“We have a prince with us, a very powerful and wealthy prince who comes from Seen. Do you treat princes as you would one of your own flap-gutted olive merchants?”
“A prince?” The official laughed scornfully. “If Sargon, king of kings, were alive today and riding in to Antioch, we would not allow him to squat on his royal behind at this part of the road. A mere prince, say you? Don’t prate to me of princes. Get your prince, and your great lady too, inside that gate as fast as you can.”
Adam did not need any further evidence. “The word has been passed down the line,” he muttered. “It has even reached this mangy user of puny power and has turned him unfriendly. We may as well prepare ourselves for the worst.”
2
They fell into the slow pace of the ingoing stream and in the course of minutes drew close to the imposing arch of the Iron Gate. A man with a face as round as a melon stood just outside the arch and called something in a monotonous singsong. As they approached closer they realized that he was repeating perfunctorily: “Adam ben Asher! Adam ben Asher!”
Adam swung his camel off to that side and stopped in front of the caller. “I am Adam ben Asher,” he said.
“Good!” cried the man in a tone of intense relief. “My voice was on the point of giving out. It may be ruined beyond all hope of repair.”
“Am I interested in the condition to which your voice has been reduced?” snorted Adam impatiently.
“I have messages for you,” said the stranger with offended dignity. “And greetings from my master, Jabez. I have stood here for three days and called out your name. Never have I left my post from the moment the gate opened in the morning until it was closed at night. My voice——” Adam interrupted with a violent gesture. “Did your master instruct you not to stir from the cool shadows of the gate? Is it not known to you that the custom is to ride out and convey greetings some considerable distance down the road? That the newcomers are then pleasantly regaled with wine and told what they should know of what is transpiring inside the walls? Did it enter that great head of yours, which I suspect is filled with seeds rather than brains, that your failure to appear in the appointed way might give rise to serious misapprehensions?” Having thus vented his displeasure, Adam gave the stranger a sound buffet on the shoulder by way of compensation. “There! It shall be reported to your master that you labored at your appointed task with a diligence that merits reward. And now for the messages.”
The rest of the party had passed in under the arch and had been motioned into a compound to the right. They were told they might as well dismount as there would be delay in the questioning. Deborra, having obeyed these instructions, glanced about her in great distress of mind, thinking of what Adam had said. Whether or not Basil and his companion had escaped the attention of the bandits or whether, having emerged safely from this danger, they had been seized by the Antioch police, the fact remained that they were not here to greet her. This was proof enough that things had gone wrong. She stared unseeingly over the whitewashed walls of the compound and gave not a single thought to the other problems that faced them. It was stiflingly hot in this airless corner packed with anxious humanity, and she was barely aware that her maid had come to her side and was vigorously plying a fan over her head.
Then she saw Chimham. He was standing at the entrance and smiling broadly. He was alone, but her heart jumped with instinctive relief. That he was here, and felt free to smile, was proof that all was well. Basil had not come, but there would be reasons for this, which she would learn in good time.
Chimham, she then perceived, was arrayed in the greatest magnificence. He was wearing a towering sky-blue headdress with a cyclopean crystal glittering on its front. His tunic was of the same shade of blue and his sash was russet. There were beads as large as duck eggs around his neck, and the straps of his sandals were of several shades, all glaringly bright.
“If you had been a day later, gentle lady,” he said to Deborra when she motioned him to break through to her, “he would have been here to greet you. This morning he was judged as still too unsteady of limb to venture this far.”
“Then he has been very ill,” she said, anxiety taking possession of her again.
“By the earth and my head, he has been a sick man! If we had ridden one hour less it would have been all right. Or if, say, the road had been a league or two shorter. It was only in that last hour that the sun conquered him. One moment he was sitting high in his saddle and singing to the camels, and the next he was sprawled out and in his mind a hot wind was blowing through the bulrushes. He was delirious when we rode in. The guards began to question us, and he told them his name was Little Issachar, son of Lot. For two days he did not know who he was.”
Deborra’s eyes showed how deeply this picture had affected her. “He must have suffered very much!” she exclaimed.
“Lady, I have lived on the trails all my life, but never have I gone through the equal of this. There were times when I could feel the bulrushes starting to stir in my mind.” Then he gave his head a confident nod. “But it is all over and he is getting well fast. He even talks about setting out for Ephesus at once. I do not think that would be wise.”
“No,” she agreed, “I do not think that would be wise at all.”
Adam appeared at her shoulder at this moment and whispered that he had much to tell her. He kept his news to himself, however, for his eyes had lighted on the resplendent camel man.
“Why all this mummery?” he demanded. “Why are you dressed up like a second-rate Solomon?”
Chimham protested indignantly, “These are my wedding clothes. Today I am taking unto myself another wife.”
Adam walked over to him and sank both hands into the voluminous blue folds of the tunic. He gave the camel man a furious shake. “I have been doing some thinking about you,” he said. “I have heard of your marrying habit, and I have been wondering. How does a man support a string of wives on what I pay you? And now I am starting to believe there is truth in something else I have been told. Yes, the conviction grows in my mind every time I look at you, my fine bridegroom. Do you remember what Samson did when he found that the young men of Timnath had been plowing with his heifer?”
“You will take your hands off me,” said Chimham, trying to carry off the situation with dignity.
“The mighty Samson,” said Adam, shaking him harder than ever, “went out and slew thirty of their kinsmen. I begin to detect about you, O Chimham, taker of wives, a stench of the same kind of husbandry. I am not another Samson, but I have it in my power to exact a sharp punishment.”
“You speak with a double tongue. Your words mean nothing to me.” Chimham shook himself free. “This I may say to you, Adam ben Asher: I am no longer your man.”
Adam indulged in a snort. “We are in accord there. You are no longer my man.”
Chimham faded into the background, and Adam began to impart the information he had gleaned in his talk with the banker’s emissary. “Your father reached the city yesterday,” he said. “They were becalmed for three days, which was a fortunate thing for us. He has seen Jabez, he has talked to the city authorities, he has been closeted with magistrates. Now that you have arrived, there will be a meeting tomorrow before a magistrate.”
Deborra looked up with intense anxiety. “Adam, what do you expect will happen?”
“I have no definite opinion yet. I think it will depend on Jabez. If he decides to be honest about it, we will win. This man of his gave me some information that will be useful in dealing with him. He is a small man and sensitive about it. He would regard any reference to the thick sandals he wears as a personal insult. On the other hand, he is always gratified when the beauty of his wife is mentioned. She is a statuesque creature and rules Jabez with a rod of iron—inside the house. No one unwilling to declare her the most beautiful woman in the world has ever done well in this city. These are points, little Deborra, that you must bear in mind.
“Now that I have told you that,” he wen
t on, “I shall add the things I knew about him before. He began as a money-changer and, as you know, they are the sharpest and hardest men in the world. As Jabez is very small, his nose was always closer to his stacks of money and so he did better than anyone else. At that stage of his career he was very sharp and very hard, willing to starve an orphan or strip a widow for the sake of a copper coin. Then a change came over him. As soon as he became rich and powerful he began to allow himself the great and rewarding luxury of being honest. It is said that he could not be tempted now by an offer of Nero’s throne. It is often this way; early peccadilloes become steppingstones to a sterling middle age. And because of this curious new habit of his, I think we may have a chance to win.”
His turn having been reached, Adam left to face the questioning of the guards. As soon as his back was turned, Chimham came sidling up again.
“Gentle lady,” he whispered, “I have something to tell you. He was right about it. I have been plowing in his field.” Deborra had no idea what he meant and she was still further mystified by the winks and nods he was indulging in. “Gentle lady, you can help me. With the old one; you know, the sharp-clawed monkey from the East. Tell him I am smart and can spot a bargain with the back of my head. Tell him I want to go East with him. You could tell him, if you think it would help, that the wife I take today will be the last one, that I will be like a bachelor for the rest of my life. Make him any promise you like, great lady, and I will strive to live up to it.”
Deborra stretched out a hand to him. “I do not understand what all this is about. Perhaps you will make it clear later. But I do want to help you. I shall speak well of you to the prince, if that is what you mean.” She nodded to him and smiled. “I want to thank you now for what you have done. I am sure you helped my husband in many ways and made things easier for him. For this I am very grateful.” Then she added with a burst of unrestrained feeling, “Thank you, thank you, many times!”
The emissary of the banker approached her, bowing so low that she could see little but the bald top of his head. “Great lady, I am to tell you,” he said, “that a house has been secured for your use while you remain in the city. I am ready to take you there now.”
3
The house that had been reserved for Deborra’s use was situated in a thinly settled section between the green and mysterious glades of Daphne and the Bridge Gate on the racing Orontes. It stood behind a stone wall of comforting height, a white building with thick parapets around its flat roof. The previous occupant had been, obviously, a man of wealth and discrimination and a collector of beautiful things. The rooms were filled with rare specimens of the best things from all parts of the world: tapestries from Rome depicting the heroic figures of poetry and mythology, tall vases of bronze and porcelain, sculptured figures of the breath-taking beauty that only the fingers of Grecian genius had produced.
In the center of the entrance hall, on a tall pedestal of marble, stood a vessel of glazed pottery, a squat object with the round belly of a complacent heathen god and handles like the talons of a mythical bird of prey. There was a long funnel on the top that suggested it had been used for religious rites. Luke, regarding it with aversion, reflected that in this ominous kettle, perhaps, the hearts of sinless virgins had simmered to appease a Jovian appetite.
The old prince from Seen, who had accompanied them, set up his tents in a grove of trees outside the wall. He inspected the works of art in the house with a somewhat supercilious eye. “Does it seem to my most kind and honored new friends,” he asked, “that there is a slight hint of coldness in the figures? That there is a certain lack of the light and color found in the art of my country, so far away, alas? It is not for one as humble and unlearned as I to make criticism in the face of so much beauty. These suggestions are put forward with a proper humility.”
Deborra whispered in reply, “I would not dare say it aloud, Honorable Prince, but there is a coldness about all this. And too much display and nakedness.” Then she added, “It is most kind of you to come so far out of your way with us.”
P’ing-li nodded his head so vigorously that he found it hard to recover control over it. “As the years mount, so does my unworthy sense of curiosity,” he acknowledged. “Could I turn east at Aleppo and never know if my gentle little lady succeeded in getting her inheritance? I could not have died in peace without knowing. And I wanted also to see when the romance, which has flowered so slowly, came at last into full bloom. Will diminutive and very lovely lady forgive an arrantly curious old man if he asks, is this tardiness due to Christian teachings?”
Deborra shook her head slowly and ruefully. “No, Honorable Prince, the tardiness is due to difficulties that we have created for ourselves.”
The venerable head began to bob again in an ecstasy of conviction. “It will be all the sweeter,” he asserted, “when the difficulties have melted away like snows in spring.”
Luke’s inspection of the house led to the selection of a room on the second floor for the temporary housing of the Cup. The room was approached by a steep and narrow stair and had one obvious advantage: it could be defended more easily than any other part of the house. The battered chest was carried at once to this haven and hidden in a corner under a pile of rugs and mats. In the course of a few hours two young men of serious mein put in an appearance. Luke, knowing them both to be earnest believers, with strength in their arms as well as resolution in their hearts, expressed an immediate approval of their selection.
He told them guardedly of the nature of the trust to which they must dedicate themselves. “Until the princes of the church in Antioch can decide on a permanent place for this sacred relic,” he said, “it must be kept here. Its safety is in your hands. Neither of you must ever leave the room. You must never eat or sleep at the same time. Your daggers must never be far from your hands. One of the leaders of the Zealots, a most determined man named Mijamin, will come to Antioch very soon. His purpose will be to learn of the whereabouts of the Cup and wrest it from us.”
The two young men placed their hands on their hearts and pledged themselves solemnly to defend the cup as long as breath was in their bodies.
These arrangements had been completed when Adam ben Asher arrived. He looked unnaturally repressed and at first had very little to say.
“I shall leave,” he announced to Luke, “as soon as the hearing tomorrow is over. I won’t be needed any longer. I have done my part.”
“You have done it well,” said Luke. “I know that Deborra feels most deeply in your debt.”
The grin on Adam’s face took on a rueful tinge. “That will be my reward,” he said. “It is all I expect.”
They were standing on a terrace with a mosaic floor in fine colorings. A shallow parapet along the edge contained many curious figures of gnome-like proportions and with square and unnatural faces, the kind of thing that men found when they took to digging around ancient ruins with mattock and pick. Adam looked along the row and scowled.
“There is nothing finer in the world than stone,” he said. “The mountains are made of it and they stand up against the sky as timeless almost as the air itself. Stone is hard and clean and pure. But artists with twisted souls take stone into their hands and turn it into hideous things like these. What are they supposed to be? Are they graven images for men to worship instead of the One and Only God?”
Adam withdrew his eyes from the ghoulish figures and stared up at the sky. “I leave her in your hands,” he said. “I am never taken into anyone’s confidence, but it seems to me that things have not been going well with her. What kind of marriage is it she has made? The eyes of a bride should be filled with happiness; hers are full of shadows instead. You may know why this is so.”
“I think I understand.” Luke nodded his head with a grave air. “It is something that time will cure.”
Adam did not share this confidence. “I hope you are right, Luke the Scribe,” he said in a bitter voice. “The happiness of the little Deborra means so much to m
e that I would come back from the borders of Seen to help her.”
The caravan owner fumbled at his belt and produced a small bag tied with a careless knot. This he held out to Luke. “I beg you to do me a favor. Give this to our not too devoted bridegroom. I told you that I cheated him when we dickered for the two camels. This contains what I received in excess of their real value.”
Luke accepted the bag, realizing from its weight that the profit Adam was surrendering had been a handsome one. His eyes lost some of their weariness and he smiled warmly at his companion.
“This is another evidence of your good heart. You are excelling yourself in generosity.”
“Not at all.” Adam’s tone was sharp. “I am being thoroughly selfish. I am taking away from him the satisfaction he has been getting from a feeling of moral superiority. I do not think he will be pleased to have this money back. He would prefer to go on believing that I had behaved badly, that I am no better than a grasping and vulgar trader. Well, there is the money. See that he receives it at once.” His manner changed and became friendly again. “What are your plans?”
“I received a message from Paul before I left Jerusalem. He gave me instructions, and I shall be busy carrying them out. They have to do largely with the state of the church here in Antioch. It has been a target for the Judaizers and has suffered some losses in strength.” Luke’s eyes began to glow with awakened zeal. “It was here that the resolve to carry the Word to all the peoples of the world was fostered. It was here that the name ‘Christian’ was conceived and first used. The welfare of the Antioch church concerns us all deeply.”
“Do you still believe that some kind of doom hangs over Jerusalem?” There was a hint of amused tolerance in Adam’s voice.
“I dream about it continuously,” answered Luke. “It will come soon, Adam. There will be fighting and destruction, and the streets of the Holy City will run with blood. Paul has the same fear. He believes the Zealots will bring about the razing of Jerusalem by preaching armed resistance to Rome. That is another reason why he urges the strengthening of our foothold here. The teachings of Jesus must not be forgotten in the flaming walls of the city of David.”
The Silver Chalice Page 35