by Edgar Saltus
CHAPTER VIII.
VIII.
"They have him, they are taking him to Pilate."
It was Eleazer calling to his sister from the turn of the road. In amoment he was at her side, dust-covered, his sandals torn, his patheticeyes dilated. He was breathless too, and, in default of words, with agesture that swept the Mount of Olives, he pointed to where the holy citylay.
To Mary the morrow succeeding her swoon was a pall. Love, it may be, is aforgetfulness of all things else, but despair is very actual. It takes ahold on memory, inhabits it, and makes it its own. And during the day thatfollowed, Mary lay preyed upon by the acutest agony that ever torturedwoman yet. Early in the night, before her senses returned, the Master hadgone without mentioning whither. His destination may have been Ephraim,Jericho even, or further yet, beyond the hollows of the Ghor. Then, again,he might have loitered in the neighborhood, on the hill perhaps, in thatopen-air solitude he loved so well, and for which so often he forsook thenarrowness of roofs and towns. But yet, in view of the Passover, he mighthave gone to Jerusalem, and it was that idea that tortured most.
It was there the keen police, the levites, were, and their masters theSadducees, who had placed a price on his head. Did he get within thewalls, then surely he was lost. At the possibilities which that ideaevoked her thoughts sank like the roots of a tree and grappled with theunder-earth. To her despair, regret brought its burden. A moment ofself-forgetfulness, and, however horrible that forgetfulness might havebeen, in it danger to him whom she revered would have been averted, and,for the time being at least, dispersed utterly as last year's leaves. Ithad been cowardice on her part to let Judas go; she should have beenstrong when strength was needed. There were glaives to be had; the head ofHolofernes could have greeted his. The legend of Judith still echoed itsreproach, and recurring, pointed a slender finger of disdain.
To the heart that is sinking, hope throws a straw. Immaterial andcaressing as a shadow, came to her the fancy that if the Master were inthe neighborhood, at any moment he might appear. In that event it wasneedful that she should be prepared to aid him at once beyond the confinesof Judaea. Were he already beyond them, presently she must learn it, andthen could warn him of the danger of return. But meanwhile, for security'ssake, had he gone by any chance to Jerusalem, some one must be there towarn him of the plot. She thought of her sister, and dismissed her. Marthawas too feather-headed for an errand such as that. She thought of Ahulah,but some of those well-intentioned friends that everyone possesses hadtold of the misadventure to her husband, and the latter, cruel as a woman,had spat upon her, and now through the suburbs she wandered, distraught,incompetent to aid. Her brother occurred to her. It was on him she couldrely. His devotion was surpassed only by her own. Thereupon she sought himout, instructed him in his duty, and sent him forth to watch and warn.
The green afternoon faded in the hemorrhages of the setting sun. Twilightapproached like a wolf. Night unfurled her great black fan; the moon came,fumbling the shadows, checkering the underbrush with silver spots. Once acaravan passed, and once from the hillside came the bark of a dog, caughtup and repeated in some farm beyond; otherwise the night was unstirred;and as Mary stared into the immensities where lightning wearies andsubsides, a lethargy beset her, her body was imprisoned; but her soul wasfree, and in a moment it mounted sheerly to a fringe of the heavens andbathed in space.
When it descended, another day had come, and Eleazer was calling to herfrom the turn of the road. At once she was on earth and on her feet, andas the brother gasped for breath the sister's strength returned. Theremust be no more weakness now, she knew; it was time to act. She got drink,water for the feet; then Eleazer, refreshed, continued:
"I ran through the ridge and up to where the two cedars are. I lookedamong the cypresses beyond, in the pines where the descent begins, throughthe olive groves below and the booths and tents beneath. There was notrace of him anywhere. I crossed the brook and sat awhile at the Shushangate, watching those that entered. The crowd became so dense that it wasimpossible to distinguish. I thought I might hear of him in the Temple.The porch was thronged. I roamed through the Mountain of the House intothe Woman's Court, and out of it on the Chel. But they were all so filledwith pilgrims that had he been there only accident could have brought meto him. It was on that I counted, and I went out on Zion and Acra, wherethe crowd was less. It was getting late. Beth-horon was dim. I could seelights in Herod's palace. Some one said that the tetrarch of Galilee wasthere, the guest of the procurator. I went back by way of Antonia toBirket Israil and the Red Heifer Bridge. I had given up; it seemed to meuseless to make further attempt. Suddenly I saw Judas in the angle of theporch. With him was a levite. I got behind a pillar, near where theystood, and listened. The only thing I distinctly heard was the name ofJoseph of Haramathaim. I fancied, though I was not certain, that Judasspoke as though he had just left his house. They must have moved awaythen, for when I looked they had gone. I knew that Joseph was a friend ofthe Master's, and it struck me that he might be at his house. It is in thesook of the Perfumers, back of Ophel. I ran there as fast as I could. Itwas unlighted. I beat on the door: there was no answer. I felt that I hadbeen mistaken, anyway that I could do no more. I went down again into thevalley, crossed the Kedron, and would have returned here at once perhaps,but I was tired, and so, on the slope where the olive-presses are, I laydown and must have fallen asleep, for I remembered nothing till there camea tramping of men. I crouched in the underbrush. They passed very close;some had torches, some had spears. Judas was leading, and as an apemunches a flower he was muttering the Master's name."
Eleazer paused and looked at his sister. She was standing erect, her facewan, the brow contracted, the rhymes of her lips tight-pressed. Then, witha glance at Olivet, he continued:
"For a little space I waited. They had ascended the slope and halted.There was a shout, the waving of torches, then a silence. In it I heardthe Master's voice, followed by a cry of pain. I hurried to where theywere. They had him bound when I got there. I saw a soldier raising a handto his ear and looking at the palm; it was red. Peter was running one way,Thomas another. I got nearer. Some one, a levite I think, caught me by thecoat. I freed myself from it and escaped up the hill.
"From there I looked down. They were going away. When they had gone, Iwent back and found my cloak. While I was putting it on, John appeared.'They are taking him to Caiaphas,' he said; 'I shall follow. Come with meif you wish.' I went with him. On the way we met Peter; he joined us. Wewalked single-file, John leading. Beyond I could see the lights of thetorches, the glint of steel. No one spoke. Peter whimpered a little. Wecrossed the Kedron and got up into the city. The soldiers went directly towhere Annas lives; they entered in a body, and the door closed. Johnrapped: it was opened. He said something to the doorkeeper, who admittedhim. The door closed again. Peter and I waited a little, not knowing whereto turn. Presently the door reopened, and John motioned us to come in. Inthe court was a fire; about it were servants and khazzans. I stopped amoment to warm my hands; Peter did the same. John had disappeared. I heardone of the khazzans say that they had taken the Master to Annas, and theothers discuss what he would probably do. While I stood there listening,and wondering what had become of John, I saw the Master being led acrossthe court to the Lishcath ha-Gazith. I left Peter, and followed. In thehall were the elders, ranged in a semicircle about Caiaphas. They musthave been prepared beforehand, for the clerks of acquittal and ofcondemnation were there, the crier too, and a group of levites andScribes. In a corner were some of Annas' servants. I got among them andstood unnoticed.
"The Master's hands were bound. On either side of him was a soldier.Caiaphas was livid. He looked him from head to foot.
" 'You are accused,' he said, 'of inciting sedition, of defying the Law,of blasphemy, and of breaking the Sabbath day. What have you to answer?'
"The Master made no reply.
"Caiaphas pointed to the levi
tes. 'Here,' he continued, 'are witnesses.'
"He motioned; one of them stepped forward and spoke.
" 'I testify that this man has incited to sedition by denouncing themembers of this reverend council as hypocrites, wolves in sheep'sclothing, blind leaders of the blind; and I further testify that he hasdeclared no one should follow them.'
" 'What have you to say to that?' Caiaphas snarled. But the Master saidnothing.
"The first levite moved back, and at a gesture from the high-priestanother stepped forward.
" 'I testify that I have seen that man eat, in defiance of the Law, withunwashed hands, and consort with publicans and people of low repute.'
" 'And what have you to say to that?' Caiaphas asked again. But still theMaster said nothing.
"The second levite moved back, and a third advanced.
" 'I testify that I have heard that man blaspheme in calling God hisfather, and in declaring himself to be one with Him.'
" 'Is that blasphemy or is it not?' Caiaphas bawled. But the Master's lipsnever moved.
"The third levite gave way to a fourth.
" 'I testify that that man has broken the Sabbath in healing the sick onthat day, and further that he has seduced others to break it. On theSabbath I have heard him order a cripple to take up his bed and carry itto his home. I have heard him also declare that he could destroy theTemple and rebuild it, in three days, anew.'
"Caiaphas turned to the Master. 'Do you still refuse to answer?' he asked.'Do you think that silence can save you? Have you heard these witnesses?'
"And as the Master still made no reply, Caiaphas lifted his hand andcried, 'I adjure you by the Eternal to answer, Are you the Messiah, theSon of God?'
"In the breathless silence Jesus raised his eyes. He looked at thehigh-priest, at the levites, the Scribes. 'You have said it,' he murmured,and smiled with that air he has.
"Caiaphas grew purple. He caught his gown at the throat and ripped it fromneck to hem. The elders started. I heard them mutter, '_Ish maveth_.' Thehigh-priest glanced toward them. 'You have heard this ragged blasphemy?'he exclaimed; and, turning to where the Scribes stood, 'What,' he asked,'does the Law decree concerning the Sabbath-breaker?'
"One of them, the book unrolled in his hand, advanced and read:
" 'Ye shall keep the Sabbath holy. Whoso does any work thereon shall becut off from his people.'
" 'And what of blasphemy?'
"The Scribe glanced at the roll and repeated from memory: 'He thatblasphemeth the name of the Lord shall be put to death. The congregationshall stone him, as well the stranger as he that was born in the land.'
"Caiaphas closed the fingers on the palm of his left hand, and, raisingit, turned again to the elders. '_Ish maveth_,' they repeated, closingtheir fingers as he had done.
"I knew then that he was condemned. After all"--and Eleazer looked wearilyto the ground--"it was legal enough. Each moment I expected him to givesome sign, but, save to affirm the charge of blasphemy, during the entiretime he kept silent. Yes, it was legal enough. From where I stood I heardthe Scribes say that he would be sentenced at sunrise, and then Pilatewould have a word with him. I could do nothing. Caiaphas still fumed. Iwent out in the court again. In the corridor was Judas. Peter waswrangling with the servants. I did not wait for more. I got away and intothe valley and up again on the hill. A cock was crowing, and I saw thedawn. O Mary, the pity of it!"
He looked at his sister. There was no weakness now in her face, nor beautyeither. Age must have passed her in the night.
"And I will have a word with Pilate too," she said.
As a somnambulist might, she drew her mantle closer, and, moving to thewayside, ascended the hill. The silver and green of the olives closedaround her, and with them the branching dates. Above, a star left by themorning glimmered feebly. In a myrtle a bird began to sing, and a lizardthat had come out to intercept the sun scurried as she passed. Upward andonward still she went, and, the summit reached, for a moment she stoppedand rested.
To the east the Dead Sea lay, a stretch of silk. At its edge was theflutter of ospreys feasting on the barbels and breams of the Jordan, whichas they enter, die. Beyond was a glitter of white and gold, the scarp ofMoriah and its breast of stone, the Tyrian bevel of Solomon, the porphyryof Nehemiah, the marble that Herod gave; ascending terraces, engulfingporticoes, the splendor of Jerusalem at dawn. Between the houses nearestwas the dimness that shadows cast; those further away had a scatter ofpink; about it all was a wall surmounted by turrets; beneath was a ravinein which was a brook, and a city of booths and tents, grazing camels andfat-tailed sheep.
Through the pines and cypresses Mary passed down to where the olives were.The brook sent a message to her; the blood that had flowed from thesacrifices was in it, and in the fresh morning it reeked a little, as suchbrooks do. It was here, she thought, the Master had been taken, and for asecond she stopped again. The sun now was rising behind her; the color ofthe sky shifted. Beyond Jerusalem a mountain was melting in excesses ofvermilion, and the ravine that had been gray was assuming the tenderestgreen. The star had disappeared, but from each tree broke the greeting ofa bird.
A rustle of the leaves near by startled her, and she looked about,fearful, as women are, of some beast of prey. A white robe was there, awhite turban, and beneath it the swart face of one whom she had known.
To her eyes came massacres. "Judas!" she exclaimed, and looked up in thatroof of her world where day puts its blue and night puts its black."Judas!" she repeated. Her small hands clenched, and the rhymes of hermouth grew venomous.
Then the woman spoke in her. "Why did you not kill me first?"
Judas swayed like an ox hit on the forehead. The motion distracted andirritated her. "Can't you speak," she cried, "or does hell hold you,tongue and all?"
He raised a hand as though he feared another blow. The gesture was sohuman and yet so humble that Mary looked into his face. Time, which turnsthe sweet-eyed girl into a withered spectre, must have touched him withits thumb. His eyes were ringed and cavernous, his cheeks empty.
"You have heard, then?" he said; but he evinced no curiosity. He spokewith the apathy of one who takes everything for granted, one with whomfate is to have its will. "I have just come from there," he added, with abackward gesture. "I never thought that such a thing could be. No, I swearit, I never did." Then, in answer perhaps to some inner twinge, perhapsalso because of the expression of Mary's lips, he continued: "If there isa new oath, one that has never been used before, prompt me, and I willswear again, I never did. I thought----"
Mary interrupted him savagely: "There are ten kinds of hypocrisy. You havenine of them; you will develop the tenth and invent a new one besides."
At this Judas made a pass with his hands and stared absently at theground. "Mary," he said, "life is a book which man reads when he dies.During the last hour I have been unrolling it. In its scroll I foundexistence a wine-shop where the guest fares so badly that he would go atonce were it not that he fears to call for the reckoning. The reckoning,Mary, is death. I have called for it. I am about to pay. Let me tell you.I have no excuse to offer, no forgiveness now to await. My heart was ameadow: you made it stone. There were well-springs in it: you dried them,Mary. When I first saw you, you were a dream fulfilled. Others had broughtechoes of life; you brought its song. It was then that I heard the Masterspeak. I followed him, and tried to forget. It must be that I failed, forwhen I saw you in Capharnahum my blood danced, and when you spoke Itrembled. It was love, Mary; and love, when it is not death, is life. Itwas that I sought at your side. You would not listen. Innocence is agarment. You seemed to have wrapped it about you. I tried to tear it away.There was my fault, and this my punishment. Your right was inflexible as aprison-door, and yet always behind it was the murmur of a mysteriousPerhaps. The others turned to me; I turned to you. I forgot again, butthis time it was my duty, my allegiance, and my faith. Mary, I loved theMaster more wholly even than I loved you. He was the Spirit; you were theflesh. In him was
the future; in you the tomb. I thought to conquer both.While I mixed my darkness with his light, I pursued you as night pursuesthe day. On the light I have cast a shadow, and to you I have brought ablight. But, Mary, both will disappear. The one consolation I cling to nowis that belief. When I delivered him up, it was myself I betrayed, nothim. I am forever dead, and he forever living. While I bargained with thepriests and pretended that my aim was coin, when I led the levites and theTemple-guard just here to where he stood, during all the hours since Ileft you, I tried to escape from that cage we call Fate. Mary, there issomething about us higher than our will. The revenge I sought on youforsook me before I reached the city's gate. It is the intangible that hasbrought me where I am. I have sworn to you I never thought this thingcould be. I swear it now again. In carrying out the threat I made, Ithought to make you fear my hate and make him greater than he was. Hisenemies, I had seen, were many. Those that had believed in him grew dailyless. In Jerusalem his miracles had ceased, and I thought that, when thelevites and the Temple-guard approached, he would speak with Samuel'sthunder, answer with Elijah's flame. I thought the stars would shake, themoon grow red; that he would produce the lost Urim, the vanished Ark, andso forever silence disbelief. I was wrong, and he was right. Belief is inthe heart, not in the senses; the visible contradicts, but faith is not tobe confuted. No, Mary, the tombs are not dumb. I said so once, I know, butthey answer, and mine will speak. On it perhaps a caricature may bedaubed, and about it prejudice will uncoil. I deserve it. Yet though youthink me wholly base, remember no man is that. Since I met you my life hasbeen a battle-field in which I have fought with conscience. It hasconquered. I am its slave; it commands, and I obey."
He drew a breath as though he had more to add, and turned to where shestood. There was no one there. From an olive-branch a red-start piped tothe morning; over the buds of a pomegranate a bee buzzed its delight;across the leaves of a myrtle a blue spider was busy with its web, butMary was no longer there. He peered through the underbrush, and wanderedto the grove beyond. There was no one. He looked to the hill-top: therewas the advancing sun. He looked in the valley: there were the pilgrims'booths, the grazing camels and fat-tailed sheep.
"She has gone," he told himself. "She would not even listen."
He bent his head. For the first time since boyhood the tears rolled downhis face.
"She might at least have heard me," he thought, and brushed the tearsaway. Others came and replaced them. When they had fallen, there weremore.
"Yes, she might at least have listened. If I had no excuse to offer, atleast I had regret." For a moment he fancied her, cruel as only woman is,hurrying to some unknown goal. The tears he had tried to stanch ceased nowabruptly. "She is right," he mused. "She has left me to conscience and todeath."
He turned again and went back to where he had stood before. As he crossedthe intervening space he unloosed the long girdle which he wore, and fromwhich still hung the treasury of the twelve. The bag that held it fellwhere the bee was buzzing. One end of the girdle he tossed over a branch;the red-start spread its wings and fled. He looked about. There was astone near by; he got it and with a little labor rolled it beneath thebranch. Then he made a noose, very carefully, that it might not comeundone, and settling it well under the chin, he tied the other end of thegirdle to it and swung himself from the stone.