bent his body backward, as he gave command for silence, that he might the better face him who did the unlawful act. Casting his eye down as the soldier prodded him on the leg, the fisherman saw something that changed the shout on his lips to a curse. The next instant, as if it had been hurled from the heavens, the keen, two-edged blade of a fishing knife had lodged its point in the heart of the Roman. While the dying cries of the spearman yet moved the multitude to frenzied curiosity, Jael the fisherman, the High Priest and Jesus of Nazareth, each according to his own way, left the Temple.
At the Bethany home on the following afternoon Joseph of Arimathea and Lazarus discussed the great drama that had taken place in the Temple and the danger coming out of it that would be added to the peril the Galilean was already in, because of his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. While the men discussed the day's excitement, Martha told Mary of her visit to Jerusalem, as they sat in the garden on the edge of the stone basin, from which place Martha could watch the gate for the arrival of Eli from market.
"To-day while in Jerusalem," said Martha, "did Anna and Debora and I seek to make our way into the Temple, yet we got no farther than Solomon's Porch for here a thick crowd did stay our steps. As we pressed around one of the great pillars, we heard a voice. 'It is thy friend Rabbi Jesus,' said Anna. And by squeezing and struggling we pressed close until our eyes fell upon him in the midst of his disciples and a throng of strangers. When I did cast my eye from him to the other side, it fell upon a beautiful woman wearing a dull mantle and a veil about her head. Beside her stood a massive slave with a scar on his cheek like the cut of a thrashing scythe. And the face of the woman and the face of the slave were set toward the Master. As she stood, a passer-by brushed her veil from her head, when, from under her dull cloak she did reach a hand as resplendent with jewels as the breast-plate of the High Priest. Then her arm appeared, and, lo, it was banded with gold and with chains of jewels, and also where the dull garment did part I saw the sheen of rare silk and fringes of silver and gold that glistened. Anna also saw and whispered 'Who is she?' Yet neither the woman nor the slave saw aught but Jesus. And as they listened to his words, tears gathered in the dark eyes of the great slave and like rivers of water crossing a deep gorge did pass the bold scar and drop over its edge. And as his tears fell Jesus turned to the scarred face, and Mary—what thinkest thou? It were as though I could read the look Jesus gave, which was writ in the light that did break over that scarred face, making it shine like the sun. And, too, his eye did find the woman of rich robes well concealed, and did rest on her face, and her face gave back an answer which was none other than that she loved him. It passed in a moment and the woman spoke to the scarred slave who wiped the tears from that cruelly marked face, as slowly they turned away, the slave following the woman at a distance because of those who pushed between. And when the slave was passing the place where Jesus stood, the Master moved near him and spoke a few words which again did bring such a light as was a miracle on so ugly a countenance. While he paused, the woman looked back and seeing who spoke with her slave, waited. Then did Anna and Debora and thy sister Martha follow them to the portico."
"Thou hast forgotten something, Martha. Of importance, it is," Mary said.
"What is of importance?"
"The words of the Master. What said he that did hold together the crowd, that did bring tears to the scarred face of the slave and that did drive them away again with a glad light?"
"I know not. My eyes were too busy to give my ears a chance. At the portico a chariot and horses were waiting, such as the Romans drive. Mighty were their necks, and gorgeous were their trappings. Before the chariot the woman removed her dull coat and gave place to one like her jewels; and the scarred slave did show her great homage, as if she were a queen. When she was seated in the chariot he questioned her, and Mary—my sister Mary—who thinkest thou this gorgeous woman is?"
"Of the many gorgeous ones in Jerusalem, why asketh thou?"
"There is but one such in Jerusalem."
"Who is the woman?"
"The words she did speak, I will tell thee. Then wilt thou know. To the scarred slave she said, 'Drive thou to the Praetorium. Thy Lord Pilate awaits thy mistress Claudia.'"
"Thou hast seen Pilate's wife!" and Mary's voice was alive with interest.
"Yea, the wife of that vile heathen who sticketh spears into Israelites, as a bold child picks wings from flies—for no reason save to see them kick."
"And the wife of Pilate hath looked on the face of Jesus. Her ear hath heard the words of him who speaks as never man hath spoken."
"Yea, and she doth love him."
"Oh, that thou hadst heard his words, Martha."
"Rather that I might possess a chain of beads such as hung from her shoulder. But look thee down the roadway. There cometh Eli toiling up the path with no more speed than if he were not already two hours late."
When Martha and Mary entered the house, Eli, loaded with bundles, was coming in the door from the roadway.
"Thou art much loaded," Lazarus said, looking up.
"And thou art much late," Martha added.
"Behind a tomb black and stale have I tarried."
"Hast thou been near a tomb with thy meat?" Martha asked in alarm.
"I touched not the unclean thing though close was I driven. Yet did my tongue shake for fear of the plot."
"Plot?" quickly exclaimed Lazarus.
"What plot?" Joseph as quickly asked.
"The tombs throw not shadows while the sun yet hangs high. Methinks the man hath the plot in his own head," Martha said.
"The sun tarrieth not for the Passover rabble to finish its haggling over locusts and fish and oil. Ugh! The mob! And as I struggled for a place at the fish stand the sun passed over the mountain and left the valley grim. And lo, as I did travel, my fish and my sparrows slipped from me and to escape the hoofs and dust of a party of pilgrims I took my way behind an ancient tomb a long time used of sheep, to bind up my bundles. And no sooner had I sat me on the green than I heard a voice. Yet saw I no man. Again I heard the voice like a whisper. Then did fear lay hold of me lest the tomb be a den of ghosts and glad I was that the wall on the back was thick. Near this thick wall I put my back. Then the ghostly voice sounded nearer and I found my ear against a crack and I listened, for, though great my fear, my curiosity to hear the speech of ghosts overcame it. And when my ear lay close the voice was no longer that of a ghost but of a man who hatched a plot which another who is not a ghost listened to."
"What is the plot?" Lazarus asked again.
"That I learned not though my ears did itch."
"A plot thou hast heard—a plot that hath made thine ears itch, yet neither dost thou know the plotter nor the plot. The ears of an ass are thine."
Eli gathered up his bundles. "If the plot shall come to pass then will thy eyes drop water-jars of tears and thy head know all are not fools who carry bundles," and he turned toward the court.
"Stay," said Lazarus. "Of a plot thou knowest, yet knowest not. Of a plotter thou knowest, but knowest not. What dost thou know?"
"Little—save him they whispered against. . . Him I know, and that the one who hatched the evil did come from the Temple."
"From the Temple!" It was Joseph who spoke and his words were an exclamation.
"Yea. And the evil one he whispered with is one who knoweth thy friendJesus."
"Jesus!" exclaimed Lazarus and Mary in a breath. "Dost thou speak ofourJesus?"
"A plot against Jesus?" Lazarus asked. "Put thy goods down, thou fool, and tell what thou knowest."
"Already have I told that for which I was called a fool."
"What hast thou heard? Out with it!" and Lazarus helped Eli unload his bundles again.
With the party gathered closely about him Eli said, "There is naught to tell save that some one who hath been much about the Temple did make an offer of money for knowledge of the hiding-place of Jesus when he is not at Bethany. To do him harm was the purpose of the evil one, who did much thick-lipped whispering."
"What harm would this enemy of the Master do to him?" and Mary waited before Eli for an answer.
"Plotters plot death," he answered shortly, taking up his bundles.
"God of our fathers!" Mary cried. "What doth this mean? Lazarus, my brother Lazarus, Joseph, Father Joseph—let not harm come to him we love! Promise me—promise me!" and she held out her hands.
Taking her hands in his Joseph said, "Let not fear take possession of thy heart but rather thank thy God that thy servant did hide behind the tomb. Knowledge is better than swords. The young man hath life in his veins. He hath a great work to do. He courts not death. With knowledge aforetime of a plot, escape will be easy. But what is this plot? Who is this enemy? Is it of Rome, or the Great Sanhedrin?"
Lazarus, who had been walking the floor while Joseph spoke, stopped before Mary. "Yea, Mary," he said, "thank Jehovah that this hath been revealed, for while the source and manner of the plot doth not appear, yet there is safety in the warning. Soon will he be with us to hear the news. From the fox that hath oft crossed his path on Galilean hills hath he learned how to hide. From the hare that he hath seen running before the wolf hath he learned the wisdom of flight. Until the Passover is done must his whereabouts be kept dark. After this, a far journey."
Eli, with both hands full of packages, had gone as far as the door and stopped. He seemed waiting for something, and when Lazarus had finished he said, "That which an enemy of thy friend dropped, was picked up by the hand of Eli."
"What picked thou up? Money?" Lazarus asked.
"Nay—yet did I think that which he dropped and muttered curses over was money else would my feet have made wider space between the tomb and the place of his standing. An old and open tomb was it around which the smell of sheep hung heavy, and a bush of thorns grew at its corner and sent branches across the entrance. And when the enemy of thy friend would have held the branches down to walk over them, a thorn pierced his hand and he did curse. When he let go his hold of the branches, they did leap up and catch his garment. And again did he curse, saying he had suffered a loss. When he had gone and was well hid in the distance, then did Eli go by the thorn bush to find what had been lost, and there on the sharp thorn stuck a bit of the garment of this cursing enemy. So I tore it loose to bring to Martha for I saw it had pleasant threads woven in it. And when I stooped to pick up my bundles at my feet, I found a treasure which I did bring Mary. Put thy hand in my wallet and take out that which doth shine but is not money."
With hurried fingers Mary opened the wallet while the others stood about looking eagerly on. When she had drawn out that which was not money, and before those standing by had seen what it was, she dropped it to the floor and sprang back, screaming.
"Hast thou been stung by an adder?" Lazarus cried.
"Yea—yea. There it is!" and she pointed to a shining gold circlet lying at the hem of Joseph's robe. Lazarus picked it up. A bit of blue border with a purple stripe and a red pomegranate, whose ragged edges showed that it had been torn from a garment, was twisted in one side of it. Every eye in the room was on the circlet when Lazarus placed it on the table, and they all gathered close around except Mary, who stood back watching the faces of Lazarus and Joseph. Martha took the bit of blue wool from the circlet, while Lazarus lifted up the gold itself, and the two looked at each other in speechless questioning. Then Lazarus turned to Mary.
"What is the mystery of this that our servant Eli hath found at the mouth of a sheep ridden tomb?"
"Mary seeth little of mystery but much of danger in that which thy hand holdeth," she answered.
"Thou gavest Zador Ben Amon back his betrothal anklet?"
"Yea, by putting it, unbeknown to him, in the border of his coat."
"Where it was tightly sewn the next day and hath remained in the dark until torn out by the sharp thorn, methinks," said Martha.
As Joseph, standing by, heard this brief conversation, his face took on a puzzled expression, seeing which Lazarus said, "Thou dost not understand. Here is that which seemeth to uncover to us the enemy of our friend Jesus. He is Zador Ben Amon, a Sadducee of power and a money-lender of great wealth. The man did have his heart set on Mary and did bring this anklet as a betrothal gift. But my sister loved him not, nor listened to his proposal for marriage and this gift she gave to him again."
"Yea, by putting it in the border of his cloak where methought he would find it on the morrow."
Joseph looked at the anklet. Then he raised his eyes to the face ofMary. "Thou didst not love the money-changer?"
"Nay! Nay!"
"Thy heart hath taken its way wisely. By this witness," and he tapped the shining ring with his long forefinger, "he is," and the aged Rabbi bent his shoulders until his face was even with that of Mary, "he is amurderer!"
"Yea, yea—a murderer he is—by this witness," Mary promptly answered.
"Is this Jew whose sensuous advances thou hast repulsed, acquainted with thy friendship for the Galilean?"
"I know not."
Joseph considered the matter a moment. When he spoke again it was to Lazarus. "There is a reason the money-changer is an enemy of our friend Jesus. It may be the woman. But in the money-changer's balances where gold doth weigh heavy, women weigh light. It is more likely this cometh of the swift and terrible scourging suffered by the money-changers at the hand of our brave friend. If so, a third source of danger ariseth. The wrath of Pilate is the wrath of Rome—a political danger—ever deadly. The wrath of the High Priest Annas is a religious wrath, cunning, and cruel as the grave. But the wrath of Zador Ben Amon is both these and more, for hath not the Master himself said, 'The love of money is the root ofallevil'? Protected must our friend be against this threefold danger until he can escape, and God forbid that he fall into the hands of the enemy!"
"Yea—God forbid," Mary repeated with trembling voice. "Thinkest thou harm hath befallen him so soon? See—the sun is sinking, yet he cometh not!" Choking back a sob Mary went into the court and to the place at the wall where she could watch down the roadway.
"Mary hath gone to watch for the Master," Martha said.
"She loveth him much," Joseph answered thoughtfully.
"Even so. Yet it is not seemly for a Jewish woman to let a man know she loveth him as doth Mary."
"Would that I knew," said Joseph without answering Martha's remark, "whether the voice in the tomb were the voice of the Great Sanhedrin. The spirit of murder brooded over the meeting I did attend to-day—murder in the name of Moses and the prophets."
"Murder thou sayest!" Lazarus exclaimed in astonishment.
"Yea—murder. Such is the spirit brooding over the priests."
The silence following this declaration was broken by a sharp cry coming from Mary in the garden. "Martha! Lazarus! Father Joseph!" and her voice was tense with excitement.
"What? What?" they cried, rushing to the door.
"The God of our fathers be praised!'"
"Yea—yea—but for what?"
"He is safe! He is safe! The Master cometh!"
The Passover moon was shedding its soft light over the garden of Lazarus, when Mary and Martha came from the house and sat down on the broad rim of the fountain basin. The day had been a busy one, and the day to follow was to be crowded yet fuller with work and pleasure for it was the day of the Great Feast.
"Anna's father doth give a feast to-morrow for his Passover guests, and for Jesus, who will be gone with the sunrise on the third day that he may escape danger. Joel hath been bidden with Lazarus, and Anna doth desire that we come to help her with the serving," Martha said as a beginning to her comment on the hospitality of Simon.
While they discussed the feast to be given by their neighbor, Lazarus joined them and said to Martha, "I am going to Simon's and Anna doth desire that thou come to plan with her for the feast to-morrow. Wilt thou also go, Mary?"
"Who goeth?"
"Joel goeth. Joseph hath gone to the roof and Jesus doth rest on the couch in the window."
"I go with thee," and Martha rose and turned to Mary, who said, "Nay, I go not. I will stay and gather lilies."
"Hast thou not yet learned the heart of man doth delight in meat and drink—not in lilies?"
"Thou forgettest the Master, my sister. The guest of honor will he be before his long going away, and thinkest thou he will not know whose hand plucked the lilies?"
"Mary hath the last word on thee, Martha," Lazarus said, laughing. "Let us be going," and they crossed the garden to the gate that opened into the court of Simon.
After they had gone, Mary went the length of the garden to her lily beds. While she was gathering the blossoms, Jesus came from the house and looked about him, and as he passed into the shade of the big olive tree, he discovered Mary. He stopped and watched her, as with her arms full of lilies she came toward the pool. In the silver light of the moon her soft white garments and silky veil lent spirit-like appearance to her slender body, and her face was beautiful with a rare beauty not born of flesh. When she reached the pool she knelt and placed the lily stems in the water. Rising, she hesitated a moment, then turned into the walk leading to the old stone wall where she often stood to watch down the roadway for expected guests. For a few moments she leaned against the vine-grown stones gazing away into the moonlit distance. Then she dropped her head on her arms which lay folded across the top of the wall.
In a little while the stillness of the garden was broken by a voice which said, "Mary." She looked up with a start. Again she heard her name, "Mary."
Recognizing the voice she ran to the shade of the olive tree exclaiming, "Master! Master!"
She found Jesus sitting on the old stone bench and knelt beside him on a foot-stone. "Rest thou beside me," he said to her.
"Nay. Nay. At thy feet have the hours most precious to my heart been spent."
"Hath my teaching meant this to thee, Mary?"
"Yea. It hath meant all in life worth living for."
"Yet didst thou stand at the wall with bowed head."
"Yea. As the olive branches crossing the moon's light throw shadows over thy shoulders, so doth fear ofttimes coming across my faith, throw shadows on my heart. As I stood by the wall looking down the pathway thou dost often tread, the words of our servant Eli came to me, and fear for thy safety like a burden fell upon me. At other times the continual changing, maketh my heart sick and my soul to long for that which changeth not. To-night thou, Jesus, and I, Mary, sit beneath the olive shade. Strong is thy step and in thy voice is mastery. Abundant is my hair and dark, and my body is supple and full of life. Yet will Time make of thy strength, weakness, and the frost of many winters will thin my hair and whiten it. In that day the keepers will tremble, the silver cord be loosened and the pitcher be broken at the fountain. Strange feet will tread the paths of Olivet and strange eyes look back on Jerusalem. Yet to-night we are here, thou, Jesus, and I, Mary. To-morrow—and then we shall be no more. Like feet ever fearful of the way and reaching for the solid rock, so the heart reaches for that which changeth not. Ever thou teachest 'God is love.' Doth love change?"
"Nay, Mary. Love remaineth the same, yesterday, to-day and forever. Yet the manner of its expression oft changeth. This knowest thou. The child that presseth its lips to her breast and fondleth her cheek, doth the mother love. So also doth she love the man that the child groweth into. And though he be hanged on the highest tree of Calvary, will she stand by and cover the hisses of the rabble with her sobs, for she doth love him though he is no longer at her breast. The lover doth love his love in life's springtime with wild passion. Then her form is round and her cheek fair and his strength is in the making. When life's evening cometh—the flame hath given way to the soft glow. Then her shoulders stoop and her cheek is pale and his strength is in the garner, yet he doth not love the woman less, but differently. Love is the soul of the Universe and showing itself inservicedothfulfill all law. My Father worketh hitherto, and I work also."
"Aye, my Master, I know thou lovest. In a tone akin to reverence hast thou oft spoken of thy love for thy mother. With great tenderness lovest thou little children, and thy fellow man—aye, have I not oft heard from thy lips that to do away with the kingdom of swords and hunger and want and bitterness—aye, to bring in the Kingdom of man's Brotherhood, thou wouldst be willing to lay down thy life? Strong and fearless, even tender is thy love as thou art a man. Yet because thou art a man, there is a love thou knowest not?"
"There is a love my heart doth not divine?"
"Yea, so my wisdom telleth me. Yet when I saw thee first a mother's love shone in thy face."
"And is there a love greater than a mother's love, Mary?"
"Yea, my Master. There is the love of which this mother-love is born."
"What manner of love is this?" and he leaned toward her as he waited for her answer.
"Before cometh mother-love, cometh woman's love for a man," she said after a brief hesitation.
"The mystery thou divinest. Thou art a woman. Tell me—what is the love of a woman for a man?"
"Thou dost ask me concerning the love in the heart of a woman that doth make it hunger for one man alone—apart from all the world, and in her dreams feel his arms about her, and beside a cradle look with him upon bone of their bone and flesh of their flesh? Dost thou ask me this?"
"I do ask thee, woman."
"And I do answer thee. A woman's love is a white flame on a deathless altar burning for the High Priest of her heart, where, over their united love the Shekinah doth hover as holy incense. And when the flame doth burn and the ear be ever listening for the priest in snowy raiment that cometh not, then doth the flame be ever consuming itself and the heart groweth sick, for woman's love desireth to give all."
"And doth thy ear listen for the footsteps of thy sacred altar's oneHigh Priest?"
"Ask me not, my Master—ask me not. From my heart I have already lifted the veil too far aside for it is not given woman to speak of her love, though it is her life. Yet love is strange—love is holy!"
"Thou sayest well 'Love is strange—love is holy.' Love is the breath of God which corruption hath not power to touch. And as it hath been ordered of the Creator that woman desire to give all, so hath it been given to man's love, to ask all—aye, Mary,to take all. So there are not two loves different. A man's love and a woman's love are but the two parts of that love which is both center and circumference of all that is. And among mankind it is the love that moves the woman and the man each to forsake all others and cleave one to the other. And thinkest thou I know not this love? Knowest thou not the fathers of Israel are a race of lovers? Did not our Father Jacob toil seven years for her whom his soul loved? It were not a female he would take unto himself, as a beast doth mate, else Leah would have served as well as Rachael. But for the love of Rachael did he toil yet other seven years. Nor did his body rest in the tomb until her bones lay beside him. And of the love of Boaz—were not Israel's kings begotten of this love? Aye, it was a lover of Israel that did sing 'Love is strong as death!' Of this race that has lived and loved and written of love and died loving come I. In my veins doth run the blood of a nation of lovers. Rise, Mary, and sit thou beside me. My heart hath that to say which my lips have not yet spoken."
When Mary had moved from the stone at his feet to a place beside him, Jesus said, "Sit thou close to me, aye, so close that not the shadow of a silver olive leaf can come between our souls—thy soul and mine, for since mine eyes first beheld thee on the Temple porch thou hast been more to me than thou canst ever know. Weary have I oft come to thy home and thou hast rested me. Faint-hearted have I come, and thou hast strengthened me. Disappointed, and thou hast cheered me; discouraged with those dull of comprehension and thou hast understood, and while thou hast sat at my feet to learn, much have I learned of thee. Yea, thou hast been my friend, my counselor, my comrade, my disciple—all things thou hast been to me save one and without this, all other were but the hunger thy heart doth feel—were but the High Priest waiting where there were no altar fire. Mary, thou art my Rachael. Thou art my Ruth. Thou are my Rose of Sharon and my Lily of the Valley. As a rose among thorns, so to my heart art thou among the daughters of Zion. Thou art my soul's beloved! Woman—woman—I love thee! Lovest thou me with the love that is one with mine?"
"Love I thee? Aye, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. Love I thee with all my soul, mind, strength and body. Yea, I love thee—not for a moon—not for a harvest—not for a jubilee of years—nay, not for the long centuries that make dust of our fathers' tombs. But until the Jordan forsaketh its course—until the moon droppeth forever behind Moab's hills—aye, beloved, until the mother forsaketh her son hanging on the highest tree, will I love thee—and after thatforever! For is not our God love? And is not God eternal?"
"Ah, Mary! Mary! The mystery of Love! Love is Life. He hath not known life who hath not felt the creative energy of the universe throbbing, breathing in his soul which love bringeth—aye, love of a woman. And yet—yet there be some, eunuchs which were so born: there be eunuchs which were made eunuchs of men: and there be eunuchs which have made themselves eunuchs for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake." The last words were spoken by the young Rabbi as if to himself. He lifted his face to the moonlight for the moment and something like a sigh escaped his half closed lips. Then he turned again to the woman.
"Mary—beloved, there is a cup which each of us must drink. The cup that Life hath given me to drink hath ofttimes been filled with the bitterness of want, with loneliness and heart hunger. But knowledge of thy love doth overrun it with exceeding sweetness so that all suffering seems as naught. Blessed be the God that hath turned thy heart to me."
Again they sat silent in the shadows of the olive tree for a few moments. Then Mary spoke slowly and softly.
"To be here—just here alone with thee! Better than heaven it is to hear thy voice, to feel the pressure of thy hand and to know that the throbbing of thy heart is for Mary. Thou makest my soul to dwell in groves of myrrh; to wander on mountains of frankincense and to feed in valleys of lilies. Though every drop of water in the fountain, though every silver leaf on Olivet were the tongue of a Levite shouting praise, this were faint singing beside the hosannahs of my heart because I am my beloved's and he is mine! This were enough—enough! Let the cup of Life be what it may! Henceforth thy cup be my cup."
"Knowest thou what thou sayest, woman? Doth thy heart know?"
"Yea, my heart knoweth. Where thou goest I will go. Thy lot shall be my lot. Thy dwelling shall be my dwelling whether cave or palace. Thy pillow shall be my pillow whether crimson wool or stone. Thy joy shall be my joy. Thy poverty shall be my poverty and my riches, thy riches. Thy danger shall be mine. Thy suffering shall be mine and whether come victory or defeat, this shall be ours together!"
"If victory cometh by way of that which men call 'death,' couldst thou see victory in this?"
"Speak not of death, my beloved," Mary said quickly, "when life hath just begun."
"Thou hast great faith, Mary, yea and great love. Yet do shadows sometimes fall across thy heart. So also doth fear cast over my heart shadows. Last night in the stillness, words I heard spoken in Jerusalem did come to me until from the darkness that hung roundabout, a cross did seem to lift itself and afar I seemed to hear my own voice calling faintly for water."
"Nay, nay," and there was fear and the burden of a sob in Mary's voice. "Tell me not this evil thing! It doth make the shadow of the cross to fall upon my heart, dark and heavy."
"Be not burdened with it for from my heart all shadow fled with the coming of the new day. And to-night, this blessed night, do I feel life never held so much. Love maketh it doubly sweet."
"Thou art right. The cross were but a troubled dream. For malefactors and thieves and slaves of Rome is the cross. But not for a Prophet—a Rabbi—a Teacher—aye, a King."
"Not for a King sayest thou? Herein lieth my danger. Pilate's ear is never closed nor his lust for blood ever satisfied, neither his greed for the approval of Caesar, and Pilate's crosses are ever ready for those who stir up the people. But weep not nor let thy heart be troubled. The uplifted cross of the dream I take as warning. Daily I teach in the Temple and none dare take me for my following. At night I abide without the city, where, none know save those who are my friends. When the Passover is done, I will go away for a season."
"Wilt thou be with us to-morrow? Ah, wilt thou come again to me when the moon doth rise after to-morrow's busy day?"
"On the morrow we sit at meat with Simon. The Passover supper I eat with my disciples in the city, for so have I given my promise. If all go well I will return to thee when the moon cometh. If I am late, wait thou until the crowing of the cock, for where my treasure is, there is my heart also, and thither will my feet turn though the hour is late."
The crowing of a cock beyond the garden wall told the man and woman on the old stone bench that the hour was late. They arose and stood together just at the edge of the wavering shadows cast by the ancient tree.
"Alone on Olivet!" Jesus said in subdued voice. "How calm—how holy is the garden, and the new day that the crowing of the cock doth bring to us . . . . . . . . . . . . From the little town of Bethany lieth the road to the City of Zion, whither our feet tend. But between this calm and holy place and the towers of snow and gold that shine in glory from the City of God, lieth Kedron. Quiet with the hush of long silenced tongues, and dark with the shadow of tombs, lieth Kedron. . . . . . . . . . . . Mary, if it be that for a little time I should go on ahead of thee, even to the battlements of the New Jerusalem where the saved of Levi send their glad songs ringing over all earth's valley, will I watch for thee, my beloved. And if through the Valley of the Shadow thou shouldst be called to go alone, remember that I am with thee."
"Remember will I? Yea, ever will I remember that there is not in the universe that which can destroy love. But thou wilt come again on the morrow night. I feel it in my heart, and may the Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent one from the other."
"It shall be even so for what God hath joined together none can put asunder. The peace of God that passeth understanding and His Everlasting Arms of Strength, tender as those about a bride, protect thee. Farewell, my Mary. Woman, fare thee well."
"Farewell, my soul's beloved. Until the morrow, fare thee well."
While Mary the Jewess was sitting with the Galilean Rabbi in the moonlit garden at Bethany, Claudia Procula, the Roman noblewoman, was spending her last evening before the Passover in her gorgeously appointed apartment in the palace of Herod the Great. On one side of this pillared chamber, high-hung heavy curtains drawn apart, disclosed a sleeping apartment with a bed and couches. At the foot of the bed a swinging window opened out above the street and through its mullioned outlines the fading pink of a springtime sunset could be seen. Claudia's two Greek slaves, Zenobe and Margara, were lounging on the couches discussing a new robe that had been brought from Rome, when their mistress, followed by her eunuch, entered the apartment.
"Light thou the lamps," Claudia commanded as, without unfastening her outer wrap, she sat down and watched the big slave. When he had applied fire to the oil held high in silver basins set on polished cedar standards, he turned to his mistress. For a moment she did not heed him. Then she said, "Say to the servants, Pilate cometh soon. When thou hast done so, return to me drawing the curtains at thy back when thou hast entered."
When the eunuch returned to the room he took his place against the curtained hanging, and stood like a statue until his mistress said, without looking toward him, "Stand thou before me."
"What is thy command, most noble mistress?" he asked as he stepped before her and with squared shoulders and crossed arms waited her command.
She did not answer for a few moments. When she spoke it was an inquiry. "The Jew of the Temple—his face do I see whether I look in the circle where the light falls or in the corners where the shadows gather—his face. With such eyes doth he look into my eyes as it seemeth have been searching me out since the beginning of time. And those eyes are imploring me for something—pleading as if for some withheld treasure."
"Yea, most noble mistress."
"'Yea' thou dost say. Dost thou know the request of the Jew's eyes?"
"Yea, most noble mistress."
"What sayeth those eyes to Claudia?"
"This sayeth those eyes to the heart of Claudia, 'Give me thy heart.'"
"My heart!" Claudia exclaimed.
"Yea, most noble mistress. This is the treasure the Galilean doth implore of thee."
Claudia arose. She stood in silent thought a moment. Then she turned her eyes to the face of the eunuch and after studying it said, "Thy scarred face did glow this day with a light that seemed not earthly. My slave hath had words with the Jew. Is it forbidden to tell them to a Roman woman?"
"With the Galilean there is neither Roman nor Jew. Neither is it forbidden to spread abroad his teachings. The words he did say to thy scarred slave were these: 'Blessed be the eyes which see the things that ye see; for many prophets and kings have desired to see those things which ye see and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them.'"
With her eyes on the face of the slave, Claudia pondered the words he had spoken before saying, "And he hath said thy eyes be blessed because thou seest something hidden. I would understand. Is this forbidden?"
"Nay. Yet there is an understanding of the heart which is unutterable. To another heart no words can make it known. Of this did he speak to thy slave. There is that, however, coming ever from the power unspeakable, that hath a name. This word wouldst thou hear?"
"Yea, yea, my eunuch. Speak it."
"It isfreedom."
"Freedom? What sayest thou, slave of Claudia? What meanest thou? Art thou not the property of thy mistress?"
"There is freedom, and again there is other freedom. Thou dost own the hands, the toil, the obedience of this body that Rome hath mutilated and burned. But there is a man in me that the hand of Rome toucheth not. As this man thinketh in his heart, so is he. If in my heart I am a slave, then am I a slave though my body be free. But if in my heart I am free, then I am free though an implement of Rome. Aye, most noble mistress, the Jew hath given me freedom."
"Freedom! How the heart doth hunger for freedom—freedom from one's self." And she crossed the room and recrossing stopped again before the slave. "My scarred eunuch," she said.
"I listen, my mistress."
"It is not beneath the dignity of Claudia Procula to glean gems when she findeth them shining in her path. Out of thy mouth have come words of wisdom which bear not scars as doth thy body. Such have been treasured. Ah, 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 come a Kingdom before which that of Caesar's sword shall perish forever. What sayest thou? Is the Kingdom the Jew doth teach of, this Kingdom?"
"So it hath been revealed to the heart of thy slave."
"A year hath passed since last thou wert in Jerusalem. In the arena at Rome hath been the clash of steel, and fangs, and the wild and soul-piercing music of screams and dying curses. Beyond Rome hath Rome held the nations of the earth under the sword-blade that her lords be drunk and her rich fed on the life-blood of the poor. Again we are at Jerusalem to the Passover Feast of the Jews. And again in their Temple find we one who teacheth against all this. My scarred eunuch, lovest thou this Jew?"
"Aye, most gracious mistress, even to the laying down of my life."
"He hath disciples."
"Yea—blessed be they."
"Wouldst thou be his disciple?"
"Such I am."
"Yea, in thy heart. But wouldst thou be free to go abroad and of thy wisdom teach the wisdom of the Jew; spread news of that greater Kingdom which cometh not of the sword and wherein all men shall be free?"
"Most noble mistress, tempt me not to hate my bondage more by bringing to my ears such words."
"To-night are the Jews celebrating the birthday of their nation with a great feast. To-night shalt thou also have a birthday for hereby give I thee thy freedom. When the sun doth rise on the morrow, go thou and sit at the feet of the Jew and hearing glad tidings, bear them to others."
For a moment the slave stood as if dazed before his breath shaped the words "Freedom? Freedom?" and his lips trembled as he said, "Do my ears hear? Dost thou say 'Freedom' for thy scarred eunuch?"
"Yea, doubly free shalt thou go—free by the word of the Jew and free by the hand of the Roman, and would that I too might be as free as thou art!" Then the slave fell on his knees before Claudia, bowed his head to her jeweled shoe and sobbed. There were tears in the eyes of Pilate's wife as she said, "Arise—thou art no longer a slave."
Lifting his face, which appeared strangely noble, he said, "My mistress—my most gracious mistress, thy feet are on the threshold of the Kingdom."
"Arise—arise. Go to thy bed. This night thou art free. To-morrow thou shalt go from me. As thou goest, forget not that the heart of Claudia doth beat with sympathy for the oppressed and that she too hath love for him whose love thou shalt spread abroad. Arise!"
The eunuch arose and extended his arms so that his mighty body stood before her like a cross of flesh. Before it she bowed her head.
"The blessing of the Jew who is called Jesus fill thy heart, most gracious Claudia, and the peace that cometh of his teaching rest thy soul. Farewell!" He again kissed the border of her cloak, hesitated, and turning abruptly, left the apartment.
When the curtain had swung into place shutting the slave from view, Claudia sat down and called her maids. "Unclasp my jewels and unbind my hair, Margara," she said wearily, throwing her cloak aside. "And thou, Zenobe, summon Pilate's servant with the wine. Thy master tarrieth, and delay improveth not the temper of a man when he would have his cups."
The servant had placed a tray of wine beside the couch of Pilate and the maids had gone out with the cloak and jewels when the approach of the Procurator was announced by a shout, the tramping of feet and clanking of arms. The door was thrown open wide and between two rows of soldiery standing stiff and shining as the spears in their hands, the Roman in royal purple and glittering winged helmet, entered.
"Greetings, Claudia! Dry am I as the Law of the Jews. Hath my wine been made ready?"
"Thy wine is ready."
He threw himself down on the couch saying, "And over it shall I return thanks, as do the Jews, that to-night doth end their uproar. No more for a year will they feed on lamb, roast whole with bitter sauce. For the impudence of the Jew would I fill his Temple with the gods of Rome and make of his holy place a dancing spot for virgins that be neither virgins nor veiled. The dogs!"
"Hath thy memory become shortened that thou dost not see back a space of months? Didst thou not try moving Caesarea to Jerusalem and putting thine image in the Temple? And did not these same dogs spread their necks at thy feet and court the sword rather than have their Temple desecrated? Yet more blood would have flown than that of the six thousand thou slew hadst thou not been made to remember that Pilate is not Caesar. It is not right, my Lord, to do evil, nay not to the neck of a dog."
"Whether the hand is that of Pilate or of Caesar, the sword of Rome determines what is right."
"Not so, my Lord Pilate. Might is not right unless it beright. In the jungle where hunters for the arena seek wild beasts, pythons and wolves and hyenas growl and scream, and the strong doth ever lick from his jaws the blood of the weak. To Rome all the earth is a jungle where Rome is the king lion, the fierce he-tiger, the unsatisfied she-wolf. And from the jaws of this Beast, the blood of nations drips and the groans of mangled slaves fall ever on the ear. Ever in my heart have I felt this is not right. Now hath arisen among the Jews, whose blood thou delightest to spill, one whose teaching I have felt before I ever heard of him. This one delighteth not in gleaming steel, nor screams of agony, nor running blood."
"Ho! Claudia! Where is the Jew whose heart taketh not delight in flashing steel, dying screams and running blood? Thinkest thou there be such? Then should thou feast thine eyes on the Passover sacrifice. Here are ten thousand priests with whetted blades which they do plunge in bleating throats until two hundred thousand lambs are slaughtered before the eyes of their great god Jehovah. Beside such slaughter as this that of the arena is but child's play."
"I mark thy words. The Jew is bloody and hath a bloody god. Yet from among them ariseth one who doth preach a new Kingdom and a god that delighteth not in the shedding of blood."
"Where getteth thou thy knowledge?"
"From the eunuch thou gavest me, my Lord Pilate."
"Ho! ho!" and Pilate threw up his hands and shouted with laughter. "From a slave the wife of Pontius Pilate doth get learning? Ho! ho! Claudia wouldst be a disciple of a eunuch whose back bears marks of the scourge, whose arm is branded with deep burning and whose face beareth the scar of a Roman blade? Or wouldst thou be a Jew, my fair Claudia?" and he drained three cups of wine between times of laughter.
Claudia stepped before Pilate and threw her hands across her breast—"Nay—not a Jew would I be!" she exclaimed. "A woman of the Proculas I am. But under the royal robe that hideth the breast of Pilate's wife there is a heart, a heart, most mighty Pilate, that turns against blood and the quivering of flesh and the soul-sickening agony of death! A heart, my Lord, that cries out against this and doth ever hope for a power that doth not hate and torture. A Kingdom there shall be without the sword of Rome or the lamb's blood of Jerusalem; a Kingdom without the arena of Rome or the Temple sacrifices. And in this Kingdom shall man render unto man as he himself would be rendered unto. Of this Kingdom doth he teach who hath arisen from among the Jews."
Pilate poured another cup. "The lips of Pilate's wife do babble like a babe," he said. "Knowest thou not, my fair Claudia, that the coming of such a kingdom would mean naught save the passing of Rome?"
Claudia rested her hand on the arm of Pilate until he looked up at her. She said slowly, "And knowest thou not, my brave Pilate, that Rome isalready passing? Aye, even the more that Rome doth enslave men, the more she doth bring to herself the weakness which death shall overtake, for no more do Roman women bear the sort of sons valor cometh of."
"Ho! ho! What thou shouldst say is that Caesar's wife is no more above suspicion."
"Of a surety, my Lord, sinceRome hath no more Caesars. On that day when the populace stood weeping where flames from the funeral pyre did cast their somber smoke against Castor and Pollux, perished Caesar."
"Rome hath ever its Caesar."
"Yea, of some sort. Augustus were not Caesar. Tiberius is not Caesar, neither is he Augustus. Who doth follow Tiberius? And then what next?"
"What next? Aye, Claudia, my fair one—a cup of wine next. And after that shall Rome make Senators of her women and thou shalt be Brutus, for, by the gods, thou makest a ripe speech. Here's to thee, Claudia, my love. A Roman thou art though much taken with the twaddle of a Jew. And here is to the Jew. May he live long to oil his beard, haggle over fish in the market place, cry 'Unclean' at sight of a Gentile and pray in musty synagogues for the kingdom greater than that of Rome. Let us now to bed and see thou hast no dreams to disturb thy rest," and throwing down his cup, Pilate arose.
"Dreams are signs, my Pilate."
"Dream then of the prosperity of Pilate." As he paused under the drawn curtains, Pilate stopped to command his guard, "Waken me not until the sun doth clear the Temple tower. Draw the curtains tight and let no man pass them."
When he had entered the bedchamber the curtains were lowered and the guards stationed themselves at the door. A moment later, Claudia paused as she pushed the curtain aside, saying to the guards, "Forget not thy Lord Pilate's command. Wake him not."
After Pilate and Claudia had retired behind the curtains, the guards took their places for the night. Inside the door to the left and right a picked man of Pilate's body-guard stationed himself. An enormous spear, which lifted its shining point like an ensign over his head, was held by each soldier and shifted from hand to hand as these motionless and silent men grew drowsy. In the outer hall soldiers of the Legion stood on guard from the entrance into the inner room, down the long corridor to the portico steps. In spite of orders that no word be spoken in the hallway after Pilate had retired, these soldiers, knowing his manner of sleep, made use of the night hours to discuss such daytime gossip as had reached their ears. The comment began when news was passed that Pilate had gone to sleep, and between the left guard and the right guard a conversation took place which would have been interesting to the public.
"Had I as much ripe wine in my paunch as hath the gracious Pilate, I would also sleep."
"Aye. But by the shades of Caesar did not his sleep of yesternight outmatch even the measure of his cups? Drank and drank did our master Pilate until his eyes bulged and his tongue was pushed out of his throat by the fulness thereof. And he did sleep and sleep until the sun had started down next day."
"And were there not soldiers and priests and lawyers and centurions and Senators clamoring to have speech with him? And did not Claudia pass out the word that he was engaged in matters of importance to Tiberius?"
"Thou makest my inwards to shake with choked laughter when thou sayest this—'business of importance to Tiberius.'"
"Yea—and wherefore the smothered laughter. Is not the important business of Caesar Tiberius the putting away of much wine, even as is the business of Pilate?"
"Yea. But Tiberius doth have a deputy to satisfy the demands for him."
"And some are as insistent as itch."
"Yea, like the broad Jew whose foot caught in the blue and purple cloak he let drag in his desire to be heard."
"His business was urgent by the glittering eagerness of his two small eyes."
"Yea, and the gold he held forth did glitter better than his Jew eyes as he said, 'My mission is urgent! One hath arisen against the Empire yet doth Pontius Pilate not come forth nor give audience to message bearers.'"
"'He seeth neither god nor man until his business of importance to Tiberius is finished, since first of all he is Caesar's friend,' did I make answer, straight-faced and solemn, for who would feel the fire of the branding iron for a bit of gold? Then it was his countenance became entangled in anger as his foot became entangled in his blue cloak, and he did breathe out a curse."
"The curse of a Jew is no curse since it must be swallowed if it is against Rome. But look thee toward the steps. On my life a messenger cometh."
While the two soldiers of the Legion were gossiping on the outside of the door the two guards on the inside were leaning heavily on their spears.
"My eyes—but sleep pricketh me," the first guard said.
"Sleep then," the second replied. "But no dreaming."
"Nay—no dreaming."
"Listen! Pilate is gone until the new day."
On the stillness the sound of heavy snoring was heard. The guards leaned against the wall, spears in hand, and were soon asleep. A trumpet from the street below sounded the hours of night. The snores of Pilate were answered by the snoring of the two guards and the palace seemed given to slumber, when the tramp of feet and knocking of standards was heard outside.
"Methinks I dream," the first guard said drowsily. "Yea, I dream there is a great commotion."
"It is the troops rushing to war!" the second guard answered sleepily.
"Troops rushing to war." The words were feebly uttered.
The knocking continued at the door, growing quicker and harder.
"Who knocks?" the guard shouted.
"Open thou the door," was shouted back.
"Who cometh?"
"A message from the Tower of Antonio. We would see Pilate," the voice outside answered.
The door was opened and the messenger with a number of soldiers entered. "A message for the Procurator, Pontius Pilate."
"My Lord Pilate is in bed with orders not to awaken him."
"Whether thou awaken him or no, make thy choice. Here is the message and I await a reply."
"Take thou it," the first guard said to the second one. "Take thou the message to his bed."
"Risk thou thine own life," was the prompt reply.
"Enter and awaken him," the first guard said to the messenger.
"Time is passing," he replied with dignity. "I await a reply."
"Let us all waken him!" the second guard suggested.
So they advanced to the curtains that hung over Pilate's door and shouted together as they beat the floor, "Awake! Arise, my Lord Pilate!"
"Is the house falling?" The voice was that of Pilate. A moment later he stuck his head from between the curtains shouting, "To the fires of Pluto with you! What meaneth this disturbance?"
"A message for my Lord Pilate," the messenger replied, handing him a tablet. "From the Tower of Antonio, a message."
Claudia stepped behind Pilate and looked over his shoulder. "What is it?" she asked.
"The hiding-place of a Jew who hath not regard for the Law of Moses has been discovered. This is a request for soldiers to go out against him."
"A Jew? Who is he?" and Claudia's voice bespoke deep interest.
"What matter?" Pilate replied, yawning. "A Jew is a Jew. Let them go out against him. My tablets!" he shouted to a servant. After hastily writing, he gave the messenger a tablet saying, "Depart! One Jew is not worth the asking, but take him." Before the feet of the messenger had crossed the threshold Pilate was ready to return to his sleep. "Get thou on guard," he commanded his Legion soldiers, "and let none less than Caesar pass my threshold."
For a few hours the long corridors and empty chambers of the palace were quiet. Then again there came the sound of approaching feet, followed by knocking and a heavy voice calling the Procurator.
"Pilate again!" murmured one of the guards sleepily. Then speaking to the other he cried, "Why sleepest thou on duty? Get thee awake!"
Hardly had they assumed their positions inside the door when it was thrown open and an officer followed by soldiers, entered. "Let not an instant pass!" he commanded. "Call the Procurator, Pontius Pilate."
Following his command, the voice of Claudia behind the curtains was heard saying, "Pilate—my Lord Pilate—awake! It is an officer of the Legion. Arise!"
A moment later the head of Pilate was again thrust between the curtains as he shouted, "The wrath of Jove! What meaneth this?"
"In the Judgment Hall thou art wanted. Thy soldiers have taken captive one charged with sedition. At a midnight meeting of the Sanhedrin hath he been found guilty."
"And what care I, Pontius Pilate, whether he be guilty or no? On the Law of Moses would I myself spit. Yet by their own Law can not the swine-fearing dogs condemn a man before morning. By their own law will I condemn them and take their Temple. Go thou to those long-faced circumcized and say in their ears that for causing this unlawful disturbance ere the morning watch, I will make them suffer."
"Aye," replied the officer. "But my most gracious Pilate, conspiracy is also charged against the Jew for it is he who was acclaimed King of the Jews while all Jerusalem did shout his praises. A great following hath he of Galileans, Zealots and Judean warriors. Revolution against the throne of Caesar is all but born."
"Thou sayest this is he that was acclaimed King of the Jews?" andPilate's eye shone with a new glow.
"The same. He is a conspirator."
"And they have takenhim? Then have they favored Pilate who hath not yet discovered the nightly hiding-place of this conspirator."
"Nay! Nay! He is no conspirator, my Lord Pilate," cried Claudia, hurrying from behind the curtains as she wrapped her shoulders in a veil. "He is no conspirator! Naught save a teacher of Truth is he."
"Thou sayest he hath been taken?" Pilate asked of the officer.
"Yea, by the soldiers which thou didst despatch before midnight with the guard of the Temple. He was betrayed by one of his followers, and his hiding-place discovered. Already hath he been before Annas who did send him to Caiaphas. Now waiteth he at the Judgment Hall around which a crowd is gathered, and they say thou art not Caesar's friend unless thou cometh."
"They say I am not Caesar's friend?" he exclaimed in excitement. "Hasten thou to the Judgment Hall and say thou to the right and to the left, as a trumpeteer doth lead thee, 'Pilate is already on the way!'" When the officer had made a hurried exit, Pilate in great haste shouted: "Up, laggards! Move! My coat! Quick with the royal ensign and the eagle! Pilate is a friend of Caesar and this conspirator for the throne of our Tiberius shall be stretched on a cross ere the new-day sun reach the mountain top."
"Calm thyself, my Lord Pilate," Claudia said. "Nor let the words of the rabble spoil thy reason. No conspirator is this Jew. He is a teacher of the Truth. Quell thou this uproar and come thou back to bed. Hearest thou my words?"
"Nay. No words I hear save the words 'He is not Caesar's friend.' Caesar's friend would I be though all the Jews in Palestine are hung on wooden crosses. Farewell, Claudia. Thou art the wife of Caesar's friend."
Pilate turned to go, but Claudia lay hold of him saying, "Nay, my Lord Pilate, thou shalt not go until my words thou hearest. Forever will Rome bear the brand of shame should it stretch on a wooden cross one who teacheth such wisdom as doth this Jew. Thou shalt not go until a promise is made me."
"What promise?" he asked hurriedly.
"If he come before thy judgment seat, judge him of the words of his own mouth and by the words of his own mouth free or condemn him."
"I promise, Claudia—I promise."
"Thou understandest that out of the mouth of the Jew thou wilt free or condemn him?"
"Yea—yea! Let me go! I am a friend of Caesar!" and he loosed himself and hurried down the long corridor.