CHAPTER V
Nowadays
travellers in the Holy Land looking for the famous place with the beautiful
name, the King's Garden, descend the bed of the Cedron or the curve of Gihon
and Hinnom as far as the old well En-rogel, take a drink of the sweet living
water, and stop, having reached the limit of the interesting in that direction.
They look at the great stones with which the well is curbed, ask its depth,
smile at the primitive mode of drawing the purling treasure, and waste some
pity on the ragged wretch who presides over it; then, facing about, they are
enraptured with the mounts Moriah and Zion, both of which slope towards them
from the north, one terminating in Ophel, the other in what used to be the site
of the city of David. In the background, up far in the sky, the garniture of
the sacred places is visible: here the Haram, with its graceful dome; yonder
the stalward remains of Hippicus, defiant even in ruins. When that view has
been enjoyed, and is sufficiently impressed upon the memory, the travellers
glance at the Mount of Offence standing in rugged stateliness at their right
hand, and then at the Hill of Evil Counsel over on the left, in which, if they
be well up in Scriptural history and in the traditions rabbinical and monkish,
they will find a certain interest not to be overcome by superstitious horror.
It were long to
tell all the points of interest grouped around that hill; for the present
purpose, enough that its feet are planted in the veritable orthodox Hell of the
moderns - the Hell of brimstone and fire - in the old nomenclature Gehenna; and
that now, as in the days of Christ, its bluff face opposite the city on the
south and southeast is seamed and pitted with tombs which have been
immemorially the dwelling-places of lepers, not singly, but collectively. There
they set up their government and established their society; there they founded
a city and dwelt by themselves, avoided as the accursed of God.
The second
morning after the incidents of the preceding chapter, Amrah drew near the well
En-rogel, and seated herself upon a stone. One familiar with Jerusalem, looking
at her, would have said she was the favorite servant of some well-to-do family.
She brought with her a water-jar and a basket, the contents of the latter
covered with a snow-white napkin. Placing them on the ground at her side, she
loosened the shawl which fell from her head, knit her fingers together in her
lap, and gazed demurely up to where the hill drops steeply down into Aceldama
and the Potter's Field.
It was very
early, and she was the first to arrive at the well. Soon, however, a man came
bringing a rope and a leathern bucket. Saluting the little dark-faced woman, he
undid the rope, fixed it to the bucket, and waited customers. Others who chose
to do so might draw water for themselves, he was a professional in the
business, and would fill the largest jar the stoutest woman could carry for a
gerah.
Amrah sat still,
and had nothing to say. Seeing the jar, the man asked after a while if she
wished it filled; she answered him civilly, "Not now;" whereupon he
gave her no more attention. When the dawn was fairly defined over Olivet, his
patrons began to arrive, and he had all he could do to attend to them. All the
time she kept her seat, looking intently up at the hill.
The sun made its
appearance, yet she sat watching and waiting; and while she thus waits, let us
see what her purpose is.
Her custom had
been to go to market after nightfall. Stealing out unobserved, she would seek
the shops in the Tyropoeon, or those over by the Fish Gate in the east, make
her purchases of meat and vegetables, and return and shut herself up again.
The pleasure she
derived from the presence of Ben-Hur in the old house once more may be
imagined. She had nothing to tell him of her mistress or Tirzah - nothing. He
would have had her move to a place not so lonesome; she refused. She would have
had him take his own room again, which was just as he had left it; but the
danger of discovery was too great, and he wished above all things to avoid
inquiry. He would come and see her often as possible. Coming in the night, he
would also go away in the night. She was compelled to be satisfied, and at once
occupied herself contriving ways to make him happy. That he was a man now did
not occur to her; nor did it enter her mind that he might have put by or lost
his boyish tastes; to please him, she thought to go on her old round of
services. He used to be fond of confections; she remembered the things in that
line which delighted him most, and resolved to make them, and have a supply
always ready when he came. Could anything be happier? So next night, earlier
than usual, she stole out with her basket, and went over to the Fish Gate
Market. Wandering about, seeking the best honey, she chanced to hear a man
telling a story.
What the story
was the reader can arrive at with sufficient certainty when told that the
narrator was one of the men who had held torches for the commandant of the
Tower of Antonia when, down in cell VI., the Hurs were found. The particulars
of the finding were all told, and she heard them, with the names of the prisoners,
and the widow's account of herself.
The feelings with
which Amrah listened to the recital were such as became the devoted creature
she was. She made her purchases, and returned home in a dream. What a happiness
she had in store for her boy! She had found his mother!
She put the
basket away, now laughing, now crying. Suddenly she stopped and thought. It
would kill him to be told that his mother and Tirzah were lepers. He would go
through the awful city over on the Hill of Evil Counsel - into each infected
tomb he would go without rest, asking for them, and the disease would catch
him, and their fate would be his. She wrung her hands. What should she do?
Like many a one
before her, and many a one since, she derived inspiration, if not wisdom, from her
affection, and came to a singular conclusion.
The lepers, she
knew, were accustomed of mornings to come down from their sepulchral abodes in
the hill, and take a supply of water for the day from the well En-rogel.
Bringing their jars, they would set them on the ground and wait, standing afar
until they were filled. To that the mistress and Tirzah must come; for the law
was inexorable, and admitted no distinction. A rich leper was no better than a
poor one.
So Amrah decided
not to speak to Ben-Hur of the story she had heard, but go alone to the well
and wait. Hunger and thirst would drive the unfortunates thither, and she
believed she could recognize them at sight; if not, they might recognize her.
Meantime Ben-Hur
came, and they talked much. To-morrow Malluch would arrive; then the search
should be immediately begun. He was impatient to be about it. To amuse himself
he would visit the sacred places in the vicinity. The secret, we may be sure,
weighed heavily on the woman, but she held her peace.
When he was gone
she busied herself in the preparation of things good to eat, applying her
utmost skill to the work. At the approach of day, as signalled by the stars,
she filled the basket, selected a jar, and took the road to En-rogel, going out
by the Fish Gate which was earliest open, and arriving as we have seen.
Shortly after
sunrise, when business at the well was most pressing, and the drawer of water
most hurried; when, in fact, half a dozen buckets were in use at the same time,
everybody making haste to get away before the cool of the morning melted into
the heat of the day, the tenantry of the hill began to appear and move about
the doors of their tombs. Somewhat later they were discernible in groups, of
which not a few were children so young that they suggested the holiest
relation. Numbers came momentarily around the turn of the bluff - women with
jars upon their shoulders, old and very feeble men hobbling along on staffs and
crutches. Some leaned upon the shoulders of others; a few - the utterly helpless
- lay, like heaps of rags, upon litters. Even that community of superlative
sorrow had its love-light to make life endurable and attractive. Distance
softened without entirely veiling the misery of the outcasts.
From her seat by
the well Amrah kept watch upon the spectral groups. She scarcely moved. More
than once she imagined she saw those she sought. That they were there upon the
hill she had no doubt; that they must come down and near she knew; when the
people at the well were all served they would come.
Now, quite at the
base of the bluff there was a tomb which had more than once attracted Amrah by
its wide gaping. A stone of large dimensions stood near its mouth. The sun
looked into it through the hottest hours of the day, and altogether it seemed
uninhabitable by anything living, unless, perchance, by some wild dogs
returning from scavenger duty down in Gehenna. Thence, however, and greatly to
her surprise, the patient Egyptian beheld two women come, one half supporting,
half leading, the other. They were both white-haired; both looked old; but
their garments were not rent, and they gazed about them as if the locality were
new. The witness below thought she even saw them shrink terrified at the
spectacle offered by the hideous assemblage of which they found themselves
part. Slight reasons, certainly, to make her heart beat faster, and draw her
attention to them exclusively; but so they did.
The two remained
by the stone awhile; then they moved slowly, painfully, and with much fear
towards the well, whereat several voices were raised to stop them; yet they
kept on. The drawer of water picked up some pebbles, and made ready to drive
them back. The company cursed them. The greater company on the hill shouted
shrilly, "Unclean, unclean!"
"Surely,"
thought Amrah of the two, as they kept coming -”surely, they are strangers to
the usage of lepers."
She arose, and
went to meet them, taking the basket and jar. The alarm at the well immediately
subsided.
"What a
fool," said one, laughing, "what a fool to give good bread to the
dead in that way!"
"And to
think of her coming so far!" said another. "I would at least make
them meet me at the gate."
Amrah, with
better impulse, proceeded. If she should be mistaken! Her heart arose into her
throat. And the farther she went the more doubtful and confused she became.
Four or five yards from where they stood waiting for her she stopped.
That the mistress
she loved! whose hand she had so often kissed in gratitude! whose image of
matronly loveliness she had treasured in memory so faithfully! And that the
Tirzah she had nursed through babyhood! whose pains she had soothed, whose
sports she had shared! that the smiling, sweet-faced, songful Tirzah, the light
of the great house, the promised blessing of her old age! Her mistress, her
darling - they? The soul of the woman sickened at the sight.
"These are
old women," she said to herself. "I never saw them before. I will go
back."
She turned away.
"Amrah,"
said one of the lepers.
The Egyptian
dropped the jar, and looked back, trembling.
"Who called
me?" she asked.
"Amrah."
The servant's
wondering eyes settled upon the speaker's face.
"Who are
you?" she cried.
"We are they
you are seeking."
Amrah fell upon
her knees.
"O my
mistress, my mistress! As I have made your God my God, be he praised that he
has led me to you!"
And upon her
knees the poor overwhelmed creature began moving forward.
"Stay,
Amrah! Come not nearer. Unclean, unclean!"
The words
sufficed. Amrah fell upon her face, sobbing so loud the people at the well
heard her. Suddenly she arose upon her knees again.
"O my
mistress, where is Tirzah?"
"Here I am,
Amrah, here! Will you not bring me a little water?"
The habit of the
servant renewed itself. Putting back the coarse hair fallen over her face, Amrah
arose and went to the basket and uncovered it.
"See,"
she said, "here are bread and meat."
She would have
spread the napkin upon the ground, but the mistress spoke again,
"Do not so,
Amrah. Those yonder may stone you, and refuse us drink. Leave the basket with
me. Take up the jar and fill it, and bring it here. We will carry them to the
tomb with us. For this day you will then have rendered all the service that is
lawful. Haste, Amrah."
The people under
whose eyes all this had passed made way for the servant, and even helped her
fill the jar, so piteous was the grief her countenance showed.
"Who are
they?" a woman asked.
Amrah meekly
answered, "They used to be good to me."
Raising the jar
upon her shoulder, she hurried back. In forgetfulness, she would have gone to
them, but the cry "Unclean, unclean! Beware!" arrested her. Placing
the water by the basket, she stepped back, and stood off a little way.
"Thank you,
Amrah," said the mistress, taking the articles into possession. "This
is very good of you."
"Is there
nothing more I can do?" asked Amrah.
The mother's hand
was upon the jar, and she was fevered with thirst; yet she paused, and rising,
said firmly, "Yes, I know that Judah has come home. I saw him at the gate
night before last asleep on the step. I saw you wake him."
Amrah clasped her
hands.
"O my
mistress! You saw it, and did not come!"
"That would
have been to kill him. I can never take him in my arms again. I can never kiss
him more. O Amrah, Amrah, you love him, I know!"
"Yes,"
said the true heart, bursting into tears again, and kneeling. "I would die
for him."
"Prove to me
what you say, Amrah."
"I am
ready."
"Then you
shall not tell him where we are or that you have seen us - only that,
Amrah."
"But he is
looking for you. He has come from afar to find you."
"He must not
find us. He shall not become what we are. Hear, Amrah. You shall serve us as
you have this day. You shall bring us the little we need - not long now - not
long. You shall come every morning and evening thus, and - and" - the
voice trembled, the strong will almost broke down -”and you shall tell us of
him, Amrah; but to him you shall say nothing of us. Hear you?"
"Oh, it will
be so hard to hear him speak of you, and see him going about looking for you -
to see all his love, and not tell him so much as that you are alive!"
"Can you
tell him we are well, Amrah?"
The servant bowed
her head in her arms.
"No,"
the mistress continued; "wherefore to be silent altogether. Go now, and
come this evening. We will look for you. Till then, farewell."
"The burden
will be heavy, O my mistress, and hard to bear," said Amrah, falling upon
her face.
"How much
harder would it be to see him as we are," the mother answered as she gave
the basket to Tirzah. "Come again this evening," she repeated, taking
up the water, and starting for the tomb.
Amrah waited
kneeling until they had disappeared; then she took the road sorrowfully home.
In the evening
she returned; and thereafter it became her custom to serve them in the morning
and evening, so that they wanted for nothing needful. The tomb, though ever so
stony and desolate, was less cheerless than the cell in the Tower had been.
Daylight gilded its door, and it was in the beautiful world. Then, one can wait
death with so much more faith out under the open sky.
CHAPTER VI
The morning of
the first day of the seventh month - Tishri in the Hebrew, October in English -
Ben-Hur arose from his couch in the khan ill satisfied with the whole world.
Little time had
been lost in consultation upon the arrival of Malluch. The latter began the
search at the Tower of Antonia, and began it boldly, by a direct inquiry of the
tribune commanding. He gave the officer a history of the Hurs, and all the
particulars of the accident to Gratus, describing the affair as wholly without
criminality. The object of the quest now, he said, was if any of the unhappy
family were discovered alive to carry a petition to the feet of Caesar, praying
restitution of the estate and return to their civil rights. Such a petition, he
had no doubt, would result in an investigation by the imperial order, a
proceeding of which the friends of the family had no fear.
In reply the
tribune stated circumstantially the discovery of the women in the Tower, and
permitted a reading of the memorandum he had taken of their account of
themselves; when leave to copy it was prayed, he even permitted that.
Malluch thereupon
hurried to Ben-Hur.
It were useless
to attempt description of the effect the terrible story had upon the young man.
The pain was not relieved by tears or passionate outcries; it was too deep for
any expression. He sat still a long time, with pallid face and laboring heart.
Now and then, as if to show the thoughts which were most poignant, he muttered,
"Lepers,
lepers! They - my mother and Tirzah - they lepers! How long, how long, O
Lord!"
One moment he was
torn by a virtuous rage of sorrow, next by a longing for vengeance which, it
must be admitted, was scarcely less virtuous.
At length he
arose.
"I must look
for them. They may be dying."
"Where will
you look?" asked Malluch.
"There is
but one place for them to go."
Malluch
interposed, and finally prevailed so far as to have the management of the
further attempt intrusted to him. Together they went to the gate over on the
side opposite the Hill of Evil Counsel, immemorially the lepers'
begging-ground. There they stayed all day, giving alms, asking for the two
women, and offering rich rewards for their discovery. So they did in repetition
day after day through the remainder of the fifth month, and all the sixth.
There was diligent scouring of the dread city on the hill by lepers to whom the
rewards offered were mighty incentives, for they were only dead in law. Over
and over again the gaping tomb down by the well was invaded, and its tenants
subjected to inquiry; but they kept their secret fast. The result was failure.
And now, the morning of the first day of the seventh month, the extent of the
additional information gained was that not long before two leprous women had
been stoned from the Fish Gate by the authorities. A little pressing of the
clew, together with some shrewd comparison of dates, led to the sad assurance
that the sufferers were the Hurs, and left the old questions darker than ever.
Where were they? And what had become of them?
"It was not
enough that my people should be made lepers," said the son, over and over
again, with what intensity of bitterness the reader may imagine; "that was
not enough. Oh no! They must be stoned from their native city! My mother is
dead! she has wandered to the wilderness! she is dead! Tirzah is dead! I alone
am left. And for what? How long, O God, thou Lord God of my fathers, how long
shall this Rome endure?"
Angry, hopeless,
vengeful, he entered the court of the khan, and found it crowded with people
come in during the night. While he ate his breakfast, he listened to some of
them. To one party he was specially attracted. They were mostly young, stout,
active, hardy men, in manner and speech provincial. In their look, the certain
indefinable air, the pose of the head, glance of the eye, there was a spirit
which did not, as a rule, belong to the outward seeming of the lower orders of
Jerusalem; the spirit thought by some to be a peculiarity of life in
mountainous districts, but which may be more surely traced to a life of
healthful freedom. In a short time he ascertained they were Galileans, in the
city for various purposes, but chiefly to take part in the Feast of Trumpets,
set for that day. They became to him at once objects of interest, as hailing
from the region in which he hoped to find readiest support in the work he was
shortly to set about.
While observing
them, his mind running ahead in thought of achievements possible to a legion of
such spirits disciplined after the severe Roman style, a man came into the
court, his face much flushed, his eyes bright with excitement.
"Why are you
here?" he said to the Galileans. "The rabbis and elders are going
from the Temple to see Pilate. Come, make haste, and let us go with them."
They surrounded
him in a moment.
"To see
Pilate! For what?"
"They have
discovered a conspiracy. Pilate's new aqueduct is to be paid for with money of
the Temple."
"What, with
the sacred treasure?"
They repeated the
question to each other with flashing eyes.
"It is
Corban - money of God. Let him touch a shekel of it if he dare!"
"Come,"
cried the messenger. "The procession is by this time across the bridge.
The whole city is pouring after. We may be needed. Make haste!"
As if the thought
and the act were one, there was quick putting away of useless garments, and the
party stood forth bareheaded, and in the short sleeveless under-tunics they
were used to wearing as reapers in the field and boatmen on the lake - the garb
in which they climbed the hills following the herds, and plucked the ripened
vintage, careless of the sun. Lingering only to tighten their girdles, they
said, "We are ready."
Then Ben-Hur
spoke to them.
"Men of
Galilee," he said, "I am a son of Judah. Will you take me in your company?"
"We may have
to fight," they replied.
"Oh, then, I
will not be first to run away!"
They took the
retort in good humor, and the messenger said, "You seem stout enough. Come
along."
Ben-Hur put off
his outer garments.
"You think
there may be fighting?" he asked, quietly, as he tightened his girdle.
"Yes."
"With
whom?"
"The
guard."
"Legionaries?"
"Whom else
can a Roman trust?"
"What have
you to fight with?"
They looked at
him silently.
"Well,"
he continued, "we will have to do the best we can; but had we not better
choose a leader? The legionaries always have one, and so are able to act with
one mind."
The Galileans
stared more curiously, as if the idea were new to them.
"Let us at
least agree to stay together," he said. "Now I am ready, if you
are."
"Yes, let us
go."
The khan, it
should not be forgotten, was in Bezetha, the new town; and to get to the
Praetorium, as the Romans resonantly styled the palace of Herod on Mount Zion,
the party had to cross the lowlands north and west of the Temple. By streets -
if they may be so called - trending north and south, with intersections hardly
up to the dignity of alleys, they passed rapidly round the Akra district to the
Tower of Mariamne, from which the way was short to the grand gate of the walled
heights. In going, they overtook, or were overtaken by, people like themselves
stirred to wrath by news of the proposed desecration. When, at length, they
reached the gate of the Praetorium, the procession of elders and rabbis had
passed in with a great following, leaving a greater crowd clamoring outside.
A centurion kept
the entrance with a guard drawn up full armed under the beautiful marble
battlements. The sun struck the soldiers fervidly on helm and shield; but they
kept their ranks indifferent alike to its dazzle and to the mouthings of the
rabble. Through the open bronze gates a current of citizens poured in, while a
much lesser one poured out.
"What is
going on?" one of the Galileans asked an outcomer.
"Nothing,"
was the reply. "The rabbis are before the door of the palace asking to see
Pilate. He has refused to come out. They have sent one to tell him they will
not go away till he has heard them. They are waiting."
"Let us go
in," said Ben-Hur, in his quiet way, seeing what his companions probably
did not, that there was not only a disagreement between the suitors and the
governor, but an issue joined, and a serious question as to who should have his
will.
Inside the gate
there was a row of trees in leaf, with seats under them. The people, whether
going or coming, carefully avoided the shade cast gratefully upon the white,
clean-swept pavement; for, strange as it may seem, a rabbinical ordinance,
alleged to have been derived from the law, permitted no green thing to be grown
within the walls of Jerusalem. Even the wise king, it was said, wanting a
garden for his Egyptian bride, was constrained to found it down in the
meeting-place of the valleys above En-rogel.
Through the
tree-tops shone the outer fronts of the palace. Turning to the right, the party
proceeded a short distance to a spacious square, on the west side of which
stood the residence of the governor. An excited multitude filled the square.
Every face was directed towards a portico built over a broad doorway which was
closed. Under the portico there was another array of legionaries.
The throng was so
close the friends could not well have advanced if such had been their desire;
they remained therefore in the rear, observers of what was going on. About the
portico they could see the high turbans of the rabbis, whose impatience
communicated at times to the mass behind them; a cry was frequent to the effect
"Pilate, if thou be a governor, come forth, come forth!"
Once a man coming
out pushed through the crowd, his face red with anger.
"Israel is
of no account here," he said, in a loud voice. "On this holy ground
we are no better than dogs of Rome."
"Will he not
come out, think you?"
"Come? Has
he not thrice refused?"
"What will
the rabbis do?"
"As at
Caesarea - camp here till he gives them ear."
"He will not
dare touch the treasure, will he?" asked one of the Galileans.
"Who can
say? Did not a Roman profane the Holy of Holies? Is there anything sacred from
Romans?"
An hour passed,
and though Pilate deigned them no answer, the rabbis and crowd remained. Noon
came, bringing a shower from the west, but no change in the situation, except
that the multitude was larger and much noisier, and the feeling more decidedly
angry. The shouting was almost continuous, Come forth, come forth! The cry was
sometimes with disrespectful variations. Meanwhile Ben-Hur held his Galilean
friends together. He judged the pride of the Roman would eventually get the
better of his discretion, and that the end could not be far off. Pilate was but
waiting for the people to furnish him an excuse for resort to violence.
And at last the
end came. In the midst of the assemblage there was heard the sound of blows,
succeeded instantly by yells of pain and rage, and a most furious commotion.
The venerable men in front of the portico faced about aghast. The common people
in the rear at first pushed forward; in the centre, the effort was to get out;
and for a short time the pressure of opposing forces was terrible. A thousand
voices made inquiry, raised all at once; as no one had time to answer, the
surprise speedily became a panic.
Ben-Hur kept his
senses.
"You cannot
see?" he said to one of the Galileans.
"No."
"I will
raise you up."
He caught the man
about the middle, and lifted him bodily.
"What is
it?"
"I see now,"
said the man. "There are some armed with clubs, and they are beating the
people. They are dressed like Jews."
"Who are
they?"
"Romans, as
the Lord liveth! Romans in disguise. Their clubs fly like flails! There, I saw
a rabbi struck down - an old man! They spare nobody!"
Ben-Hur let the
man down.
"Men of
Galilee," he said, "it is a trick of Pilate's. Now, will you do what
I say, we will get even with the club-men."
The Galilean
spirit arose.
"Yes,
yes!" they answered.
"Let us go
back to the trees by the gate, and we may find the planting of Herod, though
unlawful, has some good in it after all. Come!"
They ran back all
of them fast as they could; and, by throwing their united weight upon the
limbs, tore them from the trunks. In a brief time they, too, were armed.
Returning, at the corner of the square they met the crowd rushing madly for the
gate. Behind, the clamor continued - a medley of shrieks, groans, and
execrations.
"To the
wall!" Ben-Hur shouted. "To the wall! - and let the herd go by!"
So, clinging to
the masonry at their right hand, they escaped the might of the rush, and little
by little made headway until, at last, the square was reached.
"Keep
together now, and follow me!"
By this time
Ben-Hur's leadership was perfect; and as he pushed into the seething mob his
party closed after him in a body. And when the Romans, clubbing the people and
making merry as they struck them down, came hand to hand with the Galileans,
lithe of limb, eager for the fray, and equally armed, they were in turn
surprised. Then the shouting was close and fierce; the crash of sticks rapid
and deadly; the advance furious as hate could make it. No one performed his
part as well as Ben-Hur, whose training served him admirably; for, not merely
he knew to strike and guard; his long arm, perfect action, and incomparable
strength helped him, also, to success in every encounter. He was at the same
time fighting-man and leader. The club he wielded was of goodly length and
weighty, so he had need to strike a man but once. He seemed, moreover, to have
eyes for each combat of his friends, and the faculty of being at the right
moment exactly where he was most needed. In his fighting cry there were
inspiration for his party and alarm for his enemies. Thus surprised and equally
matched, the Romans at first retired, but finally turned their backs and fled
to the portico. The impetuous Galileans would have pursued them to the steps,
but Ben-Hur wisely restrained them.
"Stay, my
men!" he said. "The centurion yonder is coming with the guard. They
have swords and shields; we cannot fight them. We have done well; let us get
back and out of the gate while we may."
They obeyed him,
though slowly; for they had frequently to step over their countrymen lying
where they had been felled; some writhing and groaning, some praying help,
others mute as the dead. But the fallen were not all Jews. In that there was
consolation.
The centurion
shouted to them as they went off; Ben-Hur laughed at him, and replied in his
own tongue, "If we are dogs of Israel, you are jackals of Rome. Remain
here, and we will come again."
The Galileans
cheered, and laughing went on.
Outside the gate
there was a multitude the like of which Ben-Hur had never seen, not even in the
circus at Antioch. The house-tops, the streets, the slope of the hill, appeared
densely covered with people wailing and praying. The air was filled with their
cries and imprecations.
The party were
permitted to pass without challenge by the outer guard. But hardly were they
out before the centurion in charge at the portico appeared, and in the gateway
called to Ben-Hur,
"Ho,
insolent! Art thou a Roman or a Jew?"
Ben-Hur answered,
"I am a son of Judah, born here. What wouldst thou with me?"
"Stay and
fight."
"Singly?"
"As thou
wilt!"
Ben-Hur laughed
derisively.
"O brave
Roman! Worthy son of the bastard Roman Jove! I have no arms."
"Thou shalt
have mine," the centurion answered. "I will borrow of the guard
here."
The people in
hearing of the colloquy became silent; and from them the hush spread afar. But
lately Ben-Hur had beaten a Roman under the eyes of Antioch and the Farther
East; now, could he beat another one under the eyes of Jerusalem, the honor
might be vastly profitable to the cause of the New King. He did not hesitate.
Going frankly to the centurion, he said, "I am willing. Lend me thy sword
and shield."
"And the
helm and breastplate?" asked the Roman.
"Keep them.
They might not fit me."
The arms were as
frankly delivered, and directly the centurion was ready. All this time the
soldiers in rank close by the gate never moved; they simply listened. As to the
multitude, only when the combatants advanced to begin the fight the question
sped from mouth to mouth, "Who is he?" And no one knew.
Now the Roman
supremacy in arms lay in three things - submission to discipline, the legionary
formation of battle, and a peculiar use of the short sword. In combat, they
never struck or cut; from first to last they thrust - they advanced thrusting,
they retired thrusting; and generally their aim was at the foeman's face. All
this was well known to Ben-Hur. As they were about to engage he said,
"I told thee
I was a son of Judah; but I did not tell that I am lanista-taught. Defend
thyself!"
At the last word
Ben-Hur closed with his antagonist. A moment, standing foot to foot, they
glared at each other over the rims of their embossed shields; then the Roman
pushed forward and feinted an under-thrust. The Jew laughed at him. A thrust at
the face followed. The Jew stepped lightly to the left; quick as the thrust
was, the step was quicker. Under the lifted arm of the foe he slid his shield,
advancing it until the sword and sword-arm were both caught on its upper
surface; another step, this time forward and left, and the man's whole right
side was offered to the point. The centurion fell heavily on his breast,
clanging the pavement, and Ben-Hur had won. With his foot upon his enemy's
back, he raised his shield overhead after a gladiatorial custom, and saluted
the imperturbable soldiers by the gate.
When the people
realized the victory they behaved like mad. On the houses far as the Xystus,
fast as the word could fly, they waved their shawls and handkerchiefs and
shouted; and if he had consented, the Galileans would have carried Ben-Hur off
upon their shoulders.
To a petty
officer who then advanced from the gate he said, "Thy comrade died like a
soldier. I leave him undespoiled. Only his sword and shield are mine."
With that, he
walked away. Off a little he spoke to the Galileans.
"Brethren,
you have behaved well. Let us now separate, lest we be pursued. Meet me
to-night at the khan in Bethany. I have something to propose to you of great
interest to Israel."
"Who are
you?" they asked him.
"A son of
Judah," he answered, simply.
A throng eager to
see him surged around the party.
"Will you
come to Bethany?" he asked.
"Yes, we
will come."
"Then bring
with you this sword and shield that I may know you."
Pushing brusquely
through the increasing crowd, he speedily disappeared.
At the instance
of Pilate, the people went up from the city, and carried off their dead and
wounded, and there was much mourning for them; but the grief was greatly
lightened by the victory of the unknown champion, who was everywhere sought,
and by every one extolled. The fainting spirit of the nation was revived by the
brave deed; insomuch that in the streets and up in the Temple even, amidst the
solemnities of the feast, old tales of the Maccabees were told again, and
thousands shook their heads whispering wisely,
"A little
longer, only a little longer, brethren, and Israel will come to her own. Let
there be faith in the Lord, and patience."
In such manner
Ben-Hur obtained hold on Galilee, and paved the way to greater services in the
cause of the King Who Was Coming.
And with what
result we shall see.
