Ulric the Jarl

by William Stoddard

  “No man will remain behind,” said Wulf. “The night shadows come. There are horses in the stables. Every man to his armor, and let us take our treasure with us. We will slay as we go and leave behind us a good mark.”

  Nevertheless, they were prudent, as became warriors who were few in number, and the guards of the circus had as yet no command concerning them save to let them come and go as they would for a season. The stables were near and the horses were many, and with these were only slaves who feared to speak to a swordsman. Therefore, if a Saxon came to look at beasts or to examine saddles and bridles, no man hindered him. It was but thought that he had curiosity as to trappings which he might use in the games. He did well to take thought concerning his own business against the hour when he must slay or be slain. But all the while a fire burned more hotly in the hearts of the men, for the words of Lysias were in full accord with many sayings of the jarl.

  “He hath been troubled in mind concerning us,” they said. “He knoweth not what to do. We will take away from him this burden, for we are men and we may save ourselves. It is not meet that we should encumber our jarl unduly. He hath done well with us. He would not have us linger to be slain.”

  Nevertheless, the dusky hour was at hand and Ulric came not to them, as he at first thought. From the house of Caius he had been silently led to the house of Ben Ezra, his friend guiding him as a man who is in deep thought. The way seemed one which led toward the valley of Jehoshaphat, through many streets, but they came to a door before which Ben Ezra paused and turned to the jarl.

  “I will trust thee,” he said, “for it is needful. This is the house of my abiding.”

  “Not large,” said Ulric, “and the front of it is dark and ancient. I will go in with thee.”

  “In it dwelleth no other beside myself,” said Ben Ezra, opening the door with a key. “But he who knoweth of this place knoweth of death. It is a hidden thing in Israel, and I charge thee by thy gods and by the wrath of Jehovah, my God, that thou make thyself as one of us to keep well a thing that is shown unto thee in secret.”

  “I am a keeper of faith,” said Ulric. “I will call it a secret of the gods, as if it were the tomb of my father. But in this chamber which we have entered I see nothing save plain and simple matters.”

  “Come further,” said Ben Ezra, “for thou hast taken upon thee thy oath. Did I not tell thee that I had been to the cave in Carmel and that I had made thy treasure secure?”

  “It was buried well,” said Ulric. “I think no stranger could have found it.”

  “Neither would it have been of any use to thee or me,” said Ben Ezra. “Couldst thou strike with thy seax if it were buried in a cave in Carmel? It is better at thy hand.”

  “I understand thee,” exclaimed Ulric. “At this hour, here in Jerusalem, I have need of money. I was never so at any time. It is true that gold coins may be good weapons. I will be glad of them and of the jewels.”

  “O jarl,” said Ben Ezra, “already have I paid much to Pontius the Spearman and to the high priest and to the captain of the temple. Greedy were they, but I have satisfied them. Of thy share in the matter they know not. Thou hast no need to go to thy men this night, for the morning will do as well, and thou canst plan how they may escape to their own land.”

  “So will I do,” said Ulric. “I will abide with thee. But this seemeth to be as other houses.”

  “So hath it seemed to any who dwelt here,” said Ben Ezra, “unless they were as I am. Is not this back wall strongly made of well-fitted masonwork?”

  “A well-made wall,” said Ulric. “None may break it through. The stones are very large.”

  Far back from the street were they now, and the house which had appeared small was seen to be of great extent, as if builded down a steep slope. Suddenly the jarl exclaimed:

  “A door of a stone! O Jew, how is it that this great marble turneth at thy pushing?”

  “See thou,” said Ben Ezra. “It is set into the wall upon pivotings. Therefore it is as firm as the rest of the wall unless it shall be tried by one who knoweth the catch-pin at the side. Even then a weak hand moveth it not. I will show thee, and then do thou make trial for thyself.”

  The jarl watched and understood.

  “A marvelous trick!” he exclaimed, opening and shutting the secret door and finding that much strength was required. “O Jew, beyond is a corridor of stone, and I see steps which go downward.”

  “Before thee is a great deep,” replied Ben Ezra. “Thou art trusted as to this thing in the name of Jehovah. Go in, O jarl of the Saxons. Thou wilt go down into the secret chambers of Jerusalem with me.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXXVI. The Secret Messenger.

  LYSIAS, THE GREEK, STOOD reverently before the Roman ruler of Jerusalem, and the dark, piercing eyes of Pontius were watching his face intently.

  “O most noble Pontius,” said Lysias, “I have done as thou didst order. All these were the words of Ben Ezra, nor have I failed to tell thee every saying of Abbas and of him who was with him. The messenger from Machærus goeth swiftly to Joppa and the galley of Herod waiteth for him.”

  They were standing in the small chamber near the banquet hall, and the voice of Lysias was hushed and tremulous, for the brows of the procurator were knitting and the veins in his temples were swelling.

  “Well for thee, O Greek,” he muttered, hoarsely. “But now it is as if Herod himself were to be with Cæsar, bringing gifts. The very gods are against me!”

  “O most noble Pontius,” said Lysias, raising his head courageously, “bid me depart and it may be that neither galley nor messenger shall cross the sea to Rome.”

  “I may not hinder a royal messenger,” said Pontius, gloomily. “To do so were sure destruction. Thou canst do nothing.”

  “But if,” whispered Lysias—"if Herod, the tetrarch, might know that his galley had departed, and if afterward no man came to tell him of her voyage?”

  “A man may hear good tidings,” said the procurator, with a dark smile dawning in his face. “But be not thou at any time the bringer of news concerning this galley. Thou hast a letter to bear for me to Cornelius at Cæsarea. I bid thee to go by way of Joppa and to return. I now write the parchment. Ride thou thy own swift beast. Whoever may be traveling upon their own errands at this time, I meddle not with their affairs.”

  “Thanks, noble Pontius,” said Lysias, “but I will give thee a token. A man will come to thee in haste shortly from the keeper of the circus. He will know nothing of the galley of Herod, but he will tell thee of her departure from Joppa and of her crew. So shalt thou be sure that I know not aught except my errand to Cornelius.”

  Hasty was now the going and the returning of the procurator, but Lysias had now a small tablet and not a parchment to put into his pouch, neither looked he upon the writing on the tablet.

  “Go!” said Pontius. “I will wait for thy man from the circus. Tell me no more!”

  Then passed Lysias out into the corridor and the eyes of Pontius followed him.

  “Subtle are the Greeks,” he muttered. “Already yonder youth knoweth enough to kindle a fire that would burn to Tartarus. Let him do this one thing and I will give him a gift which he hath never yet received.”

  Not far had Lysias gone along the corridor when a hand withheld him and there was a whisper.

  “Lysias! Love! Whither goest thou?”

  “Sapphira! O beautiful one! I may not linger. I ride swiftly to Cæsarea. I will return to thee. Wait thou for me!”

  “O Lysias! Favored of Aphrodite! Go and return to me. I shall then have many things to tell thee. Then shalt thou know I have loved thee.”

  Her arms were around him, her kiss was upon his lips, and she was gone. He, too, went on in haste, leaving the palace, but she had retreated into an inner chamber, luxuriously furnished, wherein a lamp was burning.

  “I will wait here for my mistress,” she said. “A strange thing is love, for it may be lighted like this lamp. It may go out and it m
ay burn again if one willeth. I think I must put out this love of mine for Lysias lest it should burn me. Alas for him or for any who may be made the bearer of secret messages! And I? O Lysias! Well for thee that thou knowest not this change which is in store for me. And thou, O beautiful Aphrodite, be not angry with me that I am to become also a Jewish proselyte and offer sacrifices to the God of the Jews. My mistress hath bidden me to become free and to wed Ananias. It is better so than to be a slave, or to throw myself away upon a Greek youth who must shortly disappear. I love not ruin. I am to be rich and I shall be the favorite of more gods than one.”

  She spoke with a triumph upon her face and with exultation in her voice. Then she reclined upon a couch, with the light of the lamp shining brilliantly upon her goodly raiment and her beauty, and so she awaited the coming of the wife of the procurator.

  Through the Damascus gate passed Lysias, and not long afterward an ass halted near the amphitheater, further down the valley. A slave came out to attend to the ass, and was followed by the master of the games.

  “Who art thou?” he demanded, surlily.

  “See that thou hinder me not,” said Lysias. “Look well upon this signet.”

  “I obey the procurator,” said the master of the games. “Do thou his bidding. But I will see nothing that thou hast in thy hand by any commandment from him. Hold thou thy peace, O messenger. I meddle not.”

  Lysias had dismounted and, without more words, he passed on into the quarters of the Saxons. Excepting themselves, no others were present to observe or to hear, but he did not find men who were taking rest. Some were making up packages for carrying, some were examining carefully their arms and armor as if about to go into battle, but they greeted the Greek heartily. He looked around him for a moment, not without an understanding of this which they were doing.

  “I am in season, O Tostig the Red,” he said altogether as if he had been expected to come. “But put ye on Roman helmets, every man. Ye are to ride fast to Joppa this night. Right glad am I to be your guide, for the roads might prove misleading.”

  “Hael to thee, O Greek!” exclaimed Tostig. “Even now are the horses nearly prepared. We will mount at thy bidding. But hast thou at all seen the jarl?”

  “By the will of the gods, and not by his own, he may not now come,” said Lysias. “Were he here, he would say that ye go forth at once and that ye ride well. Mark this saying, however, that there will be one at the shore who must by all means enter the galley, but who must not travel far in her.”

  “It is but a spear thrust,” said Knud the Bear. “We will attend to his case.”

  Silently all, but openly and boldly as by men who obeyed a high command, were the horses led out and mounted. There were also led horses for the packages and for changes, and there was no Roman officer of rank at hand to call this doing in question.

  “Ride!” said Tostig. “Odin! It will not be well for any who shall cross our path!”

  None was likely to do so. The Romans held Judea by garrisons in forts and camps, and not greatly by moving forces. The highway to Joppa would be deserted after nightfall. Who should rashly interfere with mounted spearmen, whose very helmets were as a sharp warning to the imprudent?

  “Swiftly! Swiftly!” exclaimed Lysias, before long. “We now pass the hill of Golgotha. On that mount have many been crucified. Make thee sure that ye get well away with this galley of Herod and that no man may find you upon it in after time. I tell you truly that if ye are now taken prisoners ye would but climb yonder Hill of Skulls.”

  Silent were the Saxons at that hard saying, but the horses under them appeared to spring forward as if with one accord.

  It was at the foot of a steep declivity that the galloping ceased for a brief resting of the horses, and Tostig exclaimed:

  “O Knud the Bear, this is well. We have gone far. But I like not this manner of departing from our jarl. I think I should have seen his face and heard his commandment. Were he to need my sword on the morrow, I would be at his side.”

  “I also,” responded Knud. “We are his own men and he is ours. It is in his heart that we may return to the Middle Sea with a hundred keels. What, then, would we care for Roman triremes? We could slay all the legionaries in Judea.”

  “If we might indeed land here again,” said Wulf the Skater, doubtfully. “At all events we have no more upon our hands this night than to take the keel which is prepared for us and to put to sea.”

  So said they all, and again they pushed forward, but after a while the road by which they traveled was no longer so rugged and so hilly.

  “We shall kill the horses,” they said, “but we may reach the sea before the dawn.”

  So did it prove, for more than one horse gave out and his rider mounted another from those which were led without any heavy burden. It was yet dark, at the last, when Tostig exclaimed:

  “O Greek, I hear the sound of waves upon a beach. Are we now near Joppa?”

  “Too near,” replied Lysias, “for into the town itself we may not safely go. We will turn here by this road at the right. If we encounter guards or a patrol, let there be no report made of our passing.”

  “Halt!” rang out in the road a little ahead of them. “The password! Who are ye?”

  It was a legionary at his post, a sentry on guard, and to him rode Knud the Bear.

  “I am this,” he said. “Take thou my token!”

  Down fell the soldier, speared through the face, so that he spoke not again, and on rode the Saxons toward the sea.

  “We have now only starlight,” said Lysias, “but yonder at anchor floateth the galley of Herod, the tetrarch. This is according to the saying of the procurator. All is well, for he who cometh hath not arrived. There are boats; take them. But here do I leave you, for I have a further errand. Fare thee well.”

  “Success to thee, O Lysias,” said Tostig. “We are thy friends henceforth. Haste thee about thy business. We can care for ourselves now that we see keels and waves.”

  Many voices bade him good speed, and the strong ass appeared but little wearied as he sprang away northward along the beach.

  “Glad am I not to be in Joppa this day,” said Lysias. “If I am heard from next at the house of Cornelius at Cæsarea, no man will accuse me of having too much acquaintance with the doings of the gladiators of Caius. I did but bring to them an order whereof I knew not the meaning. I am but a messenger, carrying letters to and fro.”

  Nevertheless, his heart was full of great anxiety and he remembered how dark had been the hard face of the procurator.

  The fishing boats were many, but only two large ones were taken. Into these the Saxons put their baggage of all kinds, but they drove away their horses to a good distance down the beach. Then they took the oars and in a short rowing they were near the galley.

  Over the bulwark leaned an armed man as the boats touched the side.

  “Whence come ye?” he demanded, but he spoke as to friends, for he was at that hour expecting such an arrival and he saw the Roman helmets.

  For a moment no voice replied to him, but the Saxons went quickly over the bulwark.

  “Slay now, but cast none overboard!” commanded Tostig. “Here are soldiers sleeping.”

  These who slept were not many of them Romans, but more were soldiers of Herod, Jews and Arabians and Edomites. They died speedily under the swift thrusting of the Saxon spears, but the watchman had fallen first.

  “Spare the rowers in their places,” said Wulf the Skater. “We will use them.”

  But these rowers were all slaves, in chains, and they looked upon the slaughter in silence, as if it were no affair of their own.

  “Be ready, all!” suddenly commanded Tostig. “Utter no sound! A boat cometh from the shore, as Lysias gave us to expect. Not from this beach, but from a pier in the harbor. In it are but few men. In the prow is some great one, but he weareth no helmet. Let them come on board with all safety, but none in that boat may return to Joppa.”

  For a cause known to t
hemselves not one of them had any purpose of at once returning. They came swiftly to the galley and all climbed eagerly on board, casting adrift their boat to float where it would.

  “Away!” shouted he who seemed their leader, as if speaking to sailors who were under his own direction. “Row out of the harbor quickly. Speed, or a scourge for every back!”

  Saxon hands were already raising the anchor and the rowers put out their oars as they were bidden.

  “O all ye gods!” suddenly cried out the great man, stumbling over a fallen soldier. “What is this? O my destruction! The hand of Pontius the Spearman is here! I perish!”

  Then fell his head upon the deck at the stroke of Knud the Bear, and shortly all his companions went down in like manner, for they were astonished and they did no fighting.

  Being in fear of death, the rowers rowed with great vigor and Tostig was at the helm.

  “She is swift!” he exclaimed. “She is a good keel and she rideth well the waves. We are upon the sea! Hael to the Northland!”

  Loudly shouted all the vikings, clashing their shields, for it was a joy to feel the lifting of the long billows and once more to wipe the salt spray from their faces. They rapidly examined the ship from stem to stern, but there was much which required more thorough searching.

  “O that the jarl were here with us!” groaned Tostig. “The day is here. We, his friends, have escaped from the Romans and from the circus, but our jarl is on the land. It is evil! How shall I answer concerning him when I am inquired of at his own house? Will not some men say that I am nidering?”

  Long leagues were rowed and then, for the wind was now right, the sail was lifted.

  “We will cast overboard these who were slain,” said Knud. “We will weight them, that they may sink. So shall none tell a tale of us to any who may follow. We do as the jarl would have bidden.”

  “Thou art prudent,” said Tostig. “So much for the secret messengers of Herod. We have shed blood upon this ship and the gods of the North are with us. Only let us with care avoid all triremes, for we do not need to be inquired of by a stronger force.”