Pearl-Maiden / Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

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Title: Pearl-Maiden

Author: H. Rider Haggard

Release Date: April 22, 2006 [EBook #5175]

Language: English

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Produced by John Bickers; Dagny





PEARL-MAIDEN


A Tale Of The Fall of Jerusalem


By H. Rider Haggard

First Published 1901.

TO

GLADYS CHRISTIAN

A DWELLER IN THE EAST THIS EASTERN TALE IS DEDICATED BY HER OWN AND HER
FATHER'S FRIEND

THE AUTHOR

Ditchingham: September 14, 1902.





PEARL-MAIDEN



CHAPTER I

THE PRISON AT CAESAREA

It was but two hours after midnight, yet many were wakeful in Caesarea on
the Syrian coast. Herod Agrippa, King of all Palestine--by grace of
the Romans--now at the very apex of his power, celebrated a festival in
honour of the Emperor Claudius, to which had flocked all the mightiest
in the land and tens of thousands of the people. The city was full of
them, their camps were set upon the sea-beach and for miles around;
there was no room at the inns or in the private houses, where guests
slept upon the roofs, the couches, the floors, and in the gardens. The
great town hummed like a hive of bees disturbed after sunset, and though
the louder sounds of revelling had died away, parties of feasters,
many of them still crowned with fading roses, passed along the
streets shouting and singing to their lodgings. As they went, they
discussed--those of them who were sufficiently sober--the incidents of
that day's games in the great circus, and offered or accepted odds upon
the more exciting events of the morrow.

The captives in the prison that was set upon a little hill, a frowning
building of brown stone, divided into courts and surrounded by a
high wall and a ditch, could hear the workmen at their labours in the
amphitheatre below. These sounds interested them, since many of those
who listened were doomed to take a leading part in the spectacle of this
new day. In the outer court, for instance, were a hundred men called
malefactors, for the most part Jews convicted of various political
offences. These were to fight against twice their number of savage Arabs
of the desert taken in a frontier raid, people whom to-day we should
know as Bedouins, mounted and armed with swords and lances, but wearing
no mail. The malefactor Jews, by way of compensation, were to be
protected with heavy armour and ample shields. Their combat was to
last for twenty minutes by the sand-glass, when, unless they had shown
cowardice, those who were left alive of either party were to receive
their freedom. Indeed, by a kindly decree the King Agrippa, a man who
did not seek unnecessary bloodshed, contrary to custom, even the wounded
were to be spared, that is, if any would undertake the care of them.
Under these circumstances, since life is sweet, all had determined to
fight their best.

In another division of the great hall was collected a very different
company. There were not more than fifty or sixty of these, so the wide
arches of the surrounding cloisters gave them sufficient shelter and
even privacy. With the exception of eight or ten men, all of them old,
or well on in middle age, since the younger and more vigorous males had
been carefully drafted to serve as gladiators, this little band was
made of women and a few children. They belonged to the new sect called
Christians, the followers of one Jesus, who, according to report, was
crucified as a troublesome person by the governor, Pontius Pilate, a
Roman official, who in due course had been banished to Gaul, where he
was said to have committed suicide. In his day Pilate was unpopular
in Judaea, for he had taken the treasures of the Temple at Jerusalem to
build waterworks, causing a tumult in which many were killed. Now he
was almost forgotten, but very strangely, the fame of this crucified
demagogue, Jesus, seemed to grow, since there were many who made a kind
of god of him, preaching doctrines in his name that were contrary to the
law and offensive to every sect of the Jews.

Pharisees, Sadducees, Zealots, Levites, priests, all called out against
them. All besought Agrippa that he would be rid of them, these apostates
who profaned the land and proclaimed in the ears of a nation awaiting
its Messiah, that Heaven-born King who should break the Roman yoke and
make Jerusalem the capital of the world, that this Messiah had come
already in the guise of an itinerant preacher, and perished with other
malefactors by the death of shame.

Wearied with their importunities, the King listened. Like the cultivated
Romans with whom he associated, Agrippa had no real religion. At
Jerusalem he embellished the Temple and made offerings to Jehovah; at
Berytus he embellished the temple and made offerings there to Jupiter.
He was all things to all men and to himself--nothing but a voluptuous
time-server. As for these Christians, he never troubled himself about
them. Why should he? They were few and insignificant, no single man of
rank or wealth was to be found among them. To persecute them was easy,
and--it pleased the Jews. Therefore he persecuted them. One James, a
disciple of the crucified man called Christ, who had wandered about the
country with him, he seized and beheaded at Jerusalem. Another, called
Peter, a powerful preacher, he threw into prison, and of their followers
he slew many. A few of these were given over to be stoned by the Jews,
but the pick of the men were forced to fight as gladiators at Berytus
and elsewhere. The women, if young and beautiful, were sold as slaves,
but if matrons or aged, they were cast to the wild beasts in the circus.

Such was the fate, indeed, that was reserved for these poor victims in
the prison on this very day of the opening of our history. After the
gladiators had fought and the other games had been celebrated, sixty
Christians, it was announced, old and useless men, married woman and
young children whom nobody would buy, were to be turned down in the
great amphitheatre. Then thirty fierce lions, with other savage beasts,
made ravenous by hunger and mad with the smell of blood, were to be let
loose among them. Even in this act of justice, however, Agrippa suffered
it to be seen that he was gentle-hearted, since of his kindness he had
decreed that any whom the lions refused to eat were to be given clothes,
a small sum of money, and released to settle their differences with the
Jews as they might please.

Such was the state of public feeling and morals in the Roman world of
that day, that this spectacle of the feeding of starved beasts with live
women and children, whose crime was that they worshipped a crucified
man and would offer sacrifice to no other god, either in the Temple
or elsewhere, was much looked forward to by the population of Caesarea.
Indeed, great sums of money were ventured upon the event, by means of
what to-day would be called sweepstakes, under the regulations of which
he who drew the ticket marked with the exact number of those whom the
lions left alive, would take the first prize. Already some far-seeing
gamblers who had drawn low numbers, had bribed the soldiers and wardens
to sprinkle the hair and garments of the Christians with valerian water,
a decoction which was supposed to attract and excite the appetite of
these great cats. Others, whose tickets were high, paid handsomely for
the employment of artifices which need not be detailed, calculated to
induce in the lions aversion to the subject that had been treated.
The Christian woman or child, it will be observed, who was to form
the _corpus vile_ of these ingenious experiments, was not considered,
except, indeed, as the fisherman considers the mussel or the sand-worm
on his hook.

Under an arch by themselves, and not far from the great gateway where
the guards, their lances in hand, could be seen pacing up and down,
sat two women. The contrast in the appearance of this pair was very
striking. One, who could not have been much more than twenty years of
age, was a Jewess, too thin-faced for beauty, but with dark and lovely
eyes, and bearing in every limb and feature the stamp of noble blood.
She was Rachel, the widow of Demas, a Graeco-Syrian, and only child of
the high-born Jew Benoni, one of the richest merchants in Tyre. The
other was a woman of remarkable aspect, apparently about forty years
of age. She was a native of the coasts of Libya, where she had been
kidnapped as a girl by Jewish traders, and by them passed on to
Phoenicians, who sold her upon the slave market of Tyre. In fact she was
a high-bred Arab without any admixture of negro blood, as was shown by
her copper-coloured skin, prominent cheek bones, her straight, black,
abundant hair, and untamed, flashing eyes. In frame she was tall and
spare, very agile, and full of grace in every movement. Her face was
fierce and hard; even in her present dreadful plight she showed no fear,
only when she looked at the lady by her side it grew anxious and tender.
She was called Nehushta, a name which Benoni had given her when many
years ago he bought her upon the market-place. In Hebrew Nehushta means
copper, and this new slave was copper-coloured. In her native land,
however, she had another name, Nou, and by this name she was known to
her dead mistress, the wife of Benoni, and to his daughter Rachel, whom
she had nursed from childhood.

The moon shone very brightly in a clear sky, and by the light of it an
observer, had there been any to observe where all were so occupied
with their own urgent affairs, could have watched every movement and
expression of these women. Rachel, seated on the ground, was rocking
herself to and fro, her face hidden in her hands, and praying. Nehushta
knelt at her side, resting the weight of her body on her heels as only
an Eastern can, and stared sullenly at nothingness.

Presently Rachel, dropping her hands, looked at the tender sky and
sighed.

"Our last night on earth, Nou," she said sadly. "It is strange to think
that we shall never again see the moon floating above us."

"Why not, mistress? If all that we have been taught is true, we shall
see that moon, or others, for ever and ever, and if it is not true, then
neither light nor darkness will trouble us any more. However, for my own
part I don't mean that either of us should die to-morrow."

"How can you prevent it, Nou?" asked Rachel with a faint smile. "Lions
are no respecters of persons."

"Yet, mistress, I think that they will respect my person, and yours,
too, for my sake."

"What do you mean, Nou?"

"I mean that I do not fear the lions; they are country-folk of mine and
roared round my cradle. The chief, my father, was called Master of Lions
in our country because he could tame them. Why, when I was a little
child I have fed them and they fawned upon us like dogs."

"Those lions are long dead, Nou, and the others will not remember."

"I am not sure that they are dead; at least, blood will call to blood,
and their company will know the smell of the child of the Master of
Lions. Whoever is eaten, we shall escape."

"I have no such hope, Nou. To-morrow we must die horribly, that King
Agrippa may do honour to his master, Caesar."

"If you think that, mistress, then let us die at once rather than be
rent limb from limb to give pleasure to a stinking mob. See, I have
poison hidden here in my hair. Let us drink of it and be done: it is
swift and painless."

"Nay, Nou, it would not be right. I may lift no hand against my own
life, or if perchance I may, I have to think of another life."

"If you die, the unborn child must die also. To-night or to-morrow, what
does it matter?"

"Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. Who knows? To-morrow Agrippa
may be dead, not us, and then the child might live. It is in the hand of
God. Let God decide."

"Lady," answered Nehushta, setting her teeth, "for your sake I have
become a Christian, yes, and I believe. But I tell you this--while I
live no lion's fangs shall tear that dear flesh of yours. First if need
be, I will stab you there in the arena, or if they take my knife from
me, then I will choke you, or dash out your brains against the posts."

"It may be a sin, Nou; take no such risk upon your soul."

"My soul! What do I care about my soul? You are my soul. Your mother was
kind to me, the poor slave-girl, and when you were an infant, I rocked
you upon my breast. I spread your bride-bed, and if need be, to save you
from worse things, I will lay you dead before me and myself dead across
your body. Then let God or Satan--I care not which--deal with my soul.
At least, I shall have done my best and died faithful."

"You should not speak so," sighed Rachel. "But, dear, I know it is
because you love me, and I wish to die as easily as may be and to join
my husband. Only if the child could have lived, as I think, all three
of us would have dwelt together eternally. Nay, not all three, all four,
for you are well-nigh as dear to me, Nou, as husband or as child."

"That cannot be, I do not wish that it should be, who am but a slave
woman, the dog beneath the table. Oh! if I could save you, then I would
be glad to show them how this daughter of my father can bear their
torments."

The Libyan ceased, grinding her teeth in impotent rage. Then suddenly
she leant towards her mistress, kissed her fiercely on the cheek and
began to sob, slow, heavy sobs.

"Listen," said Rachel. "The lions are roaring in their dens yonder."

Nehushta lifted her head and hearkened as a hunter hearkens in the
desert. True enough, from near the great tower that ended the southern
wall of the amphitheatre, echoed short, coughing notes and fierce
whimperings, to be followed presently by roar upon roar, as lion after
lion joined in that fearful music, till the whole air shook with the
volume of their voices.

"Aha!" cried a keeper at the gate--not the Roman soldier who marched
to and fro unconcernedly, but a jailor, named Rufus, who was clad in
a padded robe and armed with a great knife. "Aha! listen to them, the
pretty kittens. Don't be greedy, little ones--be patient. To-night you
will purr upon a full stomach."

"Nine of them," muttered Nehushta, who had counted the roars, "all
bearded and old, royal beasts. To hearken to them makes me young again.
Yes, yes, I smell the desert and see the smoke rising from my father's
tents. As a child I hunted them, now they will hunt me; it is their
hour."

"Give me air! I faint!" gasped Rachel, sinking against her.

With a guttural exclamation of pity Nehushta bent down. Placing her
strong arms beneath the slender form of her young mistress, and lifting
her as though she were a child, she carried her to the centre of the
court, where stood a fountain; for before it was turned to the purposes
of a jail once this place had been a palace. Here she set her mistress
on the ground with her back against the stonework, and dashed water in
her face till presently she was herself again.

While Rachel sat thus--for the place was cool and pleasant and she could
not sleep who must die that day--a wicket-gate was opened and several
persons, men, women, and children, were thrust through it into the
court.

"Newcomers from Tyre in a great hurry not to lose the lions' party,"
cried the facetious warden of the gate. "Pass in, my Christian friends,
pass in and eat your last supper according to your customs. You will
find it over there, bread and wine in plenty. Eat, my hungry friends,
eat before you are eaten and enter into Heaven or--the stomach of the
lions."

An old woman, the last of the party, for she could not walk fast, turned
round and pointed at the buffoon with her staff.

"Blaspheme not, you heathen dog!" she said, "or rather, blaspheme on
and go to your reward! I, Anna, who have the gift of prophecy, tell you,
renegade who were a Christian, and therefore are doubly guilty, that
_you_ have eaten your last meal--on earth."

The man, a half-bred Syrian who had abandoned his faith for profit and
now tormented those who were once his brethren, uttered a furious curse
and snatched a knife from his girdle.

"You draw the knife? So be it, perish by the knife!" said Anna.
Then without heeding him further the old woman hobbled on after her
companions, leaving the man to slink away white to the lips with terror.
He had been a Christian and knew something of Anna and of this "gift of
prophecy."

The path of these strangers led them past the fountain, where Rachel and
Nehushta rose to greet them as they came.

"Peace be with you," said Rachel.

"In the name of Christ, peace," they answered, and passed on towards
the arches where the other captives were gathered. Last of all, at some
distance behind the rest, came the white-haired woman, leaning on her
staff.

As she approached, Rachel turned to repeat her salutation, then uttered
a little cry and said:

"Mother Anna, do you not know me, Rachel, the daughter of Benoni?"

"Rachel!" she answered, starting. "Alas! child, how came you here?"

"By the paths that we Christians have to tread, mother," said Rachel,
sadly. "But sit; you are weary. Nou, help her."

Anna nodded, and slowly, for her limbs were stiff, sank down on to the
step of the fountain.

"Give me to drink, child," she said, "for I have been brought upon a
mule from Tyre, and am athirst."

Rachel made her hands into a cup, for she had no other, and held water
to Anna's lips, which she drank greedily, emptying them many times.

"For this refreshment, God be praised. What said you? The daughter of
Benoni a Christian! Well, even here and now, for that God be praised
also. Strange that I should not have heard of it; but I have been in
Jerusalem these two years, and was brought back to Tyre last Sabbath as
a prisoner."

"Yes, Mother, and since then I have become both wife and widow."

"Whom did you marry, child?"

"Demas, the merchant. They killed him in the amphitheatre yonder at
Berytus six months ago," and the poor woman began to sob.

"I heard of his end," replied Anna. "It was a good and noble one, and
his soul rests in Heaven. He would not fight with the gladiators, so he
was beheaded by order of Agrippa. But cease weeping, child, and tell me
your story. We have little time for tears, who, perhaps, soon will have
done with them."

Rachel dried her eyes.

"It is short and sad," she said. "Demas and I met often and learned to
love each other. My father was no friend to him, for they were rivals in
trade, but in those days knowing no better, Demas followed the faith
of the Jews; therefore, because he was rich my father consented to our
marriage, and they became partners in their business. Afterwards,
within a month indeed, the Apostles came to Tyre, and we attended their
preaching--at first, because we were curious to learn the truth of this
new faith against which my father railed, for, as you know, he is of the
strictest sect of the Jews; and then, because our hearts were touched.
So in the end we believed, and were baptised, both on one night, by
the very hand of the brother of the Lord. The holy Apostles departed,
blessing us before they went, and Demas, who would play no double part,
told my father of what we had done. Oh! mother, it was awful to see. He
raved, shouted and cursed us in his rage, blaspheming Him we worship.
More, woe is me that I should have to tell it: When we refused to become
apostates he denounced us to the priests, and the priests denounced
us to the Romans, and we were seized and thrown into prison; but my
husband's wealth, most of it except that which the priests and Romans
stole, stayed with my father. For many months we were held in prison
here in Caesarea; then they took my husband to Berytus, to be trained
as a gladiator, and murdered him. Here I have stayed since with this
beloved servant, Nehushta, who also became a Christian and shared our
fate, and now, by the decree of Agrippa, it is my turn and hers to die
to-day."

"Child, you should not weep for that; nay, you should be glad who at
once will find your husband and your Saviour."

"Mother, I am glad; but, you see my state. It is for the child's sake I
weep, that now never will be born. Had it won life even for an hour all
of us would have dwelt together in bliss until eternity. But it cannot
be--it cannot be."

Anna looked at her with her piercing eyes.

"Have you, then, also the gift of prophecy, child, who are so young a
member of the Church, that you dare to say that this or that cannot be?
The future is in the hand of God. King Agrippa, your father, the Romans,
the cruel Jews, those lions that roar yonder, and we who are doomed to
feed them, are all in the hand of God, and that which He wills shall
befall, and no other thing. Therefore, let us praise Him and rejoice,
and take no thought for the morrow, unless it be to pray that we may die
and go hence to our Master, rather than live on in doubts and terrors
and tribulations."

"You are right, mother," answered Rachel, "and I will try to be brave,
whatever may befall; but my state makes me feeble. The spirit, truly, is
willing, but oh! the flesh is weak. Listen, they call us to partake of
the Sacrament of the Lord--our last on earth"; and rising, she began to
walk towards the arches.

Nehushta stayed to help Anna to her feet. When she judged her mistress
to be out of hearing she leaned down and whispered:

"Mother, you have the gift; it is known throughout the Church. Tell me,
will the child be born?"

The old woman fixed her eyes upon the heavens, then answered, slowly:

"The child will be born and live out its life, and I think that none of
us are doomed to die this day by the jaws of lions, though some of us
may die in another fashion. But I think also that your mistress goes
very shortly to join her husband. Therefore it was that I showed her
nothing of what came into my mind."

"Then it is best that I should die also, and die I will."

"Wherefore?"

"Because I go to wait upon my mistress?"

"Nay, Nehushta," answered Anna, sternly, "you stay to guard her child,
whereof when all these earthly things are done you must give account to
her."



CHAPTER II

THE VOICE OF A GOD

Of all the civilisations whose records lie open to the student, that
of Rome is surely one of the most wonderful. Nowhere, not even in old
Mexico, was high culture so completely wedded to the lowest barbarism.
Intellect Rome had in plenty; the noblest efforts of her genius are
scarcely to be surpassed; her law is the foundation of the best of our
codes of jurisprudence; art she borrowed but appreciated; her military
system is still the wonder of the world; her great men remain great
among a multitude of subsequent competitors. And yet how pitiless she
was! What a tigress! Amid all the ruins of her cities we find none of a
hospital, none, I believe, of an orphan school in an age that made many
orphans. The pious aspirations and efforts of individuals seem never
to have touched the conscience of the people. Rome incarnate had no
conscience; she was a lustful, devouring beast, made more bestial by her
intelligence and splendour.

King Agrippa in practice was a Roman. Rome was his model, her ideals
were his ideals. Therefore he built amphitheatres in which men were
butchered, to the exquisite delight of vast audiences. Therefore, also,
without the excuse of any conscientious motive, however insufficient or
unsatisfactory, he persecuted the weak because they were weak and their
sufferings would give pleasure to the strong or to those who chanced to
be the majority of the moment.

The season being hot it was arranged that the great games in honour of
the safety of Caesar, should open each day at dawn and come to an end an
hour before noon. Therefore from midnight onwards crowds of spectators
poured into the amphitheatre, which, although it would seat over twenty
thousand, was not large enough to contain them all. An hour before the
dawn the place was full, and already late comers were turned back from
its gates. The only empty spaces were those reserved for the king,
his royal guests, the rulers of the city, with other distinguished
personages, and for the Christian company of old men, women and children
destined to the lions, who, it was arranged, were to sit in full view
of the audience until the time came for them to take their share in the
spectacle.

When Rachel joined the other captives she found that a long rough table
had been set beneath the arcades, and on it at intervals, pieces of
bread and cups and vases containing wine of the country that had been
purchased at a great price from the guards. Round this table the elders
or the infirm among the company were seated on a bench, while the rest
of the number, for whom there was not room, stood behind them. At its
head was an old man, a bishop among the Christians, one of the five
hundred who had seen the risen Lord and received baptism from the
hands of the Beloved Disciple. For some years he had been spared by the
persecutors of the infant Church on account of his age, dignity, and
good repute, but now at last fate seemed to have overtaken him.

The service was held; the bread and wine, mixed with water, were
consecrated with the same texts by which they are blessed to-day, only
the prayers were extempore. When all had eaten from the platters and
drunk from the rude cups, the bishop gave his blessing to the community.
Then he addressed them. This, he told them, was an occasion of peculiar
joy, a love-feast indeed, since all they who partook of it were about to
lay down the burden of the flesh and, their labours and sorrows ended,
to depart into bliss eternal. He called to their memory the supper of
the Passover which had taken place within the lifetime of many of
them, when the Author and Finisher of their faith had declared to the
disciples that He would drink no more wine till He drank it new with
them in His kingdom. Such a feast it was that lay spread before them
this night. Let them be thankful for it. Let them not quail in the hour
of trial. The fangs of the savage beasts, the shouts of the still more
savage spectators, the agony of the quivering flesh, the last terror of
their departing, what were these? Soon, very soon, they would be done;
the spears of the soldiers would despatch the injured, and those among
them whom it was ordained should escape, would be set free by the
command of the representative of Caesar, that they might prosecute the
work till the hour came for them to pass on the torch of redemption to
other hands. Let them rejoice, therefore, and be very thankful, and
walk to the sacrifice as to a wedding feast. "Do you not rejoice, my
brethren?" he asked. With one voice they answered, "We rejoice!" Yes,
even the children answered thus.

Then they prayed again, and again with uplifted hands the old man
blessed them in the holy Triune Name.

Scarcely had this service, as solemn as it was simple, been brought
to an end when the head jailer, whose blasphemous jocosity since his
reproof by Anna was replaced by a mien of sullen venom, came forward and
commanded the whole band to march to the amphitheatre. Accordingly, two
by two, the bishop leading the way with the sainted woman Anna, they
walked to the gates. Here a guard of soldiers was waiting to receive
them, and under their escort they threaded the narrow, darkling streets
till they came to that door of the amphitheatre which was used by those
who were to take part in the games. Now, at a word from the bishop, they
began to chant a solemn hymn, and singing thus, were thrust along the
passages to the place prepared for them. This was not, as they expected,
a prison at the back of the amphitheatre, but, as has been said, a spot
between the enclosing wall and the podium, raised a little above the
level of the arena. Here, on the eastern side of the building, they were
to sit till their turn came to be driven by the guards through a little
wicket-gate into the arena, where the starving beasts of prey would be
loosed upon them.

It was now the hour before sunrise, and the moon having set, the vast
theatre was plunged in gloom, relieved only here and there by stray
torches and cressets of fire burning upon either side of the gorgeous,
but as yet unoccupied, throne of Agrippa. This gloom seemed to oppress
the audience with which the place was crowded; at any rate none of them
shouted or sang, or even spoke loudly. They addressed each other
in muffled tones, with the result that the air seemed to be full of
mysterious whisperings. Had this poor band of condemned Christians
entered the theatre in daylight, they would have been greeted with
ironical cries and tauntings of "Dogs' meat!" and with requests that
they should work a miracle and let the people see them rise again from
the bellies of the lions. But now, as their solemn song broke upon the
silence, it was answered only by one great murmur, which seemed to shape
itself to the words, "the Christians! The doomed Christians!"

By the light of a single torch the band took their places. Then once
more they sang, and in that chastening hour the audience listened with
attention, almost with respect. Their chant finished, the bishop stood
up, and, moved thereto by some inspiration, began to address the mighty
throng, whom he could not see, and who could not see him. Strangely
enough they hearkened to him, perhaps because his speech served to while
away the weary time of waiting.

"Men and brethren," he began, in his thin, piercing notes, "princes,
lords, peoples, Romans, Jews, Syrians, Greeks, citizens of Idumaea, of
Egypt, and of all nations here gathered, hearken to the words of an old
man destined and glad to die. Listen, if it be your pleasure, to the
story of One whom some of you saw crucified under Pontius Pilate, since
to know the truth of that matter can at least do you no hurt."

"Be silent!" cried a voice, that of the renegade jailer, "and cease
preaching your accursed faith!"

"Let him alone," answered other voices. "We will hear this story of his.
We say--let him alone."

Thus encouraged the old man spoke on with an eloquence so simple and yet
so touching, with a wisdom so deep, that for full fifteen minutes none
cared even to interrupt him. Then a far-away listener cried:

"Why must these people die who are better than we?"

"Friend," answered the bishop, in ringing tones, which in that heavy
silence seemed to search out even the recesses of the great and crowded
place, "we must die because it is the will of King Agrippa, to whom
God has given power to destroy us. Mourn not for us because we perish
cruelly, since this is the day of our true birth, but mourn for King
Agrippa, at whose hands our blood will be required, and mourn, mourn for
yourselves, O people. The death that is near to us perchance is nearer
still to some of you; and how will you awaken who perish in your sins?
What if the sword of God should empty yonder throne? What if the voice
of God should call on him who fills it to make answer of his deeds?
Soon or late, O people, it will call on him and you to pass hence, some
naturally in your age, others by the sharp and dreadful roads of sword,
pestilence or famine. Already those woes which He whom you crucified
foretold, knock at your door, and within a few short years not one of
you who crowd this place in thousands will draw the breath of life.
Nothing will remain of you on earth save the fruit of those deeds which
you have done--these and your bones, no more. Repent you, therefore,
repent while there is time; for I, whom you have doomed, I am bidden to
declare that judgment is at hand. Yes, even now, although you see him
not, the Angel of the Lord hangs over you and writes your names within
his book. Now while there is time I would pray for you and for your
king. Farewell."

As he spoke those words "the Angel of the Lord hangs over you," so great
was the preacher's power, and in that weary darkness so sharply had he
touched the imagination of his strange audience, that with a sound like
to the stir of rustling trees, thousands of faces were turned upwards,
as though in search of that dread messenger.

"Look, look!" screamed a hundred voices, while dim arms pointed to some
noiseless thing that floated high above them against the background
of the sky, which grew grey with the coming dawn. It appeared and
disappeared, appeared again, then seemed to pass downward in the
direction of Agrippa's throne, and vanished.

"It is that magician's angel," cried one, and the multitudes groaned.

"Fool," said another, "it was but a bird."

"Then for Agrippa's sake," shrilled a new voice, "the gods send that it
was not an owl."

Thereat some laughed, but the most were silent. They knew the story of
King Agrippa and the owl, and how it had been foretold that this spirit
in the form of a bird would appear to him again in the hour of his
death, as it had appeared to him in the hour of his triumph.[*]

     [*] See Josephus, "Antiquities of the Jews," Book XVII.,
     Chap. VI., Sec. 7; and Book XIX., Chap. VIII., Sec. 2.

Just then from the palace to the north arose a sound of the blare of
trumpets. Now a herald, speaking on the summit of the great eastern
tower, called out that it was dawn above the mountains, and that King
Agrippa came with all his company, whereon the preaching of the old
Christian and his tale of a watching Vengeance were instantly forgotten.
Presently the glad, fierce notes of the trumpets drew nearer, and in the
grey of the daybreak, through the great bronze gates of the Triumphal
Way that were thrown open to greet him, advanced Agrippa, wonderfully
attired and preceded by his legionaries. At his right walked Vibius
Marsus, the Roman President of Syria, and on his left Antiochus, King of
Commagena, while after him followed other kings, princes, and great men
of his own and foreign lands.

Agrippa mounted his golden throne while the multitude roared a welcome,
and his company were seated around and behind him according to their
degree.

Once more the trumpets sounded, and the gladiators of different arms,
headed by the equites who fought on horseback, numbering in all more
than five hundred men, were formed up in the arena for the preliminary
march past--the salutation of those about to die to their emperor and
lord. Now, that they also might take their part in the spectacle, the
band of Christian martyrs were thrust through the door in the podium,
and to make them seem as many as possible in number, marshalled two by
two.

Then the march past began. Troop by troop, arrayed in their shining
armour and armed, each of them, with his own familiar weapon, the
gladiators halted in front of Agrippa's throne, giving to him the
accustomed salutation of "Hail, King, we who are about to die, salute
thee," to be rewarded with a royal smile and the shouts of the approving
audience. Last of all came the Christians, a motley, wretched-looking
group, made up of old men, terrified children clinging to their mothers,
and ill-clad, dishevelled women. At the pitiful sight, that very mob
which a few short minutes before had hung upon the words of the bishop,
their leader, now, as they watched them hobbling round the arena in the
clear, low light of the dawning, burst into peals of laughter and called
out that each of them should be made to lead his lion. Quite heedless
of these scoffs and taunts, they trudged on through the white sand that
soon would be so red, until they came opposite to the throne.

"Salute!" roared the audience.

The bishop held up his hand and all were silent. Then, in the thin voice
with which they had become familiar, he said:

"King, we who are about to die--forgive thee. May God do likewise."

Now the multitude ceased laughing, and with an impatient gesture,
Agrippa motioned to the martyrs to pass on. This they did humbly;
but Anna, being old, lame and weary, could not walk so fast as her
companions. Alone she reached the saluting-place after all had left it,
and halted there.

"Forward!" cried the officers. But she did not move nor did she speak.
Only leaning on her staff she looked steadily up at the face of the king
Agrippa. Some impulse seemed to draw his eyes to hers. They met, and
it was noted that he turned pale. Then straightening herself with
difficulty upon her tottering feet, Anna raised her staff and pointed
with it to the golden canopy above the head of Herod. All stared upward,
but saw nothing, for the canopy was still in the shadow of the velarium
which covered all the outer edge of the cavea, leaving the centre open
to the sky. It would appear, however, that Agrippa did see something,
for he who had risen to declare the games open, suddenly sank back upon
his throne, and remained thus lost in thought. Then Anna limped forward
to join her company, who once more were driven through the little gate
in the wall of the arena.

For a second time, with an effort, Agrippa lifted himself from his
throne. As he rose the first level rays of sunrise struck full upon him.
He was a tall and noble-looking man, and his dress was glorious. To
the thousands who gazed upon him from the shadow, set in that point of
burning light he seemed to be clothed in a garment of glittering silver.
Silver was his crown, silver his vest, silver the wide robe that flowed
from his shoulders to the ground.

"In the name of Caesar, to the glory of Caesar, I declare these games
open!" he cried.

Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, all the multitude rose
shouting: "The voice of a god! The voice of a god! The voice of the god
Agrippa!"

Nor did Agrippa say them nay; the glory of such worship thundered at
him from twenty thousand throats made him drunken. There for a while he
stood, the new-born sunlight playing upon his splendid form, while the
multitude roared his name, proclaiming it divine. His nostrils spread to
inhale this incense of adoration, his eyes flashed and slowly he waved
his arms, as though in benediction of his worshippers. Perchance there
rose before his mind a vision of the wondrous event whereby he, the
scorned and penniless outcast, had been lifted to this giddy pinnacle
of power. Perchance for a moment he believed that he was indeed divine,
that nothing less than the blood and right of godhead could thus have
exalted him. At least he stood there, denying naught, while the people
adored him as Jehovah is adored of the Jews and Christ is adored of the
Christians.

Then of a sudden smote the Angel of the Lord. Of a sudden intolerable
pain seized upon his vitals, and Herod remembered that he was but mortal
flesh, and knew that death was near.

"Alas!" he cried, "I am no god, but a man, and even now the common fate
of man is on me."

As he spoke a great white owl slid from the roof of the canopy above him
and vanished through the unroofed centre of the cavea.

"Look! look! my people!" he cried again, "the spirit that brought me
good fortune leaves me now, and I die, my people, I die!" Then, sinking
upon his throne, he who a moment gone had received the worship of a god,
writhed there in agony and wept. Yes, Herod wept.

Attendants ran to him and lifted him in their arms.

"Take me hence to die," he moaned. Now a herald cried:

"The king is smitten with a sore sickness, and the games are closed. To
your homes, O people."

For a while the multitude sat silent, for they were fear-stricken. Then
a murmur rose among them that spread and swelled till it became a roar.

"The Christians! The Christians! They prophesied the evil. They have
bewitched the king. They are wizards. Kill them, kill them, kill them!"

Instantly, like waves pouring in from every side, hundreds and thousands
of men began to flow towards that place where the martyrs sat. The walls
and palisades were high. Sweeping aside the guards, they surged against
them like water against a rock; but climb they could not. Those in front
began to scream, those behind pressed on. Some fell and were trodden
underfoot, others clambered upon their bodies, in turn to fall and be
trodden underfoot.

"Our death is upon us!" cried one of the Nazarenes.

"Nay, life remains to us," answered Nehushta. "Follow me, all of you,
for I know the road," and, seizing Rachel about the middle, she began to
drag her towards a little door. It was unlocked and guarded by one man
only, the apostate jailer Rufus.

"Stand back!" he cried, lifting his spear.

Nehushta made no answer, only drawing a dagger from her robe, she fell
upon the ground, then of a sudden rose again beneath his guard. The
knife flashed and went home to the hilt. Down fell the man screaming for
help and mercy, and there, in the narrow way, his spirit was stamped out
of him. Beyond lay the broad passage of the vomitorium. They gained it,
and in an instant were mixed with the thousands who sought to escape the
panic. Some perished, some were swept onwards, among them Nehushta and
Rachel. Thrice they nearly fell, but the fierce strength of the Libyan
saved her mistress, till at length they found themselves on the broad
terrace facing the seashore.

"Whither now?" gasped Rachel.

"Where shall I lead you?" answered Nehushta. "Do not stay. Be swift."

"But the others?" said Rachel, glancing back at the fighting, trampling,
yelling mob.

"God guard them! We cannot."

"Leave me," moaned her mistress. "Save yourself, Nou; I am spent," and
she sank down to her knees.

"But I am still strong," muttered Nehushta, and lifting the swooning
woman in her sinewy arms, she fled on towards the port, crying, "Way,
way for my lady, the noble Roman, who has swooned!"

And the multitude made way.



CHAPTER III

THE GRAIN STORE

Having passed the outer terraces of the amphitheatre in safety, Nehushta
turned down a side street, and paused in the shadow of the wall to think
what she should do. So far they were safe; but even if her strength
would stand the strain, it seemed impossible that she should carry her
mistress through the crowded city and avoid recapture. For some months
they had both of them been prisoners, and as it was the custom of the
inhabitants of Caesarea, when they had nothing else to do, to come to the
gates of their jail, and, through the bars, to study those within, or
even, by permission of the guards, to walk among them, their appearance
was known to many. Doubtless, so soon as the excitement caused by the
illness of the king had subsided, soldiers would be sent to hunt down
the fugitives who had escaped from the amphitheatre. More especially
would they search for her, Nehushta, and her mistress, since it would be
known that one of them had stabbed the warden of the gate, a crime for
which they must expect to die by torture. Also--where could they go who
had no friends, since all Christians had been expelled the city?

No, there was but one chance for them--to conceal themselves.

Nehushta looked round her for a hiding-place, and in this matter, as in
others on that day, fortune favoured them. This street in the old days,
when Caesarea was called Strato's Tower, had been built upon an inner
wall of the city, now long dismantled. At a distance of a few yards
from where Nehushta had stopped stood an ancient gateway, unused save
at times by beggars who slept under it, which led nowhere, for the outer
arch of it was bricked up. Into this gateway Nehushta bore her mistress
unobserved, to find to her relief that it was quite untenanted, though
a still smouldering fire and a broken amphora containing clean water
showed her that folk had slept there who could find no better lodging.
So far so good; but here it would be scarcely safe to hide, as the
tenants or others might come back. Nehushta looked around. In the thick
wall was a little archway, beneath which commenced a stair. Setting
Rachel on the ground, she ran up it, lightly as a cat. At the top of
thirty steps, many of them broken, she found an old and massive door.
With a sigh of disappointment, the Libyan turned to descend again; then,
by an afterthought, pushed at the door. To her surprise it stirred.
Again she pushed, and it swung open. Within was a large chamber, lighted
by loopholes pierced in the thickness of the wall, for the use of
archers. Now, however, it served no military purpose, but was used as a
storehouse by a merchant of grain, for there in a corner lay a heap of
many measures of barley, and strewn about the floor were sacks of skin
and other articles.

Nehushta examined the room. No hiding-place could be better--unless the
merchant chanced to come to visit his store. Well, that must be risked.
Down she sped, and with much toil and difficulty carried her still
swooning mistress up the steps and into the chamber, where she laid her
on a heap of sacks.

Again, by an afterthought, she ventured to descend, this time to fetch
the broken jar of water. Then she closed the door, setting it fast with
a piece of wood, and began to chafe Rachel's hands and to sprinkle her
face from the jar. Presently the dark eyes opened and her mistress sat
up.

"Is it over, and is this Paradise?" she murmured.

"I should not call the place by that name, lady," answered Nehushta,
drily, "though perhaps, in contrast with the hell that we have left,
some might think it so. Drink!" and she held the water to her lips.

Rachel obeyed her eagerly. "Oh! it is good," she said. "But how came we
here out of that rushing crowd?"

Before she answered, muttering "After the mistress, the maid," Nehushta
swallowed a deep draught of water in her turn, which, indeed, she needed
sorely. Then she told her all.

"Oh! Nou," said Rachel, "how strong and brave you are! But for you I
should be dead."

"But for God, you mean, mistress, for I hold that He sent that
knife-point home."

"Did you kill the man?" asked Rachel.

"I think that he died by a dagger-thrust as Anna foretold," she answered
evasively; "and that reminds me that I had better clean the knife, since
blood on the blade is evidence against its owner." Then drawing the
dagger from its hiding-place she rubbed it with dust, which she took
from a loop-hole, and polished it bright with a piece of hide.

Scarcely was this task accomplished to Nehushta's satisfaction when her
quick ears caught a sound.

"For your life, be silent," she whispered, and laid her face sideways
to a crack in the cement floor and listened. Well might she listen, for
below were three soldiers searching for her and her mistress.

"The old fellow swore that he saw a Libyan woman carrying a lady down
this street," said one of them, the petty officer in charge, to his
companion, "and there was but a single brown-skin in the lot; so if they
aren't here I don't know where they can be."

"Well," grumbled one of the soldiers, "this place is as empty as a drum,
so we may as well be going. There'll be fun presently which I don't want
to miss."

"It was the black woman who knifed our friend Rufus, wasn't it--in the
theatre there?" asked the third soldier.

"They say so; but as he was trodden as flat as a roof-board, and they
had to take him up in pieces, it is difficult to know the truth of that
matter. Anyhow his mates are anxious to get the lady, and I should be
sorry to die as she will, when they do, or her mistress either. They
have leave to finish them in their own fashion."

"Hadn't we best be going?" said the first soldier, who evidently was
anxious to keep some appointment.

"Hullo!" exclaimed the second, a sharp-eyed fellow, "there's a stair; we
had better just look up it."

"Not much use," answered the officer. "That old thief Amram, the
corn-merchant, has a store there, and he isn't one of the sort to leave
it unlocked. Still, just go and see."

Then came the sound of footsteps on the stair, and presently a man could
be heard fumbling at the further side of the door. Rachel shut her eyes
and prayed; Nehushta, drawing the knife from her bosom, crept towards
the doorway like a tigress, and placed her left hand on the stick that
held it shut. Well it was that she did so, since presently the soldier
gave a savage push that might easily have caused the wood to slip on the
cemented floor. Now, satisfied that it was really locked, he turned and
went down the steps.

With a gasp of relief Nehushta once more set her ear to the crack.

"It's fast enough," reported the man, "but perhaps it might be as well
to get the key from Amram and have a look."

"Friend," said the officer, "I think that you must be in love with this
black lady; or is it her mistress whom you admire? I shall recommend
you for the post of Christian-catcher to the cohort. Now we'll try that
house at the corner, and if they are not there, I am off to the palace
to see how his godship is getting on with that stomach-ache and whether
it has moved him to order payment of our arrears. If he hasn't, I tell
you flatly that I mean to help myself to something, and so do the rest
of the lads, who are mad at the stopping of the games."

"It would be much better to get that key from Amram and have a look
upstairs," put in number two soldier reflectively.

"Then go to Amram, or to Pluto, and ask for the key of Hades for aught
I care!" replied his superior with irritation. "He lives about a league
off at the other end of the town."

"I do not wish for the walk," said the conscientious soldier; "but as we
are searching for these escaped Christians, by your leave, I do think it
would have been much better to have got that key from Amram and peeped
into the chamber upstairs."

Thereon the temper of the officer, already ruffled by the events of
the morning and the long watch of the preceding night, gave way, and he
departed, consigning the Christians, escaped or recaptured, Amram and
the key, his subordinate, and even the royal Agrippa who did not pay
his debts, to every infernal god of every religion with which he was
acquainted.

Nehushta lifted her head from the floor.

"Thanks be to God! They are gone," she said.

"But, Nou, will they not come back? Oh! I fear lest they should come
back."

"I think not. That sharp-nosed rat has made the other angry, and I
believe that he will find him some harder task than the seeking of a key
from Amram. Still, there is danger that this Amram may appear himself to
visit his store, for in these days of festival he is sure to be selling
grain to the bakers."

Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when a key rattled, the door
was pushed sharply, and the piece of wood slipped and fell. Then the
hinges creaked, and Amram--none other--entered, and, closing the door
behind him, locked it, leaving the key in the lock.

Amram was a shrewd-faced, middle-aged Phoenician and, like most
Phoenicians of that day, a successful trader, this corn-store
representing only one branch of his business. For the rest he was clad
in a quiet-coloured robe and cap, and to all appearance unarmed.

Having locked the door, he walked to a little table, beneath which stood
a box containing his tablets whereon were entered the amounts of corn
bought and delivered, to come face to face with Nehushta. Instantly she
slid between him and the door.

"Who in the name of Moloch are you?" he asked, stepping back astonished,
to perceive as he did so, Rachel seated on the heap of sacks; "and you,"
he added. "Are you spirits, thieves, ladies in search of a lodging,
or--perchance those two Christians whom the soldiers are looking for in
yonder house?"

"We are the two Christians," said Rachel desperately. "We fled from the
amphitheatre, and have taken refuge here, where they nearly found us."

"This," said Amram solemnly, "comes of not locking one's office. Do not
misunderstand me; it was no fault of mine. A certain apprentice is to
blame, to whom I shall have a word to say. In fact, I think that I will
say it at once," and he stepped towards the door.

"Indeed you will not," interrupted Nehushta.

"And pray, my Libyan friend, how will you prevent me?"

"My putting a knife into your gizzard, as I did through that of the
renegade Rufus an hour or two ago! Ah! I see you have heard the story."

Amram considered, then replied:

"And what if I also have a knife?"

"In that case," said Nehushta, "draw it, and we will see which is the
better, man or woman. Merchant, your weapon is your pen. You have not a
chance with me, an Arab of Libya, and you know it."

"Yes," answered Amram, "I think I do; you desert folk are so reckless
and athletic. Also, to be frank, as you may have guessed, I am unarmed.
Now, what do you propose?"

"I propose that you get us safely out of Caesarea, or, if you prefer it,
that we shall all die here in this grain-store, for, by whatever god you
worship, Phoenician, before a hand is laid upon my mistress or me, this
knife goes through your heart. I owe no love to your people, who bought
me, a king's daughter, as a slave, and I shall be quite happy to close
my account with one of them. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, perfectly. Why show such temper? The affair is one of
business; let us discuss it in a business spirit. You wish to escape
from Caesarea; I wish you to escape from my grain-store. Let me go out
and arrange the matter."

"On a plank; not otherwise unless we accompany you," answered Nehushta.
"Man, why do you waste words with us. Listen. This lady is the only
child of Benoni, the great merchant of Tyre. Doubtless you know him?"

"To my cost," replied Amram, with a bow. "Three times has he overreached
me in various bargains."

"Very well; then you know also that he is rich and will pay him
liberally who rescues his daughter from great peril."

"He might do so, but I am not sure."

"I am sure," answered Nehushta, "and for this service my mistress here
will give you a bill for any reasonable sum drawn upon her father."

"Yes, but the question is--will he honour it? Benoni is a prejudiced
man, a very prejudiced man, a Jew of the Jew, who--does not like
Christians."

"I think that he will honour it, I believe that he will honour it; but
that risk is yours. See here, merchant, a doubtful draft is better than
a slit throat."

"Quite so. The argument is excellent. But you desire to escape. If you
keep me here, how can I arrange the matter?"

"That is for you to consider. You do not leave this place except in our
company, and then at the first sign of danger I drive this knife home
between your shoulders. Meanwhile my mistress is ready to sign any
moderate draft upon her father."

"It is not necessary. Under the circumstances I think that I will trust
to the generosity of my fellow trader Benoni. Meanwhile I assure you
that nothing will give me greater happiness than to fall in with your
views. Believe me, I have no prejudice against Christians, since those
of them whom I have met were always honest and paid their debts in full.
I do not wish to see you or your mistress eaten by lions or tortured.
I shall be very glad to think that you are following the maxims of your
peculiar faith to an extreme old age, anywhere, outside the limits of my
grain-store. The question is, how can I help you do this? At present I
see no way."

"The question is--how will you manage to keep your life in you over the
next twelve hours?" answered Nehushta grimly. "Therefore I advise you
to find a way"; and to emphasise her words she turned, and, having made
sure that the door was locked, slipped its key into the bosom of her
dress.

Amram stared at her in undisguised admiration. "I would that I were
unmarried," he said, "which is not the case," and he sighed; "for
then, upon my word, I should be inclined to make a certain proposal to
you----"

"Nehushta--that is my name----"

"Nehushta--exactly. Well, it is out of the question."

"Quite."

"Therefore I have a suggestion to make. To-night a ship of mine sails
for Tyre. Will you honour me by accepting a passage on her?"

"Certainly," answered Nehushta, "provided that you accompany us."

"It was not my intention to go to Tyre this voyage."

"Then your intention can be changed. Look you, we are desperate, and our
lives are at stake. Your life is also at stake, and I swear to you, by
the Holy One we worship, that before any harm comes to my mistress you
shall die. Then what will your wealth and your schemes avail you in the
grave? It is a little thing we ask of you--to help two innocent people
to escape from this accursed city. Will you grant it? Or shall I put
this dagger through your throat? Answer, and at once, or I strike and
bury you in your own corn."

Even in that light Amram turned visibly paler. "I accept your terms,"
he said. "At nightfall I will conduct you to the ship, which sails two
hours after sunset with the evening wind. I will accompany you to Tyre
and deliver the lady over to her father, trusting to his liberality for
my reward. Meanwhile, this place is hot. That ladder leads to the roof,
which is parapeted, so that those sitting or even standing there, cannot
be seen. Shall we ascend?"

"If you go first; and remember, should you attempt to call out, my knife
is always ready."

"Of that I am quite aware--you have said so several times. I have passed
my words, and I do not go back upon my bargains. The stars are with you,
and, come what may, I obey them."

Accordingly they ascended to the roof, Amram going first, Nehushta
following him, and Rachel bringing up the rear. On it, projecting inward
from the parapet, was a sloping shelter once made use of by the look-out
sentry in bad or hot weather. The change from the stifling store below
with its stench of ill-cured hides, to this lofty, shaded spot, where
the air moved freely, was so pleasant to Rachel, outworn as she was with
all she had gone through, that presently she fell asleep, not to wake
again till evening. Nehushta, however, who did not go to sleep, and
Amram, employed themselves in watching the events that passed in the
city below. From this height they could see the great square surrounding
the palace, and the strange scenes being enacted therein. It was crowded
by thousands of people, for the most part seated on the ground, clad in
garments of sack-cloth and throwing dust upon the heads of themselves,
their wives and children. From all this multitude a voice of
supplication rose to heaven, which, even at that distance, reached the
ears of Nehushta and her companion in a murmur of sound, constant and
confused.

"They pray that the king may live," said Amram.

"And I pray that he may die," answered Nehushta.

The merchant shrugged his shoulders. "I care nothing either way,
provided that the peace is not disturbed to the injury of trade. On the
whole, however, he is a good king who causes money to be spent, which is
what kings are for--in Judaea--where they are but feathers puffed up by
the breath of Caesar, to fall if he cease to blow. But look!"

As he spoke, a figure appeared upon the steps of the palace who made
some communication to the crowd, whereon a great wail went up to the
very skies.

"You have your wish," said Amram; "Herod is dead or dying, and now,
I suppose, as his son is but a child, that we shall be ruled by some
accursed thief of a Roman procurator with a pocket like a sack without a
bottom. Surely that old bishop of yours who preached in the amphitheatre
this morning, must have had a hint of what was coming, from his familiar
spirit; or perhaps he saw the owl and guessed its errand. Moreover, I
think that troubles are brewing for others besides Herod, since the old
man said as much.

"What became of him and the rest?" asked Nehushta.

"Oh! a few were trampled to death, and others the Jews stirred up the
mob to stone, saying that they had bewitched the king, which they, who
were disappointed of the games, did gladly. Some, however, are said to
have escaped, and, like yourselves, lie in hiding."

Nehushta glanced at her mistress, now fast asleep, her pale face resting
on her arm.

"The world is hard--for Christians," she said.

"Friend, it is hard for all, as, were I to tell you my own story, even
you would admit," and he sighed. "At least you Christians believe in
something beyond," he went on; "for you death is but a bridge leading to
a glorious city, and I trust that you may be right. Is not your mistress
delicate?"

Nehushta nodded.

"She was never very strong, and sorrow has done its work with her. They
killed her husband at Berytus yonder, and--her trouble is very near."

"Yes, yes, I heard that story, also that his blood is on the hands
of her own father, Benoni. Ah! who is so cruel as a bigot Jew? Not
we Phoenicians even, of whom they say such evil. Once I had a
daughter"--here his hard face softened--"but let be, let be! Look you,
the risk is great, but what I can do I will do to save her, and you
also, friend, since, Libyan or no, you are a faithful woman. Nay, do not
doubt me. I have given my word, and if I break it willingly, then may I
perish and be devoured of dogs. My ship is small and undecked. In that
she shall not sail, but a big galley weighs for Alexandria to-night,
calling at Apollonia and Joppa, and in it I will take you passages,
saying that the lady is a relative of mine and that you are her slave.
This is my advice to you--that you go straight to Egypt, where there are
many Christians who will protect you for a while. Thence your mistress
can write to her father, and if he will receiver her, return. If not, at
least she will be safe, since no writ of Herod runs in Alexandria, and
there they do not love the Jews."

"Your counsel seems good," said Nehushta, "if she will consent to it."

"She must consent who, indeed, is in no case to make other plans. Now
let me go. Before nightfall I will return again with food and clothing,
and lead you to the ship."

Nehushta hesitated.

"I say to you, do not fear. Will you not trust me?"

"Yes," answered Nehushta, "because I must. Nay, the words are not kind,
but we are sadly placed, and it is strange to find a true friend in one
whom I have threatened with a knife."

"I understand," said Amram gravely. "Let the issue prove me. Now descend
that you may lock the door behind me. When I return I will stand in
the open space yonder with a slave, making pretence to re-bind a burst
bundle of merchandise. Then come down and admit me without fear."

When the Phoenician had gone Nehushta sat by her sleeping mistress, and
waited with an anxious heart. Had she done wisely? Would Amram betray
them and send soldiers to conduct them, not to the ship, but to some
dreadful death? Well, if so, at least she would have time to kill her
mistress and herself, and thus escape the cruelties of men. Meanwhile
she could only pray; and pray she did in her fierce, half-savage
fashion, never for herself, but for her mistress whom she loved, and for
the child that, she remembered thankfully, Anna had foretold would be
born and live out its life. Then she remembered also that this same holy
woman had said that its mother's hours would be few, and at the thought
Nehushta wept.



CHAPTER IV

THE BIRTH OF MIRIAM

The time passed slowly, but none came to disturb them. Three hours after
noon Rachel awoke, refreshed but hungry, and Nehushta had no food to
give her except raw grain, from which she turned. Clearly and in few
words she told her mistress all that had passed, asking her consent to
the plan.

"It seems good as another," said Rachel with a little sigh, "and I thank
you for making it, Nou, and the Phoenician, if he is a true man. Also I
do not desire to meet my father--at least, for many years. How can I,
seeing the evil which he has brought upon me?"

"Do not speak of that," interrupted Nehushta hastily, and for a long
while they were silent.

It was an hour before sunset, or a little less, when at length Nehushta
saw two persons walk on to the patch of open ground which she watched
continually--Amram and a slave who bore a bundle on his head. Just then
the rope which bound this bundle seemed to come loose; at least, at his
master's command, the man set it down and they began to retie it, then
advanced slowly towards the archway. Now Nehushta descended, unlocked
the door and admitted Amram, who carried the bundle.

"Where is the slave?" she asked.

"Have no fear, friend; he is trusty and watches without, not knowing
why. Come, you must both of you be hungry, and I have food. Help me
loose this cord."

Presently the package was undone, and within it appeared, first, two
flagons of old wine, then meats more tasty then Nehushta had seen
for months, then rich cloaks and other garments made in the Phoenician
fashion, and a robe of white with coloured edges, such as was worn by
the body-slaves of the wealthy among that people. Lastly--and this
Amram produced from his own person--there was a purse of gold, enough to
support them for many weeks. Nehushta thanked him with her eyes, and was
about to speak.

"There, say nothing," he interrupted. "I passed my word, and I have kept
it, that is all. Also on this money I shall charge interest, and your
mistress can repay it in happier days. Now listen: I have taken the
passages, and an hour after sunset we will go aboard. Only I warn you,
do not let it be known that you are escaped Christians, for the seamen
think that such folk bring them bad luck. Come, help me carry the food
and wine. After you have eaten you can both of you retire here and robe
yourselves."

Presently they were on the roof.

"Lady," said Nehushta, "we did well to put faith in this man. He has
come back, and see what he has brought us."

"The blessing of God be on you, sir, who help the helpless!" exclaimed
Rachel, looking hungrily at the tempting meats which she so sorely
needed.

"Drink," said Amram cheerfully, as he poured wine and water into a cup;
"it will hearten you, and your faith does not forbid the use of the
grape, for have I not heard you styled the society of drunkards?"

"That is only one bad name among many, sir," said Rachel, as she took
the cup.

Then they ate and were satisfied, and afterwards descended into
the corn-store to wash with the remainder of the water, and clothe
themselves from head to foot in the fragrant and beautiful garments
that might have been made for their wear, so well had Amram judged their
sizes and needs.

By the time that they were dressed the light was dying. Still, they
waited a while for the darkness; then, with a new hope shining through
their fears, crept silently into the street, where the slave, a sturdy,
well-armed fellow, watched for them.

"To the quay," said Amram, and they walked forward, choosing those
thoroughfares that were most quiet. It was well for them that they did
this, for now it was known that Agrippa's sickness was mortal, the most
of the soldiers were already in a state of mutiny, and, inflamed with
wine, paraded the market-places and larger streets, shouting and singing
obscene songs, and breaking into the liquor shops and private houses,
where they drank healths to Charon, who was about to bear away their
king in his evil bark. As yet, however, they had not begun killing those
against whom they had a grudge. This happened afterwards, though it has
nothing to do with our story.

Without trouble or molestation the party reached the quay, where a
small boat with two Phoenician rowers was waiting for them. In it they
embarked, except the slave, and were rowed out to the anchorage to board
a large galley which lay half a mile or more away. This they did without
difficulty, for the night was calm, although the air hung thick and
heavy, and jagged clouds, wind-breeders as they were called, lay upon
the horizon. On the lower deck of the galley stood its captain, a
sour-faced man, to whom Amram introduced his passengers, who were, as he
declared, relatives of his own proceeding to Alexandria.

"Good," said the captain. "Show them to their cabin, for we sail as soon
as the wind rises."

To the cabin they went accordingly, a comfortable place stored with all
that they could need; but as they passed to it Nehushta heard a sailor,
who held a lantern in his hand, say to his companion:

"That woman is very like one whom I saw in the amphitheatre this morning
when they gave the salute to King Agrippa."

"The gods forbid it!" answered the other. "We want no Christians here to
bring evil fortune on us."

"Christians or no Christians, there is a tempest brewing, if I
understand the signs of the weather," muttered the first man.

In the cabin Amram bade his guests farewell.

"This is a strange adventure," he said, "and one that I did not look
for. May it prove to the advantage of us all. At the least I have done
my best for your safety, and now we part."

"You are a good man," replied Rachel, "and whatever may befall us, I
pray again that God may bless you for your kindness to His servants.
I pray also that He may lead you to a knowledge of the truth as it was
declared by the Lord and Master Whom we serve, that your soul may win
salvation and eternal life."

"Lady," said Amram, "I know nothing of these doctrines, but I promise
you this: that I will look into them and see whether or no they commend
themselves to my reason. I love wealth, like all my people, but I am
not altogether a time-server, or a money-seeker. Lady, I have lost those
whom I desire to find again."

"Seek and you will find."

"I will seek," he answered, "though, mayhap, I shall never find."

Thus they parted.

Presently the night breeze began to flow off the land, the great sail
was hoisted, and with the help of oars, worked by slaves, the ship
cleared the harbour and set her course for Joppa. Two hours later the
wind failed so that they could proceed only by rowing over a dead and
oily sea, beneath a sky that was full of heavy clouds. Lacking any stars
to steer by, the captain wished to cast anchor, but as the water proved
too deep they proceeded slowly, till about an hour before dawn a sudden
gust struck them which caused the galley to lean over.

"The north wind! The black north wind!" shouted the steersman, and the
sailors echoed his cry dismally, for they knew the terrors of that wind
upon the Syrian coast. Then the gale began to rage. By daylight the
waves were running high as mountains and the wind hissed through the
rigging, driving them forward beneath a small sail. Nehushta crawled out
of the cabin, and, in the light of an angry dawn, saw far away the white
walls of a city built near the shore.

"Is not that Appolonia?" she asked of the captain.

"Yes," he answered, "it is Appolonia sure enough, but we shall not
anchor there this voyage. Now it is Alexandria for us or nothing."

So they rushed past Appolonia and forward, climbing the slopes of the
rising seas.

Thus things went on. About mid-day the gale became a hurricane, and do
what they would they were driven forward, till at length they saw
the breakers forming on the coast. Rachel lay sick and prostrate, but
Nehushta went out of the cabin to watch.

"Are we in danger?" she asked of a sailor.

"Yes, accursed Christian," he replied, "and you have brought it on us
with your evil eye."

Then Nehushta returned to the cabin where her mistress lay almost
senseless with sea-sickness. On board the ship the terror and confusion
grew. For a while they were able to beat out to sea until the mast
was carried away. Then the rudder broke, and, as the oars could not be
worked in that fearful tempest, the galley began to drive shorewards.
Night fell, and who can describe the awful hours that followed? All
control of the vessel being lost, she drove onwards whither the wind and
the waves took her. The crew, and even the oar-slaves, flew to the wine
with which she was partly laden, and strove to drown their terrors in
drink. Thus inflamed, twice some of them came to the cabin, threatening
to throw their passengers overboard. But Nehushta barred the door and
called through it that she was well armed and would kill the first
man who tried to lay a hand upon her. So they went away, and after the
second visit grew too drunken to be dangerous.

Again the dawn broke over the roaring, foaming sea and revealed the
fate that awaited them. Not a mile away lay the grey line of shore, and
between them and it a cruel reef on which the breakers raged. Towards
this reef they were driving fast. Now the men grew sober in their fear,
and began to build a large raft of oars and timber; also to make ready
the boat which the galley carried. Before all was done she struck beak
first, and was lifted on to a great flat rock, where she wallowed, with
the water seething round her. Then, knowing that their hour was come,
the crew made shift to launch the boat and raft on the lee side, and
began to clamber into them. Now Nehushta came out of the cabin and
prayed the captain to save them also, whereon he answered her with an
oath that this bad luck was because of them, and that if either she or
her mistress tried to enter the boat, they would stab them and cast them
into the sea as an offering to the storm-god.

So Nehushta struggled back to the cabin, and kneeling by the side of her
mistress, with tears told her that these black-hearted sailors had
left them alone upon the ship to drown. Rachel answered that she cared
little, but only desired to be free of her fear and misery.

As the words left her lips, Nehushta heard a sound of screaming, and
crawling to the bulwarks, looked forth to see a dreadful sight. The boat
and the raft, laden with a great number of men who were fighting for
places with each other, having loosed from the lee of the ship, were
come among the breakers, which threw them up as a child throws a ball at
play. Even while Nehushta gazed, their crafts were overturned, casting
them into the water, every one there to be dashed against the rocks
or drowned by the violence of the waves, so that not a man of all that
ship's company came living to the shore.

Like tens of thousands of others on this coast in all ages, they
perished, every one of them--and that was the reward of their
wickedness.

Giving thanks to God, Who had brought them out of that danger against
their wills, Nehushta crept back to the cabin and told her mistress what
had passed.

"May they find pardon," said Rachel, shuddering; "but as for us, it will
matter little whether we are drowned in the boat or upon the galley."

"I do not think that we shall drown," answered Nehushta.

"How are we to escape it, Nou? The ship lies upon the rock, where the
great waves will batter her to pieces. Feel how she shakes beneath their
blows, and see the spray flying over us."

"I do not know, mistress; but we shall not drown."

Nehushta was right, for after they had remained fast a little longer
they were saved, thus: Suddenly the wind dropped, then it rose again in
a last furious squall, driving before it a very mountain of water. This
vast billow, as it rushed shorewards, caught the galley in its white
arms and lifted her not only off the rock whereon she lay, but over the
further reefs, to cast her down again upon a bed of sand and shells,
within a stone's throw of the beach, where she remained fast, never to
shift more.

Now also, as though its work were done, the gale ceased, and, as is
common on the Syrian coast, the sea sank rapidly, so that by nightfall
it was calm again. Indeed, three hours before sunset, had both of them
been strong and well, they might have escaped to the land by wading. But
this was not to be, for now what Nehushta had feared befell, and when
she was least fitted to bear it, being worn out with anguish of mind and
weariness of body, pain took sudden hold of Rachel, of which the end was
that, before midnight, there, in that broken vessel upon a barren coast
where no man seemed to live, a daughter was born to her.

"Let me see the child," said Rachel. So Nehushta showed it to her by the
light of a lamp which burned in the cabin.

It was a small child, but very white, with blue eyes and dark hair that
curled. Rachel gazed at it long and tenderly. Then she said, "Bring me
water while there is yet time."

When the water was brought she dipped her trembling hand into it, and
made the sign of the Cross upon the babe's forehead, baptising her with
the name of Miriam, after that of her own mother, to the service and the
company of Jesus the Christ.

"Now," she said, "whether she live an hour or an hundred years, this
child is a Christian, and whatever befalls, should she come to the age
of understanding, see to it, Nou, who are henceforth the foster-mother
of her body and her soul, that she does not forget the rites and duties
of her faith. Lay this charge on her also as her father commanded, and
as I command, that should she be moved to marriage, she wed none who is
not a Christian. Tell her that such was the will of those who begat her,
and that if she be obedient to it, although they are dead, and as it
seems strengthless, yet shall their blessing be upon her all her life's
days, and with it the blessing of the Lord she serves."

"Oh!" moaned Nehushta, "why do you speak thus?"

"Because I am dying. Gainsay me not. I know it well. My life ebbs from
me. My prayers have been answered, and I was preserved to give this
infant birth; now I go to my appointed place and to one who waits for
me, and to the Lord in Whose care he is in Heaven, as we are in His
care on earth. Nay, do not mourn; it is no fault of yours, nor could any
physician's skill have saved me, whose strength was spent in suffering,
and who for many months have walked the world, bearing in my breast a
broken heart. Give me of that wine to drink--and listen."

Nehushta obeyed and Rachel went on: "So soon as my breath has left me,
take the babe and seek some village on the shore where it can be nursed,
for which service you have the means to pay. Then when she is strong
enough and it is convenient, travel, not to Tyre--for there my father
would bring up the child in the strictest rites and customs of the
Jews--but to the village of the Essenes upon the shores of the Dead sea.
There find out my mother's brother, Ithiel, who is of their society, and
present to him the tokens of my name and birth which still hang about
my neck, and tell him all the story, keeping nothing back. He is not a
Christian, but he is a good and gentle-hearted man who thinks well of
Christians, and is grieved at their persecution, since he wrote to my
father reproving him for his deeds towards us and, as you know, strove,
but in vain, to bring about our release from prison. Say to him that I,
his kinswoman, pray of him, as he will answer to God, and in the name of
the sister whom he loved, to protect my child and you; to do nothing
to turn her from her faith, and in all things to deal with her as his
wisdom shall direct--for so shall peace and blessing come upon him."

Thus spoke Rachel, but in short and broken words. Then she began to
pray, and, praying, fell asleep. When she woke again the dawn was
breaking. Signing to Nehushta to bring her the child, for now she could
no longer speak, she scanned it earnestly in the new-born light, then
placed her hand upon its head and blessed it. Nehushta she blessed also,
thanking her with her eyes and kissing her. Then again she seemed to
fall asleep, and presently, when Nehushta looked at her, Rachel was
dead.

Nehushta understood and gave a great and bitter cry, since to her after
the death of her first mistress, this woman had been all her life. As a
child she had nursed her; as a maiden shared her joys and sorrows; as a
wife and widow toiled day and night fiercely and faithfully to console
her in her desolation and to protect her in the dreadful dangers through
which she had passed. Now, to end it all, it was her lot to receive her
last breath and to take into her arms her new-born infant.

Then and there Nehushta swore that as she had done by the mother she so
would do by the child till the day when her labours ended. Were it not
for this child, indeed, they would have ended now, Christian though she
was, since she was crushed with bitter sorrow and her heart seemed void
of hope or joy. All her days had been hard--she who was born to great
place among her own wild people far away, and snatched thence to be a
slave, set apart by her race and blood from those into whose city she
was sold; she who would have naught to do with base men nor become the
plaything of those of higher birth; she who had turned Christian and
drunk deep of the tribulations of the faith; she who had centred all her
eager heart upon two beloved women, and lost them both. All her days had
been hard, and here and now, by the side of her dead mistress, she would
have ended them. But the child remained, and while it lived, she would
live. If it died, then perhaps she would die also.

Meanwhile Nehushta had no time for grief, since the babe must be fed,
and within twelve hours. Yet, as she could not bury her, and would not
throw her to the sharks, she was minded to give her mistress a royal
funeral after the custom of her own Libyan folk. Here was flame, and
what pyre could be grander than this great ship?

Lifting the body from its couch, Nehushta carried it to the deck and
laid it by the broken mast, closing the eyes and folding the hands.
Then she loosened from about the neck those tokens of which Rachel had
spoken, made some food and garments into a bundle, and, carrying the
lamp with her, went into the captain's cabin amidships. Here a money-box
was open, and in it gold and some jewels which this man had abandoned
in his haste. These she took, adding them to her own store and securing
them about her. This done she fired the cabin, and passing to the hold,
broke a jar of oil and fired that also. Then she fled back again, knelt
by her dead mistress and kissed her, took the child, wrapping it warmly
in a shawl, and by the ladder of rope which the sailors had used, let
herself down into the quiet sea. Its waters did not reach higher than
her middle, and soon she was standing on the shore and climbing the
sandhills that lay beyond. At their summit she turned to look, and lo!
yonder where the galley was, already a great pillar of fire shot up to
heaven, for there was much oil in the hold and it burnt furiously.

"Farewell!" she cried, "farewell!"

Then, weeping bitterly, Nehushta walked on inland.



CHAPTER V

MIRIAM IS ENTHRONED

Presently Nehushta found herself out of sight of the sea and among
cultivated land, for here were vines and fig trees grown in gardens
fenced with stone walls; also patches of ripening barley and of wheat
in the ear, much trodden down as though horses had been feeding there.
Beyond these gardens she came to a ridge, and saw beneath her a village
of many houses of green brick, some of which seemed to have been
destroyed by fire. Into this village she walked boldly, and there the
first sight that met her eyes was that of sundry dead bodies, upon which
dogs were feeding.

On she went up the main street, till she saw a woman peeping at her over
a garden wall.

"What has chanced here?" asked Nehushta, in the Syrian tongue.

"The Romans! the Romans! the Romans!" wailed the woman. "The head of our
village quarrelled with the tax-gatherers, and refused to pay his dues
to Caesar. So the soldiers came a week ago and slaughtered nearly all
of us, and took such sheep and cattle as they could find, and with them
many of the young folk, to be sold as slaves, so that the rest are left
empty and desolate. Such are the things that chance in this unhappy
land. But, woman, who are you?"

"I am one shipwrecked!" answered Nehushta, "and I bear with me a
new-born babe--nay, the story is too long to tell you; but if in this
place there is any one who can nurse the babe, I will pay her well."

"Give it me!" said the woman, in an eager whisper; "my child perished in
the slaughter; I ask no reward."

Nehushta looked at her. Her eyes were wild, but she was still young and
healthy, a Syrian peasant.

"Have you a house?" she asked.

"Yes, it still stands, and my husband lives; we hid in a cave, but alas!
they slew the infant that was out with the child of a neighbour. Quick,
give me the babe."

So Nehushta gave it to her, and thus Miriam was nurtured at the breast
of one whose offspring had been murdered because the head of the village
had quarrelled with a Roman tax-collector. Such was the world in the
days when Christ came to save it.

After she had suckled the child the woman led Nehushta to her house, a
humble dwelling that had escaped the fire, where they found the husband,
a wine-grower, mourning the death of his infant and the ruin of his
town. To him she told as much of her story as she thought well, and
proffered him a gold piece, which, so she swore, was one of ten she had
about her. He took it gladly, for now he was penniless, and promised
her lodging and protection, and the service of his wife as nurse to the
child for a month at least. So there Nehushta stayed, keeping herself
hid, and at the end of the month gave another gold piece to her
hosts, who were kindly folk that never dreamed of working her evil or
injustice. Seeing this, Nehushta found yet more money, wherewith the
man, blessing her, bought two oxen and a plough, and hired labour to
help him gather what remained of his harvest.

The shore where the infant was born upon the wrecked ship, was at
a distance of about a league from Joppa and two days' journey from
Jerusalem, whence the Dead Sea could be reached in another two days.
When Nehushta had dwelt there for some six months, as the babe throve
and was hearty, she offered to pay the man and his wife three more
pieces of gold if they would travel with her to the neighbourhood of
Jericho, and, further, to purchase a mule and an ass for the journey,
which she would give to them when it was accomplished. The eyes of these
simple folk glistened at the prospect of so much wealth, and they agreed
readily, promising also to stay three months by Jericho, if need were,
till the child could be weaned. So a man was hired to guard the house
and vines, and they started in the late autumn, when the air was cool
and pleasant.

Of their journey nothing need be said, save that they accomplished it
without trouble, being too humble in appearance to attract the notice of
the thieves who swarmed upon the highways, or of the soldiers who were
set to catch the thieves.

Skirting Jerusalem, which they did not enter, on the sixth day they
descended into the valley of the Jordan, through the desolate hills by
which it is bordered. Camping that night outside the town, at daybreak
on the seventh morning they started, and by two hours after noon came to
the village of the Essenes. On its outskirts they halted, while Nehushta
and the nurse, bearing with them the child, that by now could wave its
arms and crow, advanced boldly into the village, where it would appear
men dwelt only--at least no women were to be seen--and asked to be led
to the Brother Ithiel.

The man to whom they spoke, who was robed in white, and engaged in
cooking outside a large building, averted his eyes in answering, as
though it were not lawful for him to look upon the face of a woman.
He said, very civilly, however, that Brother Ithiel was working in the
fields, whence he would not return till supper time.

Nehushta asked where these fields were, since she desired to speak with
him at once. The man answered that if they walked towards the green
trees that lined the banks of Jordan, which he pointed out to them, they
could not fail to find Ithiel, as he was ploughing in the irrigated land
with two white oxen, the only ones they had. Accordingly they set out
again, having the Dead Sea on their right, and travelled for the half of
a league through the thorn-scrub that grows in this desert. Passing the
scrub they came to lands which were well cultivated and supplied with
water from the Jordan by means of wheels and long poles with a jar at
one end and a weight at the other, which a man could work, emptying the
contents of the jar again and again into an irrigation ditch.

In one of these fields they saw the two white oxen at their toil,
and behind them the labourer, a tall man of about fifty years of age,
bearded, and having a calm face and eyes that were very deep and quiet.
He was clad in a rough robe of camel's hair, fastened about his middle
with a leathern girdle, and wore sandals on his feet. To him they went,
asking leave to speak with him, whereon he halted the oxen and greeted
them courteously, but, like the man in the village, turned his eyes away
from the faces of the women. Nehushta bade the nurse stand back out of
hearing, and, bearing the child in her arms, said:

"Sir, tell me, I pray you, if I speak to Ithiel, a priest of high rank
among this people of the Essenes, and brother to the dead lady Miriam,
wife of Benoni the Jew, a merchant of Tyre?"

At the mention of these names Ithiel's face saddened, then grew calm
again.

"I am so called," he answered; "and the lady Miriam is my sister, who
now dwells in the happy and eternal country beyond the ocean with all
the blessed"--for so the Essenes imagined that heaven to which they went
when the soul was freed from the vile body.

"The lady Miriam," continued Nehushta, "had a daughter Rachel, whose
servant I was."

"Was?" he interrupted, startled from his calm. "Has she then been put to
death by those fierce men and their king, as was as her husband Demas?"

"Nay, sir, but she died in childbirth, and this is the babe she bore";
and she held the sleeping little one towards him, at whom he gazed
earnestly, yes, and bent down and kissed it--since, although they saw so
few of them, the Essenes loved children.

"Tell me that sad story," he said.

"Sir, I will both tell it and prove it to be true"; and Nehushta told
him all from the beginning to the end, producing to his sight the tokens
which she had taken from the breast of her mistress, and repeating her
last message to him word for word. When she had finished, Ithiel turned
away and mourned a while. Then, speaking aloud, he put up a prayer to
God for guidance--for without prayer these people would not enter upon
anything, however simple--and came back to Nehushta, who stood by the
oxen.

"Good and faithful woman," he said, "who it would seem are not fickle
and light-hearted, or worse, like the multitude of your sex--perchance
because your dark skin shields you from their temptations--you have set
me in a cleft stick, and there I am held fast. Know that the rule of my
order is that we should have naught to do with females, young or old;
therefore how can I receive you or the child?"

"Of the rules of your order, sir, I know nothing," answered Nehushta
sharply, since the words about the colour of her skin had not pleased
her; "but of the rules of nature I do know, and something of the rules
of God also, for, like my mistress and this infant, I am a Christian.
These tell me, all of them, that to cast out an orphan child who is of
your own blood, and whom a cruel fortune has thus brought to your door,
would be an evil act, and one for which you must answer to Him who is
above the rules of any order."

"I may not wrangle, especially with a woman," replied Ithiel, who seemed
ill at ease; "but if my first words are true, this is true also, that
those same rules enjoin upon us hospitality, and above all, that we must
not turn away the helpless or the destitute."

"Clearly, then, sir, least of any must you turn away this child whose
blood is your blood, and those dead mother sent her to you, that she
might not fall into the power of a grandfather who has dealt so cruelly
with those he should have cherished, to be brought up among Zealots as
a Jew and taught to make offering of living things, and be anointed with
the oil and blood of sacrifice."

"No, no, the thought is horrible," answered Ithiel, holding up his
hands. "It is better, far better that she should be a Christian than one
of that fanatic and blood-spilling faith." This he said, because among
the Essenes the use of oil was held to be unclean. Also above all
things, they loathed the offering of life in sacrifice to God; who,
although they did not acknowledge Christ--perhaps because He was never
preached to them, who would listen to no new religion--practised the
most of His doctrines with the greatest strictness.

"The matter is too hard for me," he went on. "I must lay it before a
full Court of the hundred curators, and what they decide, that will
be done. Still, this is our rule: to assist those who need and to show
mercy, to accord succour to such as deserve it, and to give food to
those in distress. Therefore, whatever the Court, which it will take
three days to summon, may decide, in the meanwhile I have the right to
give you, and those with you, shelter and provision in the guest-house.
As it chances, it is situated in that part of the village where dwell
the lowest of our brethren, who are permitted to marry, so there you
will find company of your own sex."

"I shall be glad of it," answered Nehushta drily. "Also I should call
them the highest of the brethren, since marriage is a law of God, which
God the Father has instituted, and God the Son has blessed."

"I may not wrangle, I may not wrangle," replied Ithiel, declining the
encounter; "but certainly, that is a lovely babe. Look. Its eyes are
open and they are beautiful as flowers"; and again he bent down and
kissed the child, then added with a groan of remorse, "Alas! sinner that
I am, I am defiled; I must purify myself and do penance."

"Why?" asked Nehushta shortly.

"For two reasons: I have touched your dress, and I have given way to
earthly passion and embraced a child--twice. Therefore, according to our
rule, I am defiled."

Then Nehushta could bear it no more.

"Defiled! you puppet of a foolish rule! It is the sweet babe that is
defiled! Look, you have fouled its garments with your grimy hand and
made it weep by pricking it with your beard. Would that your holy rule
taught you how to handle children and to respect honest women who are
their mothers, without whom there would be no Essenes."

"I may not wrangle," said Ithiel, nervously; for now woman was appearing
before him in a new light; not as an artful and a fickle, but as an
angry creature, reckless of tongue and not easy to be answered. "These
matters are for the decision of the curators. Have I not told you so?
Come, let us be going. I will drive the oxen, although it is not time
to loose them from the plough, and do you and your companion walk at a
distance behind me. No, not behind--in front, that I may see that you do
not drop the babe, or suffer it to come to any harm. Truly it is sweet
to look at, and, may God forgive me, I do not like to lose sight of its
face, which, it seems to me, resembles that of my sister when she was
also in arms."

"Drop the babe!" began Nehushta; then understanding that this victim of
a rule already loved it dearly, and would suffer much before he parted
with it, pitying his weakness, she said only, "Be careful that you do
not frighten it with your great oxen, for you men who scorn women have
much to learn."

Then, accompanied by the nurse, she stalked ahead in silence, while
Ithiel followed after at a distance, leading the cattle by the hide
loops about their horns, lest in their curiosity or eagerness to get
home, they should do some mischief to the infant or wake it from its
slumbers. In this way they proceeded to the lower part of the village,
till they came to a good house--empty as it chanced--where guests were
accommodated in the best fashion that this kind and homely folk could
afford. Here a woman was summoned, the wife of one of the lower order of
the Essenes, to whom Ithiel spoke, holding his hand before his eyes,
as though she were not good to look at. To her, from a distance, he
explained the case, bidding her to provide all things needful, and
to send a man to bring in the husband of the nurse with the beasts of
burden, and attend to his wants and theirs. Then, warning Nehushta to be
very careful of the infant and not to expose it to the sun, he departed
to report the matter to the curators, and to summon the great Court.

"Are all of them like this?" asked Nehushta of the woman,
contemptuously.

"Yes, sister," she answered, "fools, every one. Why, of my own husband
I see little; and although, being married, he ranks but low among them,
the man is forever telling me of the faults of our sex, and how they are
a snare set for the feet of the righteous, and given to the leading
of these same righteous astray, especially if they be not their own
husbands. At times I am tempted indeed to prove his words true. Oh! it
would not be difficult for all their high talk; I have learned as much
as that, for Nature is apt to make a mock of those who deny Nature, and
there is no parchment rule that a woman cannot bring to nothing. Yet,
since they mean well, laugh at them and let them be, say I. And now come
into the house, which is good, although did women manage it, it would be
better."

So Nehushta went into that house with the nurse and her husband, and
there for several days dwelt in great comfort. Indeed, there was nothing
that she or the child, or those with them, could want which was not
provided in plenty. Messages reached her even, through the woman, to ask
if she would wish the rooms altered in any way, and when she said that
there was not light enough in that in which the child slept, some of
the elders of the Essenes arrived and pierced a new window in the
wall, working very hard to finish the task before sunset. Also even the
husband of the nurse was not allowed to attend to his own beasts, which
were groomed and fed for him, till at length he grew so weary of doing
nothing, that on the third day he went out to plough with the Essenes
and worked in the fields till dark.

It was on the fourth morning that the full Court gathered in the great
meeting-house, and Nehushta was summoned to appear before it, bringing
the babe with her. Thither she went accordingly, to find the place
filled with a hundred grave and reverend men, all clad in robes of the
purest white. In the lower part of that large chamber she sat alone upon
a chair, while before her upon benches ranged one above the other, so
that all could see, were gathered the hundred curators.

It seemed that Ithiel had already set out the case, since the President
at once began to question her on various points of her story, all of
which she was able to explain to the satisfaction of the Court. Then
they debated the matter among themselves, some of them arguing that
as the child was a female, as well as its nurse, neither of them could
properly be admitted to the care of the community, especially as both
were of the Christian faith, and it was stipulated that in this faith
they should remain. Others answered that hospitality was their first
duty, and that he would be weak indeed who was led aside from their rule
by a Libyan woman of middle age and an infant of a few months. Further,
that the Christians were a good people, and that there was much in
their doctrines which tallied with their own. Next, one made a strange
objection--namely, that if they adopted this child they would learn
to love it too much, who should love God and their order only. To this
another answered, Nay, they should love all mankind, and especially the
helpless.

"Mankind, not womankind," was the reply; "for this infant will grow into
a woman."

Now they desired Nehushta to retire that they might take the votes.
Before she went, however, holding up the child that all could see it as
it lay smiling in her arms, she implored them not to reject the prayer
of a dead woman, and so deprive this infant of the care of the relative
whom that departed lady had appointed to be its guardian, and of the
guidance and directing wisdom of their holy Order. Lastly, she reminded
them that if they thrust her out, she must carry the infant to its
grandfather, who, if he received it at all, would certainly bring it up
in the Jewish faith, and thereby, perhaps, cause it to lose its soul,
the weight of which sin would be upon their heads.

After this Nehushta was led away to another chamber and remained there
a long while, till at length she was brought back again by one of the
curators. On entering the great hall her eyes sought the face of Ithiel,
who had not been allowed to speak, since the matter having to do with a
great-niece of his own, it was held that his judgment might be warped.
Seeing that he smiled, and evidently was well pleased, she knew her
cause was won.

"Woman," said the President, "by a great majority of this Court we
have come to an irrevocable decision upon the matter that has been laid
before it by our brother Ithiel. It is, for reasons which I need not
explain, that on this point our rule may be stretched so far as to admit
the child Miriam to our care, even though it be of the female sex, which
care is to endure until she comes to a full age of eighteen years, when
she must depart from among us. During this time no attempt will be made
to turn her from her parents' faith in which she has been baptised. A
house will be given you to live in, and you will be supplied with the
best we have for the use of our ward Miriam and yourself. Twice a week
a deputation of the curators will visit the house, and stay there for
an hour to see that the health of the infant is good, and that you are
doing your duty by it, in which, if you fail, you will be removed. It is
prayed that you will not talk to these curators on matters which do not
concern the child. When she grows old enough the maid Miriam will be
admitted to our gatherings, and instructed also by the most learned
amongst us in all proper matters of letters and philosophy, on which
occasions you will sit at a distance and not interfere unless your care
is required.

"Now, that every one may know our decision, we will escort you back to
your house, and to show that we have taken the infant under our care,
our brother Ithiel will carry it while you walk behind and give him such
instruction in this matter as may be needful."

Accordingly a great procession was formed, headed by the President and
ended by the priests. In the centre of the line marched Ithiel bearing
the babe Miriam, to his evident delight, and Nehushta, who instructed
him so vigorously that at length he grew confused and nearly let it
fall. Thereon, setting this detail of the judgment at defiance, Nehushta
snatched it from his arms, calling him a clumsy and ignorant clown only
fit to handle an ox. To this Ithiel made no answer, nor was he at
all wroth, but finished the journey walking behind her and smiling
foolishly.

Thus was the child Miriam, who afterwards came to be called the Queen of
the Essenes, royally escorted to her home. But little did these good men
know that it was not a house which they were giving her, but a throne,
built of the pure gold of their own gentle hearts.



CHAPTER VI

CALEB

It may be wondered whether any girl who was ever born into the world
could boast a stranger or a happier upbringing than Miriam. She was, it
is true, motherless, but by way of compensation Fate endowed her with
several hundred fathers, each of whom loved her as the apple of his
eye. She did not call them "Father" indeed, a term which under the
circumstances they thought incorrect. To her, one and all, they went
by the designation of "Uncle," with their name added if she happened to
know it, if not as Uncle simply. It cannot be said, however, that Miriam
brought peace to the community of the Essenes. Indeed, before she had
done with them she rent it with deep and abiding jealousies, to the
intense but secret delight of Nehushta, who, although she became a
person of great importance among them as the one who had immediate
charge of their jewel, could never forgive them certain of their
doctrines or their habit of persistent interference.

The domiciliary visits which took place twice a week, and, by special
subsequent resolution passed in full Court, on the Sabbath also,
were, to begin with, the subject of much covert bitterness. At first a
standing committee was appointed to make these visits, of whom Ithiel
was one. Before two years had gone by, however, much murmuring arose
in the community upon this matter. It was pointed out in language that
became vehement--for an Essene--that so much power should not be left in
the hands of one fixed set of individuals, who might become careless or
prejudiced, or, worst of all, neglectful of the welfare of the child who
was the guest not of them only, but of the whole order. It was demanded,
therefore, that this committee should change automatically every month,
so that all might serve upon it in turn, Ithiel, as the blood-relation
of Miriam, remaining its only permanent member. This proposal was
opposed by the committee, but as no one else would vote for them the
desired alteration was made. Further, to be removed temporarily, or
for good, from its roster was thenceforth recognised as one of the
punishments of the order.

Indeed, the absurdities to which its existence gave rise, especially as
the girl grew in years, sweetness and beauty, cannot be numbered. Thus,
every visiting member must wash his whole person and clothe himself in
clean garments before he was allowed to approach the child, "lest he
should convey to her any sickness, or impure substance, or odour."
Then there was much trouble because some members were discovered to
be ingratiating themselves with Miriam by secretly presenting her with
gifts of playthings, some of them of great beauty, which they fashioned
from wood, shells, or even hard stones. Moreover, they purveyed articles
of food such as they found the child loved; and this it was that led
to their detection, for, having eaten of them, she was ill. Thereupon
Nehushta, enraged, disclosed the whole plot, using the most violent
language, and, amidst murmurs of "Shame on them!" designating the
offenders by name. They were removed from their office, and it was
decreed that henceforth any gifts made to the child must be offered to
her by the committee as a whole, and not by a single individual, and
handed over in their name by Ithiel, her uncle.

Once, when she was seven years old, and the idol of every brother among
the Essenes, Miriam fell ill with a kind of fever which often strikes
children in the neighbourhood of Jericho and the Dead Sea. Among the
brethren were several skilful and famous physicians, who attended her
night and day. But still the fever could not be abated, and at last,
with tears, they announced that they feared for the child's life. Then
indeed there was lamentation among the Essenes. For three days and three
nights did they wrestle in constant prayer to God that she might be
spared, many of them touching nothing but water during all that time.
Moreover, they sat about at a distance from her house, praying and
seeking tidings. If it was bad they beat their breasts, if good they
gave thanks. Never was the sickbed of a monarch watched with more
care or devotion than that of this little orphan, and never was
a recovery--for at length she did recover--received with greater
thankfulness and joy.

This was the truth. These pure and simple men, in obedience to the
strict rule they had adopted, were cut off from all the affections of
life. Yet, the foundation-stone of their doctrine being Love, they
who were human must love something, so they loved this child whom they
looked upon as their ward, and who, as there was none other of her age
and sex in their community, had no rival in their hearts. She was the
one joy of their laborious and ascetic hours; she represented all the
sweetness and youth of this self-renewing world, which to them was so
grey and sapless. Moreover, she was a lovely maid, who, wherever she had
been placed, would have bound all to her.

The years went by and the time came when, in obedience to the first
decree, Miriam must be educated. Long were the discussions which ensued
among the curators of the Essenes. At length three of the most learned
of their body were appointed to this task, and the teaching began. As
it chanced, Miriam proved an apt pupil, for her memory was good, and
she had a great desire to learn many things, more especially history and
languages, and all that has to do with nature. One of her tutors was an
Egyptian, who, brought up in the priests' college at Thebes, when on
a journey to Judaea had fallen sick near Jericho, been nursed by the
Essenes and converted to their doctrine. From him Miriam learnt much
of their ancient civilisation, and even of the inner mysteries of the
Egyptian religion, and of its high and secret interpretations which were
known only to the priests. The second, Theophilus by name, was a Greek
who had visited Rome, and he taught her the tongues and literature of
those countries. The third, all his life long had studied beasts and
birds and insects, and the workings of nature, and the stars and their
movements, in which things he instructed her day by day, taking her
abroad with him that examples of each of them might be before her eyes.

Lastly, when she grew older, there was a fourth master, who was an
artist. He taught Miriam how to model animals, and even men, in the clay
of the Jordan, and how to carve them out in marble, and something of the
use of pigments. Also this man, who was very clever, had a knowledge
of singing and instrumental music, which he imparted to her in her odd
hours. Thus it came about that Miriam grew learned and well acquainted
with many matters of which most girls of her day and years had never
even heard. Nor did she lack knowledge of the things of her own faith,
though in these the Essenes did not instruct her further than its
doctrines tallied with their own. Of the rest, Nehushta told her
something; moreover, on several occasions Christian travellers or
preachers visited this country to address the Essenes or the other Jews
who dwelt there. When they learned her case, these showed themselves
very eager to inform her of the Christian doctrine. Among them was one
old man who had heard the preaching of Jesus Christ, and been present
at His Crucifixion, to all of which histories the girl listened with
eagerness, remembering them to the last hour of her life.

Further, and perhaps this was the best part of her education, she lived
in the daily company of Nature. But a mile or two away spread the Dead
Sea, and along its melancholy and lifeless shores, fringed with the
white trunks of trees that had been brought down by Jordan, she would
often walk. Before her day by day loomed the mountains of Moab, while
behind her were the fantastic and mysterious sand-hills of the desert,
backed again by other mountains and that grey, tormented country which
stretches between Jericho and Jerusalem. Quite near at hand also ran the
broad and muddy Jordan, whose fertile banks were clothed in spring
with the most delicious greenery and haunted by kingfishers, cranes,
wildfowl, and many other birds. About these banks, too, stretching into
the desert land beyond, the flowers of the field grew by myriads, at
different periods of the year carpeting the whole earth with various
colours, brilliant as are those of the rainbow. These it was her delight
to gather, and even to cultivate in the garden of her house.

Thus wisdom, earthly and divine, was gathered in Miriam's heart till
very soon its light began to shine through her eyes and face, making
them ever more tender and beautiful. Nor did she lack charm and grace of
person. From the first, in stature she was small and delicate, pale also
in complexion; but her dark hair was plenteous and curling, and her eyes
were large and of a deep and tender blue. Her hands and feet were very
slender, and her every gesture quick and agile as that of a bird. Thus
she grew up loving all things and beloved by all; for even the flowers
which she tended and the creatures that she fed, seemed in her to find a
friend.

Now of so much learning and all this system of solemn ordered hours,
Nehushta did not approve. For a while she bore with it, but when Miriam
was about eleven years of age, she spoke her mind to the Committee and
through them to the governing Court of Curators.

Was it right that a child should be brought up thus, she asked, and
turned into a grave old woman whilst, quite heedless of such things,
others of her age were occupied with youthful games? The end of it might
be that her brain would break and she would die or become crazy, and
then what good would so much wisdom do her? It was necessary that
she should have more leisure and other children with whom she could
associate.

"White-bearded hermits," she added with point, "were not suitable as
sole companions to a little maid."

Thereon followed much debate and consultation with the doctors, who
agreed that friends of her own years should be found for the child.
This, however, proved difficult, since among these Essenes were no other
girls. Therefore those friends must be of the male sex. Here too were
difficulties, as at that time, of the lads adopted by this particular
community which they were destined to join in after days, there was but
one of equal birth with Miriam. Now so far as concerned their own
order the Essenes thought little of social distinctions, or even of the
differences of blood and race. But Miriam was not of their order; she
was their guest, no more, to whom they stood in the place of parents,
and who would go from them out into the great world. Therefore,
notwithstanding their childlike simplicity, being, many of them, men
experienced in life, they did not think it right that she should mix
with those of lower breeding.

This one lad, Caleb by name, was born in the same year as Miriam, when
Cuspius Fadus became governor on the death of Agrippa. His father was
Jew of very high rank named Hilliel, who, although he sided from time
to time with the Roman party, was killed by them, or perished among the
twenty thousand who were trampled to death at the Feast of the Passover
at Jerusalem, when Cumanus, the Procurator, ordered his soldiers to
attack the people. Thereon the Zealots, who considered him a traitor,
managed to get possession of all his property, so that his son Caleb,
whose mother was dead, was brought in a destitute condition by one
of her friends to Jericho. There, as she could not dispose of him
otherwise, he was given over to the Essenes, to be educated in their
doctrine, and, should he wish it, to enter their order when he reached
full age. This lad, it was now decreed, should become the playmate of
Miriam, a decision that pleased both of them very well.

Caleb was a handsome child with quick, dark eyes that watched everything
without seeming to watch, and black hair which curled upon his
shoulders. He was clever also and brave; but though he did his best to
control his temper, by nature very passionate and unforgiving. Moreover,
that which he desired he would have, if by any means it could be
obtained, and was faithful in his loves as in his hates. Of these hates
Nehushta was one. With all the skill of a Libyan, whose only book is
that of Nature and men's faces, she read the boy's heart at once and
said openly that he might come to be the first in any cause--if he did
not betray it--and that when God mixed his blood of the best, lest Caesar
should find a rival He left out the salt of honesty and filled up the
cup with the wine of passion. When these sayings were repeated to Caleb
by Miriam, who thought them to be a jest fit to tease her playmate
with, he did not fly into one of his tempers, as she had hoped, but only
screwed up his eyelids after his fashion in certain moods, and looked
black as the rain-storm above Mount Nebo.

"Did you hear, Caleb?" asked Miriam, somewhat disappointed.

"Oh, yes! Lady Miriam," for so he had been ordered to call her. "I
heard. Do you tell that old black woman that I will lead more causes
than she ever thought of, for I mean to be the first everywhere. Also
that whatever God left out of my cup, at least He mixed it with a good
memory."

When Nehushta heard this, she laughed and said that it was true enough,
only he that tried to climb several ladders at once generally fell to
the ground, and that when a head had said good-bye to its shoulders, the
best of memories got lost between the two.

Miriam liked Caleb, but she never loved him as she did the old men, her
uncles, or Nehushta, who to her was more than all. Perhaps this may have
been because he never grew angry with her whatever she might say or do,
never even spoke to her roughly, but always waited on her pleasure
and watched for her wish. Still, of all companions he was the best. If
Miriam desired to walk by the Dead Sea, he would desire the same. If
she wanted to go fishing in the Jordan, he would make ready the baits or
net, and take the fishes off the hook--a thing she hated. If she sought
a rare flower, Caleb would hunt it out for days, although she knew well
that in himself he did not care for flowers, and when he had found it,
would mark the spot and lead her there in triumph. Also there was this
about him, as she was soon quick enough to learn: he worshipped her.
Whatever else might be false, that note in his nature rang true. If one
child could love another, then Caleb loved Miriam, first with the love
of children, then as a man loves a woman. Only--and this was the sorrow
of it--Miriam never loved Caleb. Had she done so both their stories
would have been very different. To her he was a clever companion and no
more.

What made the thing more strange was that he loved no one else, except,
mayhap, himself. In this way and in that the lad soon came to learn his
own history, which was sad enough, with the result that if he hated the
Romans who had invaded the country and trampled it beneath their heel,
still more did he hate those of the Jews who looked upon his father
as their enemy and had stolen all the lands and goods that were his by
right. As for the Essenes who reared and protected him, so soon as
he came to an age when he could weigh such matters, he held them in
contempt, and because of their continual habit of bathing themselves and
purifying their garments, called them the company of washer-women. On
him their doctrines left but a shallow mark. He thought, as he explained
to Miriam, that people who were in the world should take the world as
they found it, without dreaming ceaselessly of another world to which,
as yet, they did not belong; a sentiment that to some extent Nehushta
shared.

Wishing, with the zeal of the young, to make a convert, Miriam preached
to him the doctrine of Christianity, but without success. By blood Caleb
was a Jew of the Jews, and could not understand or admire a God who
would consent to be trodden under foot and crucified. The Messiah he
desired to follow must be a great conqueror, one who would overthrow
the Caesars and take the throne of Caesar, not a humble creature with
his mouth full of maxims. Like the majority of his own, and, indeed,
of every generation, to the last day of his life, Caleb was unable to
divine that mind is greater than matter, while spirit is greater
than mind; and that in the end, by many slow advances and after many
disasters seemingly irremediable, spirituality will conquer all. He
looked to a sword flashing from thrones, not to the word of truth spoken
by lowly lips in humble streets or upon the flanks of deserts, trusting
to the winds of Grace to bear it into the hearts of men and thus
regenerate their souls.

Such was Caleb, and these things are said of him here because the child
is father to the man.

Swiftly the years went by. There were tumults in Judaea and massacres in
Jerusalem. False prophets such as Theudas, who pretended that he could
divide Jordan, attracted thousands to their tinsel standards, to be hewn
down, poor folk! by the Roman legions. Caesars rose and fell; the great
Temple was at length almost completed in its glory, and many events
happened which are remembered even to this day.

But in the little village of the Essenes by the grey shores of the Dead
Sea, nothing seemed to change, except that now and again an aged brother
died, and now and again a new brother was admitted. They rose before
daylight and offered their invocation to the sun; they went out to
toil in the fields and sowed their crops, to reap them in due season,
thankful if they were good, still thankful if they were bad. They
washed, they prayed, they mourned over the wickedness of the world, and
wove themselves white garments emblematic of a better. Also, although
of this Miriam knew nothing, they held higher and more secret services
wherein they invoked the presence of their "angels," and by arts of
divination that were known to them, foretold the future, an exercise
which brought them little joy. But as yet, however evil might be the
omens, none came to molest their peaceful life, which ran quietly
towards the great catastrophe as often deep waters swirl to the lip of a
precipice.

At length when Miriam was seventeen years of age, the first stroke of
trouble fell upon them.

From time to time the high priests at Jerusalem, who hated the Essenes
as heretics, had made demands upon them that they should pay tithe for
the support of the sacrifices in the Temple. This they refused to do,
since all sacrifices were hateful to them. So things went on until the
day of the high priest Ananos, who sent armed men to the village of the
Essenes to take the tithes. These were refused to them, whereon they
broke open the granary and helped themselves, destroying a great deal
which they could not carry away. As it chanced, on that day Miriam,
accompanied by Nehushta, had visited Jericho. Returning in the afternoon
they passed through a certain torrent bed in which were many rocks, and
among them thickets of thorn trees. Here they were met by Caleb, now
a noble-looking youth very strong and active, who carried a bow in his
hand and on his back a sheath of six arrows.

"Lady Miriam," he said, "well met. I have come to seek you, and to
warn you not to return by the road to-day, since on it you will meet
presently those thieves sent by the high priest to plunder the stores of
the Order, who, perhaps, will offer you insult or mischief, for they are
drunk with wine. Look, one of them has struck me," and he pointed to a
bruise upon his shoulder and scowled.

"What then shall we do?" asked Miriam. "Go back to Jericho?"

"Nay, for there they will come too. Follow up this gully till you reach
the footpath a mile away, and by it walk to the village; so you will
miss these robbers."

"That is a good plan," said Nehushta. "Come, lady."

"Whither are you going, Caleb?" asked Miriam, lingering, since she saw
that he did not mean to accompany them.

"I? Oh, I shall hide among the rocks near by till the men are passed,
and then go to seek that hyena which has been worrying the sheep. I have
tracked him down and may catch him as he comes from his hole at sunset.
That is why I have brought my bow and arrows."

"Come," broke in Nehushta impatiently, "come. The lad well knows how to
guard himself."

"Be careful, Caleb, that you get no hurt from the hyena," said Miriam,
doubtfully, as Nehushta seized her by the wrist and dragged her away.
"It is strange," she added as they went, "that Caleb should choose this
evening to go hunting."

"Unless I mistake, it is a human hyena whom he hunts," answered Nehushta
shortly. "One of those men struck him, and he desires to wash the wound
with his blood."

"Oh, surely not! Nou. That would be taking vengeance, and revenge is
evil."

Nehushta shrugged her shoulders. "Caleb may think otherwise, as I do at
times. Wait, and we shall see."

As it chanced, they did see something. The footpath by which they
returned to the village ran over a high ridge of ground, and from its
crest, although they were a mile or more away, in that clear desert
air they could easily discern the line of the high priest's servants
straggling along, driving before them a score or so of mules, laden with
wine and other produce which they had stolen from the stores. Presently
the company of them descended into that gully along which the road ran,
whence a minute or two later rose a sound of distant shouting. Then they
appeared on the further side, running, or riding their beasts hither
and thither, as though in search of some one, while four of them carried
between them a man who seemed to be hurt, or dead.

"I think that Caleb has shot his hyena," said Nehushta meaningly; "but
I have seen nothing, and if you are wise, you will say nothing. I do not
like Caleb, but I hate these Jewish thieves, and it is not for you to
bring your friend into trouble."

Miriam looked frightened but nodded her head, and no more was said of
the matter.

That evening, as Miriam and Nehushta stood at the door of their house in
the cool, by the light of the full moon they saw Caleb advancing towards
them down the road, a sight that made Miriam glad at heart, for she
feared lest he might have come into trouble. Catching sight of them, he
asked permission to enter through the door, which he closed behind them,
so that now they stood in the little garden within the wall.

"Well," said Nehushta, "I see that you had a shot at your hyena; did you
kill it?"

"How do you know that?" he asked, looking at her suspiciously.

"A strange question to put to a Libyan woman who was brought up among
bowmen," she replied. "You had six arrows in your quiver when we met
you, and now I count but five. Also your bow was newly waxed; and look,
the wax is rubbed where the shaft lay."

"I shot at the beast, and, as I think, hit it. At least, I could not
find the arrow again, although I searched long."

"Doubtless. You do not often miss. You have a good eye an