Ben Hur: A Take Of The Christ; Book Fourth

BOOK FOURTH

"Alva. Should the monarch prove unjust –

And, at this time –

Queen. Then I must wait for justice

Until it come; and they are happiest far

Whose consciences may calmly wait their right."

Schiller, Don Carlos (act iv., sc. xv.)

CHAPTER I

The month to which we now come is July, the year that of our Lord 29, and the place Antioch, then Queen of the East, and next to Rome the strongest, if not the most populous, city in the world. There is an opinion that the extravagance and dissoluteness of the age had their origin in Rome, and spread thence throughout the empire; that the great cities but reflected the manners of their mistress on the Tiber. This may be doubted. The reaction of the conquest would seem to have been upon the morals of the conqueror. In Greece she found a spring of corruption; so also in Egypt; and the student, having exhausted the subject, will close the books assured that the flow of the demoralizing river was from the East westwardly, and that this very city of Antioch, one of the oldest seats of Assyrian power and splendour, was a principal source of the deadly stream.
A transport galley entered the mouth of the river Orontes from the blue waters of the sea. It was in
the forenoon. The heat was great, yet all on board who could avail themselves of the privilege were on deck – Ben-Hur among others.

The five years had brought the young Jew to perfect manhood. Though the robe of white linen in
which he was attired somewhat masked his form, his appearance was unusually attractive. For an hour and more he had occupied a seat in the shade of the sail, and in that time several fellow
passengers of his own nationality had tried to engage him in conversation, but without avail. His
replies to their questions had been brief, though gravely courteous, and in the Latin tongue. The
purity of his speech, his cultivated manners, his reticence, served to stimulate their curiosity the
more. Such as observed him closely were struck by an incongruity between his demeanour, which had the ease and grace of a patrician, and certain points of his person. Thus his arms were disproportionately long; and when, to steady himself against the motion of the vessel, he took hold of anything near by, the size of his hands and their evident power compelled remark; so the wonder who and what he was mixed continually with a wish to know the particulars of his life. In other words, his air cannot be better described than as a notice – This man has a story to tell.
The galley, in coming, had stopped at one of the ports of Cyprus, and picked up a Hebrew of most respectable appearance, quiet, reserved, paternal. Ben-Hur ventured to ask him some questions; the replies won his confidence, and resulted finally in an extended conversation.

It chanced also that as the galley from Cyprus entered the receiving bay of the Orontes, two other
vessels which had been sighted out in the sea met it and passed into the river at the same time; and as they did so both the strangers threw out small flags of brightest yellow. There was much
conjecture as to the meaning of the signals. At length a passenger addressed himself to the
respectable Hebrew for information upon the subject.

"Yes, I know the meaning of the flags," he replied; "they do not signify nationality – they are
merely marks of ownership."

"Has the owner many ships?"

"He has."

"You know him?"

"I have dealt with him."
The passengers looked at the speaker as if requesting him to go on. Ben-Hur listened with interest.
"He lives in Antioch," the Hebrew continued, in his quiet way. "That he is vastly rich has brought
him into notice, and the talk about him is not always kind. There used to be in Jerusalem a prince of very ancient family named Hur." Judah strove to be composed, yet his heart beat quicker.

"The prince was a merchant, with a genius for business. He set on foot many enterprises, some
reaching far East, others West. In the great cities he had branch houses. The one in Antioch was in charge of a man said by some to have been a family servant called Simonides, Greek in name, yet an Israelite. The master was drowned at sea. His business, however, went on, and was scarcely less prosperous. After a while misfortune overtook the family. The prince's only son, nearly grown, tried to kill the procurator Gratus in one of the streets of Jerusalem. He failed by a narrow chance, and has not since been heard of. In fact, the Roman's rage took in the whole house – not one of the name was left alive. Their palace was sealed up, and is now a rookery for pigeons; the estate was confiscated; everything that could be traced to the ownership of the Hurs was confiscated. The procurator cured his hurt with a golden salve."

The passengers laughed.

"You mean he kept the property," said one of them.

"They say so," the Hebrew replied; "I am only telling a story as I received it. And, to go on,
Simonides, who had been the prince's agent here in Antioch, opened trade in a short time on his
own account, and in a space incredibly brief became the master merchant of the city. In imitation of his master, he sent caravans to India; and on the sea at present he has galleys enough to make a royal fleet. They say nothing goes amiss with him. His camels do not die, except of old age; his ships never founder; if he throw a chip into the river, it will come back to him gold."

"How long has he been going on thus?"

"Not ten years."

"He must have had a good start."

"Yes, they say the procurator took only the prince's property ready at hand – his horses, cattle,
houses, land, vessels, goods. The money could not be found, though there must have been vast sums of it. What became of it has been an unsolved mystery."

"Not to me," said a passenger, with a sneer.

"I understand you," the Hebrew answered. "Others have had your idea. That it furnished old
Simonides his start is a common belief. The procurator is of that opinion – or he has been – for
twice in five years he has caught the merchant, and put him to torture."

Judah griped the rope he was holding with crushing force.

"It is said," the narrator continued, "that there is not a sound bone in the man's body. The last time I saw him he sat in a chair, a shapeless cripple, propped against cushions."

"So tortured!" exclaimed several listeners in a breath.

"Disease could not have produced such a deformity. Still the suffering made no impression upon
him. All he had was his lawfully, and he was making lawful use of it – that was the most they wrung from him. Now, however, he is past persecution. He has a license to trade signed by Tiberius himself."

"He paid roundly for it, I warrant."

"These ships are his," the Hebrew continued, passing the remark. "It is a custom among his sailors to salute each other upon meeting by throwing out yellow flags, sight of which is as much as to say, 'We have had a fortunate voyage.'"

The story ended there. When the transport was fairly in the channel of the river, Judah spoke to the Hebrew.

"What was the name of the merchant's master?"

"Ben-Hur, Prince of Jerusalem."

"What became of the prince's family?"

"The boy was sent to the galleys. I may say he is dead. One year is the ordinary limit of life under
that sentence. The widow and daughter have not been heard of; those who know what became of
them will not speak. They died doubtless in the cells of one of the castles which spot the waysides of Judea."

Judah walked to the pilot's quarter. So absorbed was he in thought that he scarcely noticed the
shores of the river, which from sea to city were surpassingly beautiful with orchards of all the
Syrian fruits and vines, clustered about villas rich as those of Neapolis. No more did he observe the vessels passing in an endless fleet, nor hear the singing and shouting of the sailors, some in labour, some in merriment. The sky was full of sunlight, lying in hazy warmth upon the land and the water; nowhere except over his life was there a shadow.

Once only he awoke to a momentary interest, and that was when some one pointed out the Grove of Daphne, discernible from a bend in the river.

CHAPTER II

When the city came into view, the passengers were on deck, eager that nothing of the scene might escape them. The respectable Jew already introduced to the reader was the principal spokesman.

"The river here runs to the west," he said, in the way of general answer. "I remember when it
washed the base of the walls; but as Roman subjects we have lived in peace, and, as always happens in such times, trade has had its will; now the whole river front is taken up with wharves and docks. Yonder" – the speaker pointed southward – "is Mount Casius, or, as these people love to call it, the Mountains of Orontes, looking across to its brother Amnus in the north; and between them lies the Plain of Antioch. Farther on are the Black Mountains, whence the Ducts of the Kings bring the purest water to wash the thirsty streets and people; yet they are forests in wilderness state, dense, and full of birds and beasts."

"Where is the lake?" one asked.

"Over north there. You can take horse, if you wish to see it – or, better, a boat, for a tributary
connects it with the river."

"The Grove of Daphne!" he said, to a third inquirer. "Nobody can describe it; only beware! It was
begun by Apollo, and completed by him. He prefers it to Olympus. People go there for one look –
just one – and never come away. They have a saying which tells it all – 'Better be a worm and feed on the mulberries of Daphne than a king's guest.'"

"Then you advise me to stay away from it?"

"Not I! Go you will. Everybody goes, cynic philosopher, virile boy, women, and priests – all go. So
sure am I of what you will do that I assume to advise you. Do not take quarters in the city – that will be loss of time; but go at once to the village in the edge of the grove. The way is through a garden, under the spray of fountains. The lovers of the god and his Penaean maid built the town; and in its porticos and paths and thousand retreats you will find characters and habits and sweets and kinds elsewhere impossible. But the wall of the city! there it is, the masterpiece of Xeraeus, the master of mural architecture."

All eyes followed his pointing finger.

"This part was raised by order of the first of the Seleucidae. Three hundred years have made it part of the rock it rests upon."

The defence justified the encomium. High, solid, and with many bold angles, it curved southwardly out of view.

"On the top there are four hundred towers, each a reservoir of water," the Hebrew continued. "Look now! Over the wall, tall as it is, see in the distance two hills, which you may know as the rival crests of Sulpius. The structure on the farthest one is the citadel, garrisoned all the year round by a Roman legion. Opposite it this way rises the Temple of Jupiter, and under that the front of the legate's residence – a palace full of offices, and yet a fortress against which a mob would dash harmlessly as a south wind."

At this point the sailors began taking in sail, whereupon the Hebrew exclaimed, heartily, "See! you who hate the sea, and you who have vows, get ready your curses and your prayers. The bridge yonder, over which the road to Seleucia is carried, marks the limit of navigation. What the ship unloads for further transit, the camel takes up there. Above the bridge begins the island upon which Calinicus built his new city, connecting it with five great viaducts so solid time has made no impression upon them, nor floods nor earthquakes. Of the main town, my friends, I have only to say you will be happier all your lives for having seen it."

As he concluded, the ship turned and made slowly for her wharf under the wall, bringing even more fairly to view the life with which the river at that point was possessed. Finally, the lines were
thrown, the oars shipped, and the voyage was done. Then Ben-Hur sought the respectable Hebrew.

"Let me trouble you a moment before saying farewell."

The man bowed assent.

"Your story of the merchant has made me curious to see him. You called him Simonides?"

"Yes. He is a Jew with a Greek name."

"Where is he to be found?"

The acquaintance gave a sharp look before he answered,

"I may save you mortification. He is not a money-lender."

"Nor am I a money-borrower," said Ben-Hur, smiling at the other's shrewdness. The man raised his head and considered an instant.

"One would think," he then replied, "that the richest merchant in Antioch would have a house for
business corresponding to his wealth; but if you would find him in the day, follow the river to yon
bridge, under which he quarters in a building that looks like a buttress of the wall. Before the door
there is an immense landing, always covered with cargoes come and to go. The fleet that lies
moored there is his. You cannot fail to find him."

"I give you thanks."

"The peace of our fathers go with you."

"And with you."
With that they separated. Two street-porters, loaded with his baggage, received Ben-Hur's orders upon the wharf.

"To the citadel," he said; a direction which implied an official military connection.

Two great streets, cutting each other at right angles, divided the city into quarters. A curious and
immense structure, called the Nymphaeum, arose at the foot of the one running north and south.
When the porters turned south there, the new-comer, though fresh from Rome, was amazed at the magnificence of the avenue. On the right and left there were palaces, and between them extended indefinitely double colonnades of marble, leaving separate ways for footmen, beasts, and chariots; the whole under shade, and cooled by fountains of incessant flow.

Ben-Hur was not in mood to enjoy the spectacle. The story of Simonides haunted him. Arrived at
the Omphalus – a monument of four arches wide as the streets, superbly illustrated, and erected to himself by Epiphanes, the eighth of the Seleucidae – he suddenly changed his mind.

"I will not go to the citadel to-night," he said to the porters. "Take me to the khan nearest the bridge on the road to Seleucia."

The party faced about, and in good time he was deposited in a public house of primitive but ample construction, within stone's-throw of the bridge under which old Simonides had his quarters. He lay upon the house-top through the night. In his inner mind lived the thought,

"Now – now I will hear of home – and mother – and the dear little Tirzah. If they are on earth, I will find them."

CHAPTER III

Next day early, to the neglect of the city, Ben-Hur sought the house of Simonides. Through an
embattled gateway he passed to a continuity of wharves; thence up the river midst a busy press, to the Seleucian Bridge, under which he paused to take in the scene.
There, directly under the bridge, was the merchant's house, a mass of grey stone, unhewn, referable
to no style, looking, as the voyager had described it, like a buttress of the wall against which it
leaned. Two immense doors in front communicated with the wharf. Some holes near the top,
heavily barred, served as windows. Weeds waved from the crevices, and in places black moss
splotched the otherwise bald stones.
The doors were open. Through one of them business went in; through the other it came out; and
there was hurry, hurry in all its movements.
On the wharf there were piles of goods in every kind of package, and groups of slaves, stripped to
the waist, going about in the abandon of labour
Below the bridge lay a fleet of galleys, some loading, others unloading. A yellow flag blew out from
each masthead. From fleet and wharf, and from ship to ship, the bondmen of traffic passed in
clamorous counter-currents.
Above the bridge, across the river, a wall rose from the water's edge, over which towered the
fanciful cornices and turrets of an imperial palace, covering every foot of the island spoken of in the
Hebrew's description. But, with all its suggestions, Ben-Hur scarcely noticed it. Now, at last, he
thought to hear of his people – this, certainly, if Simonides had indeed been his father's slave. But
would the man acknowledge the relation? That would be to give up his riches and the sovereignty
of trade so royally witnessed on the wharf and river. And what was of still greater consequence to
the merchant, it would be to forego his career in the midst of amazing success, and yield himself
voluntarily once more a slave. Simple thought of the demand seemed a monstrous audacity.
Stripped of diplomatic address, it was to say, You are my slave; give me all you have, and –
yourself. Yet Ben-Hur derived strength for the interview from faith in his rights and the hope
uppermost in his heart. If the story to which he was yielding were true, Simonides belonged to him,
with all he had. For the wealth, be it said in justice, he cared nothing. When he started to the door
determined in mind, it was with a promise to himself – "Let him tell me of mother and Tirzah, and I
will give him his freedom without account."
He passed boldly into the house.
The interior was that of a vast depot where, in ordered spaces, and under careful arrangement,
goods of every kind were heaped and pent. Though the light was murky and the air stifling, men
moved about briskly; and in places he saw workmen with saws and hammers making packages for
shipments. Down a path between the piles he walked slowly, wondering if the man of whose genius
there were here such abounding proofs could have been his father's slave? If so, to what class had
he belonged? If a Jew, was he the son of a servant? Or was he a debtor or a debtor's son? Or had he
been sentenced and sold for theft? These thoughts, as they passed, in no wise disturbed the growing
respect for the merchant of which he was each instant more and more conscious. A peculiarity of
our admiration for another is that it is always looking for circumstances to justify itself.
At length a man approached and spoke to him.
"What would you have?"
"I would see Simonides, the merchant."
"Will you come this way?"
By a number of paths left in the stowage, they finally came to a flight of steps; ascending which, he
found himself on the roof of the depot, and in front of a structure which cannot be better described
than as a lesser stone house built upon another, invisible from the landing below, and out west of the
bridge under the open sky. The roof, hemmed in by a low wall, seemed like a terrace, which, to his
astonishment, was brilliant with flowers; in the rich surrounding, the house sat squat, a plain square
block, unbroken except by a doorway in front. A dustless path led to the door, through a bordering
of shrubs of Persian rose in perfect bloom. Breathing a sweet attar-perfume, he followed the guide.
At the end of a darkened passage within, they stopped before a curtain half parted. The man called
out,
"A stranger to see the master."
A clear voice replied, "In God's name, let him enter."
A Roman might have called the apartment into which the visitor was ushered his atrium. The walls
were panelled; each panel was comparted like a modern office-desk, and each compartment
crowded with labelled folios all filemot with age and use. Between the panels, and above and below
them, were borders of wood once white, now tinted like cream, and carved with marvellous
intricacy of design. Above a cornice of gilded balls, the ceiling rose in pavilion style until it broke
into a shallow dome set with hundreds of panes of violet mica, permitting a flood of light
deliciously reposeful.
The floor was carpeted with grey rugs so thick that an invading foot fell half buried and soundless.
In the midlight of the room were two persons – a man resting in a chair high-backed, broad-armed,
and lined with pliant cushions; and at his left, leaning against the back of the chair, a girl well
forward into womanhood. At sight of them Ben-Hur felt the blood redden his forehead; bowing, as
much to recover himself as in respect, he lost the lifting of the hands, and the shiver and shrink with
which the sitter caught sight of him – an emotion as swift to go as it had been to come. When he
raised his eyes the two were in the same position, except the girl's hand had fallen and was resting
lightly upon the elder's shoulder; both of them were regarding him fixedly.
"If you are Simonides, the merchant, and a Jew" – Ben-Hur stopped an instant – "then the peace of
the God of our father Abraham upon you and – yours."
The last word was addressed to the girl.
"I am the Simonides of whom you speak, by birthright a Jew," the man made answer, in a voice
singularly clear. "I am Simonides, and a Jew; and I return you your salutation, with prayer to know
who calls upon me."
Ben-Hur looked as he listened, and where the figure of the man should have been in healthful
roundness, there was only a formless heap sunk in the depths of the cushions, and covered by a
quilted robe of sombre silk. Over the heap shone a head royally proportioned – the ideal head of a
statesman and conqueror – a head broad of base and dome like in front, such as Angelo would have
modelled for Caesar. White hair dropped in thin locks over the white brows, deepening the
blackness of the eyes shining through them like sullen lights. The face was bloodless, and much
puffed with folds, especially under the chin. In other words, the head and face were those of a man
who might move the world more readily than the world could move him – a man to be twice twelve
times tortured into the shapeless cripple he was, without a groan, much less a confession; a man to
yield his life, but never a purpose or a point; a man born in armour, and assailable only through his
loves. To him Ben-Hur stretched his hands, open and palm up, as he would offer peace at the same
time he asked it.
"I am Judah, son of Ithamar, late head of the House of Hur, and a prince of Jerusalem."
The merchant's right hand lay outside the robe – a long, thin hand, articulate to deformity with
suffering. It closed tightly; otherwise there was not the slightest expression of feeling of any kind on
his part; nothing to warrant an inference of surprise or interest; nothing but this calm answer,
"The princes of Jerusalem, of the pure blood, are always welcome in my house; you are welcome.
Give the young man a seat, Esther."
The girl took an ottoman near by, and carried it to Ben-Hur. As she arose from placing the seat, their
eyes met.
"The peace of our Lord with you," she said, modestly. "Be seated and at rest."
When she resumed her place by the chair, she had not divined his purpose. The powers of woman
go not so far: if the matter is of finer feeling, such as pity, mercy, sympathy, that she detects; and
therein is a difference between her and man which will endure as long as she remains, by nature,
alive to such feelings. She was simply sure he brought some wound of life for healing.
Ben-Hur did not take the offered seat, but said, deferentially, "I pray the good master Simonides that
he will not hold me an intruder. Coming up the river yesterday, I heard he knew my father."
"I knew the Prince Hur. We were associated in some enterprises lawful to merchants who find profit
in lands beyond the sea and the desert. But sit, I pray you – and, Esther, some wine for the young
man. Nehemiah speaks of a son of Hur who once ruled the half part of Jerusalem; an old house;
very old, by the faith! In the days of Moses and Joshua even some of them found favour in the sight
of the Lord, and divided honours with those princes among men. It can hardly be that their
descendant, lineally come to us, will refuse a cup of wine-fat of the genuine vine of Sorek, grown
on the south hill-sides of Hebron."
By the time of the conclusion of this speech, Esther was before Ben-Hur with a silver cup filled
from a vase upon a table a little removed from the chair. She offered the drink with downcast face.
He touched her hand gently to put it away. Again their eyes met; whereat he noticed that she was
small, not nearly to his shoulder in height; but very graceful, and fair and sweet of face, with eyes
black and inexpressibly soft. She is kind and pretty, he thought, and looks as Tirzah would were she
living. Poor Tirzah! Then he said aloud,
"No, thy father – if he is thy father?" --he paused.
"I am Esther, the daughter of Simonides," she said, with dignity.
"Then, fair Esther, thy father, when he has heard my further speech, will not think worse of me if
yet I am slow to take his wine of famous extract; nor less I hope not to lose grace in thy sight. Stand
thou here with me a moment!"
Both of them, as in common cause, turned to the merchant. "Simonides!" he said, firmly, "my
father, at his death, had a trusted servant of thy name, and it has been told me that thou art the man!"
There was a sudden start of the wrenched limbs under the robe, and the thin hand clenched.
"Esther, Esther!" the man called, sternly; "here, not there, as thou art thy mother's child and mine –
here, not there, I say!"
The girl looked once from father to visitor; then she replaced the cup upon the table, and went
dutifully to the chair. Her countenance sufficiently expressed her wonder and alarm.
Simonides lifted his left hand, and gave it into hers, lying lovingly upon his shoulder, and said,
dispassionately, "I have grown old in dealing with men – old before my time. If he who told thee
that whereof thou speakest was a friend acquainted with my history, and spoke of it not harshly, he
must have persuaded thee that I could not be else than a man distrustful of my kind. The God of
Israel help him who, at the end of life, is constrained to acknowledge so much! My loves are few,
but they are. One of them is a soul which" – he carried the hand holding his to his lips, in manner
unmistakable – "a soul which to this time has been unselfishly mine, and such sweet comfort that,
were it taken from me, I would die."
Esther's head drooped until her cheek touched his.
"The other love is but a memory; of which I will say further that, like a benison of the Lord, it hath
a compass to contain a whole family, if only" – his voice lowered and trembled – "if only I knew
where they were."
Ben-Hur's face suffused, and, advancing a step, he cried, impulsively, "My mother and sister! Oh, it
is of them you speak!"
Esther, as if spoken to, raised her head; but Simonides returned to his calm, and answered, coldly,
"Hear me to the end. Because I am that I am, and because of the loves of which I have spoken,
before I make return to thy demand touching my relations to the Prince Hur, and as something
which of right should come first, do thou show me proofs of who thou art. Is thy witness in writing?
Or cometh it in person?"
The demand was plain, and the right of it indisputable. Ben-Hur blushed, clasped his hands,
stammered, and turned away at loss. Simonides pressed him.
"The proofs, the proofs, I say! Set them before me – lay them in my hands!"
Yet Ben-Hur had no answer. He had not anticipated the requirement; and, now that it was made, to
him as never before came the awful fact that the three years in the galley had carried away all the
proofs of his identity; mother and sister gone, he did not live in the knowledge of any human being.
Many there were acquainted with him, but that was all. Had Quintus Arrius been present, what
could he have said more than where he found him, and that he believed the pretender to be the son
of Hur? But, as will presently appear in full, the brave Roman sailor was dead. Judah had felt the
loneliness before; to the core of life the sense struck him now. He stood, hands clasped, face
averted, in stupefaction. Simonides respected his suffering, and waited in silence.
"Master Simonides," he said, at length, "I can only tell my story; and I will not that unless you stay
judgement so long, and with good-will deign to hear me."
"Speak," said Simonides, now, indeed, master of the situation – "speak, and I will listen the more
willingly that I have not denied you to be the very person you claim yourself."
Ben-Hur proceeded then, and told his life hurriedly, yet with the feeling which is the source of all
eloquence; but as we are familiar with it down to his landing at Misenum, in company with Arrius,
returned victorious from the AEgean, at that point we will take up the words.
"My benefactor was loved and trusted by the emperor, who heaped him with honourable rewards.
The merchants of the East contributed magnificent presents, and he became doubly rich among the
rich of Rome. May a Jew forget his religion? or his birthplace, if it were the Holy Land of our
fathers? The good man adopted me his son by formal rites of law; and I strove to make him just
return: no child was ever more dutiful to father than I to him. He would have had me a scholar; in
art, philosophy, rhetoric, oratory, he would have furnished me the most famous teacher. I declined
his insistence, because I was a Jew, and could not forget the Lord God, or the glory of the prophets,
or the city set on the hills by David and Solomon. Oh, ask you why I accepted any of the
benefactions of the Roman? I loved him; next place, I thought with his help, array influences which
would enable me one day to unseal the mystery close-locking the fate of my mother and sister; and
to these there was yet another motive of which I shall not speak except to say it controlled me so far
that I devoted myself to arms, and the acquisition of everything deemed essential to thorough
knowledge of the art of war. In the palaestrae and circuses of the city I toiled, and in the camps no
less; and in all of them I have a name, but not that of my fathers. The crowns I won – and on the
walls of the villa by Misenum there are many of them – all came to me as the son of Arrius, the
duumvir. In that relation only am I known among Romans.... In steadfast pursuit of my secret aim, I
left Rome for Antioch, intending to accompany the Consul Maxentius in the campaign he is
organizing against the Parthians. Master of personal skill in all arms, I seek now the higher
knowledge pertaining to the conduct of bodies of men in the field. The consul has admitted me one
of his military family. But yesterday, as our ship entered the Orontes, two other ships sailed in with
us flying yellow flags. A fellow-passenger and countryman from Cyprus explained that the vessels
belonged to Simonides, the master-merchant of Antioch; he told us, also, who the merchant was; his
marvellous success in commerce; of his fleets and caravans, and their coming and going; and, not
knowing I had interest in the theme beyond my associate listeners, he said Simonides was a Jew,
once the servant of the Prince Hur; nor did he conceal the cruelties of Gratus, or the purpose of their
infliction."
At this allusion Simonides bowed his head, and, as if to help him conceal his feelings and her own
deep sympathy, the daughter hid her face on his neck. Directly he raised his eyes, and said, in a
clear voice, "I am listening."
"O good Simonides!" Ben-Hur then said, advancing a step, his whole soul seeking expression, "I
see thou art not convinced, and that yet I stand in the shadow of thy distrust."
The merchant held his features fixed as marble, and his tongue as still.
"And not less clearly, I see the difficulties of my position," Ben-Hur continued. "All my Roman
connection I can prove; I have only to call upon the consul, now the guest of the governor of the
city; but I cannot prove the particulars of thy demand upon me. I cannot prove I am my father's son.
They who could serve me in that – alas! they are dead or lost."
He covered his face with his hands; whereupon Esther arose, and, taking the rejected cup to him,
said, "The wine is of the country we all so love. Drink, I pray thee!"
The voice was sweet as that of Rebekah offering drink at the well near Nahor the city; he saw there
were tears in her eyes, and he drank, saying, "Daughter of Simonides, thy heart is full of goodness;
and merciful art thou to let the stranger share it with thy father. Be thou blessed of our God! I thank
thee."
Then he addressed himself to the merchant again:
"As I have no proof that I am my father's son, I will withdraw that I demanded of thee, O
Simonides, and go hence to trouble you no more; only let me say I did not seek thy return to
servitude nor account of thy fortune; in any event, I would have said, as now I say, that all which is
product of thy labour and genius is thine; keep it in welcome. I have no need of any part thereof.
When the good Quintus, my second father, sailed on the voyage which was his last, he left me his
heir, princely rich. If, therefore, thou cost think of me again, be it with remembrance of this
question, which, as I do swear by the prophets and Jehovah, thy God and mine, was the chief
purpose of my coming here: What cost thou know – what canst thou tell me – of my mother and
Tirzah, my sister – she who should be in beauty and grace even as this one, thy sweetness of life, if
not thy very life? Oh! what canst thou tell me of them?"
The tears ran down Esther's cheeks; but the man was wilful: in a clear voice, he replied,
"I have said I knew the Prince Ben-Hur. I remember hearing of the misfortune which overtook his
family. I remember the bitterness with which I heard it. He who wrought such misery to the widow
of my friend is the same who, in the same spirit, hath since wrought upon me. I will go further, and
say to you, I have made diligent quest concerning the family, but – I have nothing to tell you of
them. They are lost."
Ben-Hur uttered a great groan.
"Then – then it is another hope broken!" he said, struggling with his feelings. "I am used to
disappointments. I pray you pardon my intrusion; and if I have occasioned you annoyance, forgive
it because of my sorrow. I have nothing now to live for but vengeance. Farewell."
At the curtain he turned, and said, simply, "I thank you both."
"Peace go with you," the merchant said.
Esther could not speak for sobbing.
And so he departed.
CHAPTER IV
Scarcely was Ben-Hur gone, when Simonides seemed to wake as from sleep: his countenance
flushed; the sullen light of his eyes changed to brightness; and he said, cheerily,
"Esther, ring – quick!"
She went to the table, and rang a service-bell.
One of the panels in the wall swung back, exposing a doorway which gave admittance to a man
who passed round to the merchant's front, and saluted him with a half-salaam.
"Malluch, here – nearer – to the chair," the master said, imperiously. "I have a mission which shall
not fail though the sun should. Hearken! A young man is now descending to the store-room – tall,
comely, and in the garb of Israel; follow him, his shadow not more faithful; and every night send me
report of where he is, what he does, and the company he keeps; and if, without discovery, you
overhear his conversations, report them word for word, together with whatever will serve to expose
him, his habits, motives, life. Understand you? Go quickly! Stay, Malluch: if he leave the city, go
after him – and, mark you, Malluch, be as a friend. If he bespeak you, tell him what you will to the
occasion most suited, except that you are in my service, of that, not a word. Haste – make haste!"
The man saluted as before, and was gone.
Then Simonides rubbed his wan hands together, and laughed.
"What is the day, daughter?" he said, in the midst of the mood. "What is the day? I wish to
remember it for happiness come. See, and look for it laughing, and laughing tell me, Esther."
The merriment seemed unnatural to her; and, as if to entreat him from it, she answered, sorrowfully,
"Woe's me, father, that I should ever forget this day!"
His hands fell down the instant, and his chin, dropping upon his breast, lost itself in the muffling
folds of flesh composing his lower face.
"True, most true, my daughter!" he said, without looking up. "This is the twentieth day of the fourth
month. To-day, five years ago, my Rachel, thy mother, fell down and died. They brought me home
broken as thou seest me, and we found her dead of grief. Oh, to me she was a cluster of camphire in
the vineyards of En-Gedi! I have gathered my myrrh with my spice. I have eaten my honeycomb
with my honey. We laid her away in a lonely place – in a tomb cut in the mountain; no one near her.
Yet in the darkness she left me a little light, which the years have increased to a brightness of
morning." He raised his hand and rested it upon his daughter's head. "Dear Lord, I thank thee that
now in my Esther my lost Rachel liveth again!"
Directly he lifted his head, and said, as with a sudden thought, "Is it not clear day outside?"
"It was, when the young man came in."
"Then let Abimelech come and take me to the garden, where I can see the river and the ships, and I
will tell thee, dear Esther, why but now my mouth filled with laughter, and my tongue with singing,
and my spirit was like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices."
In answer to the bell a servant came, and at her bidding pushed the chair, set on little wheels for the
purpose, out of the room to the roof of the lower house, called by him his garden. Out through the
roses, and by beds of lesser flowers, all triumphs of careful attendance, but now unnoticed, he was
rolled to a position from which he could view the palace-tops over against him on the island, the
bridge in lessening perspective to the farther shore, and the river below the bridge crowded with
vessels, all swimming amidst the dancing splendours of the early sun upon the rippling water. There
the servant left him with Esther.
The much shouting of labourers, and their beating and pounding, did not disturb him any more than
the tramping of people on the bridge floor almost overhead, being as familiar to his ear as the view
before him to his eye, and therefore unnoticeable, except as suggestions of profits in promise.
Esther sat on the arm of the chair nursing his hand, and waiting his speech, which came at length in
the calm way, the mighty will having carried him back to himself.
"When the young man was speaking, Esther, I observed thee, and thought thou wert won by him."
Her eyes fell as she replied,
"Speak you of faith, father, I believed him."
"In thy eyes, then, he is the lost son of the Prince Hur?"
"If he is not – " She hesitated.
"And if he is not, Esther?"
"I have been thy handmaiden, father, since my mother answered the call of the Lord God; by thy
side I have heard and seen thee deal in wise ways with all manner of men seeking profit, holy and
unholy; and now I say, if indeed the young man be not the prince he claims to be, then before me
falsehood never played so well the part of righteous truth."
"By the glory of Solomon, daughter, thou speakest earnestly. Dost thou believe thy father his
father's servant?"
"I understood him to ask of that as something he had but heard."
For a time Simonides' gaze swam among his swimming ships, though they had no place in his mind.
"Well, thou art a good child, Esther, of genuine Jewish shrewdness, and of years and strength to
hear a sorrowful tale. Wherefore give me heed, and I will tell you of myself, and of thy mother, and
of many things pertaining to the past not in thy knowledge or thy dreams – things withheld from the
persecuting Romans for a hope's sake, and from thee that thy nature should grow towards the Lord
straight as the reed to the sun.... I was born in a tomb in the valley of Hinnom, on the south side of
Zion. My father and mother were Hebrew bond-servants, tenders of the fig and olive trees growing,
with many vines, in the King's Garden hard by Siloam; and in my boyhood I helped them. They
were of the class bound to serve forever. They sold me to the Prince Hur, then, next to Herod the
King, the richest man in Jerusalem. From the garden he transferred me to his storehouse in
Alexandria of Egypt, where I came of age. I served him six years, and in the seventh, by the law of
Moses, I went free."
Esther clapped her hands lightly.
"Oh, then, thou art not his father's servant!"
"Nay, daughter, hear. Now, in those days there were lawyers in the cloisters of the Temple who
disputed vehemently, saying the children of servants bound forever took the condition of their
parents; but the Prince Hur was a man righteous in all things, and an interpreter of the law after the
straightest sect, though not of them. He said I was a Hebrew servant bought, in the true meaning of
the great lawgiver, and, by sealed writings, which I yet have, he set me free."
"And my mother?" Esther asked.
"Thou shalt hear all, Esther; be patient. Before I am through thou shalt see it were easier for me to
forget myself than thy mother.... At the end of my service, I came up to Jerusalem to the Passover.
My master entertained me. I was in love with him already, and I prayed to be continued in his
service. He consented, and I served him yet another seven years, but as a hired son of Israel. In his
behalf I had charge of ventures on the sea by ships, and of ventures on land by caravans eastward to
Susa and Persepolis, and the lands of silk beyond them. Perilous passages were they, my daughter;
but the Lord blessed all I undertook. I brought home vast gains for the prince, and richer knowledge
for myself, without which I could not have mastered the charges since fallen to me.... One day I was
a guest in his house in Jerusalem. A servant entered with some sliced bread on a platter. She came to
me first. It was then I saw thy mother, and loved her, and took her away in my secret heart. After a
while a time came when I sought the prince to make her my wife. He told me she was bond-servant
forever; but if she wished, he would set her free that I might be gratified. She gave me love for love,
but was happy where she was, and refused her freedom. I prayed and besought, going again and
again after long intervals. She would be my wife, she all the time said, if I would become her fellow
in servitude. Our father Jacob served yet other seven years for his Rachel. Could I not as much for
mine? But thy mother said I must become as she, to serve forever. I came away, but went back.
Look, Esther, look here."
He pulled out the lobe of his left ear.
"See you not the scar of the awl?"
"I see it," she said; "and, oh, I see how thou didst love my mother!"
"Love her, Esther! She was to me more than the Shulamite to the singing king, fairer, more spotless;
a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon. The master, even as I
required him, took me to the judges, and back to his door, and thrust the awl through my ear into the
door, and I was his servant forever. So I won my Rachel. And was ever love like mine?"
Esther stooped and kissed him, and they were silent, thinking of the dead.
"My master was drowned at sea, the first sorrow that ever fell upon me," the merchant continued.
"There was mourning in his house, and in mine here in Antioch, my abiding-place at the time. Now,
Esther, mark you! When the good prince was lost, I had risen to be his chief steward, with
everything of property belonging to him in my management and control. Judge you how much he
loved and trusted me! I hastened to Jerusalem to render account to the widow. She continued me in
the stewardship. I applied myself with greater diligence. The business prospered, and grew year by
year. Ten years passed; then came the blow which you heard the young man tell about--the accident,
as he called it, to the Procurator Gratus. The Roman gave it out an attempt to assassinate him.
Under that pretext, by leave from Rome, he confiscated to his own use the immense fortune of the
widow and children. Nor stopped he there. That there might be no reversal of the judgement, he
removed all the parties interested. From that dreadful day to this the family of Hur have been lost.
The son, whom I had seen as a child, was sentenced to the galleys. The widow and daughter are
supposed to have been buried in some of the many dungeons of Judea, which, once closed upon the
doomed, are like sepulchres sealed and locked. They passed from the knowledge of men as utterly
as if the sea had swallowed them unseen. We could not hear how they died--nay, not even that they
were dead."
Esther's eyes were dewy with tears.
"Thy heart is good, Esther, good as thy mother's was; and I pray it have not the fate of most good
hearts – to be trampled upon by the unmerciful and blind. But hearken further. I went up to
Jerusalem to give help to my benefactress, and was seized at the gate of the city and carried to the
sunken cells of the Tower of Antonia; why, I knew not, until Gratus himself came and demanded of
me the moneys of the House of Hur, which he knew, after our Jewish custom of exchange, were
subject to my draft in the different marts of the world. He required me to sign to his order. I refused.
He had the houses, lands, goods, ships, and movable property of those I served; he had not their
moneys. I saw, if I kept favour in the sight of the Lord, I could rebuild their broken fortunes. I
refused the tyrant's demands. He put me to torture; my will held good, and he set me free, nothing
gained. I came home and began again, in the name of Simonides of Antioch, instead of the Prince
Hur of Jerusalem. Thou knowest, Esther, how I have prospered; that the increase of the millions of
the prince in my hands was miraculous; thou knowest how, at the end of three years, while going up
to Caesarea, I was taken and a second time tortured by Gratus to compel a confession that my goods
and moneys were subject to his order of confiscation; thou knowest he failed as before. Broken in
body, I came home and found my Rachel dead of fear and grief for me. The Lord our God reigned,
and I lived. From the emperor himself I bought immunity and license to trade throughout the world.
To-day--praised be He who maketh the clouds his chariot and walketh upon the winds! – to-day,
Esther, that which was in my hands for stewardship is multiplied into talents sufficient to enrich a
Caesar."
He lifted his head proudly; their eyes met; each read the other's thought. "What shall I with the
treasure, Esther?" he asked, without lowering his gaze.
"My father," she answered, in a low voice, "did not the rightful owner call for it but now?"
Still his look did not fail.
"And thou, my child; shall I leave thee a beggar?"
"Nay, father, am not I, because I am thy child, his bond-servant? And of whom was it written,
'Strength and honour are her clothing, and she shall rejoice in time to come?'"
A gleam of ineffable love lighted his face as he said, "The Lord hath been good to me in many
ways; but thou, Esther, art the sovereign excellence of his favour"
He drew her to his breast and kissed her many times.
"Hear now," he said, with clearer voice – "hear now why I laughed this morning. The young man
faced me the apparition of his father in comely youth. My spirit arose to salute him. I felt my trial
days were over and my labours ended. Hardly could I keep from crying out. I longed to take him by
the hand and show the balance I had earned, and say, 'Lo, 'tis all thine! and I am thy servant, ready
now to be called away.' And so I would have done, Esther, so I would have done, but that moment
three thoughts rushed to restrain me. I will be sure he is my master's son – such was the first
thought; if he is my master's son, I will learn somewhat of his nature. Of those born to riches,
bethink you, Esther, how many there are in whose hands riches are but breeding curses" – he
paused, while his hands clutched, and his voice shrilled with passion – "Esther, consider the pains I
endured at the Roman's hands; nay, not Gratus's alone: the merciless wretches who did his bidding
the first time and the last were Romans, and they all alike laughed to hear me scream. Consider my
broken body, and the years I have gone shorn of my stature; consider thy mother yonder in her
lonely tomb, crushed of soul as I of body; consider the sorrows of my master's family if they are
living, and the cruelty of their taking-off if they are dead; consider all, and, with Heaven's love
about thee, tell me, daughter, shall not a hair fall or a red drop run in expiation? Tell me not, as the
preachers sometimes do – tell me not that vengeance is the Lord's. Does he not work his will
harmfully as well as in love by agencies? Has he not his men of war more numerous than his
prophets? Is not his the law, Eye for eye, hand for hand, foot for foot? Oh, in all these years I have
dreamed of vengeance, and prayed and provided for it, and gathered patience from the growing of
my store, thinking and promising, as the Lord liveth, it will one day buy me punishment of the
wrong-doers? And when, speaking of his practise with arms, the young man said it was for a
nameless purpose, I named the purpose even as he spoke – vengeance! and that, Esther, that it was –
the third thought which held me still and hard while his pleading lasted, and made me laugh when
he was gone."
Esther caressed the faded hands, and said, as if her spirit with his were running forward to results,
"He is gone. Will he come again?"
"Ay, Malluch the faithful goes with him, and will bring him back when I am ready."
"And when will that be, father?"
"Not long, not long. He thinks all his witnesses dead. There is one living who will not fail to know
him, if he be indeed my master's son."
"His mother?"
"Nay, daughter, I will set the witness before him; till then let us rest the business with the Lord. I am
tired. Call Abimelech."
Esther called the servant, and they returned into the house.
CHAPTER V
When Ben-Hur sallied from the great warehouse, it was with the thought that another failure was to
be added to the many he had already met in the quest for his people; and the idea was depressing
exactly in proportion as the objects of his quest were dear to him; it curtained him round about with
a sense of utter loneliness on earth, which, more than anything else, serves to eke from a soul cast
down its remaining interest in life.
Through the people, and the piles of goods, he made way to the edge of the landing, and was
tempted by the cool shadows darkening the river's depth. The lazy current seemed to stop and wait
for him. In counteraction of the spell, the saying of the voyager flashed into memory – "Better be a
worm, and feed upon the mulberries of Daphne, than a king's guest." He turned, and walked rapidly
down the landing and back to the khan.
"The road to Daphne!" the steward said, surprised at the question Ben-Hur put to him. "You have
not been here before? Well, count this the happiest day of your life. You cannot mistake the road.
The next street to the left, going south, leads straight to Mount Sulpius, crowned by the altar of
Jupiter and the Amphitheatre; keep it to the third cross street, known as Herod's Colonnade; turn to
your right there, and hold the way through the old city of Seleucus to the bronze gates of Epiphanes.
There the road to Daphne begins – and may the gods keep you!"
A few directions respecting his baggage, and Ben-Hur set out.
The Colonnade of Herod was easily found; thence to the brazen gates, under a continuous marble
portico, he passed with a multitude mixed of people from all the trading nations of the earth.
It was about the fourth hour of the day when he passed out the gate, and found himself one of a
procession apparently interminable, moving to the famous Grove. The road was divided into
separate ways for footmen, for men on horses, and men in chariots; and those again into separate
ways for outgoers and incomers. The lines of division were guarded by low balustrading, broken by
massive pedestals, many of which were surmounted with statuary. Right and left of the road
extended margins of sward perfectly kept, relieved at intervals by groups of oak and sycamore trees,
and vine-clad summer-houses for the accommodation of the weary, of whom, on the return side,
there were always multitudes. The ways of the footmen were paved with red stone, and those of the
riders strewn with white sand compactly rolled, but not so solid as to give back an echo to hoof or
wheel. The number and variety of fountains at play were amazing, all gifts of visiting kings, and
called after them. Out south-west to the gates of the Grove, the magnificent thoroughfare stretched a
little over four miles from the city.
In his wretchedness of feeling, Ben-Hur barely observed the royal liberality which marked the
construction of the road. Nor more did he at first notice the crowd going with him. He treated the
processional displays with like indifference. To say truth, besides his self-absorption, he had not a
little of the complacency of a Roman visiting the provinces fresh from the ceremonies which daily
eddied round and round the golden pillar set up by Augustus as the centre of the world. It was not
possible for the provinces to offer anything new or superior. He rather availed himself of every
opportunity to push forward through the companies in the way, and too slow-going for his
impatience. By the time he reached Heracleia, a suburban village intermediate the city and the
Grove, he was somewhat spent with exercise, and began to be susceptible of entertainment. Once a
pair of goats led by a beautiful woman, woman and goats alike brilliant with ribbons and flowers,
attracted his attention. Then he stopped to look at a bull of mighty girth, and snowy white, covered
with vines freshly cut, and bearing on its broad back a naked child in a basket, the image of a young
Bacchus, squeezing the juice of ripened berries into a goblet, and drinking with libational formulas.
As he resumed his walk, he wondered whose altars would be enriched by the offerings. A horse
went by with clipped mane, after the fashion of the time, his rider superbly dressed. He smiled to
observe the harmony of pride between the man and the brute. Often after that he turned his head at
hearing the rumble of wheels and the dull thud of hoofs; unconsciously he was becoming interested
in the styles of chariots and charioteers, as they rustled past him going and coming. Nor was it long
until he began to make notes of the people around him. He saw they were of all ages, sexes, and
conditions, and all in holiday attire. One company was uniformed in white, another in black; some
bore flags, some smoking censers; some went slowly, singing hymns; others stepped to the music of
flutes and tabrets. If such were the going to Daphne every day in the year, what a wondrous sight
Daphne must be! At last there was a clapping of hands, and a burst of joyous cries; following the
pointing of many fingers, he looked and saw upon the brow of a hill the templed gate of the
consecrated Grove. The hymns swelled to louder strains; the music quickened time; and, borne
along by the impulsive current, and sharing the common eagerness, he passed in, and, Romanized in
taste as he was, fell to worshipping the place.
Rearward of the structure which graced the entrance-way – a purely Grecian pile – he stood upon a
broad esplanade paved with polished stone; around him a restless exclamatory multitude, in gayest
colours, relieved against the iridescent spray flying crystal-white from fountains; before him, off to
the south-west, dustless paths radiated out into a garden, and beyond that into a forest, over which
rested a veil of pale-blue vapour Ben-Hur gazed wistfully, uncertain where to go. A woman that
moment exclaimed,
"Beautiful! But where to now?"
Her companion, wearing a chaplet of bays, laughed and answered, "Go to, thou pretty barbarian!
The question implies an earthly fear; and did we not agree to leave all such behind in Antioch with
the rusty earth? The winds which blow here are respirations of the gods. Let us give ourselves to
waftage of the winds."
"But if we should get lost?"
"O thou timid! No one was ever lost in Daphne, except those on whom her gates close forever."
"And who are they?" she asked, still fearful.
"Such as have yielded to the charms of the place and chosen it for life and death. Hark! Stand we
here, and I will show you of whom I speak."
Upon the marble pavement there was a scurry of sandalled feet; the crowd opened, and a party of
girls rushed about the speaker and his fair friend, and began singing and dancing to the tabrets they
themselves touched. The woman, scared, clung to the man, who put an arm about her, and, with
kindled face, kept time to the music with the other hand overhead. The hair of the dancers floated
free, and their limbs blushed through the robes of gauze which scarcely draped them. Words may
not be used to tell of the voluptuousness of the dance. One brief round, and they darted off through
the yielding crowd lightly as they had come.
"Now what think you?" cried the man to the woman.
"Who are they?" she asked.
"Devadasi – priestesses devoted to the Temple of Apollo. There is an army of them. They make the
chorus in celebrations. This is their home. Sometimes they wander off to other cities, but all they
make is brought here to enrich the house of the divine musician. Shall we go now?"
Next minute the two were gone.
Ben-Hur took comfort in the assurance that no one was ever lost in Daphne, and he, too, set out –
where, he knew not.
A sculpture reared upon a beautiful pedestal in the garden attracted him first. It proved to be the
statue of a centaur. An inscription informed the unlearned visitor that it exactly represented Chiron,
the beloved of Apollo and Diana, instructed by them in the mysteries of hunting, medicine, music,
and prophecy. The inscription also bade the stranger look out at a certain part of the heavens, at a
certain hour of the clear night, and he would behold the dead alive among the stars, whither Jupiter
had transferred the good genius.
The wisest of the centaurs continued, nevertheless, in the service of mankind. In his hand he held a
scroll, on which, graven in Greek, were paragraphs of a notice:
"O Traveller!
"Art thou a stranger?
"I. Hearken to the singing of the brooks, and fear not the rain of the fountains; so will the Naiades
learn to love thee.
"II. The invited breezes of Daphne are Zephyrus and Auster; gentle ministers of life, they will
gather sweets for thee; when Eurus blows, Diana is elsewhere hunting; when Boreas blusters, go
hide, for Apollo is angry.
"III. The shades of the Grove are thine in the day; at night they belong to Pan and his Dryades.
Disturb them not.
"IV. Eat of the Lotus by the brooksides sparingly, unless thou wouldst have surcease of memory,
which is to become a child of Daphne.
"V. Walk thou round the weaving spider – 'tis Arachne at work for Minerva.
"VI. Wouldst thou behold the tears of Daphne, break but a bud from a laurel bough – and die.
"Heed thou!
"And stay and be happy."
Ben-Hur left the interpretation of the mystic notice to others fast enclosing him, and turned away as
the white bull was led by. The boy sat in the basket, followed by a procession; after them again, the
woman with the goats; and behind her the flute and tabret players, and another procession of gift
bringers
"Whither go they?" asked a bystander.
Another made answer, "The bull to Father Jove; the goat – "
"Did not Apollo once keep the flocks of Admetus?"
"Ay, the goat to Apollo!"
The goodness of the reader is again besought in favour of an explanation. A certain facility of
accommodation in the matter of religion comes to us after much intercourse with people of a
different faith; gradually we attain the truth that every creed is illustrated by good men who are
entitled to our respect, but whom we cannot respect without courtesy to their creed. To this point
Ben-Hur had arrived. Neither the years in Rome nor those in the galley had made any impression
upon his religious faith; he was yet a Jew. In his view, nevertheless, it was not an impiety to look for
the beautiful in the Grove of Daphne.
The remark does not interdict the further saying, if his scruples had been ever so extreme, not
improbably he would at this time have smothered them. He was angry; not as the irritable, from
chafing of a trifle; nor was his anger like the fool's, pumped from the wells of nothing, to be
dissipated by a reproach or a curse; it was the wrath peculiar to ardent natures rudely awakened by
the sudden annihilation of a hope – dream, if you will – in which the choicest happinesses were
thought to be certainly in reach. In such case nothing intermediate will carry off the passion – the
quarrel is with Fate.
Let us follow the philosophy a little further, and say to ourselves, it were well in such quarrels if
Fate were something tangible, to be despatched with a look or a blow, or a speaking personage with
whom high words were possible; then the unhappy mortal would not always end the affair by
punishing himself.
In ordinary mood, Ben-Hur would not have come to the Grove alone, or, coming alone, he would
have availed himself of his position in the consul's family, and made provision against wandering
idly about, unknowing and unknown; he would have had all the points of interest in mind, and gone
to them under guidance, as in the despatch of business; or, wishing to squander days of leisure in
the beautiful place, he would have had in hand a letter to the master of it all, whoever he might be.
This would have made him a sightseer, like the shouting herd he was accompanying; whereas he
had no reverence for the deities of the Grove, nor curiosity; a man in the blindness of bitter
disappointment, he was adrift, not waiting for Fate, but seeking it as a desperate challenger.
Every one has known this condition of mind, though perhaps not all in the same degree; every one
will recognize it as the condition in which he has done brave things with apparent serenity; and
every one reading will say, Fortunate for Ben-Hur if the folly which now catches him is but a
friendly harlequin with whistle and painted cap, and not some Violence with a pointed sword
pitiless.
CHAPTER VI
Ben-Hur entered the woods with the processions. He had not interest enough at first to ask where
they were going; yet, to relieve him from absolute indifference, he had a vague impression that they
were in movement to the temples, which were the central objects of the Grove, supreme in
attractions.
Presently, as singers dreamfully play with a flitting chorus, he began repeating to himself, "Better
be a worm, and feed on the mulberries of Daphne, than a king's guest." Then of the much repetition
arose questions importunate of answer. Was life in the Grove so very sweet? Wherein was the
charm? Did it lie in some tangled depth of philosophy? Or was it something in fact, something on
the surface, discernible to every-day wakeful senses? Every year thousands, forswearing the world,
gave themselves to service here. Did they find the charm? And was it sufficient, when found, to
induce forgetfulness profound enough to shut out of mind the infinitely diverse things of life? those
that sweeten and those that embitter? hopes hovering in the near future as well as sorrows born of
the past? If the Grove were so good for them, why should it not be good for him? He was a Jew;
could it be that the excellences were for all the world but children of Abraham? Forthwith he bent
all his faculties to the task of discovery, unmindful of the singing of the gift-bringers and the quips
of his associates.
In the quest, the sky yielded him nothing; it was blue, very blue, and full of twittering swallows--so
was the sky over the city.
Further on, out of the woods at his right hand, a breeze poured across the road, splashing him with a
wave of sweet smells, blent of roses and consuming spices. He stopped, as did others, looking the
way the breeze came.
"A garden over there?" he said, to a man at his elbow.
"Rather some priestly ceremony in performance--something to Diana, or Pan, or a deity of the
woods."
The answer was in his mother tongue. Ben-Hur gave the speaker a surprised look.
"A Hebrew?" he asked him.
The man replied with a deferential smile,
"I was born within a stone's-throw of the market-place in Jerusalem."
Ben-Hur was proceeding to further speech, when the crowd surged forward, thrusting him out on
the side of the walk next the woods, and carrying the stranger away. The customary gown and staff,
a brown cloth on the head tied by a yellow rope, and a strong Judean face to avouch the garments of
honest right, remained in the young man's mind, a kind of summary of the man.
This took place at a point where a path into the woods began, offering a happy escape from the
noisy processions. Ben-Hur availed himself of the offer.
He walked first into a thicket which, from the road, appeared in a state of nature, close,
impenetrable, a nesting-place for wild birds. A few steps, however, gave him to see the master's
hand even there. The shrubs were flowering or fruit-bearing; under the bending branches the ground
was pranked with brightest blooms; over them the jasmine stretched its delicate bonds. From lilac
and rose, and lily and tulip, from oleander and strawberry-tree, all old friends in the gardens of the
valleys about the city of David, the air, lingering or in haste, loaded itself with exhalations day and
night; and that nothing might be wanting to the happiness of the nymphs and naiads, down through
the flower-lighted shadows of the mass a brook went its course gently, and by many winding ways.
Out of the thicket, as he proceeded, on his right and left, issued the cry of the pigeon and the cooing
of turtle-doves; blackbirds waited for him, and bided his coming close; a nightingale kept its place
fearless, though he passed in arm's-length; a quail ran before him at his feet, whistling to the brood
she was leading, and as he paused for them to get out of his way, a figure crawled from a bed of
honeyed musk brilliant with balls of golden blossoms. Ben-Hur was startled. Had he, indeed, been
permitted to see a satyr at home? The creature looked up at him, and showed in its teeth a hooked
pruning-knife; he smiled at his own scare, and, lo! the charm was evolved! Peace without fear--
peace a universal condition – that it was!
He sat upon the ground beneath a citron-tree, which spread its grey roots sprawling to receive a
branch of the brook. The nest of a titmouse hung close to the bubbling water, and the tiny creature
looked out of the door of the nest into his eyes. "Verily, the bird is interpreting to me," he thought.
"It says, 'I am not afraid of you, for the law of this happy place is Love.'"
The charm of the Grove seemed plain to him; he was glad, and determined to render himself one of
the lost in Daphne. In charge of the flowers and shrubs, and watching the growth of all the dumb
excellences everywhere to be seen, could not he, like the man with the pruning-knife in his mouth,
forego the days of his troubled life – forego them forgetting and forgotten?
But by-and-by his Jewish nature began to stir within him.
The charm might be sufficient for some people. Of what kind were they?
Love is delightful – ah! how pleasant as a successor to wretchedness like his. But was it all there
was of life? All?
There was an unlikeness between him and those who buried themselves contentedly here. They had
no duties – they could not have had; but he – "God of Israel!" he cried aloud, springing to his feet,
with burning cheeks – "Mother! Tirzah! Cursed be the moment, cursed the place, in which I yield
myself happy in your loss!"
He hurried away through the thicket, and came to a stream flowing with the volume of a river
between banks of masonry, broken at intervals by gated sluice ways A bridge carried the path he
was traversing across the stream; and, standing upon it, he saw other bridges, no two of them alike.
Under him the water was lying in a deep pool, clear as a shadow; down a little way it tumbled with
a roar over rocks; then there was another pool, and another cascade; and so on, out of view; and
bridges and pools and resounding cascades said, plainly as inarticulate things can tell a story, the
river was running by permission of a master, exactly as the master would have it, tractable as
became a servant of the gods.
Forward from the bridge he beheld a landscape of wide valleys and irregular heights, with groves
and lakes and fanciful houses linked together by white paths and shining streams. The valleys were
spread below, that the river might be poured upon them for refreshment in days of drought, and they
were as green carpets figured with beds and fields of flowers, and flecked with flocks of sheep
white as balls of snow; and the voices of shepherds following the flocks were heard afar. As if to tell
him of the pious inscription of all he beheld, the altars out under the open sky seemed countless,
each with a white-gowned figure attending it, while processions in white went slowly hither and
thither between them; and the smoke of the altars half-risen hung collected in pale clouds over the
devoted places.
Here, there, happy in flight, intoxicated in pause, from object to object, point to point, now in the
meadow, now on the heights, now lingering to penetrate the groves and observe the processions,
then lost in efforts to pursue the paths and streams which trended mazily into dim perspectives to
end finally in – Ah, what might be a fitting end to scene so beautiful! What adequate mysteries were
hidden behind an introduction so marvellous! Here and there, the speech was beginning, his gaze
wandered, so he could not help the conviction, forced by the view, and as the sum of it all, that there
was peace in the air and on the earth, and invitation everywhere to come and lie down here and be
at rest.
Suddenly a revelation dawned upon him – the Grove was, in fact, a temple – one far-reaching, wall
less temple!
Never anything like it!
The architect had not stopped to pother about columns and porticos, proportions or interiors, or any
limitation upon the epic he sought to materialize; he had simply made a servant of Nature--art can
go no further. So the cunning son of Jupiter and Callisto built the old Arcadia; and in this, as in that,
the genius was Greek.
From the bridge Ben-Hur went forward into the nearest valley.
He came to a flock of sheep. The shepherd was a girl, and she beckoned him, "Come!"
Farther on, the path was divided by an altar – a pedestal of black gneiss, capped with a slab of white
marble deftly foliated, and on that a brazier of bronze holding a fire. Close by it, a woman, seeing
him, waved a wand of willow, and as he passed called him, "Stay!" And the temptation in her smile
was that of passionate youth.
On yet further, he met one of the processions; at its head a troop of little girls, nude except as they
were covered with garlands, piped their shrill voices into a song; then a troop of boys, also nude,
their bodies deeply sun-browned, came dancing to the song of the girls; behind them the procession,
all women, bearing baskets of spices and sweets to the altars – women clad in simple robes, careless
of exposure. As he went by they held their hands to him, and said, "Stay, and go with us." One, a
Greek, sang a verse from Anacreon:
"For to-day I take or give;
For to-day I drink and live;
For to-day I beg or borrow;
Who knows about the silent morrow?"
But he pursued his way indifferent, and came next to a grove luxuriant, in the heart of the vale at the
point where it would be most attractive to the observing eye. As it came close to the path he was
travelling, there was a seduction in its shade, and through the foliage he caught the shining of what
appeared a pretentious statue; so he turned aside, and entered the cool retreat.
The grass was fresh and clean. The trees did not crowd each other; and they were of every kind
native to the East, blended well with strangers adopted from far quarters; here grouped in exclusive
companionship palm-trees plumed like queens; there sycamores, over topping laurels of darker
foliage; and evergreen oaks rising verdantly, with cedars vast enough to be kings on Lebanon; and
mulberries; and terebinths so beautiful it is not hyperbole to speak of them as blown from the
orchards of Paradise.
The statue proved to be a Daphne of wondrous beauty. Hardly, however, had he time to more than
glance at her face: at the base of the pedestal a girl and a youth were lying upon a tiger's skin asleep
in each other's arms; close by them the implements of their service – his axe and sickle, her basket –
flung carelessly upon a heap of fading roses.
The exposure startled him. Back in the hush of the perfumed thicket he discovered, as he thought,
that the charm of the great Grove was peace without fear, and almost yielded to it; now, in this sleep
in the day's broad glare – this sleep at the feet of Daphne – he read a further chapter to which only
the vaguest allusion is sufferable. The law of the place was Love, but Love without Law.
And this was the sweet peace of Daphne!
This the life's end of her ministers!
For this kings and princes gave of their revenues!
For this a crafty priesthood subordinated nature – her birds and brooks and lilies, the river, the
labour of many hands, the sanctity of altars, the fertile power of the sun!
It would be pleasant now to record that as Ben-Hur pursued his walk assailed by such reflections, he
yielded somewhat to sorrow for the votaries of the great outdoor temple; especially for those who,
by personal service, kept it in a state so surpassingly lovely. How they came to the condition was
not any longer a mystery; the motive, the influence, the inducement, were before him. Some there
were, no doubt, caught by the promise held out to their troubled spirits of endless peace in a
consecrated abode, to the beauty of which, if they had not money, they could contribute their
labour; this class implied intellect peculiarly subject to hope and fear; but the great body of the
faithful could not be classed with such. Apollo's nets were wide, and their meshes small; and hardly
may one tell what all his fishermen landed: this less for that they cannot be described than because
they ought not to be. Enough that the mass were of the sybarites of the world, and of the herds in
number vaster and in degree lower – devotees of the unmixed sensualism to which the East was
almost wholly given. Not to any of the exaltations – not to the singing-god, or his unhappy mistress;
not to any philosophy requiring for its enjoyment the calm of retirement, nor to any service for the
comfort there is in religion, nor to love in its holier sense – were they abiding their vows. Good
reader, why shall not the truth be told here? Why not learn that, at this age, there were in all earth
but two peoples capable of exaltations of the kind referred to – those who lived by the law of
Moses, and those who lived by the law of Brahma. They alone could have cried you, Better a law
without love than a love without law.
Besides that, sympathy is in great degree a result of the mood we are in at the moment: anger
forbids the emotion. On the other hand, it is easiest taken on when we are in a state of most absolute
self-satisfaction. Ben-Hur walked with a quicker step, holding his head higher; and, while not less
sensitive to the delightfulness of all about him, he made his survey with calmer spirit, though
sometimes with curling lip; that is to say, he could not so soon forget how nearly he himself had
been imposed upon.
CHAPTER VII
In front of Ben-Hur there was a forest of cypress-trees, each a column tall and straight as a mast.
Venturing into the shady precinct, he heard a trumpet gaily blown, and an instant after saw lying
upon the grass close by the countryman whom he had run upon in the road going to the temples.
The man arose, and came to him.
"I give you peace again," he said, pleasantly.
"Thank you," Ben-Hur replied, then asked, "Go you my way?"
"I am for the stadium, if that is your way."
"The stadium!"
"Yes. The trumpet you heard but now was a call for the competitors."
"Good friend," said Ben-Hur, frankly, "I admit my ignorance of the Grove; and if you will let me be
your follower, I will be glad."
"That will delight me. Hark! I hear the wheels of the chariots. They are taking the track."
Ben-Hur listened a moment, then completed the introduction by laying his hand upon the man's
arm, and saying, "I am the son of Arrius, the duumvir, and thou?"
"I am Malluch, a merchant of Antioch."
"Well, good Malluch, the trumpet, and the gride of wheels, and the prospect of diversion excite me.
I have some skill in the exercises. In the palaestrae of Rome I am not unknown. Let us to the
course."
Malluch lingered to say, quickly, "The duumvir was a Roman, yet I see his son in the garments of a
Jew."
"The noble Arrius was my father by adoption," Ben-Hur answered.
"Ah! I see, and beg pardon."
Passing through the belt of forest, they came to a field with a track laid out upon it, in shape and
extent exactly like those of the stadia. The course, or track proper, was of soft earth, rolled and
sprinkled, and on both sides defined by ropes, stretched loosely upon upright javelins. For the
accommodation of spectators, and such as had interests reaching forward of the mere practise, there
were several stands shaded by substantial awnings, and provided with seats in rising rows. In one of
the stands the two new-comers found places.
Ben-Hur counted the chariots as they went by – nine in all.
"I commend the fellows," he said, with good-will. "Here in the East, I thought they aspired to
nothing better than the two; but they are ambitious, and play with royal fours. Let us study their
performance."
Eight of the fours passed the stand, some walking, others on the trot, and all unexceptionably
handled; then the ninth one came on the gallop. Ben-Hur burst into exclamation.
"I have been in the stables of the emperor, Malluch, but, by our father Abraham of blessed memory!
I never saw the like of these."
The last four was then sweeping past. All at once they fell into confusion. Some one on the stand
uttered a sharp cry. Ben-Hur turned, and saw an old man half-risen from an upper seat, his hands
clenched and raised, his eyes fiercely bright, his long white beard fairly quivering. Some of the
spectators nearest him began to laugh.
"They should respect his beard at least. Who is he?" asked Ben-Hur.
"A mighty man from the Desert, somewhere beyond Moab, and owner of camels in herds, and
horses descended, they say, from the racers of the first Pharaoh – Sheik Ilderim by name and title."
Thus Malluch replied.
The driver meanwhile exerted himself to quiet the four, but without avail. Each ineffectual effort
excited the sheik the more.
"Abaddon seize him!" yelled the patriarch, shrilly. "Run! fly! do you hear, my children?" The
question was to his attendants, apparently of the tribe. "Do you hear? They are Desert-born, like
yourselves. Catch them – quick!"
The plunging of the animals increased.
"Accursed Roman!" and the sheik shook his fist at the driver. "Did he not swear he could drive
them – swear it by all his brood of bastard Latin gods? Nay, hands off me – off, I say! They should
run swift as eagles, and with the temper of hand-bred lambs, he swore. Cursed be he – cursed the
mother of liars who calls him son! See them, the priceless! Let him touch one of them with a lash,
and" – the rest of the sentence was lost in a furious grinding of his teeth. "To their heads, some of
you, and speak them – a word, one is enough, from the tent-song your mothers sang you. Oh, fool,
fool that I was to put trust in a Roman!"
Some of the shrewder of the old man's friends planted themselves between him and the horses. An
opportune failure of breath on his part helped the stratagem.
Ben-Hur, thinking he comprehended the sheik, sympathized with him. Far more than mere pride of
property – more than anxiety for the result of the race – in his view it was within the possible for the
patriarch, according to his habits of thought and his ideas of the inestimable, to love such animals
with a tenderness akin to the most sensitive passion.
They were all bright bays, unspotted, perfectly matched, and so proportioned as to seem less than
they really were. Delicate ears pointed small heads; the faces were broad and full between the eyes;
the nostrils in expansion disclosed membrane so deeply red as to suggest the flashing of flame; the
necks were arches, overlaid with fine mane so abundant as to drape the shoulders and breast, while
in happy consonance the forelocks were like ravellings of silken veils; between the knees and the
fetlocks the legs were flat as an open hand, but above the knees they were rounded with mighty
muscles, needful to upbear the shapely close-knit bodies; the hoofs were like cups of polished agate;
and in rearing and plunging they whipped the air, and sometimes the earth, with tails glossy-black
and thick and long. The sheik spoke of them as the priceless, and it was a good saying.
In this second and closer look at the horses, Ben-Hur read the story of their relation to their master.
They had grown up under his eyes, objects of his special care in the day, his visions of pride in the
night, with his family at home in the black tent out on the shadeless bosom of the desert, as his
children beloved. That they might win him a triumph over the haughty and hated Roman, the old
man had brought his loves to the city, never doubting they would win, if only he could find a trusty
expert to take them in hand; not merely one with skill, but of a spirit which their spirits would
acknowledge. Unlike the colder people of the West, he could not protest the driver's inability, and
dismiss him civilly; an Arab and a sheik, he had to explode, and rive the air about him with clamour
Before the patriarch was done with his expletives, a dozen hands were at the bits of the horses, and
their quiet assured. About that time, another chariot appeared upon the track; and, unlike the others,
driver, vehicle, and races were precisely as they would be presented in the Circus the day of final
trial. For a reason which will presently be more apparent, it is desirable now to give this turnout
plainly to the reader.
There should be no difficulty in understanding the carriage known to us all as the chariot of
classical renown. One has but to picture to himself a dray with low wheels and broad axle,
surmounted by a box open at the tail end. Such was the primitive pattern. Artistic genius came along
in time, and, touching the rude machine, raised it into a thing of beauty--that, for instance, in which
Aurora, riding in advance of the dawn, is given to our fancy.
The jockeys of the ancients, quite as shrewd and ambitious as their successors of the present, called
their humblest turnout a two, and their best in grade a four; in the latter, they contested the
Olympics and the other festal shows founded in imitation of them.
The same sharp gamesters preferred to put their horses to the chariot all abreast; and for distinction
they termed the two next the pole yoke-steeds, and those on the right and left outside trace-mates. It
was their judgement, also, that, by allowing the fullest freedom of action, the greatest speed was
attainable; accordingly, the harness resorted to was peculiarly simple; in fact, there was nothing of it
save a collar round the animal's neck, and a trace fixed to the collar, unless the lines and a halter fall
within the term. Wanting to hitch up, the masters pinned a narrow wooden yoke, or cross-tree, near
the end of the pole, and, by straps passed through rings at the end of the yoke, buckled the latter to
the collar. The traces of the yokesteeds they hitched to the axle; those of the trace-mates to the top
rim of the chariot-bed. There remained then but the adjustment of the lines, which, judged by the
modern devices, was not the least curious part of the method. For this there was a large ring at the
forward extremity of the pole; securing the ends to that ring first, they parted the lines so as to give
one to each horse, and proceeded to pass them to the driver, slipping them separately through rings
on the inner side of the halters at the mouth.
With this plain generalization in mind, all further desirable knowledge upon the subject can be had
by following the incidents of the scene occurring.
The other contestants had been received in silence; the last comer was more fortunate. While
moving towards the stand from which we are viewing the scene, his progress was signalized by
loud demonstrations, by clapping of hands and cheers, the effect of which was to centre attention
upon him exclusively. His yoke-steeds, it was observed, were black, while the trace-mates were
snow-white. In conformity to the exacting canons of Roman taste, they had all four been mutilated;
that is to say, their tails had been clipped, and, to complete the barbarity, their shorn manes were
divided into knots tied with flaring red and yellow ribbons.
In advancing, the stranger at length reached a point where the chariot came into view from the
stand, and its appearance would of itself have justified the shouting. The wheels were very marvels
of construction. Stout bands of burnished bronze reinforced the hubs, otherwise very light; the
spokes were sections of ivory tusks, set in with the natural curve outward to perfect the dishing,
considered important then as now; bronze tires held the fellies, which were of shining ebony. The
axle, in keeping with the wheels, was tipped with heads of snarling tigers done in brass, and the bed
was woven of willow wands gilded with gold.
The coming of the beautiful horses and resplendent chariot drew Ben-Hur to look at the driver with
increased interest.
Who was he?
When Ben-Hur asked himself the question first, he could not see the man's face, or even his full
figure; yet the air and manner were familiar, and pricked him keenly with a reminder of a period
long gone.
Who could it be?
Nearer now, and the horses approaching at a trot. From the shouting and the gorgeousness of the
turnout, it was thought he might be some official favourite or famous prince. Such an appearance
was not inconsistent with exalted rank. Kings often struggled for the crown of leaves which was the
prize of victory. Nero and Commodus, it will be remembered, devoted themselves to the chariot.
Ben-Hur arose and forced a passage down nearly to the railing in front of the lower seat of the
stand. His face was earnest, his manner eager.
And directly the whole person of the driver was in view. A companion rode with him, in classic
description a Myrtilus, permitted men of high estate indulging their passion for the race-course.
Ben-Hur could see only the driver, standing erect in the chariot, with the reins passed several times
round his body--a handsome figure, scantily covered by a tunic of light-red cloth; in the right hand a
whip; in the other, the arm raised and lightly extended, the four lines. The pose was exceedingly
graceful and animated. The cheers and clapping of hands were received with statuesque
indifference. Ben-Hur stood transfixed – his instinct and memory had served him faithfully – THE
DRIVER WAS MESSALA.
By the selection of horses, the magnificence of the chariot, the attitude, and display of person –
above all, by the expression of the cold, sharp, eagle features, imperialized in his countrymen by
sway of the world through so many generations, Ben-Hur knew Messala unchanged, as haughty,
confident, and audacious as ever, the same in ambition, cynicism, and mocking insouciance.
CHAPTER VIII
As Ben-Hur descended the steps of the stand, an Arab arose upon the last one at the foot, and cried
out,
"Men of the East and West--hearken! The good Sheik Ilderim giveth greeting. With four horses,
sons of the favourites of Solomon the Wise, he bath come up against the best. Needs he most a
mighty man to drive them. Whoso will take them to his satisfaction, to him he promiseth
enrichment forever. Here – there – in the city and in the Circuses, and wherever the strong most do
congregate, tell ye this his offer. So saith my master, Sheik Ilderim the Generous."
The proclamation awakened a great buzz among the people under the awning. By night it would be
repeated and discussed in all the sporting circles of Antioch. Ben-Hur, hearing it, stopped and
looked hesitatingly from the herald to the sheik. Malluch thought he was about to accept the offer,
but was relieved when he presently turned to him, and asked, "Good Malluch, where to now?"
The worthy replied, with a laugh, "Would you liken yourself to others visiting the Grove for the first
time, you will straightway to hear your fortune told."
"My fortune, said you? Though the suggestion has in it a flavour of unbelief, let us to the goddess at
once."
"Nay, son of Arrius, these Apollonians have a better trick than that. Instead of speech with a Pythia
or a Sibyl, they will sell you a plain papyrus leaf, hardly dry from the stalk, and bid you dip it in the
water of a certain fountain, when it will show you a verse in which you may hear of your future."
The glow of interest departed from Ben-Hur's face.
"There are people who have no need to vex themselves about their future," he said, gloomily.
"Then you prefer to go to the temples?"
"The temples are Greek, are they not?"
"They call them Greek."
"The Hellenes were masters of the beautiful in art; but in architecture they sacrificed variety to
unbending beauty. Their temples are all alike. How call you the fountain?"
"Castalia."
"Oh! it has repute throughout the world. Let us thither."
Malluch kept watch on his companion as they went, and saw that for the moment at least his good
spirits were out. To the people passing he gave no attention; over the wonders they came upon there
were no exclamations; silently, even sullenly, he kept a slow pace.
The truth was, the sight of Messala had set Ben-Hur to thinking. It seemed scarce an hour ago that
the strong hands had torn him from his mother, scarce an hour ago that the Roman had put seal
upon the gates of his father's house. He recounted how, in the hopeless misery of the life – if such it
might be called – in the galleys, he had had little else to do, aside from labour, than dream dreams
of vengeance, in all of which Messala was the principal. There might be, he used to say to himself,
escape for Gratus, but for Messala – never! And to strengthen and harden his resolution, he was
accustomed to repeat over and over, Who pointed us out to the persecutors? And when I begged him
for help – not for myself – who mocked me, and went away laughing? And always the dream had
the same ending. The day I meet him, help me, thou good God of my people! – help me to some
fitting special vengeance!
And now the meeting was at hand.
Perhaps, if he had found Messala poor and suffering, Ben-Hur's feeling had been different; but it
was not so. He found him more than prosperous; in the prosperity there was a dash and glitter –
gleam of sun on gilt of gold.
So it happened that what Malluch accounted a passing loss of spirit was pondering when the
meeting should be, and in what manner he could make it most memorable.
They turned after a while into an avenue of oaks, where the people were going and coming in
groups; footmen here, and horsemen; there women in litters borne slaves; and now and then chariots
rolled by thunderously.
At the end of the avenue the road, by an easy grade, descended into a lowland, where, on the right
hand, there was a precipitous facing of grey rock, and on the left an open meadow of vernal
freshness. Then they came in view of the famous Fountain of Castalia.
Edging through a company assembled at the point, Ben-Hur beheld a jet of sweet water pouring
from the crest of a stone into a basin of black marble, where, after much boiling and foaming, it
disappeared as through a funnel.
By the basin, under a small portico cut in the solid wall, sat a priest, old, bearded, wrinkled,
cowled – never being more perfectly eremitish. From the manner of the people present, hardly
might one say which was the attraction, the fountain, forever sparkling, or the priest, forever there.
He heard, saw, was seen, but never spoke. Occasionally a visitor extended a hand to him with a coin
in it. With a cunning twinkle of the eyes, he took the money, and gave the party in exchange a leaf
of papyrus.
The receiver made haste to plunge the papyrus into the basin; then, holding the dripping leaf in the
sunlight, he would be rewarded with a versified inscription upon its face; and the fame of the
fountain seldom suffered loss by poverty of merit in the poetry. Before Ben-Hur could test the
oracle, some other visitors were seen approaching across the meadow, and their appearance piqued
the curiosity of the company, his not less than theirs.
He saw first a camel, very tall and very white, in leading of a driver on horseback. A houdah on the
animal, besides being unusually large, was of crimson and gold. Two other horsemen followed the
camel with tall spears in hand.
"What a wonderful camel!" said one of the company.
"A prince from afar," another one suggested.
"More likely a king."
"If he were on an elephant, I would say he was a king."
A third man had a very different opinion.
"A camel – and a white camel!" he said, authoritatively. "By Apollo, friends, they who come
yonder – you can see there are two of them – are neither kings nor princes; they are women!"
In the midst of the dispute the strangers arrived.
The camel seen at hand did not belie his appearance afar. A taller, statelier brute of his kind no
traveller at the fountain, though from the remotest parts, had ever beheld. Such great black eyes!
such exceedingly fine white hair! feet so contractile when raised, so soundless in planting, so broad
when set! – nobody had ever seen the peer of this camel. And how well he became his housing of
silk, and all its frippery of gold in fringe and gold in tassel! The tinkling of silver bells went before
him, and he moved lightly, as if unknowing of his burden.
But who were the man and woman under the houdah?
Every eye saluted them with the inquiry.
If the former were a prince or a king, the philosophers of the crowd might not deny the impartiality
of Time. When they saw the thin, shrunken face buried under an immense turban, the skin of the
hue of a mummy, making it impossible to form an idea of his nationality, they were pleased to think
the limit of life was for the great as well as the small. They saw about his person nothing so
enviable as the shawl which draped him.
The woman was seated in the manner of the East, amidst veils and laces of surpassing fineness.
Above her elbows she wore armlets fashioned like coiled asps, and linked to bracelets at the wrists
by strands of gold; otherwise the arms were bare and of singular natural grace, complemented with
hands modelled daintily as a child's. One of the hands rested upon the side of the carriage, showing
tapered fingers glittering with rings, and stained at the tips till they blushed like the pink of motherof-
pearl. She wore an open caul upon her head, sprinkled with beads of coral, and strung with coin
pieces called sunlets, some of which were carried across her forehead, while others fell down her
back, half-smothered in the mass of her straight blue-black hair, of itself an incomparable ornament,
not needing the veil which covered it, except as a protection against sun and dust. From her elevated
seat she looked upon the people calmly, pleasantly, and apparently so intent upon studying them as
to be unconscious of the interest she herself was exciting; and, what was unusual – nay, in violent
contravention of the custom among women of rank in public – she looked at them with an open
face.
It was a fair face to see; quite youthful; in form, oval: complexion not white, like the Greek; nor
brunet, like the Roman; nor blond, like the Gaul; but rather the tinting of the sun of the Upper Nile
upon a skin of such transparency that the blood shone through it on cheek and brow with nigh the
ruddiness of lamplight. The eyes, naturally large, were touched along the lids with the black paint
immemorial throughout the East. The lips were slightly parted, disclosing, through their scarlet
lake, teeth of glistening whiteness. To all these excellences of countenance the reader is finally
besought to super add the air derived from the pose of a small head, classic in shape, set upon a
neck long, drooping, and graceful – the air, we may fancy, happily described by the word queenly.
As if satisfied with the survey of people and locality, the fair creature spoke to the driver – an
Ethiopian of vast brawn, naked to the waist – who led the camel nearer the fountain, and caused it
to kneel; after which he received from her hand a cup, and proceeded to fill it at the basin. That
instant the sound of wheels and the trampling of horses in rapid motion broke the silence her beauty
had imposed, and, with a great outcry, the bystanders parted in every direction, hurrying to get
away.
"The Roman has a mind to ride us down. Look out!" Malluch shouted to Ben-Hur, setting him at the
same time an example of hasty flight.
The latter faced to the direction the sounds came from, and beheld Messala in his chariot pushing
the four straight at the crowd. This time the view was near and distinct.
The parting of the company uncovered the camel, which might have been more agile than his kind
generally; yet the hoofs were almost upon him, and he resting with closed eyes, chewing the endless
cud with such sense of security as long favouritism may be supposed to have bred in him. The
Ethiopian wrung his hands afraid. In the houdah, the old man moved to escape; but he was
hampered with age, and could not, even in the face of danger, forget the dignity which was plainly
his habit. It was too late for the woman to save herself. Ben-Hur stood nearest them, and he called
to Messala,
"Hold! Look where thou goest! Back, back!"
The patrician was laughing in hearty good-humour; and, seeing there was but one chance of rescue,
Ben-Hur stepped in, and caught the bits of the left yoke-steed and his mate. "Dog of a Roman!
Carest thou so little for life?" he cried, putting forth all his strength. The two horses reared, and
drew the others round; the tilting of the pole tilted the chariot; Messala barely escaped a fall, while
his complacent Myrtilus rolled back like a clod to the ground. Seeing the peril past, all the
bystanders burst into derisive laughter.
The matchless audacity of the Roman then manifested itself. Loosing the lines from his body, he
tossed them to one side, dismounted, walked round the camel, looked at Ben-Hur, and spoke partly
to the old man and partly to the woman.
"Pardon, I pray you – I pray you both. I am Messala," he said; "and, by the old Mother of the earth,
I swear I did not see you or your camel! As to these good people – perhaps I trusted too much to my
skill. I sought a laugh at them – the laugh is theirs. Good may it do them!"
The good-natured, careless look and gesture he threw the bystanders accorded well with the speech.
To hear what more he had to say, they became quiet. Assured of victory over the body of the
offended, he signed his companion to take the chariot to a safer distance, and addressed himself
boldly to the woman.
"Thou hast interest in the good man here, whose pardon, if not granted now, I shall seek with the
greater diligence hereafter; his daughter, I should say."
She made him no reply.
"By Pallas, thou art beautiful! Beware Apollo mistake thee not for his lost love. I wonder what land
can boast herself thy mother. Turn not away. A truce! a truce! There is the sun of India in thine eyes;
in the corners of thy mouth, Egypt hath set her love-signs. Perpol! Turn not to that slave, fair
mistress, before proving merciful to this one. Tell me at least that I am pardoned."
At this point she broke in upon him.
"Wilt thou come here?" she asked, smiling, and with gracious bend of the head to Ben-Hur.
"Take the cup and fill it, I pray thee," she said to the latter. "My father is thirsty."
"I am thy most willing servant!"
Ben-Hur turned about to do the favour, and was face to face with Messala. Their glances met; the
Jew's defiant; the Roman's sparkling with humour
"O stranger, beautiful as cruel!" Messala said, waving his hand to her. "If Apollo get thee not, thou
shalt see me again. Not knowing thy country, I cannot name a god to commend thee to; so, by all
the gods, I will commend thee to – myself!"
Seeing that Myrtilus had the four composed and ready, he returned to the chariot. The woman
looked after him as he moved away, and whatever else there was in her look, there was no
displeasure. Presently she received the water; her father drank; then she raised the cup to her lips,
and, leaning down, gave it to Ben-Hur; never action more graceful and gracious.
"Keep it, we pray of thee! It is full of blessings – all thine!"
Immediately the camel was aroused, and on his feet, and about to go, when the old man called,
"Stand thou here."
Ben-Hur went to him respectfully.
"Thou hast served the stranger well to-day. There is but one God. In his holy name I thank thee. I
am Balthasar, the Egyptian. In the Great Orchard of Palms, beyond the village of Daphne, in the
shade of the palms, Sheik Ilderim the Generous abideth in his tents, and we are his guests. Seek us
there. Thou shalt have welcome sweet with the savour of the grateful."
Ben-Hur was left in wonder at the old man's clear voice and reverend manner. As he gazed after the
two departing, he caught sight of Messala going as he had come, joyous, indifferent, and with a
mocking laugh.
CHAPTER IX
As a rule, there is no surer way to the dislike of men than to behave well where they have behaved
badly. In this instance, happily, Malluch was an exception to the rule. The affair he had just
witnessed raised Ben-Hur in his estimation, since he could not deny him courage and address; could
he now get some insight into the young man's history, the results of the day would not be all
unprofitable to good master Simonides.
On the latter point, referring to what he had as yet learned, two facts comprehended it all – the
subject of his investigation was a Jew, and the adopted son of a famous Roman. Another conclusion
which might be of importance was beginning to formulate itself in the shrewd mind of the emissary;
between Messala and the son of the duumvir there was a connection of some kind. But what was
it? – and how could it be reduced to assurance? With all his sounding, the ways and means of
solution were not at call. In the heat of the perplexity, Ben-Hur himself came to his help. He laid his
hand on Malluch's arm and drew him out of the crowd, which was already going back to its interest
in the grey old priest and the mystic fountain.
"Good Malluch," he said, stopping, "may a man forget his mother?"
The question was abrupt and without direction, and therefore of the kind which leaves the person
addressed in a state of confusion. Malluch looked into Ben-Hur's face for a hint of meaning, but
saw, instead, two bright-red spots, one on each cheek, and in his eyes traces of what might have
been repressed tears; then he answered, mechanically, "No!" adding, with fervour, "never;" and a
moment after, when he began to recover himself, "If he is an Israelite, never!" And when at length
he was completely recovered – "My first lesson in the synagogue was the Shema; my next was the
saying of the son of Sirach, 'Honour thy father with thy whole soul, and forget not the sorrows of
thy mother.'"
The red spots on Ben-Hur's face deepened.
"The words bring my childhood back again; and, Malluch, they prove you a genuine Jew. I believe I
can trust you."
Ben-Hur let go the arm he was holding, and caught the folds of the gown covering his own breast,
and pressed them close, as if to smother a pain, or a feeling there as sharp as a pain.
"My father," he said, "bore a good name, and was not without honour in Jerusalem, where he dwelt.
My mother, at his death, was in the prime of womanhood; and it is not enough to say of her she was
good and beautiful: in her tongue was the law of kindness, and her works were the praise of all in
the gates, and she smiled at days to come. I had a little sister, and she and I were the family, and we
were so happy that I, at least, have never seen harm in the saying of the old rabbi, 'God could not be
everywhere, and, therefore, he made mothers.' One day an accident happened to a Roman in
authority as he was riding past our house at the head of a cohort; the legionaries burst the gate and
rushed in and seized us. I have not seen my mother or sister since. I cannot say they are dead or
living. I do not know what became of them. But, Malluch, the man in the chariot yonder was
present at the separation; he gave us over to the captors; he heard my mother's prayer for her
children, and he laughed when they dragged her away. Hardly may one say which graves deepest in
memory, love or hate. To-day I knew him afar – and, Malluch – "
He caught the listener's arm again.
"And, Malluch, he knows and takes with him now the secret I would give my life for: he could tell
if she lives, and where she is, and her condition; if she – no, THEY – much sorrow has made the
two as one – if they are dead, he could tell where they died, and of what, and where their bones
await my finding."
"And will he not?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I am a Jew, and he is a Roman."
"But Romans have tongues, and Jews, though ever so despised, have methods to beguile them."
"For such as he? No; and, besides, the secret is one of state. All my father's property was
confiscated and divided."
Malluch nodded his head slowly, much as to admit the argument; then he asked anew, "Did he not
recognize you?"
"He could not. I was sent to death in life, and have been long since accounted of the dead."
"I wonder you did not strike him," said Malluch, yielding to a touch of passion.
"That would have been to put him past serving me forever. I would have had to kill him, and Death,
you know, keeps secrets better even than a guilty Roman."
The man who, with so much to avenge, could so calmly put such an opportunity aside must be
confident of his future or have ready some better design, and Malluch's interest changed with the
thought; it ceased to be that of an emissary in duty bound to another. Ben-Hur was actually asserting
a claim upon him for his own sake. In other words, Malluch was preparing to serve him with good
heart and from downright admiration.
After brief pause, Ben-Hur resumed speaking.
"I would not take his life, good Malluch; against that extreme the possession of the secret is for the
present, at least, his safeguard; yet I may punish him, and so you give me help, I will try."
"He is a Roman," said Malluch, without hesitation; "and I am of the tribe of Judah. I will help you.
If you choose, put me under oath – under the most solemn oath."
"Give me your hand, that will suffice."
As their hands fell apart, Ben-Hur said, with lightened feeling, "That I would charge you with is not
difficult, good friend; neither is it dreadful to conscience. Let us move on."
They took the road which led to the right across the meadow spoken of in the description of the
coming to the fountain. Ben-Hur was first to break the silence.
"Do you know Sheik Ilderim the Generous?"
"Yes."
"Where is his Orchard of Palms? or, rather, Malluch, how far is it beyond the village of Daphne?"
Malluch was touched by a doubt; he recalled the prettiness of the favour shown him by the woman
at the fountain, and wondered if he who had the sorrows of a mother in mind was about to forget
them for a lure of love; yet he replied, "The Orchard of Palms lies beyond the village two hours by
horse, and one by swift camel."
"Thank you; and to your knowledge once more. Have the games of which you told me been widely
published? and when will they take place?"
The questions were suggestive; and if they did not restore Malluch his confidence, they at least
stimulated his curiosity.
"Oh yes, they will be of ample splendour The prefect is rich, and could afford to lose his place; yet,
as is the way with successful men, his love of riches is no wise diminished; and to gain a friend at
court, if nothing more, he must make ado for the Consul Maxentius, who is coming hither to make
final preparations for a campaign against the Parthians. The money there is in the preparations the
citizens of Antioch know from experience; so they have had permission to join the prefect in the
honours intended for the great man. A month ago heralds went to the four quarters to proclaim the
opening of the Circus for the celebration. The name of the prefect would be of itself good guarantee
of variety and magnificence, particularly throughout the East; but when to his promises Antioch
joins hers, all the islands and the cities by the sea stand assured of the extraordinary, and will be
here in person or by their most famous professionals. The fees offered are royal."
"And the Circus – I have heard it is second only to the Maximus."
"At Rome, you mean. Well, ours seats two hundred thousand people, yours seats seventy-five
thousand more; yours is of marble, so is ours; in arrangement they are exactly the same."
"Are the rules the same?"
Malluch smiled.
"If Antioch dared be original, son of Arrius, Rome would not be the mistress she is. The laws of the
Circus Maximus govern except in one particular: there but four chariots may start at once, here all
start without reference to number."
"That is the practise of the Greeks," said Ben-Hur.
"Yes, Antioch is more Greek than Roman."
"So then, Malluch, I may choose my own chariot?"
"Your own chariot and horses. There is no restriction upon either."
While replying, Malluch observed the thoughtful look on Ben-Hur's face give place to one of
satisfaction.
"One thing more now, O Malluch. When will the celebration be?"
"Ah! your pardon," the other answered. "To-morrow – and the next day," he said, counting aloud,
"then, to speak in the Roman style, if the sea-gods be propitious, the consul arrives. Yes, the sixth
day from this we have the games."
"The time is short, Malluch, but it is enough." The last words were spoken decisively. "By the
prophets of our old Israel! I will take to the reins again. Stay! a condition; is there assurance that
Messala will be a competitor?"
Malluch saw now the plan, and all its opportunities for the humiliation of the Roman; and he had
not been true descendant of Jacob if, with all his interest wakened, he had not rushed to a
consideration of the chances. His voice actually trembled as he said, "Have you the practise?"
"Fear not, my friend. The winners in the Circus Maximus have held their crowns these three years
at my will. Ask them – ask the best of them – and they will tell you so. In the last great games the
emperor himself offered me his patronage if I would take his horses in hand and run them against
the entries of the world."
"But you did not?"
Malluch spoke eagerly.
"I – I am a Jew" – Ben-Hur seemed shrinking within himself as he spoke – "and, though I wear a
Roman name, I dared not do professionally a thing to sully my father's name in the cloisters and
courts of the Temple. In the palaestrae I could indulge practise which, if followed into the Circus,
would become an abomination; and if I take to the course here, Malluch, I swear it will not be for
the prize or the winner's fee."
"Hold – swear not so!" cried Malluch. "The fee is ten thousand sestertii – a fortune for life!"
"Not for me, though the prefect trebled it fifty times. Better than that, better than all the imperial
revenues from the first year of the first Caesar – I will make this race to humble my enemy.
Vengeance is permitted by the law."
Malluch smiled and nodded as if saying, "Right, right – trust me a Jew to understand a Jew."
"The Messala will drive," he said, directly. "He is committed to the race in many ways – by
publication in the streets, and in the baths and theatres, the palace and barracks; and, to fix him past
retreat, his name is on the tablets of every young spendthrift in Antioch."
"In wager, Malluch?"
"Yes, in wager; and every day he comes ostentatiously to practise, as you saw him."
"Ah! and that is the chariot, and those the horses, with which he will make the race? Thank you,
thank you, Malluch! You have served me well already. I am satisfied. Now be my guide to the
Orchard of Palms, and give me introduction to Sheik Ilderim the Generous."
"When?"
"To-day. His horses may be engaged to-morrow."
"You like them, then?"
Ben-Hur answered with animation,
"I saw them from the stand an instant only, for Messala then drove up, and I might not look at
anything else; yet I recognized them as of the blood which is the wonder as well as the glory of the
deserts. I never saw the kind before, except in the stables of Caesar; but once seen, they are always
to be known. To-morrow, upon meeting, I will know you, Malluch, though you do not so much as
salute me; I will know you by your face, by your form, by your manner; and by the same signs I
will know them, and with the same certainty. If all that is said of them be true, and I can bring their
spirit under control of mine, I can – "
"Win the sestertii!" said Malluch, laughing.
"No," answered Ben-Hur, as quickly. "I will do what better becomes a man born to the heritage of
Jacob – I will humble mine enemy in a most public place. But," he added, impatiently, "we are
losing time. How can we most quickly reach the tents of the sheik?"
Malluch took a moment for reflection.
"It is best we go straight to the village, which is fortunately near by; if two swift camels are to be
had for hire there, we will be on the road but an hour."
"Let us about it, then."
The village was an assemblage of palaces in beautiful gardens, interspersed with khans of princely
sort. Dromedaries were happily secured, and upon them the journey to the famous Orchard of Palms
was begun.
CHAPTER X
Beyond the village the country was undulating and cultivated; in fact, it was the garden-land of
Antioch, with not a foot lost to labour The steep faces of the hills were terraced; even the hedges
were brighter of the trailing vines which, besides the lure of shade, offered passers-by sweet
promises of wine to come, and grapes in clustered purple ripeness. Over melon-patches, and
through apricot and fig-tree groves, and groves of oranges and limes, the white-washed houses of
the farmers were seen; and everywhere Plenty, the smiling daughter of Peace, gave notice by her
thousand signs that she was at home, making the generous traveller merry at heart, until he was
even disposed to give Rome her dues. Occasionally, also, views were had of Taurus and Lebanon,
between which, a separating line of silver, the Orontes placidly pursued its way.
In course of their journey the friends came to the river, which they followed with the windings of
the road, now over bold bluffs, and then into vales, all alike allotted for country-seats, and if the
land was in full foliage of oak and sycamore and myrtle, and bay and arbutus, and perfuming
jasmine, the river was bright with slanted sunlight, which would have slept where it fell but for
ships in endless procession, gliding with the current, tacking for the wind, or bounding under the
impulse of oars--some coming, some going, and all suggestive of the sea, and distant peoples, and
famous places, and things coveted on account of their rarity. To the fancy there is nothing so
winsome as a white sail seaward blown, unless it be a white sail homeward bound, its voyage
happily done. And down the shore the friends went continuously till they came to a lake fed by
back-water from the river, clear, deep, and without current. An old palm-tree dominated the angle of
the inlet; turning to the left at the foot of the tree, Malluch clapped his hands and shouted,
"Look, look! The Orchard of Palms!"
The scene was nowhere else to be found unless in the favoured oases of Arabia or the Ptolemaean
farms along the Nile; and to sustain a sensation new as it was delightful, Ben-Hur was admitted into
a tract of land apparently without limit and level as a floor. All under foot was fresh grass, in Syria
the rarest and most beautiful production of the soil; if he looked up, it was to see the sky paley blue
through the groinery of countless date-bearers, very patriarchs of their kind, so numerous and old,
and of such mighty girth, so tall, so serried, so wide of branch, each branch so perfect with fronds,
plumy and wax-like and brilliant, they seemed enchanters enchanted. Here was the grass colouring
the very atmosphere; there the lake, cool and clear, rippling but a few feet under the surface, and
helping the trees to their long life in old age. Did the Grove of Daphne excel this one? And the
palms, as if they knew Ben-Hur's thought, and would win him after a way of their own, seemed, as
he passed under their arches, to stir and sprinkle him with dewy coolness.
The road wound in close parallelism with the shore of the lake; and when it carried the travellers
down to the water's edge, there was always on that side a shining expanse limited not far off by the
opposite shore, on which, as on this one, no tree but the palm was permitted.
"See that," said Malluch, pointing to a giant of the place. "Each ring upon its trunk marks a year of
its life. Count them from root to branch, and if the sheik tells you the grove was planted before the
Seleucidae were heard of in Antioch, do not doubt him."
One may not look at a perfect palm-tree but that, with a subtlety all its own, it assumes a presence
for itself, and makes a poet of the beholder. This is the explanation of the honours it has received,
beginning with the artists of the first kings, who could find no form in all the earth to serve them so
well as a model for the pillars of their palaces and temples; and for the same reason Ben-Hur was
moved to say,
"As I saw him at the stand to-day, good Malluch, Sheik Ilderim appeared to be a very common man.
The rabbis in Jerusalem would look down upon him, I fear, as a son of a dog of Edom. How came
he in possession of the Orchard? And how has he been able to hold it against the greed of Roman
governors?"
"If blood derives excellence from time, son of Arrius, then is old Ilderim a man, though he be an
uncircumcised Edomite."
Malluch spoke warmly.
"All his fathers before him were sheiks. One of them – I shall not say when he lived or did the good
deed – once helped a king who was being hunted with swords. The story says he loaned him a
thousand horsemen, who knew the paths of the wilderness and its hiding-places as shepherds know
the scant hills they inhabit with their flocks; and they carried him here and there until the
opportunity came, and then with their spears they slew the enemy, and set him upon his throne
again. And the king, it is said, remembered the service, and brought the son of the Desert to this
place, and bade him set up his tent and bring his family and his herds, for the lake and trees, and all
the land from the river to the nearest mountains, were his and his children's forever. And they have
never been disturbed in the possession. The rulers succeeding have found it policy to keep good
terms with the tribe, to whom the Lord has given increase of men and horses, and camels and
riches, making them masters of many highways between cities; so that it is with them any time they
please to say to commerce, 'Go in peace,' or 'Stop,' and what they say shall be done. Even the
prefect in the citadel overlooking Antioch thinks it happy day with him when Ilderim, surnamed the
Generous on account of good deeds done unto all manner of men, with his wives and children, and
his trains of camels and horses, and his belongings of sheik, moving as our fathers Abraham and
Jacob moved, comes up to exchange briefly his bitter wells for the pleasantness you see about us."
"How is it, then?" said Ben-Hur, who had been listening unmindful of the slow gait of the
dromedaries. "I saw the sheik tear his beard while he cursed himself that he had put trust in a
Roman. Caesar, had he heard him, might have said, 'I like not such a friend as this; put him away.'"
"It would be but shrewd judgement," Malluch replied, smiling. "Ilderim is not a lover of Rome; he
has a grievance. Three years ago the Parthians rode across the road from Bozra to Damascus, and
fell upon a caravan laden, among other things, with the incoming tax-returns of a district over that
way. They slew every creature taken, which the censors in Rome could have forgiven if the imperial
treasure had been spared and forwarded. The farmers of the taxes, being chargeable with the loss,
complained to Caesar, and Caesar held Herod to payment, and Herod, on his part, seized property of
Ilderim, whom he charged with treasonable neglect of duty. The sheik appealed to Caesar, and
Caesar has made him such answer as might be looked for from the unwinking sphinx. The old man's
heart has been aching sore ever since, and he nurses his wrath, and takes pleasure in its daily
growth."
"He can do nothing, Malluch."
"Well," said Malluch, "that involves another explanation, which I will give you, if we can draw
nearer. But see! – the hospitality of the sheik begins early – the children are speaking to you."
The dromedaries stopped, and Ben-Hur looked down upon some little girls of the Syrian peasant
class, who were offering him their baskets filled with dates. The fruit was freshly gathered, and not
to be refused; he stooped and took it, and as he did so a man in the tree by which they were halted
cried, "Peace to you, and welcome!"
Their thanks said to the children, the friends moved on at such gait as the animals chose.
"You must know," Malluch continued, pausing now and then to dispose of a date, "that the merchant
Simonides gives me his confidence, and sometimes flatters me by taking me into council; and as I
attend him at his house, I have made acquaintance with many of his friends, who, knowing my
footing with the host, talk to him freely in my presence. In that way I became somewhat intimate
with Sheik Ilderim."
For a moment Ben-Hur's attention wandered. Before his mind's eye there arose the image, pure,
gentle, and appealing, of Esther, the merchant's daughter. Her dark eyes bright with the peculiar
Jewish lustre met his in modest gaze; he heard her step as when she approached him with the wine,
and her voice as she tendered him the cup; and he acknowledged to himself again all the sympathy
she manifested for him, and manifested so plainly that words were unnecessary, and so sweetly that
words would have been but a detraction. The vision was exceeding pleasant, but upon his turning to
Malluch, it flew away.
"A few weeks ago," said Malluch, continuing, "the old Arab called on Simonides, and found me
present. I observed he seemed much moved about something, and, in deference, offered to
withdraw, but he himself forbade me. 'As you are an Israelite,' he said, 'stay, for I have a strange
story to tell.' The emphasis on the word Israelite excited my curiosity. I remained, and this is in
substance his story--I cut it short because we are drawing nigh the tent, and I leave the details to the
good man himself. A good many years ago, three men called at Ilderim's tent out in the wilderness.
They were all foreigners, a Hindoo, a Greek, and an Egyptian; and they had come on camels, the
largest he had ever seen, and all white. He welcomed them, and gave them rest. Next morning they
arose and prayed a prayer new to the sheik--a prayer addressed to God and his son--this with much
mystery besides. After breaking fast with him, the Egyptian told who they were, and whence they
had come. Each had seen a star, out of which a voice had bidden them go to Jerusalem and ask,
Where is he that is born King of the Jews?' They obeyed. From Jerusalem they were led by a star to
Bethlehem, where, in a cave, they found a child newly born, which they fell down and worshipped;
and after worshipping it, and giving it costly presents, and bearing witness of what it was, they took
to their camels, and fled without pause to the sheik, because if Herod--meaning him surnamed the
Great--could lay hands upon them, he would certainly kill them. And, faithful to his habit, the sheik
took care of them, and kept them concealed for a year, when they departed, leaving with him gifts
of great value, and each going a separate way."
"It is, indeed, a most wonderful story," Ben-Hur exclaimed at its conclusion. "What did you say
they were to ask at Jerusalem?"
"They were to ask, 'Where is he that is born King of the Jews?'"
"Was that all?"
"There was more to the question, but I cannot recall it."
"And they found the child?"
"Yes, and worshipped him."
"It is a miracle, Malluch."
"Ilderim is a grave man, though excitable as all Arabs are. A lie on his tongue is impossible."
Malluch spoke positively. Thereupon the dromedaries were forgotten, and, quite as unmindful of
their riders, they turned off the road to the growing grass.
"Has Ilderim heard nothing more of the three men?" asked Ben-Hur. "What became of them?"
"Ah, yes, that was the cause of his coming to Simonides the day of which I was speaking. Only the
night before that day the Egyptian reappeared to him."
"Where?"
"Here at the door of the tent to which we are coming."
"How knew he the man?"
"As you knew the horses to-day – by face and manner."
"By nothing else?"
"He rode the same great white camel, and gave him the same name – Balthasar, the Egyptian."
"It is a wonder of the Lord's!"
Ben-Hur spoke with excitement.
And Malluch, wondering, asked, "Why so?"
"Balthasar, you said?"
"Yes. Balthasar, the Egyptian."
"That was the name the old man gave us at the fountain today."
Then, at the reminder, Malluch became excited.
"It is true," he said; "and the camel was the same – and you saved the man's life."
"And the woman," said Ben-Hur, like one speaking to himself – "the woman was his daughter."
He fell to thinking; and even the reader will say he was having a vision of the woman, and that it
was more welcome than that of Esther, if only because it stayed longer with him; but no –
"Tell me again," he said, presently. "Were the three to ask, 'Where is he that is to be King of the
Jews?'"
"Not exactly. The words were BORN TO BE KING OF THE JEWS. Those were the words as the
old sheik caught them first in the desert, and he has ever since been waiting the coming of the king;
nor can any one shake his faith that he will come."
"How – as king?"
"Yes, and bringing the doom of Rome – so says the sheik."
Ben-Hur kept silent awhile, thinking and trying to control his feelings.
"The old man is one of many millions," he said, slowly – "one of many millions each with a wrong
to avenge; and this strange faith, Malluch, is bread and wine to his hope; for who but a Herod may
be King of the Jews while Rome endures? But, following the story, did you hear what Simonides
said to him?"
"If Ilderim is a grave man, Simonides is a wise one," Malluch replied. "I listened, and he said – But
hark! Some one comes overtaking us."
The noise grew louder, until presently they heard the rumble of wheels mixed with the beating of
horse-hoofs – a moment later Sheik Ilderim himself appeared on horseback, followed by a train,
among which were the four wine-red Arabs drawing the chariot. The sheik's chin, in its muffling of
long white beard, was drooped upon his breast. Our friends had out-travelled him; but at sight of
them he raised his head and spoke kindly.
"Peace to you! – Ah, my friend Malluch! Welcome! And tell me you are not going, but just come;
that you have something for me from the good Simonides – may the Lord of his fathers keep him in
life for many years to come! Ay, take up the straps, both of you, and follow me. I have bread and
leben, or, if you prefer it, arrack, and the flesh of young kid. Come!"
They followed after him to the door of the tent, in which, when they were dismounted, he stood to
receive them, holding a platter with three cups filled with creamy liquor just drawn from a great
smoke-stained skin bottle, pendent from the central post.
"Drink," he said, heartily, "drink, for this is the fear-naught of the tentmen."
They each took a cup, and drank till but the foam remained.
"Enter now, in God's name."
And when they were gone in, Malluch took the sheik aside, and spoke to him privately; after which
he went to Ben-Hur and excused himself.
"I have told the sheik about you, and he will give you the trial of his horses in the morning. He is
your friend. Having done for you all I can, you must do the rest, and let me return to Antioch. There
is one there who has my promise to meet him to-night. I have no choice but to go. I will come back
to-morrow prepared, if all goes well in the meantime, to stay with you until the games are over."
With blessings given and received, Malluch set out in return.
CHAPTER XI
What time the lower horn of a new moon touched the castellated piles on Mount Sulpius, and two
thirds of the people of Antioch were out on their house-tops comforting themselves with the night
breeze when it blew, and with fans when it failed, Simonides sat in the chair which had come to be a
part of him, and from the terrace looked down over the river, and his ships a-swing at their
moorings. The wall at his back cast its shadow broadly over the water to the opposite shore. Above
him the endless tramp upon the bridge went on. Esther was holding a plate for him containing his
frugal supper--some wheaten cakes, light as wafers, some honey, and a bowl of milk, into which he
now and then dipped the wafers after dipping them into the honey.
"Malluch is a laggard to-night," he said, showing where his thoughts were.
"Do you believe he will come?" Esther asked.
"Unless he has taken to the sea or the desert, and is yet following on, he will come."
Simonides spoke with quiet confidence.
"He may write," she said.
"Not so, Esther. He would have despatched a letter when he found he could not return, and told me
so; because I have not received such a letter, I know he can come, and will."
"I hope so," she said, very softly.
Something in the utterance attracted his attention; it might have been the tone, it might have been
the wish. The smallest bird cannot light upon the greatest tree without sending a shock to its most
distant fibre; every mind is at times no less sensitive to the most trifling words.
"You wish him to come, Esther?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, lifting her eyes to his.
"Why? Can you tell me?" he persisted.
"Because" – she hesitated, then began again – "because the young man is – " The stop was full.
"Our master. Is that the word?"
"Yes."
"And you still think I should not suffer him to go away without telling him to come, if he chooses,
and take us – and all we have – all, Esther – the goods, the shekels, the ships, the slaves, and the
mighty credit, which is a mantle of cloth of gold and finest silver spun for me by the greatest of the
angels of men – Success."
She made no answer.
"Does that move you nothing? No?" he said, with the slightest taint of bitterness. "Well, well, I have
found, Esther, the worst reality is never unendurable when it comes out from behind the clouds
through which we at first see it darkly – never – not even the rack. I suppose it will be so with
death. And by that philosophy the slavery to which we are going must after while become sweet. It
pleases me even now to think what a favoured man our master is. The fortune cost him nothing –
not an anxiety, not a drop of sweat, not so much as a thought; it attaches to him undreamed of, and
in his youth. And, Esther, let me waste a little vanity with the reflection; he gets what he could not
go into the market and buy with all the pelf in a sum – thee, my child, my darling; thou blossom
from the tomb of my lost Rachel!"
He drew her to him, and kissed her twice – once for herself, once for her mother.
"Say not so,". she said, when his hand fell from her neck. "Let us think better of him; he knows
what sorrow is, and will set us free."
"Ah, thy instincts are fine, Esther; and thou knowest I lean upon them in doubtful cases where good
or bad is to be pronounced of a person standing before thee as he stood this morning. But – but" –
his voice rose and hardened – "these limbs upon which I cannot stand – this body drawn and beaten
out of human shape – they are not all I bring him of myself. Oh no, no! I bring him a soul which has
triumphed over torture and Roman malice keener than any torture – I bring him a mind which has
eyes to see gold at a distance farther than the ships of Solomon sailed, and power to bring it to
hand – ay, Esther, into my palm here for the fingers to grip and keep lest it take wings at some
other's word – a mind skilled at scheming" – he stopped and laughed – "Why, Esther, before the
new moon which in the courts of the Temple on the Holy Hill they are this moment celebrating
passes into its next quartering I could ring the world so as to startle even Caesar; for know you,
child, I have that faculty which is better than any one sense, better than a perfect body, better than
courage and will, better than experience, ordinarily the best product of the longest lives – the faculty
divinest of men, but which" – he stopped, and laughed again, not bitterly, but with real zest – "but
which even the great do not sufficiently account, while with the herd it is a non-existent – the
faculty of drawing men to my purpose and holding them faithfully to its achievement, by which, as
against things to be done, I multiply myself into hundreds and thousands. So the captains of my
ships plough the seas, and bring me honest returns; so Malluch follows the youth, our master, and
will" – just then a footstep was heard upon the terrace – "Ha, Esther! said I not so? He is here – and
we will have tidings. For thy sake, sweet child – my lily just budded – I pray the Lord God, who has
not forgotten his wandering sheep of Israel, that they be good and comforting. Now we will know if
he will let thee go with all thy beauty, and me with all my faculties."
Malluch came to the chair.
"Peace to you, good master," he said, with a low obeisance – "and to you, Esther, most excellent of
daughters."
He stood before them deferentially, and the attitude and the address left it difficult to define his
relation to them; the one was that of a servant, the other indicated the familiar and friend. On the
other side, Simonides, as was his habit in business, after answering the salutation went straight to
the subject.
"What of the young man, Malluch?"
The events of the day were told quietly and in the simplest words, and until he was through there
was no interruption; nor did the listener in the chair so much as move a hand during the narration;
but for his eyes, wide open and bright, and an occasional long-drawn breath, he might have been
accounted an effigy.
"Thank you, thank you, Malluch," he said, heartily, at the conclusion; "you have done well – no one
could have done better. Now what say you of the young man's nationality?"
"He is an Israelite, good master, and of the tribe of Judah."
"You are positive?"
"Very positive."
"He appears to have told you but little of his life."
"He has somewhere reamed to be prudent. I might call him distrustful. He baffled all my attempts
upon his confidence until we started from the Castalian fount going to the village of Daphne."
"A place of abomination! Why went he there?"
"I would say from curiosity, the first motive of the many who go; but, very strangely, he took no
interest in the things he saw. Of the Temple, he merely asked if it were Grecian. Good master, the
young man has a trouble of mind from which he would hide, and he went to the Grove, I think, as
we go to sepulchres with our dead – he went to bury it."
"That were well, if so," Simonides said, in a low voice; then louder, "Malluch, the curse of the time
is prodigality. The poor make themselves poorer as apes of the rich, and the merely rich carry
themselves like princes. Saw you signs of the weakness in the youth? Did he display moneys – coin
of Rome or Israel?"
"None, none, good master."
"Surely, Malluch, where there are so many inducements to folly – so much, I mean, to eat and
drink – surely he made you generous offer of some sort. His age, if nothing more, would warrant
that much."
"He neither ate nor drank in my company."
"In what he said or did, Malluch, could you in any wise detect his master-idea? You know they peep
through cracks close enough to stop the wind."
"Give me to understand you," said Malluch, in doubt.
"Well, you know we nor speak nor act, much less decide grave questions concerning ourselves,
except as we be driven by a motive. In that respect, what made you of him?"
"As to that, Master Simonides, I can answer with much assurance. He is devoted to finding his
mother and sister – that first. Then he has a grievance against Rome; and as the Messala of whom I
told you had something to do with the wrong, the great present object is to humiliate him. The
meeting at the fountain furnished an opportunity, but it was put aside as not sufficiently public."
"The Messala is influential," said Simonides, thoughtfully.
"Yes; but the next meeting will be in the Circus."
"Well – and then?"
"The son of Arrius will win."
"How know you?"
Malluch smiled.
"I am judging by what he says."
"Is that all?"
"No; there is a much better sign – his spirit."
"Ay; but, Malluch, his idea of vengeance – what is its scope? Does he limit it to the few who did
him the wrong, or does he take in the many? And more – is his feeling but the vagary of a sensitive
boy, or has it the seasoning of suffering manhood to give it endurance? You know, Malluch, the
vengeful thought that has root merely in the mind is but a dream of idlest sort which one clear day
will dissipate; while revenge the passion is a disease of the heart which climbs up, up to the brain,
and feeds itself on both alike."
In this question, Simonides for the first time showed signs of feeling; he spoke with rapid utterance,
and with clenched hands and the eagerness of a man illustrating the disease he described.
"Good my master," Malluch replied, "one of my reasons for believing the young man a Jew is the
intensity of his hate. It was plain to me he had himself under watch, as was natural, seeing how long
he has lived in an atmosphere of Roman jealousy; yet I saw it blaze – once when he wanted to know
Ilderim's feeling towards Rome, and again when I told him the story of the sheik and the wise man,
and spoke of the question, 'Where is he that is born King of the Jews?'"
Simonides leaned forward quickly.
"Ah, Malluch, his words – give me his words; let me judge the impression the mystery made upon
him."
"He wanted to know the exact words. Were they TO BE or BORN TO BE? It appeared he was
struck by a seeming difference in the effect of the two phrases."
Simonides settled back into his pose of listening judge.
"Then," said Malluch, "I told him Ilderim's view of the mystery – that the king would come with the
doom of Rome. The young man's blood rose over his cheeks and forehead, and he said earnestly,
'Who but a Herod can be king while Rome endures?'"
"Meaning what?"
"That the empire must be destroyed before there could be another rule."
Simonides gazed for a time at the ships and their shadows slowly swinging together in the river;
when he looked up, it was to end the interview.
"Enough, Malluch," he said. "Get you to eat, and make ready to return to the Orchard of Palms; you
must help the young man in his coming trial. Come to me in the morning. I will send a letter to
Ilderim." Then in an undertone, as if to himself, he added, "I may attend the Circus myself."
When Malluch after the customary benediction given and received was gone, Simonides took a
deep draught of milk, and seemed refreshed and easy of mind.
"Put the meal down, Esther," he said; "it is over."
She obeyed.
"Here now."
She resumed her place upon the arm of the chair close to him.
"God is good to me, very good," he said, fervently. "His habit is to move in mystery, yet sometimes
he permits us to think we see and understand him. I am old, dear, and must go; but now, in this
eleventh hour, when my hope was beginning to die, he sends me this one with a promise, and I am
lifted up. I see the way to a great part in a circumstance itself so great that it shall be as a new birth
to the whole world. And I see a reason for the gift of my great riches, and the end for which they
were designed. Verily, my child, I take hold on life anew."
Esther nestled closer to him, as if to bring his thoughts from their far-flying.
"The king has been born" he continued, imagining he was still speaking to her, "and he must be near
the half of common life. Balthasar says he was a child on his mother's lap when he saw him, and
gave him presents and worship; and Ilderim holds it was twenty-seven years ago last December
when Balthasar and his companions came to his tent asking a hiding-place from Herod. Wherefore
the coming cannot now be long delayed. To-night – to-morrow it may be. Holy fathers of Israel,
what happiness in the thought! I seem to hear the crash of the falling of old walls and the clamour of
a universal change – ay, and for the uttermost joy of men, the earth opens to take Rome in, and they
look up and laugh and sing that she is not, while we are;" then he laughed at himself. "Why, Esther,
heard you ever the like? Surely, I have on me the passion of a singer, the heat of blood and the thrill
of Miriam and David. In my thoughts, which should be those of a plain worker in figures and facts,
there is a confusion of cymbals clashing and harp-strings loud beaten, and the voices of a multitude
standing around a new-risen throne. I will put the thinking by for the present; only, dear, when the
king comes he will need money and men, for as he was a child born of woman he will be but a man
after all, bound to human ways as you and I are. And for the money he will have need of getters and
keepers, and for the men leaders. There, there! See you not a broad road for my walking, and the
running of the youth our master? – and at the end of it glory and revenge for us both? – and – and" –
he paused, struck with the selfishness of a scheme in which she had no part or good result; then
added, kissing her, "And happiness for thy mother's child."
She sat still, saying nothing. Then he remembered the difference in natures, and the law by which
we are not permitted always to take delight in the same cause or be equally afraid of the same thing.
He remembered she was but a girl.
"Of what are you thinking, Esther?" he said, in his common home-like way. "If the thought have the
form of a wish, give it me, little one, while the power remains mine. For power, you know, is a
fretful thing, and hath its wings always spread for flight."
She answered with a simplicity almost childish,
"Send for him, father. Send for him to-night, and do not let him go into the Circus."
"Ah!" he said, prolonging the exclamation; and again his eyes fell upon the river, where the
shadows were more shadowy than ever, since the moon had sunk far down behind Sulpius, leaving
the city to the ineffectual stars. Shall we say it, reader? He was touched by a twinge of jealousy. If
she should really love the young master! Oh no! That could not be; she was too young. But the idea
had fast grip, and directly held him still and cold. She was sixteen. He knew it well. On the last
natal day he had gone with her to the shipyard where there was a launch, and the yellow flag which
the galley bore to its bridal with the waves had on it "Esther;" so they celebrated the day together.
Yet the fact struck him now with the force of a surprise. There are realizations which come to us all
painfully; mostly, however, such as pertain to ourselves; that we are growing old, for instance; and,
more terrible, that we must die. Such a one crept into his heart, shadowy as the shadows, yet
substantial enough to wring from him a sigh which was almost a groan. It was not sufficient that she
should enter upon her young womanhood a servant, but she must carry to her master her affections,
the truth and tenderness and delicacy of which he the father so well knew, because to this time they
had all been his own undividedly. The fiend whose task it is to torture us with fears and bitter
thoughts seldom does his work by halves. In the pang of the moment, the brave old man lost sight
of his new scheme, and of the miraculous king its subject. By a mighty effort, however, he
controlled himself, and asked, calmly, "Not go into the Circus, Esther? Why, child?"
"It is not a place for a son of Israel, father."
"Rabbinical, rabbinical, Esther! Is that all?"
The tone of the inquiry was searching, and went to her heart, which began to beat loudly – so loudly
she could not answer. A confusion new and strangely pleasant fell upon her.
"The young man is to have the fortune," he said, taking her hand, and speaking more tenderly; "he
is to have the ships and the shekels – all, Esther, all. Yet I did not feel poor, for thou wert left me,
and thy love so like the dead Rachel's. Tell me, is he to have that too?"
She bent over him, and laid her cheek against his head.
"Speak, Esther. I will be the stronger of the knowledge. In warning there is strength."
She sat up then, and spoke as if she were Truth's holy self.
"Comfort thee, father. I will never leave thee; though he take my love, I will be thy handmaid ever
as now."
And, stooping, she kissed him.
"And more," she said, continuing: "he is comely in my sight, and the pleading of his voice drew me
to him, and I shudder to think of him in danger. Yes, father, I would be more than glad to see him
again. Still, the love that is unrequited cannot be perfect love, wherefore I will wait a time,
remembering I am thy daughter and my mother's."
"A very blessing of the Lord art thou, Esther! A blessing to keep me rich, though all else be lost.
And by his holy name and everlasting life, I swear thou shalt not suffer."
At his request, a little later, the servant came and rolled the chair into the room, where he sat for a
time thinking of the coming of the king, while she went off and slept the sleep of the innocent.
CHAPTER XII
The palace across the river nearly opposite Simonides' place is said to have been completed by the
famous Epiphanes, and was all such a habitation can be imagined; though he was a builder whose
taste ran to the immense rather than the classical, now so called – an architectural imitator, in other
words, of the Persians instead of the Greeks.
The wall enclosing the whole island to the waters edge, and built for the double purpose of bulwark
against the river and defence against the mob, was said to have rendered the palace unfit for
constant occupancy, insomuch that the legates abandoned it and moved to another residence erected
for them on the western ridge of Mount Sulpius, under the Temple of Jupiter. Persons were not
wanting, however, who flatly denied the bill against the ancient abode. They said, with shrewdness
at least, that the real object of the removal of the legates was not a more healthful locality, but the
assurance afforded them by the huge barracks, named, according to the prevalent style, citadel,
situated just over the way on the eastern ridge of the mount. And the opinion had plausible showing.
Among other pertinent things, it was remarked that the palace was kept in perpetual readiness for
use; and when a consul, general of the army, king, or visiting potentate of any kind arrived at
Antioch, quarters were at once assigned him on the island.
As we have to do with but one apartment in the old pile, the residue of it is left to the reader's fancy;
and as pleases him, he may go through its gardens, baths, halls, and labyrinth of rooms to the
pavilions on the roof, all furnished as became a house of fame in a city which was more nearly
Milton's "gorgeous East" than any other in the world.
At this age the apartment alluded to would be termed a saloon. It was quite spacious, floored with
polished marble slabs, and lighted in the day by skylights in which coloured mica served as glass.
The walls were broken by Atlantes, no two of which were alike, but all supporting a cornice
wrought with arabesques exceedingly intricate in form, and more elegant on account of super
additions of colour – blue, green, Tyrian purple, and gold. Around the room ran a continuous divan
of Indian silks and wool of Cashmere. The furniture consisted of tables and stools of Egyptian
patterns grotesquely carved. We have left Simonides in his chair perfecting his scheme in aid of the
miraculous king, whose coming he has decided is so close at hand. Esther is asleep; and now,
having crossed the river by the bridge, and made way through the lion-guarded gate and a number
of Babylonian halls and courts, let us enter the gilded saloon.
There are five chandeliers hanging by sliding bronze chains from the ceiling – one in each corner,
and in the centre one – enormous pyramids of lighted lamps, illuminating even the demoniac faces
of the Atlantes and the complex tracery of the cornice. About the tables, seated or standing, or
moving restlessly from one to another, there are probably a hundred persons, whom we must study
at least for a moment.
They are all young, some of them little more than boys. That they are Italians and mostly Romans is
past doubt. They all speak Latin in purity, while each one appears in the in-door dress of the great
capital on the Tiber; that is, in tunics short of sleeve and skirt, a style of vesture well adapted to the
climate of Antioch, and especially comfortable in the too close atmosphere of the saloon. On the
divan here and there togas and lacernae lie where they have been carelessly tossed, some of them
significantly bordered with purple. On the divan also lie sleepers stretched at ease; whether they
were overcome by the heat and fatigue of the sultry day or by Bacchus we will not pause to inquire.
The hum of voices is loud and incessant. Sometimes there is an explosion of laughter, sometimes a
burst of rage or exultation; but over all prevails a sharp, prolonged rattle, at first somewhat
confusing to the non-familiar. If we approach the tables, however, the mystery solves itself. The
company is at the favourite games, draughts and dice, singly or together, and the rattle is merely of
the tesserae, or ivory cubes, loudly shaken, and the moving of the hostes on the chequered boards.
Who are the company?
"Good Flavius," said a player, holding his piece in suspended movement, "thou seest yon lacerna;
that one in front of us on the divan. It is fresh from the shop, and hath a shoulder-buckle of gold
broad as a palm."
"Well," said Flavius, intent upon his game, "I have seen such before; wherefore thine may not be
old, yet, by the girdle of Venus, it is not new! What of it?"
"Nothing. Only I would give it to find a man who knows everything."
"Ha, ha! For something cheaper, I will find thee here several with purple who will take thy offer.
But play."
"There – check!"
"So, by all the Jupiters! Now, what sayest thou? Again?"
"Be it so."
"And the wager?"
"A sestertium."
Then each drew his tablets and stylus and made a memorandum; and, while they were resetting the
pieces, Flavius returned to his friend's remark.
"A man who knows everything! Hercle! the oracles would die. What wouldst thou with such a
monster?"
"Answer to one question, my Flavius; then, perpol! I would cut his throat."
"And the question?"
"I would have him tell me the hour – Hour, said I? – nay, the minute – Maxentius will arrive
tomorrow."
"Good play, good play! I have you! And why the minute?"
"Hast thou ever stood uncovered in the Syrian sun on the quay at which he will land? The fires of
the Vesta are not so hot; and, by the Stator of our father Romulus, I would die, if die I must, in
Rome. Avernus is here; there, in the square before the Forum, I could stand, and, with my hand
raised thus, touch the floor of the gods. Ha, by Venus, my Flavius, thou didst beguile me! I have
lost. O Fortune!"
"Again?"
"I must have back my sestertium."
"Be it so."
And they played again and again; and when day, stealing through the skylights, began to dim the
lamps, it found the two in the same places at the same table, still at the game. Like most of the
company, they were military attaches of the consul, awaiting his arrival and amusing themselves
meantime.
During this conversation a party entered the room, and, unnoticed at first, proceeded to the central
table. The signs were that they had come from a revel just dismissed. Some of them kept their feet
with difficulty. Around the leader's brow was a chaplet which marked him master of the feast, if not
the giver. The wine had made no impression upon him unless to heighten his beauty, which was of
the most manly Roman style; he carried his head high raised; the blood flushed his lips and cheeks
brightly; his eyes glittered; though the manner in which, shrouded in a toga spotless white and of
ample folds, he walked was too nearly imperial for one sober and not a Caesar. In going to the table,
he made room for himself and his followers with little ceremony and no apologies; and when at
length he stopped, and looked over it and at the players, they all turned to him, with a shout like a
cheer.
"Messala! Messala!" they cried.
Those in distant quarters, hearing the cry, re-echoed it where they were. Instantly there were
dissolution of groups, and breaking-up of games, and a general rush towards the centre.
Messala took the demonstration indifferently, and proceeded presently to show the ground of his
popularity.
"A health to thee, Drusus, my friend," he said to the player next at his right; "a health – and thy
tablets a moment."
He raised the waxen boards, glanced at the memoranda of wagers, and tossed them down.
"Denarii, only denarii – coin of cart-men and butchers!" he said, with a scornful laugh. "By the
drunken Semele, to what is Rome coming, when a Caesar sits o' nights waiting a turn of fortune to
bring him but a beggarly denarius!"
The scion of the Drusi reddened to his brows, but the bystanders broke in upon his reply by surging
closer around the table, and shouting, "The Messala! the Messala!"
"Men of the Tiber," Messala continued, wresting a box with the dice in it from a hand near-by, "who
is he most favoured of the gods? A Roman. Who is he lawgiver of the nations? A Roman. Who is
he, by sword right, the universal master?"
The company were of the easily inspired, and the thought was one to which they were born; in a
twinkling they snatched the answer from him.
"A Roman, a Roman!" they shouted.
"Yet – yet" – he lingered to catch their ears – "yet there is a better than the best of Rome."
He tossed his patrician head and paused, as if to sting them with his sneer.
"Hear ye?" he asked. "There is a better than the best of Rome."
"Ay – Hercules!" cried one.
"Bacchus!" yelled a satirist.
"Jove – Jove!" thundered the crowd.
"No," Messala answered, "among men."
"Name him, name him!" they demanded.
"I will," he said, the next lull. "He who to the perfection of Rome hath added the perfection of the
East; who to the arm of conquest, which is Western, hath also the art needful to the enjoyment of
dominion, which is Eastern."
"Perpol! His best is a Roman, after all," some one shouted; and there was a great laugh, and long
clapping of hands – an admission that Messala had the advantage.
"In the East" he continued, "we have no gods, only Wine, Women, and Fortune, and the greatest of
them is Fortune; wherefore our motto, 'Who dareth what I dare?' – fit for the senate, fit for battle,
fittest for him who, seeking the best, challenges the worst."
His voice dropped into an easy, familiar tone, but without relaxing the ascendancy he had gained.
"In the great chest up in the citadel I have five talents coin current in the markets, and here are the
receipts for them."
From his tunic he drew a roll of paper, and, flinging it on the table, continued, amidst breathless
silence, every eye having him in view fixed on his, every ear listening:
"The sum lies there the measure of what I dare. Who of you dares so much! You are silent. Is it too
great? I will strike off one talent. What! still silent? Come, then, throw me once for these three
talents – only three; for two; for one – one at least – one for the honour of the river by which you
were born – Rome East against Rome West! – Orontes the barbarous against Tiber the sacred!"
He rattled the dice overhead while waiting.
"The Orontes against the Tiber!" he repeated, with an increase of scornful emphasis.
Not a man moved; then he flung the box upon the table and, laughing, took up the receipts.
"Ha, ha, ha! By the Olympian Jove, I know now ye have fortunes to make or to mend; therefore are
ye come to Antioch. Ho, Cecilius!"
"Here, Messala!" cried a man behind him; "here am I, perishing in the mob, and begging a drachma
to settle with the ragged ferryman. But, Pluto take me! these new ones have not so much as an
obolus among them."
The sally provoked a burst of laughter, under which the saloon rang and rang again. Messala alone
kept his gravity.
"Go, thou," he said to Cecilius, "to the chamber whence we came, and bid the servants bring the
amphorae here, and the cups and goblets. If these our countrymen, looking for fortune, have not
purses, by the Syrian Bacchus, I will see if they are not better blessed with stomachs! Haste thee!"
Then he turned to Drusus, with a laugh heard throughout the apartment.
"Ha, ha, my friend! Be thou not offended because I levelled the Caesar in thee down to the denarii.
Thou seest I did but use the name to try these fine fledglings of our old Rome. Come, my Drusus,
come!" He took up the box again and rattled the dice merrily. "Here, for what sum thou wilt, let us
measure fortunes."
The manner was frank, cordial, winsome. Drusus melted in a moment.
"By the Nymphae, yes!" he said, laughing. "I will throw with thee, Messala – for a denarius."
A very boyish person was looking over the table watching the scene. Suddenly Messala turned to
him.
"Who art thou?" he asked.
The lad drew back.
"Nay, by Castor! and his brother too! I meant not offence. It is a rule among men, in matters other
than dice, to keep the record closest when the deal is least. I have need of a clerk. Wilt thou serve
me?"
The young fellow drew his tablets ready to keep the score: the manner was irresistible.
"Hold, Messala, hold!" cried Drusus. "I know not if it be ominous to stay the poised dice with a
question; but one occurs to me, and I must ask it though Venus slap me with her girdle."
"Nay, my Drusus, Venus with her girdle off is Venus in love. To thy question – I will make the
throw and hold it against mischance. Thus – "
He turned the box upon the table and held it firmly over the dice.
And Drusus asked, "Did you ever see one Quintus Arrius?"
"The duumvir?"
"No – his son?"
"I knew not he had a son."
"Well, it is nothing," Drusus added, indifferently; "only, my Messala, Pollux was not more like
Castor than Arrius is like thee."
The remark had the effect of a signal: twenty voices took it up.
"True, true! His eyes – his face," they cried.
"What!" answered one, disgusted. "Messala is a Roman; Arrius is a Jew."
"Thou sayest right," a third exclaimed. "He is a Jew, or Momus lent his mother the wrong mask."
There was promise of a dispute; seeing which, Messala interposed. "The wine is not come, my
Drusus; and, as thou seest, I have the freckled Pythias as they were dogs in leash. As to Arrius, I
will accept thy opinion of him, so thou tell me more about him."
"Well, be he Jew or Roman – and, by the great god Pan, I say it not in disrespect of thy feelings, my
Messala! – this Arrius is handsome and brave and shrewd. The emperor offered him favour and
patronage, which he refused. He came up through mystery, and keepeth distance as if he felt himself
better or knew himself worse than the rest of us. In the palaestrae he was unmatched; he played with
the blue-eyed giants from the Rhine and the hornless bulls of Sarmatia as they were willow wisps.
The duumvir left him vastly rich. He has a passion for arms, and thinks of nothing but war.
Maxentius admitted him into his family, and he was to have taken ship with us, but we lost him at
Ravenna. Nevertheless he arrived safely. We heard of him this morning. Perpol! Instead of coming
to the palace or going to the citadel, he dropped his baggage at the khan, and hath disappeared
again."
At the beginning of the speech Messala listened with polite indifference; as it proceeded, he became
more attentive; at the conclusion, he took his hand from the dice-box, and called out, "Ho, my
Caius! Dost thou hear?"
A youth at his elbow – his Myrtilus, or comrade, in the day's chariot practice – answered, much
pleased with the attention, "Did I not, my Messala, I were not thy friend."
"Dost thou remember the man who gave thee the fall to-day?"
"By the love-locks of Bacchus, have I not a bruised shoulder to help me keep it in mind?" and he
seconded the words with a shrug that submerged his ears.
"Well, be thou grateful to the Fates – I have found thy enemy. Listen."
Thereupon Messala turned to Drusus.
"Tell us more of him – perpol! – of him who is both Jew and Roman – by Phoebus, a combination
to make a Centaur lovely! What garments cloth he affect, my Drusus?"
"Those of the Jews."
"Hearest thou, Caius?" said Messala. "The fellow is young – one; he hath the visage of a Roman –
two; he loveth best the garb of a Jew – three; and in the palaestrae fame and fortune come of arms
to throw a horse or tilt a chariot, as the necessity may order – four. And, Drusus, help thou my
friend again. Doubtless this Arrius hath tricks of language; otherwise he could not so confound
himself, today a Jew, to-morrow a Roman; but of the rich tongue of Athene – discourseth he in that
as well?"
"With such purity, Messala, he might have been a contestant in the Isthmia."
"Art thou listening, Caius?" said Messala. "The fellow is qualified to salute a woman – for that
matter Aristomache herself – in the Greek; and as I keep the count, that is five. What sayest thou?"
"Thou hast found him, my Messala," Caius answered; "or I am not myself."
"Thy pardon, Drusus – and pardon of all – for speaking in riddles thus," Messala said, in his
winsome way. "By all the decent gods, I would not strain thy courtesy to the point of breaking, but
now help thou me. See!" – -he put his hand on the dice-box again, laughing – "See how close I hold
the Pythias and their secret! Thou didst speak, I think, of mystery in connection with the coming of
the son of Arrius. Tell me of that."
"'Tis nothing, Messala, nothing," Drusus replied; "a child's story. When Arrius, the father, sailed in
pursuit of the pirates, he was without wife or family; he returned with a boy – him of whom we
speak – and next day adopted him."
"Adopted him?" Messala repeated. "By the gods, Drusus, thou dost, indeed, interest me! Where did
the duumvir find the boy? And who was he?"
"Who shall answer thee that, Messala? who but the young Arrius himself? Perpol! in the fight the
duumvir – then but a tribune – lost his galley. A returning vessel found him and one other – all of
the crew who survived – afloat upon the same plank. I give you now the story of the rescuers, which
hath this excellence at least – it hath never been contradicted. They say, the duumvir's companion
on the plank was a Jew – "
"A Jew!" echoed Messala.
"And a slave."
"How Drusus? A slave?"
"When the two were lifted to the deck, the duumvir was in his tribune's armour, and the other in the
vesture of a rower."
Messala rose from leaning against the table.
"A galley" – he checked the debasing word, and looked around, for once in his life at loss. Just then
a procession of slaves filed into the room, some with great jars of wine, others with baskets of fruits
and confections, others again with cups and flagons, mostly silver. There was inspiration in the
sight. Instantly Messala climbed upon a stool.
"Men of the Tiber," he said, in a clear voice, "let us turn this waiting for our chief into a feast of
Bacchus. Whom choose ye for master?"
Drusus arose.
"Who shall be master but the giver of the feast?" he said. "Answer, Romans."
They gave their reply in a shout.
Messala took the chaplet from his head, gave it to Drusus, who climbed upon the table, and, in the
view of all, solemnly replaced it, making Messala master of the night.
"There came with me into the room," he said, "some friends just risen from table. That our feast
may have the approval of sacred custom, bring hither that one of them most overcome by wine."
A din of voices answered, "Here he is, here he is!"
And from the floor where he had fallen, a youth was brought forward, so effeminately beautiful he
might have passed for the drinking-god himself – only the crown would have dropped from his
head, and the thyrsus from his hand.
"Lift him upon the table," the master said.
It was found he could not sit.
"Help him, Drusus, as the fair Nyone may yet help thee."
Drusus took the inebriate in his arms.
Then addressing the limp figure, Messala said, amidst profound silence, "O Bacchus! greatest of the
gods, be thou propitious to-night. And for myself, and these thy votaries, I vow this chaplet" – and
from his head he raised it reverently – "I vow this chaplet to thy altar in the Grove of Daphne."
He bowed, replaced the crown upon his locks, then stooped and uncovered the dice, saying, with a
laugh, "See, my Drusus, by the ass of Silenus, the denarius is mine!"
There was a shout that set the floor to quaking, and the grim Atlantes to dancing, and the orgies
began.
CHAPTER XIII
Sheik Ilderim was a man of too much importance to go about with a small establishment. He had a
reputation to keep with his tribe, such as became a prince and patriarch of the greatest following in
all the Desert east of Syria; with the people of the cities he had another reputation, which was that
of one of the richest personages not a king in all the East; and, being rich in fact--in money as well
as in servants, camels, horses, and flocks of all kinds – he took pleasure in a certain state, which,
besides magnifying his dignity with strangers, contributed to his personal pride and comfort.
Wherefore the reader must not be misled by the frequent reference to his tent in the Orchard of
Palms. He had there really a respectable dowar; that is to say, he had there three large tents – one for
himself, one for visitors, one for his favourite wife and her women; and six or eight lesser ones,
occupied by his servants and such tribal retainers as he had chosen to bring with him as a bodyguard
– strong men of approved courage, and skilful with bow, spear, and horses.
To be sure, his property of whatever kind was in no danger at the Orchard; yet as the habits of a
man go with him to town not less than the country, and as it is never wise to slip the bands of
discipline, the interior of the dowar was devoted to his cows, camels, goats, and such property in
general as might tempt a lion or a thief.
To do him full justice, Ilderim kept well all the customs of his people, abating none, not even the
smallest; in consequence his life at the Orchard was a continuation of his life in the Desert; nor that
alone, it was a fair reproduction of the old patriarchal modes--the genuine pastoral life of primitive
Israel.
Recurring to the morning the caravan arrived at the Orchard – "Here, plant it here," he said,
stopping his horse, and thrusting a spear into the ground. "Door to the south; the lake before it thus;
and these, the children of the Desert, to sit under at the going-down of the sun."
At the last words he went to a group of three great palm-trees, and patted one of them as he would
have patted his horse's neck, or the cheek of the child of his love. Who but the sheik could of right
say to the caravan, Halt! or of the tent, Here be it pitched? The spear was wrested from the ground,
and over the wound it had riven in the sod the base of the first pillar of the tent was planted,
marking the centre of the front door. Then eight others were planted – in all, three rows of pillars,
three in a row. Then, at call, the women and children came, and unfolded the canvas from its
packing on the camels. Who might do this but the women? Had they not sheared the hair from the
brown goats of the flock? and twisted it into thread? and woven the thread into cloth? and stitched
the cloth together, making the perfect roof, dark-brown in fact, though in the distance black as the
tents of Kedar? And, finally, with what jests and laughter, and pulls altogether, the united following
of the sheik stretched the canvas from pillar to pillar, driving the stakes and fastening the cords as
they went! And when the walls of open reed matting were put in place '' – the finishing-touch to the
building after the style of the Desert – with what hush of anxiety they waited the good man's
judgement! When he walked in and out, looking at the house in connection with the sun, the trees,
and the lake, and said, rubbing his hands with might of heartiness, "Well done! Make the dowar
now as ye well know, and to-night we will sweeten the bread with arrack, and the milk with honey,
and at every fire there shall be a kid. God with ye! Want of sweet water there shall not be, for the
lake is our well; neither shall the bearers of burden hunger, or the least of the flock, for here is green
pasture also. God with you all, my children! Go."
And, shouting, the many happy went their ways then to pitch their own habitations. A few remained
to arrange the interior for the sheik; and of these the men-servants hung a curtain to the central row
of pillars, making two apartments; the one on the right sacred to Ilderim himself, the other sacred to
his horses – his jewels of Solomon – which they led in, and with kisses and love-taps set at liberty.
Against the middle pillar they then erected the arms-rack, and filled it with javelins and spears, and
bows, arrows, and shields; outside of them hanging the master's sword, modelled after the new
moon; and the glitter of its blade rivalled the glitter of the jewels bedded in its grip. Upon one end
of the rack they hung the housings of the horses, gay some of them as the livery of a king's servant,
while on the other end they displayed the great man's wearing apparel – his robes woollen and robes
linen, his tunics and trousers, and many coloured kerchiefs for the head. Nor did they give over the
work until he pronounced it well.
Meantime the women drew out and set up the divan, more indispensable to him than the beard
down-flowing over his breast, white as Aaron's. They put a frame together in shape of three sides of
a square, the opening to the door, and covered it with cushions and base curtains, and the cushions
with a changeable spread striped brown and yellow; at the corners they placed pillows and bolsters
sacked in cloth blue and crimson; then around the divan they laid a margin of carpet, and the inner
space they carpeted as well; and when the carpet was carried from the opening of the divan to the
door of the tent, their work was done; whereupon they again waited until the master said it was
good. Nothing remained then but to bring and fill the jars with water, and hang the skin bottles of
arrack ready for the hand – to-morrow the leben. Nor might an Arab see why Ilderim should not be
both happy and generous – in his tent by the lake of sweet waters, under the palms of the Orchard of
Palms.
Such was the tent at the door of which we left Ben-Hur.
Servants were already waiting the master's direction. One of them took off his sandals; another
unlatched Ben-Hur's Roman shoes; then the two exchanged their dusty outer garments for fresh
ones of white linen.
"Enter – in God's name, enter, and take thy rest," said the host, heartily, in the dialect of the
Marketplace of Jerusalem; forthwith he led the way to the divan.
"I will sit here," he said next, pointing; "and there the stranger."
A woman – in the old time she would have been called a handmaid – answered, and dexterously
piled the pillows and bolsters as rests for the back; after which they sat upon the side of the divan,
while water was brought fresh from the lake, and their feet bathed and dried with napkins.
"We have a saying in the Desert," Ilderim began, gathering his beard, and combing it with his
slender fingers, "that a good appetite is the promise of a long life. Hast thou such?"
"By that rule, good sheik, I will live a hundred years. I am a hungry wolf at thy door," Ben-Hur
replied.
"Well, thou shalt not be sent away like a wolf. I will give thee the best of the flocks." Ilderim
clapped his hands.
"Seek the stranger in the guest-tent, and say I, Ilderim, send him a prayer that his peace may be as
incessant as the flowing of waters."
The man in waiting bowed.
"Say, also," Ilderim continued, "that I have returned with another for breaking of bread; and, if
Balthasar the wise careth to share the loaf, three may partake of it, and the portion of the birds be
none the less."
The second servant went away.
"Let us take our rest now." Thereupon Ilderim settled himself upon the divan, as at this day
merchants sit on their rugs in the bazaars of Damascus; and when fairly at rest, he stopped combing
his beard, and said, gravely, "That thou art my guest, and hast drunk my leben, and art about to taste
my salt, ought not to forbid a question: Who art thou?"
"Sheik Ilderim," said Ben-Hur, calmly enduring his gaze, "I pray thee not to think me trifling with
thy just demand; but was there never a time in thy life when to answer such a question would have
been a crime to thyself?"
"By the splendour of Solomon, yes!" Ilderim answered. "Betrayal of self is at times as base as the
betrayal of a tribe."
"Thanks, thanks, good sheik!" Ben-Hur exclaimed.
"Never answer became thee better. Now I know thou cost but seek assurance to justify the trust I
have come to ask, and that such assurance is of more interest to thee than the affairs of my poor
life."
The sheik in his turn bowed, and Ben-Hur hastened to pursue his advantage.
"So it please thee then," he said, "first, I am not a Roman, as the name given thee as mine implieth."
Ilderim clasped the beard overflowing his breast, and gazed at the speaker with eyes faintly
twinkling through the shade of the heavy close-drawn brows.
"In the next place," Ben-Hur continued, "I am an Israelite of the tribe of Judah."
The sheik raised his brows a little.
"Nor that merely. Sheik, I am a Jew with a grievance against Rome compared with which thine is
not more than a child's trouble."
The old man combed his beard with nervous haste, and let fall his brows until even the twinkle of
the eyes went out.
"Still further: I swear to thee, Sheik Ilderim – I swear by the covenant the Lord made with my
fathers – so thou but give me the revenge I seek, the money and the glory of the race shall be thine."
Ilderim's brows relaxed; his head arose; his face began to beam; and it was almost possible to see
the satisfaction taking possession of him.
"Enough!" he said. "If at the roots of thy tongue there is a lie in coil, Solomon himself had not been
safe against thee. That thou art not a Roman – that as a Jew thou hast a grievance against Rome, and
revenge to compass, I believe; and on that score enough. But as to thy skill. What experience hast
thou in racing with chariots? And the horses – canst thou make them creatures of thy will? – to
know thee? to come at call? to go, if thou sayest it, to the last extreme of breath and strength? and
then, in the perishing moment, out of the depths of thy life thrill them to one exertion the mightiest
of all? The gift, my son, is not to every one. Ah, by the splendour of God! I knew a king who
governed millions of men, their perfect master, but could not win the respect of a horse. Mark! I
speak not of the dull brutes whose round it is to slave for slaves – the debased in blood and image –
the dead in spirit; but of such as mine here – the kings of their kind; of a lineage reaching back to
the broods of the first Pharaoh; my comrades and friends, dwellers in tents, whom long association
with me has brought up to my plane; who to their instincts have added our wits and to their senses
joined our souls, until they feel all we know of ambition, love, hate, and contempt; in war, heroes;
in trust, faithful as women. Ho, there!"
A servant came forward.
"Let my Arabs come!"
The man drew aside part of the division curtain of the tent, exposing to view a group of horses, who
lingered a moment where they were as if to make certain of the invitation.
"Come!" Ilderim said to them. "Why stand ye there? What have I that is not yours? Come, I say!"
They stalked slowly in. "Son of Israel," the master said, "thy Moses was a mighty man, but – ha, ha
ha! – I must laugh when I think of his allowing thy fathers the plodding ox and the dull, slownatured
ass, and forbidding them property in horses. Ha, ha, ha! Thinkest thou he would have done
so had he seen that one – and that – and this?" At the word he laid his hand upon the face of the first
to reach him, and patted it with infinite pride and tenderness.
"It is a misjudgement, sheik, a misjudgement," Ben-Hur said, warmly. "Moses was a warrior as well
as a lawgiver beloved by God; and to follow war – ah, what is it but to love all its creatures – these
among the rest?"
A head of exquisite turn – with large eyes, soft as a deer's, and half hidden by the dense forelock,
and small ears, sharp-pointed and sloped well forward – approached then quite to his breast, the
nostrils open, and the upper lip in motion. "Who are you?" it asked, plainly as ever man spoke. Ben-
Hur recognized one of the four racers he had seen on the course, and gave his open hand to the
beautiful brute.
"They will tell you, the blasphemers! – may their days shorten as they grow fewer!" – the sheik
spoke with the feeling of a man repelling a personal defamation – "they will tell you, I say, that our
horses of the best blood are derived from the Nesaean pastures of Persia. God gave the first Arab a
measureless waste of sand, with some treeless mountains, and here and there a well of bitter waters;
and said to him, 'Behold thy country!' And when the poor man complained, the Mighty One pitied
him, and said again, 'Be of cheer! for I will twice bless thee above other men.' The Arab heard, and
gave thanks, and with faith set out to find the blessings. He travelled all the boundaries first, and
failed; then he made a path into the desert, and went on and on – and in the heart of the waste there
was an island of green very beautiful to see; and in the heart of the island, lo! a herd of camels, and
another of horses! He took them joyfully and kept them with care for what they were--best gifts of
God. And from that green isle went forth all the horses of the earth; even to the pastures of Nesaea
they went; and northward to the dreadful vales perpetually threshed by blasts from the Sea of Chill
Winds. Doubt not the story; or if thou dost, may never amulet have charm for an Arab again. Nay, I
will give thee proof."
He clapped his hands.
"Bring me the records of the tribe," he said to the servant who responded.
While waiting, the sheik played with the horses, patting their cheeks, combing their forelocks with
his fingers, giving each one a token of remembrance. Presently six men appeared with chests of
cedar reinforced by bands of brass, and hinged and bolted with brass.
"Nay," said Ilderim, when they were all set down by the divan, "I meant not all of them; only the
records of the horses – that one. Open it and take back the others."
The chest was opened, disclosing a mass of ivory tablets strung on rings of silver wire; and as the
tablets were scarcely thicker than wafers, each ring held several hundreds of them.
"I know," said Ilderim, taking some of the rings in his hand – "I know with what care and zeal, my
son, the scribes of the Temple in the Holy City keep the names of the newly born, that every son of
Israel may trace his line of ancestry to its beginning, though it antedate the patriarchs. My fathers –
may the recollection of them be green forever! – did not think it sinful to borrow the idea, and apply
it to their dumb servants. See these tablets!"
Ben-Hur took the rings, and separating the tablets saw they bore rude hieroglyphs in Arabic, burned
on the smooth surface by a sharp point of heated metal.
"Canst thou read them, O son of Israel?"
"No. Thou must tell me their meaning."
"Know thou, then, each tablet records the name of a foal of the pure blood born to my fathers
through the hundreds of years passed; and also the names of sire and dam. Take them, and note their
age, that thou mayst the more readily believe."
Some of the tablets were nearly worn away. All were yellow with age.
"In the chest there, I can tell thee now, I have the perfect history; perfect because certified as history
seldom is – showing of what stock all these are sprung – this one, and that now supplicating thy
notice and caress; and as they come to us here, their sires, even the furthest removed in time, came
to my sires, under a tent-roof like this of mine, to eat their measure of barley from the open hand,
and be talked to as children; and as children kiss the thanks they have not speech to express. And
now, O son of Israel, thou mayst believe my declaration – if I am a lord of the Desert, behold my
ministers! Take them from me, and I become as a sick man left by the caravan to die. Thanks to
them, age hath not diminished the terror of me on the highways between cities; and it will not while
I have strength to go with them. Ha, ha, ha! I could tell thee marvels done by their ancestors. In a
favouring time I may do so; for the present, enough that they were never overtaken in retreat; nor,
by the sword of Solomon, did they ever fail in pursuit! That, mark you, on the sands and under
saddle; but now – I do not know – I am afraid, for they are under yoke the first time, and the
conditions of success are so many. They have the pride and the speed and the endurance. If I find
them a master, they will win. Son of Israel! so thou art the man, I swear it shall be a happy day that
brought thee thither. Of thyself now speak."
"I know now," said Ben-Hur, "why it is that in the love of an Arab his horse is next to his children;
and I know, also, why the Arab horses are the best in the world; but, good sheik, I would not have
you judge me by words alone; for, as you know, all promises of men sometimes fail. Give me the
trial first on some plain hereabout, and put the four in my hand to-morrow."
Ilderim's face beamed again, and he would have spoken.
"A moment, good sheik, a moment!" said Ben-Hur. "Let me say further. From the masters in Rome I
learned many lessons, little thinking they would serve me in a time like this. I tell thee these thy
sons of the Desert, though they have separately the speed of eagles and the endurance of lions, will
fail if they are not trained to run together under the yoke. For bethink thee, sheik, in every four there
is one the slowest and one the swiftest; and while the race is always to the slowest, the trouble is
always with the swiftest. It was so to-day; the driver could not reduce the best to harmonious action
with the poorest. My trial may have no better result; but if so, I will tell thee of it: that I swear.
Wherefore, in the same spirit I say, can I get them to run together, moved by my will, the four as
one, thou shalt have the sestertii and the crown, and I my revenge. What sayest thou?"
Ilderim listened, combing his beard the while. At the end he said, with a laugh, "I think better of
thee, son of Israel. We have a saying in the Desert, 'If you will cook the meal with words, I will
promise an ocean of butter.' thou shalt have the horses in the morning."
At that moment there was a stir at the rear entrance to the tent.
"The supper – it is here! and yonder my friend Balthasar, whom thou shalt know. He hath a story to
tell which an Israelite should never tire of hearing."
And to the servants he added,
"Take the records away, and return my jewels to their apartment."
And they did as he ordered.
CHAPTER XIV
If the reader will return now to the repast of the wise men at their meeting in the desert, he will
understand the preparations for the supper in Ilderim's tent. The differences were chiefly such as
were incident to ampler means and better service.
Three rugs were spread on the carpet within the space so nearly enclosed by the divan; a table not
more than a foot in height was brought and set within the same place, and covered with a cloth. Off
to one side a portable earthenware oven was established under the presidency of a woman whose
duty it was to keep the company in bread, or, more precisely, in hot cakes of flour from the
handmills grinding with constant sound in a neighbouring tent.
Meanwhile Balthasar was conducted to the divan, where Ilderim and Ben-Hur received him
standing. A loose black gown covered his person; his step was feeble, and his whole movement
slow and cautious, apparently dependent upon a long staff and the arm of a servant.
"Peace to you, my friend," said Ilderim, respectfully. "Peace and welcome."
The Egyptian raised his head and replied, "And to thee, good sheik – to thee and thine, peace and
the blessing of the One God – God the true and loving."
The manner was gentle and devout, and impressed Ben-Hur with a feeling of awe; besides which
the blessing included in the answering salutation had been partly addressed to him, and while that
part was being spoken, the eyes of the aged guest, hollow yet luminous, rested upon his face long
enough to stir an emotion new and mysterious, and so strong that he again and again during the
repast scanned the much wrinkled and bloodless face for its meaning; but always there was the
expression bland, placid, and trustful as a child's. A little later he found that expression habitual.
"This is he, O Balthasar," said the sheik, laying his hand on Ben-Hur's arm, "who will break bread
with us this evening."
The Egyptian glanced at the young man, and looked again surprised and doubting; seeing which the
sheik continued, "I have promised him my horses for trial to-morrow; and if all goes well, he will
drive them in the Circus."
Balthasar continued his gaze.
"He came well recommended," Ilderim pursued, much puzzled. "You may know him as the son of
Arrius, who was a noble Roman sailor, though" – the sheik hesitated, then resumed, with a
laugh – "though he declares himself an Israelite of the tribe of Judah; and, by the splendour of God,
I believe that he tells me!"
Balthasar could no longer withhold explanation.
"To-day, O most generous sheik, my life was in peril, and would have been lost had not a youth, the
counterpart of this one – if, indeed, he be not the very same – intervened when all others fled, and
saved me." Then he addressed Ben-Hur directly, "Art thou not he?"
"I cannot answer so far," Ben-Hur replied, with modest deference. "I am he who stopped the horses
of the insolent Roman when they were rushing upon thy camel at the Fountain of Castalia. Thy
daughter left a cup with me."
From the bosom of his tunic he produced the cup, and gave it to Balthasar.
A glow lighted the faded countenance of the Egyptian.
"The Lord sent thee to me at the Fountain to-day," he said, in a tremulous voice, stretching his hand
towards Ben-Hur; "and he sends thee to me now. I give him thanks; and praise him thou, for of his
favour I have wherewith to give thee great reward, and I will. The cup is thine; keep it."
Ben-Hur took back the gift, and Balthasar, seeing the inquiry upon Ilderim's face, related the
occurrence at the Fountain.
"What!" said the sheik to Ben-Hur. "Thou saidst nothing of this to me, when better recommendation
thou couldst not have brought. Am I not an Arab, and sheik of my tribe of tens of thousands? And is
not he my guest? And is it not in my guest-bond that the good or evil thou dost him is good or evil
done to me? Whither shouldst thou go for reward but here? And whose the hand to give it but
mine?"
His voice at the end of the speech rose to cutting shrillness.
"Good sheik, spare me, I pray. I came not for reward, great or small; and that I may be acquitted of
the thought, I say the help I gave this excellent man would have been given as well to thy humblest
servant."
"But he is my friend, my guest--not my servant; and seest thou not in the difference the favour of
Fortune?" Then to Balthasar the sheik subjoined, "Ah, by the splendour of God! I tell thee again he
is not a Roman."
With that he turned away, and gave attention to the servants, whose preparations for the supper were
about complete.
The reader who recollects the history of Balthasar as given by himself at the meeting in the desert
will understand the effect of Ben-Hur's assertion of disinterestedness upon that worthy. In his
devotion to men there had been, it will be remembered, no distinctions; while the redemption which
had been promised him in the way of reward – the redemption for which he was waiting – was
universal. To him, therefore, the assertion sounded somewhat like an echo of himself. He took a
step nearer Ben-Hur, and spoke to him in the childlike way.
"How did the sheik say I should call you? It was a Roman name, I think."
"Arrius, the son of Arrius."
"Yet thou art not a Roman?"
"All my people were Jews."
"Were, saidst thou? Are they not living?"
The question was subtle as well as simple; but Ilderim saved Ben-Hur from reply.
"Come," he said to them, "the meal is ready."
Ben-Hur gave his arm to Balthasar, and conducted him to the table, where shortly they were all
seated on their rugs Eastern fashion. The lavers were brought them, and they washed and dried their
hands; then the sheik made a sign, the servants stopped, and the voice of the Egyptian arose
tremulous with holy feeling.
"Father of All – God! What we have is of thee; take our thanks, and bless us, that we may continue
to do thy will."
It was the grace the good man had said simultaneously with his brethren Gaspar the Greek and
Melchior the Hindoo, the utterance in diverse tongues out of which had come the miracle attesting
the Divine Presence at the meal in the desert years before.
The table to which they immediately addressed themselves was, as may be thought, rich in the
substantials and delicacies favourite in the East – in cakes hot from the oven, vegetables from the
gardens, meats singly, compounds of meats and vegetables, milk of kine, and honey and butter – all
eaten or drunk, it should be remarked, without any of the modern accessories--knives, forks,
spoons, cups, or plates; and in this part of the repast but little was said, for they were hungry. But
when the dessert was in course it was otherwise. They laved their hands again, had the lap-cloths
shaken out, and with a renewed table and the sharp edge of their appetites gone they were disposed
to talk and listen.
With such a company – an Arab, a Jew, and an Egyptian, all believers alike in one God – there
could be at that age but one subject of conversation; and of the three, which should be speaker but
he to whom the Deity had been so nearly a personal appearance, who had seen him in a star, had
heard his voice in direction, had been led so far and so miraculously by his Spirit? And of what
should he talk but that of which he had been called to testify?
CHAPTER XV
The shadows cast over the Orchard of Palms by the mountains at set of sun left no sweet margin
time of violet sky and drowsing earth between the day and night. The latter came early and swift;
and against its glooming in the tent this evening the servants brought four candlesticks of brass, and
set them by the corners of the table. To each candlestick there were four branches, and on each
branch a lighted silver lamp and a supply cup of olive-oil. In light ample, even brilliant, the group at
dessert continued their conversation, speaking in the Syriac dialect, familiar to all peoples in that
part of the world.
The Egyptian told his story of the meeting of the three in the desert, and agreed with the sheik that it
was in December, twenty-seven years before, when he and his companions fleeing from Herod
arrived at the tent praying shelter. The narrative was heard with intense interest; even the servants
lingering when they could to catch its details. Ben-Hur received it as became a man listening to a
revelation of deep concern to all humanity, and to none of more concern than the people of Israel. In
his mind, as we shall presently see, there was crystallizing an idea which was to change his course
of life, if not absorb it absolutely.
As the recital proceeded, the impression made by Balthasar upon the young Jew increased; at its
conclusion, his feeling was too profound to permit a doubt of its truth; indeed, there was nothing
left him desirable in the connection but assurances, if such were to be had, pertaining exclusively to
the consequences of the amazing event.
And now there is wanting an explanation which the very discerning may have heretofore demanded;
certainly it can be no longer delayed. Our tale begins, in point of date not less than fact, to trench
close upon the opening of the ministry of the Son of Mary, whom we have seen but once since this
same Balthasar left him worshipfully in his mother's lap in the cave by Bethlehem. Henceforth to
the end the mysterious Child will be a subject of continual reference; and slowly though surely the
current of events with which we are dealing will bring us nearer and nearer to him, until finally we
see him a man--we would like, if armed contrariety of opinion would permit it, to add – A MAN
WHOM THE WORLD COULD NOT DO WITHOUT. Of this declaration, apparently so simple, a
shrewd mind inspired by faith will make much--and in welcome. Before his time, and since, there
have been men indispensable to particular people and periods; but his indispensability was to the
whole race, and for all time – a respect in which it is unique, solitary, divine.
To Sheik Ilderim the story was not new. He had heard it from the three wise men together under
circumstances which left no room for doubt; he had acted upon it seriously, for the helping a
fugitive escape from the anger of the first Herod was dangerous. Now one of the three sat at his
table again, a welcome guest and revered friend. Sheik Ilderim certainly believed the story; yet, in
the nature of things, its mighty central fact could not come home to him with the force and
absorbing effect it came to Ben-Hur. He was an Arab, whose interest in the consequences was but
general; on the other hand, Ben-Hur was an Israelite and a Jew, with more than a special interest
in--if the solecism can be pardoned – the truth of the fact. He laid hold of the circumstance with a
purely Jewish mind.
From his cradle, let it be remembered, he had heard of the Messiah; at the colleges he had been
made familiar with all that was known of that Being at once the hope, the fear, and the peculiar
glory of the chosen people; the prophets from the first to the last of the heroic line foretold him; and
the coming had been, and yet was, the theme of endless exposition with the rabbis – in the
synagogues, in the schools, in the Temple, of fast-days and feast-days, in public and in private, the
national teachers expounded and kept expounding until all the children of Abraham, wherever their
lots were cast, bore the Messiah in expectation, and by it literally, and with iron severit