Hilell smiled humorously. “Though I have never regarded the Gentiles with the loathing and terror of that humble and emphatic man, I understood. I spoke of you. I told him you had come to talk with him. You are a Greek, a heathen! You have worshiped false gods; you speak an alien tongue; you are not circumcised. Then he fell to weeping again, and reproached himself, confessing that he was again committing the sin of pride and rejection. He has consented to see you. Before I left him, he baptized me. He is not the gentlest of men, and you may find him crude and even insulting, and with the hard tongue of the countryman.
“I have also found two more Apostles, James and John, brothers, sons of one Zebedee, Galileans also. They are called Boanerges, sons of the thunderstorm, and that describes them exactly. They live without the wall; the Mother of Christ abides with them as their mother, for so God commanded. They are very young men, and possess a kind of fierceness and a fanatical dedication. There is even a hint of vengefulness about them. I have heard that they had desired that Christ bring down fire from heaven upon the Samaritan village which showed a disinclination to listen to Him. Even when rebuked by Him, they still breathed flames. They will not regard you kindly, though I have persuaded them to see you.”
Hilell sighed. “Even among the holy, even those who walked with Him and ate and slept with Him, and heard His words hourly, there is dissension. Some of them insist vehemently that before a man can become a Christian he must first be admitted to Judaism, and that he must be circumcised. These are the older men who cling ferociously to the Law of the ages. The younger men say it is not necessary; they have their own interpretations. The elder believe that when Christ spoke of the mission to the ‘cities of Israel’ He meant that literally. The younger firmly believe it means all men. Not only are they kept apart, in hiding, from the ban of Pontius Pilate, but they are kept apart by their opinions. I am very pessimistic.”
“I am not,” said Lucanus, firmly. “You must remember, my friends, that the Apostles are only men, and men differ. I will go to see Peter as soon as possible.”
A young girl glided into the hall, clad in a white palla, with a drift of gauze upon her head. She was about fifteen and extremely comely, with a ripe and graceful figure, fine dark eyes under narrow brows, a skin as white as snow, and a neck like a slender column. Her mouth was a rose; under the gauze on her small head flowed a mass of dark red curls and waves. She had a shy but coquettish expression, and was apparently conscious of her beauty. Hilell rose and took her hand.
“Ah, Leah,” said Hilell, fondly. He brought her to Lucanus, and said, “This is my sister, whom I have espoused to Arieh. Is he not fortunate?” He smiled at Leah with pride. Many jeweled bracelets tinkled on the girl’s wrists, and a heavy gemmed necklace encircled her throat, and her sandals were of silver. Lucanus was tenderly amused. Leah, though young and cherished, and guarded carefully, wore an air of much worldliness. She answered him softly in Greek, which she spoke with precision. Arieh stood beside her, his dark blue eyes shining with love. She affected to be unaware of him, though a blush was high on her wide cheekbones. She spoke to her brother with the arrogance of the young and pampered. “Why is not our guest in his chambers, resting? You are amiss, Hilell.”
“So I am,” he agreed. He clapped his hands, and the overseer came into the hall at once. “You will conduct the noble Lucanus to his chambers, Simon,” he said. He pondered a moment. “You will meet my wife at dinner. The children are in their beds. My parents,” and he hesitated, “will not join us, for they are old and have had a fever.”
Lucanus understood at once that the parents of Hilell did not approve of their son entertaining Gentiles and bringing them under this roof. He nodded gravely. “I trust their health is improving,” he said. He could not help adding with some mischief, “Would you like me to examine them, and, if necessary, prescribe for them?”
Hilell said with some hastiness, “Thank you, my dear friend! But I would not consider imposing upon you. Besides, they trust only our family physicians. One must humor the aged; they have their peculiarities.”
“They are very tiresome,” said Leah, pettishly. “They never speak to me without disapproval or reproaches. Do they think we live in the old days, when girls were secluded and kept apart, and dressed in an elderly fashion and hid their hair after they were married?” She tossed her pretty curls. “This is a modern world, and one must have modern ways, which are more agreeable and enlightened.”
Hilell laughed, and tugged one of her curls affectionately. “Remember to honor your parents, Leah,” he said. She pulled her curl away from him in exasperation. “It is all very well for you, my brother,” she said. “You have not had to spend the afternoon listening to admonitions, as I have. I am immodest; I am not versed in the laws of the prophets; I have no regard for the patriarchs; I am ignorant of pious customs; grave doubts have been expressed of me; I will be a wife such as a Roman, and my children will be neglected and will not be taught their holy duties. And as for your wife, Deborah, she is almost as bad, with her hidden hair and her downcast eyes and her silence in the presence of men! If you did not insist, she would not even appear at our table but would eat alone, humbly. To them all I am a Jezebel.”
“Run along, child,” said Hilell. “You have said enough.”
“You do not know how I suffer!” cried Leah, stamping her pretty little foot. “Besides, you are a man, and not a girl!”
“Your manners are deplorable,” said Hilell, becoming stern. “One understands that you are much abused, and we sympathize. You weary our guest.”
Leah scampered out of the hall, tossing her head. Hilell explained to Lucanus, in apology, “She is the child of my parents’ age, and has been coddled excessively. They have only themselves to blame. They delight in her beauty; they are only fearful for her soul. She will become a proper Jewish matron when she is married, and no doubt will reproach her own children and agonize over them.”
“She is a joy to my eyes,” said Arieh. “She has been instructing me in the Law, and sighs over my ignorance. She is the sweetest of women.”
When he was in his assigned chambers Lucanus looked about him with pleasure. He stepped out upon a balcony and looked over Jerusalem, shining with lanterns and torches. He washed his hands in scented water and took white napkins from a servant. Fresh fine clothing, of the whitest linen, had been tactfully prepared for him, and he removed his rough garments, which were dusty and travel-stained. He put his feet into sandals of the finest leather. He glanced at the rich bed longingly. From somewhere in the house he heard a distant harp and suspected that the gay music was evoked by Leah, defiantly. For some reason, hearing that dancing music, his heart lifted. It had an innocence, an affirmation. It believed in life, and embraced it eagerly.
A servant led him through luxurious rooms and then to the dining hall, where Hilell, Arieh, Leah, and Deborah, the wife of Hilell, awaited him. Deborah was a young, plump woman, dressed very modestly in a blue robe. A blue cloth covered her hair completely. Her arms and neck were hidden. Her round face reminded Lucanus of Aurelia, and her brown eyes, which rose swiftly once to his face and then were downcast, were lively in spite of her demeanor. A dimple wavered near her prim lips, and spoke of merriment which she doubtless reserved for her husband. She wore no jewelry. She seated herself at the foot of the lavish table near Leah; not once had she spoken. Leah glanced at her impatiently, then ignored her. The girl joined impudently in the conversation, disagreed, laughed, joked, and altogether behaved as a spoiled young beauty in the modern fashion. Deborah exuded disapproval, and Leah sniffed, and tossed her curls, and jangled her bracelets.
“You have an excellent cook,” said Lucanus, discovering himself hungry. The fish balls were spicy and succulent, the roast lamb juicy, the vegetables and salad well flavored. There were flaky cakes stuffed with raisins, dried plums, and dates covered with poppy seeds. The wine was Roman, and of the finest quality. Candles in silver candelabra shone on a white cloth in whic
h silver threads glistened; the spoons and knives were heavily pierced and engraved, the golden goblets massive and encrusted with gems, the salt dishes also of gold, and encrusted, as were the plates.
“We live like peasants,” said Leah, discontentedly. “It is not that I desire that which is unclean. But I would prefer more elegance and variety. My best friend’s table is delightful.”
“Quiet, child,” said Hilell, automatically. “Lucanus, I wish, sometimes, that we still had the old customs and women were excluded from dining with men.”
“She is young,” said Arieh. He turned to his espoused wife and asked, gravely, “You have said I am ignorant, and it is so. Repeat to me some of Moses’ laws regarding temples and sacrifices.”
Leah lifted her head proudly, and in a severe voice began to instruct Arieh. Lucanus listened with fond amusement, and Arieh with an aspect of humility. Deborah did not speak, but once or twice Lucanus saw her dimple. The happiness of this young family affected Lucanus deeply. Listening to Leah and seeing her innocence and her pink cheeks and the flash of her eyes and the suppleness of her neck and bare arms, he thought of Rubria and Sara, the dead he loved with such tenderness, and he said to himself that in reality there was no age, no weariness, no pain, no despair, no parting, no death. The world and the planets, the countless suns, rang with immortal youth, and the constellations and the galaxies rejoiced in it. An exhilaration filled him. All he had ever loved was with him forever.
Before he fell asleep that night he heard the howling of the jackals without the gates, and it seemed to him that they were the voices crying in the wilderness and waiting for comfort, and for admittance among the company of the blessed.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lucanus received an invitation to dine with Pontius Pilate, and he was about to refuse it impatiently when Hilell said, “You were a guest in his home at Caesarea. And for some reason you haunt him. He is a very uneasy man since the crucifixion of the Christ. Will it vex you to give him some ease?”
“You, my host, were not invited. That is a great discourtesy.”
Hilell smiled. “Let us grant it so. But Romans are careless of courtesy towards those they have conquered. You were about to say that he does not like Jews. We would be intolerant if we were intolerant of intolerance.”
“That is a sophistry,” said Lucanus, but he accepted the invitation. Hilell decked him out in an elegant fashion. “Romans, so materialistic, are engrossed with rich and proper clothing,” said Hilell. “They despise simplicity; they love a show of wealth.”
Lucanus wore a blue tunic and over it a toga of the most delicate yet heavy linen, bordered with gold. His sandals were golden, with a tongue of gemmed leather over the instep. Hilell clasped jeweled circlets about his arms. “You are truly magnificent,” he said, kindly. “You resemble one of the noblest Grecian statues.” He ordered a litter at sunset, and Lucanus was borne away to the house of Pontius Pilate, a large house set within high gates and richly blooming gardens, lively with fountains which danced in the red air of the falling sun. But a wind was blowing from the region of the Street of the Cheesemakers which all the fragrance of tree and grass and flower could not overcome. Pilate said, wrinkling his nose, “The stench is abominable.” Lucanus, remembering to be polite, refrained from remarking on the stenches of Rome, and especially the odors which drifted from the Trans-Tiber when the wind changed. Pilate wore a preoccupied manner as he led Lucanus into a hall even more lavish than the hall of Hilell. Lucanus was overpowered by the splendor, which appeared too crowded and in bad taste. The central fountain was heavily perfumed, and the scent was cloying. The house seemed full of pretty slave girls, who sat on cushions on the gleaming white floor and played flute and harp and lute, and tossed their long locks.
“We will go to the roof,” said Pilate, “where the air is fresh and we have a fine view of the city. I am expecting other guests.” His aloof face smiled coldly. “No one less than Herod Antipas himself, and his brother. He wishes to speak with you, and you must understand that that is a condescension! Once we disliked each other; now we are the best of friends. It was a matter of diplomacy.”
“You have told Herod of me?” Lucanus was disturbed.
“Yes. By the way, he is vexed over my lifting the proscription against the sect which calls itself the Christians. He is prepared not to like you.” Pilate laughed with sudden good humor and led the way up several flights of wide marble steps covered with Persian carpets; Lucanus caught glimpses of rich apartments during his ascent. Music followed them. The roof was very wide and long, and guarded by parapets of high pierced stone in intricate patterns, the floor scattered with rugs, the low chairs and divans sheltered by striped and silken awnings in many colors, the tables set with waiting lamps. The slave girls followed them and struck up music again.
Lucanus was interested in the view of the city at this height. The crimson blaze of the sunset lay on the stony or terraced mounts that stood about the city, giving them an aspect of burning. The twisted and battlemented yellow walls of Jerusalem had a baleful air about them; a tinge of dusty scarlet had settled over the narrow and crowded streets, like the reflection of fire. A dull and murmurous sound came from the streets, hushed and muttering. Lucanus could see the Roman forum, its white walls and columns shining like snow in the smoldering light, and the Roman theater like a serrated cup, and the palaces rearing high above the endless and broken plain of smaller houses, the flat roofs illuminated in a wash of red. Dominating all was the Temple, high set within its own walls, its golden towers incandescent, its walls rosy. As it faced the east at this point on Pilate’s roof, the sky that stood behind it was a deep peacock, contrasting with the flaming skies of the west. In the distance was a vast clump of black cypresses, huddled together or scattered about a great green garden. “Gethsemane,” said Pilate, noting Lucanus’ interest. There was a peculiar note in his voice. He and Lucanus sat down under an awning and drank wine. Pilate became silent, as if thinking. The music rose about them, and a girl sang sweetly. Lucanus listened; the cadence was unfamiliar to him, mournful and haunting. The song was in Aramaic.
“How merciful is the Lord our God!
His mercy is wider than the sea.
His loving kindness embraces earth and heaven,
And His words are joyous to my heart.
Who can know the Lord and His holy thoughts?
Do the hills know Him, or the gray mountains?
Or the vast wilderness where no man walks?
Or the tiger in his pacing, or a tree alone in majesty?
Or a woman who sleeps with a babe at her breast,
Or the dying lonely in pain? Or the golden rivers
Which run to the oceans, or the gardens at dawn?
In the most secret place is He known!”
Lucanus looked at the girl, and her great dark eyes brooded under her brows, and her face was smooth and pale. He was surprised at the words of the song, and he glanced at Pilate, who was apparently not listening. The Roman’s elbow rested on the arm of his chair, and his fingers half obscured his face. He was engrossed with his thoughts, forgetting his guest. Then he said, not removing his fingers, and as if addressing himself only, “It is impossible that He rose from the dead! His followers took Him away, and healed Him, for He had been taken too hastily from the cross.”
Lucanus waited, not speaking. The music fell to a softer and less obtrusive note. Pilate said, still in that distant voice, “I would not be surprised but that that old pious rascal, Joseph of Arimathea, had a hand in all this. He is a counselor, and it is said that he is good and just. I have met him, and despite my skepticism, I have not been able to catch him in a sophistry or in worldliness. It was Joseph who begged His body of me, and laid it in a tomb. I had heard enough rumors of that Man, who, I confess, had no real fault in my eyes! It was the high priest, Caiaphas — One does not oppose priests except at his own peril — they can do much mischief. And I was ordered to keep peace in this country at any c
ost. Can I be blamed for that?”
Now he looked at Lucanus sharply. “No,” said the Greek, hesitatingly.
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