“In quoting Solomon, lords, was the Messias a blasphemer, and am I, too, a blasphemer?”
Now Saul was freshly infuriated. He exclaimed, “You are a quibbler! We are astonished at your knowledge of your people and their sacred history, as you intended us to be astonished. I praise you for your erudition! But you have been accused of saying that Yeshua ben Joseph will destroy the Temple—”
“I never said that, nor did the Messias, blessed be His Name. He prophesied that our Temple will be destroyed, our nation dispersed, and Jerusalem laid low and the walls of her be broken down. But He repeated what prophets before Him had said, and He again prophesied that Israel will once more bloom as the rose, after the days of tribulation.”
The witness against Stephen raised a shrilling cry: “He lies! He lies! I have with me men who will testify to his lies!” And he turned violently on his companions and shouted. “Is it not so, men, and will you not swear by your fathers’ beards that it is so?” He stamped his feet like a madman, and glared like a beast.
For the briefest instant, the men with him hesitated, then swept by his passion and believing what he had said, they raised their voices in a thunderous affirmation, and it seemed to them that Stephen had indeed said that his Master had declared he would destroy the Temple and the Law. “Aye, Aye, it is so, it is so!” they howled.
Stephen, still standing by the chair, still oozing from his many small wounds, gazed at the men and sighed, not with impatience or disgust, but with pity. Then, as if he had heard a commanding voice he started and lifted his eyes to one of the windows and an ineffable smile broke out upon his face and he raised his hands in awe and worship.
He said, and his voice shook, “Behold! The Heavens open and I see the Son of Man standing on the right Hand of God!”
He is demented, thought Saul, and now his pain left him and he said to himself, He has a devil, and blasphemes.
He said to the High Priest and the judges, “You have heard his lame falsehoods, and now his open blasphemy, declaring that Yeshua of Nazareth stands at the right Hand of God!”
Still Caiphas hesitated. He turned to the judges. He saw them pondering. If they dismissed the charges against Stephen ben Tobias then these witnesses would cast it abroad that the Sanhedrin feared to rebuke and punish a rich man of an illustrious house, though they had not hesitated to deliver Yeshua of Nazareth up to death at the hands of the Romans, for was not Yeshua only a poor man and a carpenter? They would howl: “One law for the mighty and another for the weak!” Worse still, they would proclaim that the Sanhedrin had upheld a blasphemer. Chaos would result.
So one of the judges said, “Let him be delivered to the ultimate punishment.”
The witnesses yelled with joy, and losing all restraint and respect now they rushed upon Stephen and seized him, and they hurled him with them out of the chamber and the tumult died behind them.
Caiphas looked at Saul and said, “What? Are you not accompanying them to give a semblance of the order of law to the proceedings?” He smiled richly, and with malice, and his jewels flashed on his hands.
Saul said not a word but went from the chamber and Caiphas thought, I have repaid you, my arrogant friend of the audacious red hair and the leonine countenance, for the insults you have heaped on me since I have known you, and the proud glances, and the condemnations.
The turbulent procession of vociferous and bellowing death, led by Saul ben Hillel, and followed resignedly by the Roman centurion and his men, clamored through the streets of Jerusalem, adding to itself other throngs as a river on the way to the sea gathers brooks and rivulets unto it. The late winter sun was dropping in the west, and it was a hole of red fire in the whitish heavens, for a cloudy mist was rising. And now a dusty wind rose that swirled through the narrow streets and billowed under the many feet of the hurrying crowd. The mounts were a lilac-bronze, not yet taking upon themselves the green of spring, though islands of dark cypresses lifted their spires here and there.
Merchants closed little shops to run at the rear of the procession, and to ask questions, and now some men joined that procession on little asses, and from side streets camels and their riders stared, and women peeped from small windows, and little boys ran shrieking, stuffing sweetmeats into their mouths and opening wide their dark and shining eyes in excitement. “They are taking a blasphemer to the Field of the Stoning!” they shouted. It was a festival, for the children were too young to know of death and death by so horrible a method, and they laughed gleefully among themselves until men in the running cavalcade drove them off. It would be no sight for children.
The centurion, being an “old” Roman, did not love the Gracchi nor their memory, but he recalled that the Gracchi had been stoned to death by such a rabble as this, mindless and jeering and delighting in agony. Of what had the Gracchi been guilty, though, deluded men? I Of an effort to raise these creatures to manhood; they had declared I that such had “rights.” Of what was this Stephen accused? Of blasphemy. Of a certainty the gods did not like to be insulted, but this Stephen had not insulted them except by proclaiming that one of I them had deigned to take on the flesh of man and lead mankind into I light and truth. Did a man deserve death for that? Well, Prometheus I had brought fire to man, and the gods had been vengeful and had punished him for eternity. That was their prerogative. It was not man’s.
The Roman could not see Saul at the head of the increasing mobs. Then it came to him that it was not fitting for a Roman to follow the rabble. Nor was it fitting to lead it! However, there would be a challenge at the gate by Roman soldiers, and there would be confusion and probably violence if these wretches were delayed in their madness, so the centurion whipped up his chariot, forced a way through the press of bodies, and his men followed. When he came to the head of the tumult he glanced to his left and saw Stephen ben Tobias being dragged by and pushed by a dozen arms. He appeared hardly conscious. His eyes were closed. The blood was streaming from him again. His face was like that of a fallen statue, dyed red with his life’s fluid, and his pale garments were bloody. For an instant the centurion had a thought to drive his sword mercifully through the condemned man’s heart. Then he remembered that Pilate had ordered him to obey Saul of Tarshish, that terrible and beset man marching with incredible speed before all of them. The centurion passed him. But Saul saw nothing; his eyes were fixed ahead and appeared to be in a trance. The centurion thought: He is not a any longer. He is only a force.
The soldiers at the gates came to the road to stare and to point, their helmets gleaming in the colorless light, and above them folded and unfolded the standards of Rome and the great bronze eagles over the gates seemed alive, poised for the death-swoop. Seeing the centurion whipping his horses they ran to the gates and opened them, and saluted, and disbelievingly watched the mob as it sailed out onto the bare and saffron plain, which was strewn with boulders and stones and gravel. To the soldiers, it seemed that half of Jerusalem was streaming and thundering onto the plain, braying like asses, howling like jackals, ululating like hyenas, a many-colored apparition of flapping robes and galloping feet. There was something in their midst being dragged, something white and limp and stained with red, something which bobbed up and down flaccidly, something which they could not believe was human except that the brightness of disordered amber hair caught their eyes.
After the streets of the city the desolation outside was too wide and open and silent for the mobs, and they suddenly halted, those in the front, and those behind them collided with their bodies, and there was a vast confusion. Now Saul took command. He did not glance at the Romans who had moved apart beside their officer. He lifted his hand and his voice was loud and resonant as he shouted in that awesome silence:
“Let those who have testified against this man, before the High Priest and the Little Sanhedrin, stand forth, for it is the law—‘the hand of the witnesses shall be the first against him.’ Those who are not witnesses must stand back, in quiet and in order, or I will command that you be
driven back within the gates and dispersed! This is not a celebration. It is a solemn occasion of righting a fearful wrong against God, blessed be His Name.”
So tremendous was the power of his personality and his superhuman authority, and so awful were his expression and his eyes, that the mobs became instantly quiet, breathing audibly like gusts of wind in the silence. They turned their savage and impatient eyes on the witnesses, who dragged their limp burden before Saul and threw him at the young Pharisee’s feet.
Stephen lay there, broken and dazed, his white cheek resting on the yellow gravel, his legs sprawled helplessly, his arms spread as if nailed to a cross. He did not open his eyes; his golden lashes lay on his cheeks and his gray lips were parted in a feeble breathing. The scion of the House of Tobias was already close to death, his beauty shattered in the dust, his body without movement.
It was Saul who took a brief and almost groaning breath, for this blasphemer was young, almost a youth, just recently glowing of countenance and brilliant of eye, stretching forth a hand in friendship, debating, standing proudly before the High Priest—that detestable man!—and not defending himself but defending One he loved beyond his own life. What power had that carpenter, that miserable wandering rabbi, possessed that men like Stephen should follow him and lay down their lives for him and raise his name as triumphant soldiers raise a banner on conquered soil? There had been others before him, claiming mighty powers and doing miracles, and they had had their followers, and they had died and been forgotten and their followers had disappeared on their deaths. But the Nazarene, even in death, had the power to raise up men from stones to proclaim his name, and to call forth a hundred disciples where only one had stood before!
Saul looked down at the head of the condemned man, lying so near his dusty sandals, and the pang that struck him was like a sword in his flesh, a burning in his throat. I would have spared him, he thought, but he was mad, and now he must die, for God must not be mocked lest we all perish.
The young Pharisee raised his hands and the witnesses pounced upon Stephen and tore the long tunic and cloak and prayer shawl and cap from him, and his girdle, leaving him only his loincloth. And there were some among the avid watchers who were amazed at the marble symmetry of his young body, the perfect carving of the muscles under the white and silken skin, the cunning loveliness where joint joined socket without flaw. And a few, who had seen Greek temples and had even entered them, thought that Stephen resembled a statue of Hermes. It was these who began to retreat uneasily and to wonder how they had come to this place, and they hid themselves in the throng at the rear and some even returned silently through the gates, and some were horrified that they had been part of the rabble, and began to flee.
As always, it was hotter here than within the city, for the breath of the desert was near and as the sun fell the mountains, reflecting this light, sprang into hard and vivid copper. The witnesses, feeling the sudden heat, took off their cloaks and looked at Saul, and he stepped back and motioned, and they threw their garments before him in a heap.
Then, like scorpions in their dark tunics they raced about, bent, searching, in a wide circle, and they seized stones and weighed them in their hands and their eyes sparkled with anticipation and delight. From them, in the curiously pent silence, issued sounds heard usually only when men were in the extremities of copulation, and Saul’s face now so strained and convulsed, shivered with disgust and even hatred. Each took two stones, the heaviest and sharpest they could hold, and they returned and stood about Stephen.
Saul again raised his hand. It was his impulse, almost uncontrollable, to turn and flee, but he had commanded this and he would remain if he died for it.
The first stone thudded between Stephen’s shoulders, and a long; tremor ran down his body but there was no expression on his quiet countenance. Saul thought, I pray that he is unconscious, that he will know nothing. The sound of the thud had been horrible to all except the witnesses, for it was flesh on which the stone had fallen. Now an enormous wound appeared between Stephen’s shoulders, like a ragged gaping red mouth, spewing blood.
The witnesses, seeing the blood, appeared to go mad. Several danced, a parody on sacred dancing, their knees bent stiffly, their movements insect-like and awkward, as though made of wood. As they circled they hurled their stones on the beaten body in the yellow dust and gravel, and screamed like women. One found its heavy mark on the back of Stephen’s head and the last of the amber locks disappeared in a torrent of scarlet. The thudding became unbearable, and echoed back from the waste places.
I must not faint, I must not fall, thought Saul ben Hillel, and the ominous sparks he knew too well began to rage behind his closed lids, and there was a trembling in his flesh and his mouth dried and his tongue rose to stick on the roof of his mouth. He felt the little bubbles of foam at the corners of his lips. And then he thought, Yes, let me fall and see no more!
But something opened his eyes, and even he forgot the screams of the murderers and the pounding on white defenseless flesh, for between the dancing and hurling witnesses he saw a form and a tall figure he had seen long ago, a carved pale face and large somber blue eyes beneath a mass of gilt hair tumbled with silver. The man stood a distance in front of the watching mob, wrapped in a blue wool cloak, his hood hanging about his neck. He was not gazing at the murder transpiring near him. His whole attention, his brooding glance, his strong fixed look, dwelled on Saul only.
Was that accusation in his look or hate or condemnation? And, who was he, this stranger, this man obviously not a Jew? A blazing ring captured the light of the dying sun and it was like a star on his right index finger.
Saul, trembling violently, returned his eyes to the stoning. Stephen was now a pulp of bleeding and lacerated flesh and purple bruises and wounds. Lord, said Saul in his heart, let him be dead and let it be the end.
The stoners were gasping for breath now, for their exertions had been strenuous and they still picked up the bloody stones that had bounced from the prostrate body and hurled them, though not with such force now, for they were spent. Little rivulets of scarlet were mingling with the dust and crawling away like wounded snakes over the dried umber earth and gravel, and they caught the light and glinted. He is dead, thought Saul, and again the pain came to him, and again the seizure struck him.
But at that instant the crushed body of Stephen stirred, and to the amazement and affrightedness of many he raised himself on his hands, those long elegant hands bleeding and shattered now, and his young face was suddenly the face again of an angel, lighted and blazing with an inner transport and an inner joy. He had lifted his distended eyes to the sky; he was in rapture, enthralled, full of visions. His body arched. He was like one rising precipitately to answer the summons of a recognized and beloved commander. The blood ran from his head and forehead and down his face and even from his eyes and his nose, but he was radiant, shining like the moon.
He cried out, in a great voice, “Lord, Lord Yeshua, receive my spirit!”
He was shaken over and over by his exultation. He smiled with exquisite love and awe, and a glory seemed to fall upon him so that he was transfigured.
Then, though he still smiled in his rapture tears dripped from his bleeding eyes, and he said in a beseeching and tender voice, “Lord, hold not this sin to their charge.”
Again he was shaken as by an invisible force. His arms bent. He tell on his face, murmured once, shivered, and expired. Now he lay in peace, and none could hurt him any longer.
The first martyr had died in the Name of Yeshua of Nazareth, whom the Romans called Jesus and the Greeks, Jesu. His open dead mouth appeared to drink the dust of the desert, and his gentle palms lay upturned as though in merciful prayer.
Saul put his hands over his face. His seizure had passed. He felt mortally cold though the winds of the desert were still hot. He felt ill as he had never felt ill since he had almost died in his early youth. He was one hollowness of pain.
Then he drew his strength tog
ether. What was done was done. Where, then, was the sense of duty fulfilled, of a task accomplished which must be accomplished? Where was the experience of feeling that he had obeyed God? Stephen ben Tobias, the deluded, the enchanted, the blasphemer, had died like a joyful hero and a prophet beloved of God, and he, Saul ben Hillel, was centered with agony.
When he could look at Stephen again he saw that some one in compassion had thrown the dead man’s cloak over his crushed body, and a mighty feeling of gratitude swept over Saul so intense that he could hardly restrain his tears. The witnesses, haggard and still half demented, was taking up their cloaks with an air of righteousness and almost with a swagger, but the crowd had retreated far from them, nearer the gates, their passion spent and confusion upon them.
Then it was that the stranger whom Saul had observed, and whom he had seen before, advanced to the silent body sprawled in the dust. He knelt slowly beside Stephen. He gently drew back the cloak from the battered head. Then he lifted the head to his breast like a father and held it there, and the features of the dead man were the features of a sleeping child against the heart of a living man. And over that head the cold and thoughtful blue eyes dwelt again on Saul, and he could not read them.
Suddenly Saul remembered. This was the Greek physician, Lucanus, adopted son of Diodorus Cyranus, the Roman legate of Syria, the tribune of wealth and power in Rome. This was the famed physician of the seas, the merciful defender of man against God!
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