Ulric the Jarl

by William Stoddard

  “Well for thee!” exclaimed Caius. “I would indeed that he were here instead of in Galilee. No god may heal aught so far away, and as for this god of the Jews, they will not that a Roman enter his temple.”

  “Ben Ezra told me of the temple,” said Ulric, “that a court is prepared into which all may come. There only will I enter. It is not well to anger priests in their temple, for they know the ways of their god and we know them not.”

  “Thou art young, but thou art cunning,” said Caius. “But I have a great fear concerning this wound in my arm. It is not like any other, and I have been wounded often. A strange thing is poison. I have considered why the gods make such a thing and why they put it into the teeth of serpents. They are evil!”

  “A god may need a serpent as thou needest a spear,” said Ulric. “It is plain to me. If I were a god, I would make what I required for my errands. So do they work with winds and seas and rocks, and with thunders and with plagues of many kinds. No man getteth away from them if they have aught against him. Anger not the gods, for they are powerful and they are cunning.”

  “As thou hast said,” replied Caius, gloomily, “I have spoken against them at times, and now they have reached me with this Syrian arrow from the quiver of Herod the jackal.”

  “Odin!” suddenly exclaimed the jarl; for the overwearied horse under him stood still without a pull of the rein, and before the eyes of the Saxons was the City of the Great King, the Holy City, Jerusalem the Beautiful.

  Deep is the valley of Jehoshaphat, through which runneth the brook Kidron under its many bridges and between its gardens and palaces. Beyond this valley, as the whole company stood still to admire, they saw the mighty walls of the city, high and white, and the castles and the towers, but beyond and above all these, in the bright light of the declining sun, they saw the glories of the temple which was accounted one of the seven wonders of the world.

  “It is Asgard!” said Ulric, thoughtfully, “and I see the temple of a god that hath power on earth to heal wounds and to give sight, and to whom demons give obedience. I think he is not as are the gods of the North, and I will ask this son of his more about him.”

  But the Saxons who were halted with him said one to another:

  “We have come out into the world far enough. We will see this one city and we will do somewhat of fighting perhaps. But then we will find a keel, or take one, and we will return to the Northland, whether the jarl goeth with us or not. The winter of this land is warm, not cold, and we may not abide it. We will go into our own fiords as the ice cometh out, seeing we may not get there sooner.”

  So strong is homesickness, and so it will change the hearts and the wills of brave men.

  At that hour a youth sat in a vaulted chamber of a great building upon one of the hills of Jerusalem. Around him the furniture was good, but somewhat plain, and there were weapons and armor of many kinds scattered here and there. In a corner was a couch, and there were chairs and tables, and on the tables unlighted lamps.

  “I do know,” he said, “that Pontius the Spearman is in the city. Why doth he not send for me? I am not in a prison, yet I am not permitted to go out into the city since I returned from Cæsarea. The procurator cannot think that I know aught more than my messages, nor fear lest I should betray him. Why, then, am I shut up in this chamber of the castle?”

  Little remembered the haughty procurator of so small a matter as a young Greek messenger for whom he had no present need. Somewhere among the household this Lysias was sure to be awaiting a summons, and there were weighty matters on hand. One was before him pressingly in the hall of audience, for he himself stood there angrily reading a written scroll which had been brought to him.

  “The high priest and the eagles once more!” he exclaimed. “This god of the Jews! What is he to me? I anger him not. Little he careth for the standards of the cohorts. Go thou! Tell Caiaphas it shall be as he willeth, and I will send him oxen for his sacrifices. The tribute gatherers have brought me even too many horned cattle, and his god may have them.”

  A dignified man, long-robed, gray-bearded, solemn-faced, who stood before him, bowed low, responding:

  “I hear thee, most noble Pontius. I will bear to the high priest thy answer. It shall be to us as a promise from Cæsar. May the blessing of Jehovah of Hosts be upon him and thee.”

  “Go!” said Pontius, petulantly. “If he cannot do better for the Romans than he hath done for the Jews, my oxen are but wasted.”

  Lowly bowed the Jewish noble, but there was pride in his obeisance, and as he went out at the gate he muttered:

  “The gift of Jehovah to these heathen would be the coming of Messiah the Prince and the slaughter of their legions in the valley that is before Jezreel until the blood should be as a river to wade horses in.”

  “What thinkest thou, Cornelius,” said the procurator to a soldier of noble presence who stood near him; “must we yield to these dogs forever, with their continual turmoil?”

  “They have their god,” said Cornelius. “I have read much about him. He is gone from them for a while, but he hath promised to come back again. I think we should make him one of the gods of Rome and set up his image in the Pantheon with that of Jupiter.”

  “That were good policy,” said Pontius, “and it would leave these priests of his nothing more to complain of. They are a pestilent nest of fault-finders and some of them get to the ear of Cæsar, doing us mischief; for they are crafty serpents.”

  “I fear God,” said Cornelius. “We are but men and we see but little, while the eyes of God are everywhere.”

  “Go thou to Joppa, then,” said Pontius, “and let no man pass out of the fort without thy knowledge. Thou keepest the gate. Keep it well.”

  Soldierly, friendly, was the parting word of Cornelius to his commander, but he was a free Roman and there was no servility in his courtesy, nor was there any fear.

  “Him, also, I may trust,” said Pontius, “but O for the coming of Caius of Thessalonica! I will see, also, Lysias, the Greek, and I would that Ben Ezra were returned from his cave in Carmel with his treasures. I will let him keep a part of them because I have further use for him before he dieth.”

  In the strong inner chamber of the procurator’s castle Lysias walked slowly up and down chafing at his imprisonment, but his eyes glanced hither and thither and they were watchful.

  “What!” he suddenly exclaimed, low-voiced. “Is the corridor door ajar? Would it be my death warrant to look out into the corridor? I am under no command not to look, but I may well be prudent where there are so many sharp swords.”

  The door was but slightly opened, as if he who last passed through had shut it carelessly; but there are traps in prison houses, and Lysias hesitated, going to listen at the narrow crevice, but not laying a hand upon wall or door.

  “No sound,” he thought. “I may open and close again. Who knoweth what may be here? I offend no order of any officer.”

  Nevertheless, he trembled as he obeyed the strong impulse that was in him. A step forward and he was in the corridor. It was lofty, its floor was of pictured tiling, and it was lighted by windows at each end. Into it came another vaulted passage three fathoms away, and he went swiftly to that opening.

  “Vast is this palace,” he was thinking, but at the next beating of his heart he went forward with a great bound, for the music of a woman’s voice in a gay song fell upon his ear.

  “She is here!” he exclaimed. “Now I care not if I die, so I but see her.”

  Wide open was a door into this second passage and through it poured the song, accompanied by the touching of a small harp. It was a love song, and he heard:

  “Now cometh he, my love,From the land beyond the sea,And the fair wind blowing knoweth,That it bringeth him to me.”

  “Sapphira! O my beloved! I am here!”

  She sprang to her feet and the lyre fell from her hand. O she was beautiful, in her sudden astonishment and fear, but he who came toward her with open arms seemed even more beau
tiful than she, for his face was radiant and his eyes were a flame of fire.

  “Sapphira?”

  “O rash one! Thou art lost! What am I to thee any more? Am I not the slave of the procurator of Judea? Thou art not my Lysias; thou art but a rider of horses.”

  In her face was a great struggle of pain, nevertheless, and in his was a whiteness, for he fell upon the floor and lay there moaning.

  “Foolish boy!” she said, stooping over him. “I love thee, but I am not now thine, nor can I be. The past is dead, and the gods have bidden us eternal separation. Destroy me not and destroy not thyself. Go lest the sword find thee here! The scourge is close to thee, and sudden death both for thee and me.”

  “I care not for the scourge or the sword,” said Lysias, slowly rising and gazing at her. “I care only for thee, O false one! Hast thou utterly changed away from me?”

  “What I was that I am not,” she said. “What thou art thou knowest. Art thou mad, also, to cast thyself against the power of Pontius? Leave me lest I call for help! I will not die on thy account. I love life, and life is full of love for such as I am. What need have I of thee, O lost lover?”

  Anger was in her eyes now, and greater fear, for that which she said was true.

  “Kiss me!” he said, faintly, “and I will go. The gods have abandoned me!”

  Then stepped she forward and kissed him on the lips and a spasm shook him from head to foot, shaking her also.

  “Let thy love die within thee,” she said, “and trouble me no more, for I live happily in this palace, where all are my friends. Make me not thine enemy, for in this thou art a robber.”

  “That am I,” he murmured. “I will go. I came far and risked all to see thee. I knew nothing concerning women. Now that I know thee, what thou art, I have no need of thee. Love will die, for all else is dead. Sing thou thy song, but be sure that all thy roses will wither on thy bosom.”

  “Cursest thou me?” she exclaimed. “Beware what thou sayest! I have power!”

  “As a caged leopard hath power, so hast thou,” said Lysias. “I leave thee. Be thou a slave, for that is all that is in thee"—and he was gone.

  She stood and looked at the doorway by which he had departed, and her lips were without color and her hand was on her bosom.

  “What is this?” she asked. “Did I love him better than I knew? Was I too much in fear that I sent him from me? One cometh who would slay him. It is best that he should go lest he should die. Women must be prudent, but this pain is great. I did love him. O that he had not come again, for before he came I was happy. O ye gods, what shall I do? O beautiful Aphrodite, help me, for thou knowest love!”

  In the corridor lingered Lysias listening, and then he walked on, staggering as he went.

  “O woman! woman!” he whispered. “What is woman and what is man? She is changed and I change not. I cannot hate her, as I thought I could, now she hath spoken. I will wait cunningly, for I am sure that in this palace is one who calleth for my knife or for a spear thrust. I will find him.”

  In a moment more he was in his own place, still leaving its door ajar, as at the first, but he began to search among the weapons and the armor in the room, finding a small, sharp blade with an ivory handle, and hiding it in his bosom.

  “It will do,” he said, “but I would I might wear mail.”

  At that he was stooping over some fine steelwork and he heard a step behind him. It was a crafty thought which bade him continue his speech.

  “The procurator knoweth me only as a postboy,” he said. “I might serve him better in mail. He hath not many who would be true to him as I would. There are those who are false, but I could bring him a good sword in a hand he might surely trust.”

  “O Greek!” said a deep, stern voice. “What is this that thou sayest? Put on the mail!”

  “O most noble Pontius!” exclaimed Lysias, turning, but lifting the armor. “Thou didst not send for me, therefore I came not.”

  “Speak not,” said Pontius, “save to tell me all that thou hast seen and heard here and at Joppa and at Cæsarea. I have a work for thee.”

  Lysias told all save his meeting with Sapphira, and the procurator listened.

  “Thou hast ears and thou hast eyes,” he said at last. “I set thee free of all other service but this that I now tell thee. Thou wilt have another abiding place than this, but thou wilt come and go freely among my servants, being known to them as my messenger whom none may hinder. Now hath one come from the Damascus gate saying that my friend Caius of Thessalonica draweth near, and with him his Saxon gladiators. He is wounded, and my physician meeteth him. Go thou. Hear all. See all. Report to me of his swordsmen.

  “Now hearken! Among the female slaves of my wife is one in whom is a peril, for she is fair. For women I care not, but there are men who are fools before bright eyes. In the banquet room and in the balconies get thou speech with this Sapphira. She will be spoken to by my wife that she may hide nothing from thee lest she die in the arena. Judea and Samaria are worth more to me than is the blood of one fair serpent. Come!”

  Lysias now stood before the procurator in mail and helmet, girded with a light sword and bearing a silver-gilded buckler. It was the arms and armor of the Syrian mercenaries of Pontius, but as of an officer among them, ordered to duty at the palace.

  “Thou wilt go on foot to the Damascus gate,” said Pontius. “The physician waiteth Caius at his house. Deliver this scroll to Caius and remain with his company until thou canst bring me exact tidings concerning his wound.”

  “O most noble Pontius,” said Lysias, “I pray thee permission to say this word.”

  “Say on!” said the Spearman.

  “Only in being true to thee have I any hope of life, for thy enemies are my enemies. I also will at times to attend at the school of Gamaliel, as I told thee.”

  “That is thy value to me,” said Pontius. “Wert thou any man’s bondservant, or wert thou other than a youth, a scholar of Gamaliel, I would have no use for thee. All they of his manner of teaching are handicraftsmen, even if they are rich. What is thy work?”

  “I am a shaper of arrows,” said Lysias, “and I know the making of a bow. Thou mayest yet require to have a sharp arrow sent surely to a mark of thy choosing.”

  “Say thou no more!” commanded the procurator. “Thou art wise to preserve thy head. Only a fool throweth away his life. Go!”

  For they had walked out along the passage and before them was a gate of the palace. It was not the great gate, but even here were armed legionaries, and their officer and others with him took note of Lysias and of the manner of his sending.

  “He is the trusted messenger of the procurator,” said one. “I heard of him from the captain of the temple. When he hath borne many messages we shall cease to see him.”

  Lysias passed on down the steep street in his brilliant armor as one having a shadow of authority, but his heart was bitter within him.

  “I am to see her again,” he murmured. “I would she were dead and I dead with her. I will but live to strike this unknown one, even if I stab him with a blade of Pontius. But I must be cunning with these Saxons. Do I not know what manner of pirates they are? Not among any other crew, I think, shall I find men so tall and so strong as are my old comrades from The Sword. Their jarl would be a prince of gladiators, but I am not glad that he and his come now to Jerusalem.”

  Away behind him in the palace, in the room where he had met her, sat Sapphira.

  “What is this?” she exclaimed. “Did I not see him walking with the procurator as one walketh with a near friend? Is he, then, more than a horse boy? Is he an officer of the palace, and greater than I? Now am I indeed in pain, for I have need of friends. O love! Why was I cruel to thee? Come again, O my beloved! My Lysias! I will tell thee that I am not changed! Will he return if I call him? He will, for I am beautiful. I am favored by Aphrodite. She will make him bend to me as I will. It was but for a moment, and I was in fear. None must see me this day. I will go at once as
if I were summoned by the wife of the procurator. Woe to any who shall hinder me.”

  She caught up and threw over her head a veil and over her body a flowing robe of silk embroidered with needlework. Then, as if fear hastened her, she flitted away along the main corridor and disappeared.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXXIV. The School of Gamaliel.

  WITH ALL HONOR DID the captain of the Damascus gate of Jerusalem receive Caius of Thessalonica, the friend of Pontius the Spearman. The chariot halted before the gate and in it sat the stern Roman centurion, giving no external token of a wound or of suffering.

  “O noble Caius,” said the captain, after his first greeting, “I have this, also, for thee from the procurator, that his physician, who is also thine, hath gone before thee to thy house. May the gods give him both skill and success.”

  “I thank the procurator and thee, also,” said Caius. “I will now drive on.”

  “A moment, O most noble Caius,” interrupted the officer of the guard. “A messenger even now. He is from the procurator.”

  There was no stir among the mounted swordsmen who rode before and behind the chariot, but they sent quick glances to each other as their eyes fell upon this messenger.

  “Silence, O jarl,” he had said in Greek to Ulric as he drew near him. “I shall go with thee speedily. I thank the gods that I now see thee again. I can do many good things for thee and thine. I pray thee bid them, also, to be as if we were strangers.”

  “They need no bidding,” said Ulric. “Hael to thee.”

  No further word did either of them speak, but Lysias waited at the side of the chariot while Caius read the parchment epistle. It was but brief, and when it was ended the centurion said to Lysias: