“I do,” declared Antonia. “One must believe. I saw Simon the Magician once and I could not sleep for two nights because of the strange things he did.”
Deborra asked quickly, “When did you see him perform?”
“More than a year ago. I thought him fearsome but very fascinating.”
“Did he have a woman with him then?”
“No, not then. I have heard much about her since. It was here in Antioch that he found her. She had been a slave in the house of——” She stopped abruptly and looked at Deborra with redoubled interest. “So, that is it.” She reached out a cautious finger and touched the perfume bottle. “My child, I give it to you. I can see you may find yourself in need of an aid as strong as this. I must tell you candidly that I shall be glad to see the last of it.”
“Is this the very bottle that the sailor took with him?”
The matron nodded. “My husband paid a high price for it on the assumption that it was the bottle. He is never deceived about anything he buys.”
Deborra looked at the sprinkler with doubtful eyes. She was certain it would be wicked to make use of it, even to accept it as a gift. Did she want to fall into step with evil? What would happen if she put a drop of this potent mixture on her robe?
Abruptly she reached out and lifted the bottle in her hands. “Thank you,” she said. “I shall take it.”
Antonia gave her an approving tap on the shoulder. “I see you have a will of your own. And you have daring. You need not have any fear, dear child. You will accomplish your desire.
“And now,” she went on, “we shall have some refreshments all by ourselves. My husband and his friend shall have theirs downstairs. I think we must have some of that delicious mixture that I am told I should not eat; the one with the dates and peaches and ground almonds, and that wonderful batter. And a nice sweet wine. It will improve your chances to win husbands, my girls, if you get a little more flesh on your bones.”
3
Sarah labored with loving care over the appearance of her mistress, dressing her hair in tight curls by the use of an iron resembling a reed. This had the effect of making Deborra seem even younger and rather gay and happy. Having accomplished this, however, the maidservant crushed down on her head a Grecian sakkos, a covering that resembled a cap. It was effective enough in itself, being of blue silk, but it hid all the carefully contrived curls save a narrow fringe above the forehead. The palla in which she had robed her mistress had been selected on the advice of the lady Antonia. It was of the same shade of blue, carefully draped about the neck and with divided sleeves that came to the elbow only and were held together at intervals by twisted ribbon of a deeper shade of blue. The stola, as the upper garment was called, fell almost to the ground and had a wide band around the bottom embroidered with gold silk.
When the robe had finally been adjusted and the last brush of an anxious hand had been given the dusky curls, Sarah held up before her mistress a bronze mirror. Her own face was wreathed with smiling pride in her handiwork.
Deborra, studying her face with concentrated care, said to herself: “He will like me now. Surely, surely he will like me now!” To make this desired result more certain, she practiced the casual shrug of shoulder and arm that caused the palla to drop from one shoulder. The expanse of flesh thus placed on display was white and delicately rounded.
“Do not fear to show your feet,” counseled the maid. She gave her head a scornful toss. “They must think themselves great beauties, flouncing and prancing around. You have a better foot than any of them. They all have such thick toes.”
“The master is below,” announced one of the other servants, appearing in the doorway.
Deborra remained perfectly still for a moment. Basil had arrived, to share with her the new home that was theirs by virtue of the agreement made with the banker. Her heart fluttered and then seemed to cease beating. What would he think of these beautiful new clothes? What would he think of her?
What attitude was she to take? Should she show herself cool and detached? Should she be friendly and indifferent? Should she make use of the feminine wiles she had been practicing so carefully?
“You are ready, mistress,” said Sarah after a final glance of inspection.
When the maid had left the room Deborra walked to the tripod table that held her toilet articles. The house had provided many discoveries during the relatively few hours she had occupied it and none that pleased her more than the luxury of her bedroom. The tripod was made of silver and stood on beautifully carved supports. On its burnished top was a silver laver, a brush with a carved back, and a dainty drinking goblet.
The chair in front of the table was of the cathedra variety, with a circular back. It was piled high with cushions, into which she had nestled comfortably while Sarah labored over her hair. The sprinkler that Antonia had given her stood on the tripod, and she reached for it with an uncertain hand. She would use it sparingly, she decided, no more than a single drop; not because she thought of the month of time it might cut from her life but because of a sudden sense of reluctance and shame.
She paused with the sprinkler held in one hand above her shoulder. Did she want to win him by such methods? Could she descend to appealing to his senses in this way?
She lowered the hand that held the sprinkler. The palla had slipped again, revealing generously the white of her throat and shoulder. She pulled it back into place instinctively with her other hand. At the same time she drew her heels together so that no part of her foot would show beneath the rich hem.
“I cannot!” she said to herself. “I cannot attract him in such tawdry ways. I must not throw myself at his head like a woman of the wall. I must leave it to him. If his attitude does not change, I must do nothing about it. Not even though it means that I shall be lonely and unhappy for the rest of my life.”
Having reached her decision, she carried the sprinkler to the laver and emptied out the contents. An exotic odor filled the air.
“I leave it to Antonia and her maids to captivate men by such means,” she said aloud, and turned slowly to walk downstairs.
She was cool and self-possessed when she reached the entrance hall. Her robe remained steadfastly in place about her throat. Not so much as the tip of a toe had she displayed in coming down the stairs. Basil was studying the designs on the glazed brick walls with so much interest that he did not become aware immediately of her presence.
All the careful thought she had given to the words she would use went for nothing when she saw him.
“How thin you are!” she cried. “Basil, Basil, how you must have suffered!”
His first impression of her was one of surprise. He said to himself: “She has changed. She looks older; her eyes show a difference. And she has become quite lovely.” A feeling of humility took possession of him. It was hard to believe that one who had so much to offer was his wife.
“It seems,” he explained, speaking with some reluctance, for he felt that his share in the exploit did him small credit, “that I lacked the strength for such an adventure. If there had been any more distance to go, Chimham would have been compelled to ride on without me. I was a drag from the beginning, I am afraid. But I am recovering now. I am feeling so much better that my fingers itch to be at work. That, it is now clear, is where I belong; in a workshop with tools in my hands, and not out adventuring.” Then he looked more closely at her and smiled. “You have come through the experience much better than I. It seems actually to have done you good.”
Deborra’s cheeks colored at his praise. “I am glad you think so.” She hurried then to safer ground. “Have you heard that the settlement was made yesterday? At least we agreed on some of the details. It cannot be final until you have signed. Jabez wants you to see him today.” Her anxiety returned as she studied the contours of his face, which had sharpened noticeably. “Will you feel able to see him?”
“I am strong enough for that.” Curiosity prompted him then to the asking of a question. “I have
been looking about and studying the decorations. What house is this?”
“It is yours.”
“Mine? I don’t understand.”
“My father,” explained Deborra with a feeling of reluctance to open a subject so painful to her, “has cast me off. He has disowned me for all time. I have no desire to return to Jerusalem and so, if you feel as I do, we could make our home here in Antioch. The terms of the agreement include ownership of this house.”
“But you said it was mine. I did not realize that the agreement between us went as far as that.” Basil was puzzled and his pride had taken alarm. “Could we not have things arranged on some more—more sensible basis?”
Deborra shook her head. “It is the law. Nothing can be done to change it. You are the head of the household, and everything that was mine is now yours.” Then suddenly she began to laugh. “How strange we must look! We are standing here and talking like a pair of strangers, and yet we are man and wife. I am sure we are a great disappointment to everyone. I can feel the eyes of P’ing-li on me even now. He must be watching us from somewhere beyond the wall. Do you know, he has come to me three times in the last two days and asked questions about us.”
“I was surprised to find his tents outside the walls,” said Basil. “Is he proving difficult with his curiosity?”
Deborra shook her head with a smile. “Oh no, no. We are very good friends, the prince and I.”
Her heart was getting out of control. She said to herself: “Why do I bother about my pride? Why do I not suggest that the time has come to—to break the agreement? It may be that he is waiting for me to speak. Why not use the old prince as my excuse? I could say that the time has come to—to pretend. Then I could walk out into the garden with him and let him put his arm around me. I could rest my head on his shoulder. I could smile up into his eyes as a bride should. Then the kind old man, who would be watching us, would be satisfied.” Her thoughts went on tumultuously from that point. “It is not of the prince I am thinking. It is of us, my husband. I am thinking that perhaps then you would find it pleasant to be with me, that you could forget everything else.”
But her pride, which had been bludgeoned into the taking of so many difficult steps, was not prepared yet for this. She had no way of knowing that Basil was thinking: “Can I tell her how much my feelings have changed? No, my tongue is chained.” She hesitated, and that was fatal; her willingness to surrender took wings and could not be summoned back.
She recovered her self-possession slowly. “But we must do something to keep up appearances,” she said. “Here we are, with a large and new establishment. It seems to be filled with people. I do not know yet why they are all here. The first step, don’t you think, would be for us to go together on a tour of inspection?”
“Yes,” responded Basil. “I have been looking at the walls. The art is strange and rather barbaric, but it has great power. I am anxious to see the rest of the house.”
They made their way accordingly to the inside door, which opened on to the first of the two inner courtyards. Here stood a tall figure carved out of dark stone. It had huge limbs and a terrifying face.
“What is this?” she asked. “I saw it yesterday when we arrived. I could hardly sleep last night for thinking of it.”
“It is Zeus Herkeios,” answered Basil, studying the figure that towered high above him. “He is the protector of households.”
Deborra looked up at the stone face of the god and shuddered. “I think we need someone to protect us from him,” she said. “Is he as cruel as he looks?”
“He is not supposed to be cruel at all. But now that you raise the point, I agree that he has a villainous look about him.”
“Is he one of the gods of the Grecian people?”
“He is the first of them, the great god. But I think we should have him removed as soon as possible. Quite apart from the effect he has on you, I consider the statue a very poor one.”
Deborra led the way then across the first court and into an aula leading off to the right. Through this narrow and rather dark hall they reached a room of generous dimensions that was light and cheerful and had one drawback only, another statue. This time the figure was neither large nor terrifying, and it represented a goddess.
“It is Hestia,” said Basil. He pointed to a marble hearth in front of the figure where, if they could judge from its blackened condition, a continuous fire had once been kept burning. “She is the goddess of fire and of the kitchen and hearth. A rather gentle and humble lady. There is nothing to be feared from her, but, still, she is as pagan as Zeus. If we are to be consistent, we must condemn poor Hestia to the same fate.”
All sense of restraint and awkwardness had left Deborra’s manner. She walked lightly about the room, inspecting everything and finding much to interest and amuse her. She called several times, “See, Basil!” or “Come, tell me what this is for.” Finally she asked, “What was the function of this very curious room?”
“It was used for religious observances having to do with family life—births, marriages, christenings. And also it was a place of sanctuary. Slaves who were to be punished could come here and ask aid of Hestia. Then they could not be whipped until their guilt had been proven. A husband could come here to avoid a nagging wife, and a wife to escape a cruel husband. It has always been a most useful room in a Greek household.” Then he added: “Hestia is the least regarded, poor lady, of all the sacred tribe on Parnassus. She is generally depicted as dull, self-effacing, and lumpish of figure. Even in view of that, the sculptor in this case did her something less than justice. Her charms do not overwhelm you, do they?”
“Such as they are, they are not well enough concealed,” declared Deborra. “Please, get rid of her too. But I think, Basil, that we should retain the character of the room. We could call it the Room of Kindness.”
“I think it a very happy suggestion.”
Deborra had regained her good spirits completely now. “Which of us,” she asked, “will find it necessary most often to come here? You, escaping from a nagging wife, or I, from a hectoring husband?”
They continued their tour then and came in due course to the high room before which stood one of the two young men. The door was open, and through it they could see the other guard, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the chest. He had cast off his outer robe and a dagger could be seen at his belt.
“They are to remain on watch day and night,” commented Deborra.
“They are not like the Giants of Slador,” commented Basil in an equally low tone. “But there is a fine air of resolution about them.”
Deborah turned toward the guard on the door. “Elidad.”
“Yes, gentle lady,” responded the guard, stepping forward.
“I think my husband would be interested in what happened last evening. When Harhas, the presbyter of the church in Antioch, came to discuss the situation.”
Elidad flushed bitterly. “He came to raise the point as to whether we should defend the Cup if an attempt were made to seize it. He said it was wicked to shed blood and that if Irijah and I should kill a man, even in so good a cause, we would be condemned forever to the outer darkness.”
“Would you mind repeating what you said in answer to Harhas?”
Elidad looked at them with the hesitation of a man of few words. “I said to Harhas that I could not stand by and see this precious Cup, which the lips of Jesus touched and which has been confided to our care, taken from us by those who do not believe in Him. I said I was prepared to spend eternity in the outer darkness without repining if I had to be sent there for fighting against those who would steal it from us.”
“And what did Irijah say?”
The second guard, who had continued to sit beside the chest, sprang to his feet. “I will answer that myself!” he cried.
Coming to the doorway, he leaned against the stone frame and twirled the dagger in his hand.
“Yes, Irijah,” said Deborra. “It is your own report we would l
ike to hear.”
The second guard’s eyes began to burn. “I am a man of peace!” he cried. He raised a finger and pointed to his right cheek, which had a shallow scar running from the corner of his eye to the hinge of his jaw. “Observe. It was the knife of a Zealot that did this. I said to myself, ‘And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other.’ They were the words that Jesus had spoken, the command He had laid on us. I obeyed that command. I turned the other cheek.” He swung his head around and revealed a somewhat similar scar on the left side of his face. “You see now that I am, as I have said, a man of peace.
“But”—and his eyes began to burn even more brightly—“I remember what Moses, our inspired leader, said. ‘I will make mine arrows drunk with blood.’ It was not the will of the Lord that we who believe in Him should be cowards. There comes a time when evil men, who have smitten you on both cheeks, will demand of you your soul. They will take liberty away from you and put shackles on you so that you may no longer worship the Lord in your own way nor tell other men of His teachings; and when that time comes, we must fight! What we may submit to as individuals we must not suffer as members of the church of the Lord Jehovah and of His son Jesus. If any men of ill intent come here to take away the sacred Cup, we must shed their blood and ease their souls from their bodies. And we must fight until not a breath of life is left in either of us!
“And that,” he concluded, “was what we told Harhas, the presbyter of the church.”
Deborra and Basil walked away in a different mood from the lightness of spirit with which they had concluded their survey of the house. The talk with the two earnest guards had taken their minds back to the Cup and the great responsibilities they shared. “I have been shown,” Basil was thinking, “what true faith should be, the kind of faith I lack, even though I have come to believe in Jesus as a prophet and a divine teacher. Someday, perhaps, I shall feel as they do.”
The Silver Chalice Page 39