Ben-Hur

by Carol Wallace

  It had all taken less than a minute, and the two men lay half-submerged on the plank, riding lower in the water. Ben-Hur allowed himself a few deep breaths to recover, then pulled Arrius a little bit closer. Arrius! The one man on the Astraea who had seen him as a human being! The one man worth saving, among the hundreds floating nearby in agony! Ben-Hur looked down at the Roman’s pale face, put his ear to Arrius’s chest. The heart was fluttering; the man was breathing. What luck that quirks of the current had delivered Arrius to Ben-Hur’s improvised raft! Or was his God looking after him still?

  A prop helmet from the 1959 MGM film

  Off to the right the galley that had nearly run over Ben-Hur impaled a pirate ship, and the sounds of battle rang out over the water: clanging and crashing, shrieking and moaning. The pirates uttered a high, rhythmic war cry that pierced the night. Arrius coughed and gasped at Ben-Hur’s elbow, then vomited seawater. Ben-Hur turned him on his side so the vomit ran into the sea and looked back at the fighting ships just in time to see the flames leap up the sail and rigging of the pirate ship.

  In an instant, the Roman ship was on fire. Marines stationed on the rigging frantically beat at the flames licking the sail. On deck, soldiers paired up to heave barrels of oil overboard. The hortator howled loudly enough that Ben-Hur could almost make out the words—he was ordering the slaves to back their oars and pull away from the enemy. The ships were fastened by grapples and the iron beak, but now they must be pried apart or sink, locked together. Ben-Hur could not tear his eyes away. If the flame reached the oil, it was all over. Both ships would burn, perhaps even explode. He realized the plank was drifting too close to the battle and lay back down to try to maneuver it away.

  The warning came as a flash of light and a sound like rushing wind, then the earsplitting boom of the explosion. Ben-Hur flung himself over Arrius’s chest to shield him from flying debris. He spread out his arms and gripped the edges of the plank as hard as he could, waiting for whatever the water would do. Down they went, covered once more by a wave.

  Yet the wave receded with a long, sucking tug, leaving Ben-Hur and Arrius in place. Where the ships had been was now a floating bonfire, lighting the night around in a vast, glittering orange circle. Ben-Hur felt movement beneath him and glanced down. Arrius’s eyes were opening.

  He rolled off the Roman’s chest but kept a grip on his arm; another explosion might come. Arrius shook his head slightly and muttered something. In the light from the burning ships, Ben-Hur now saw that Arrius’s silver hair was darkening in one spot above his ear. Darkening fast, as a wound reopened. Ben-Hur felt gently and found the gaping edges of the skin. The bone beneath seemed unharmed, but it was a long gash and bleeding fast.

  A scene from the sea battle in the 1959 MGM film

  Ben-Hur glanced around him in a circle. Mayhem ruled. The surface of the water was dotted with black shapes, rising and sinking. Here and there he could make out an arm, a foot, a random chunk of muscle, but they did not stay afloat. The fire crackled and hissed while all around, wounded men wailed and shrieked. The acrid scent of the fire gave way to drifts of the smell of cooking flesh. In the farther distance, Judah thought he saw other flashes. The scene of death and destruction before him must be repeating itself all across the narrow stretch of sea.

  And what next? He looked down at Arrius, unconscious again. Would he live through the night? What about the next day? What if the pirates won and captured him? Arrius would probably be ransomed. He, Ben-Hur, would remain a slave. What if the Romans won, though? Arrius would go back to Rome. . . . Ben-Hur stopped himself. What if they were not discovered? That was far more likely. The victors of a sea battle tried to pick up survivors, but that could take days. Arrius would not survive for days.

  It was warm, though, Judah told himself. He had heard of men cast into a sea so cold that within hours they simply fell asleep and sank. He would not do that. His fortune—his God—had put him on this piece of wood and sent him the one man who could change his life. There must be some reason for that!

  CHAPTER 12

  ADRIFT

  In the next hours the ships burned to the waterline and the fires went out. The cries of the dying slaves stopped, though a charred stench hung in the air. The wind died and the water stilled. Smoke evaporated into the sky and the stars appeared. Once or twice a distant flash pricked the horizon, then faded as the battle continued far away.

  Ben-Hur knew the night was almost over when the seabirds returned. One by one, then in groups, they soared around the floating wreckage as the sky lightened. By the time the horizon was pale, they bobbed on the surface, peering and pecking at whatever might float. Judah tried to tell himself they were finding remnants of the sailors’ rations, but that was harder to believe after a hand floated past only to be scooped up by a pelican that hurtled out of the sky, then surfaced with a pair of fingers sticking out of its beak. After fixing its beady yellow eye on Ben-Hur, the bird gave a mighty flap, heaving itself skyward. It left a powerful fishy odor behind. Seconds later, the hand dropped back to the water, rejected by the bird.

  When the sun was well above the horizon, Arrius spoke. He muttered at first, waking Judah from a doze. He rolled his head from side to side and flinched.

  “Wait; be careful. You were wounded,” Ben-Hur said, putting his hand against Arrius’s brow. The tribune frowned at him, closed his eyes, and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  But some time later, Ben-Hur looked down to see that Arrius was studying him silently. When Judah met his gaze, the tribune smiled wryly. “My luck as a commander seems to have run out. So much for my offerings at Fortuna’s altar. What happened?”

  “The pirates sank Astraea,” answered Ben-Hur. “I went up on deck just as the ship broke apart and everything fell into the water. This plank was nearby, so I seized it and shortly afterward found you. That’s all. Except that if I had been chained to the bench, like the other slaves, I would have died. So I owe you my life.”

  “And I owe you mine for picking me up, so we are even.” Arrius drew his elbows in and tried to raise his head but closed his eyes and lay back. “Did my head get hit?”

  “It must have. There’s a big gash there above your ear.”

  Judah and Arrius adrift in a scene from the 1959 MGM film

  “They always say salt water is good for wounds,” Arrius answered. “Did you see any more of the battle?”

  ACTORS WHO HAVE PORTRAYED ARRIUS

  Frank Currier—1925

  Jack Hawkins—1959

  Ray Winstone—2010 (miniseries)

  “A Roman galley went down along with a pirate ship not far away from Astraea, but you must have seen that. It was before we sank. Late last night there was still fighting in the distance, but I couldn’t make it out. The wreckage doesn’t tell me much.”

  “No ships visible nearby?”

  “Not a sail.”

  Arrius was silent for a long moment. “I think we will be rescued,” he said. “The strait is narrow. It’s easy for a ship to sweep from shore to shore.” His voice sounded thin and he had to stop often for breath.

  “Maybe you should not be talking,” Ben-Hur said.

  “No, I need to . . .” His voice trailed off. He lay still, then visibly mustered his strength. “Broken ribs, I think.” His hand crept along his side. “Yes—here and here. Feel.”

  Judah hesitated. It was one thing to handle the unconscious Arrius, to haul him from the water and examine his wounds. But the man speaking . . . Three years in the galleys did not fall away that quickly. Arrius was still the tribune, the Latin speaker, the wearer of red, the one who gave commands.

  Also the one who understood. “I say that not as master to slave,” Arrius added. “I think the night we just endured wiped all that away.”

  Ben-Hur nodded and stretched his big hands out over Arrius’s chest. He tried to be gentle, but even so, Arrius stiffened as Ben-Hur touched his sternum. “Can you breathe?” Ben-Hur asked.

  “Not as
well as usual,” Arrius admitted.

  “Then we must hope for rescue,” Ben-Hur said. In truth, Arrius’s injuries didn’t matter. They would die of thirst or starvation in a few days anyway. Arrius spoke lightly of ships coming to rescue them, but Ben-Hur knew that was unlikely. This was the difference between a tribune and a slave: a tribune could still expect that luck would go his way.

  Arrius lay back, but his hands moved at his side. He seemed to be measuring the edges of the wood that he and Ben-Hur lay on. A smile curled his lip. “You really are the son of Prince Ithamar of the house of Hur, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Of course I am. Why would I lie about that?” Judah answered.

  “I knew your father well, you know,” Arrius said. “We were good friends. He would have been quick to see the joke here.”

  “What joke could that possibly be?” Ben-Hur asked.

  SIGNET RING

  Ancient cultures used signets and seals to identify and confirm ownership of documents, jars, packages, even tombs. A document sealed by a signet ring carried all the authority of its owner.

  “Do you know what we’re lying on? It’s part of a rower’s bench. Sometimes the gods mock us this way.”

  “Your gods, not mine,” Ben-Hur said. “Don’t forget I am a Jew.”

  “Of course,” Arrius said. “I should have remembered.”

  “And my God does not mock.”

  “No,” Arrius agreed. “But mine have been known to.”

  Silence fell between the men for a while. The sun rose further. The heat increased. Ben-Hur felt his skin drying out and the thirst beginning. He had been thirsty and hungry before, but he wondered how Arrius would tolerate the discomfort. Like a Roman soldier, no doubt.

  “I am grateful for what you did,” Arrius said suddenly. “I know that your saving me puts your own life in jeopardy. There’s not much room on this bench, and our combined weight may sink it.”

  “I could not leave you . . . ,” Ben-Hur began.

  Arrius lifted a hand. “No. Let me finish. Take the ring off my finger.” He held out his right hand to Judah. The ring was a massive gold signet with a carved stone at its center. “Here—put it on. If I don’t survive, you can take it to my villa at Misenum. The overseer will give you anything you ask for when you tell him how you got this.”

  Ben-Hur drew a breath to speak but Arrius kept on talking. “If I live, of course, I can do more for you. I’ll free you. And send you back to Jerusalem if you want. I can help you find your family, or at least find what happened to them.”

  Again Judah began to answer, but Arrius shook his head. “This is the least I could do. I am of some value to the empire, and I haven’t asked much for my services over the years. I have no children and no wife. It will give me pleasure to serve the son of my old friend Prince Hur.”

  Ben-Hur watched Arrius, who lay back now with his eyes closed. The hand with the gleaming gold ring rested on his chest. The sun caught the rich, reflective yellow of the metal as Arrius breathed. “Take the ring,” Arrius said. He lifted his hand, and Ben-Hur slid the ring off and onto his own forefinger.

  “But I have one request,” Arrius said. He took another pair of breaths. “Maybe you know that we Romans must not outlive our successes. Do you see any sails yet?”

  Ben-Hur shaded his eyes and scanned the horizon all around. “There may be a sail to the north, but it could be a cloud.”

  “We will know soon enough. And if it is a sail, we will have to wait to see whether it’s Roman. If it’s not, I am a dead man.”

  “You have value as a hostage, don’t you?”

  “That will not happen,” Arrius said, and his voice sounded clearer and more confident. “This is the promise I want from you. Swear by the gods—”

  “By God,” Ben-Hur interrupted. “My God, not your gods.”

  “By your God,” Arrius continued, “that if a pirate ship reaches us before a Roman one, you will push me off this raft and let me drown.”

  “No,” Ben-Hur said instantly and began to tug the ring off his finger. “The gift of life is God’s. It’s not for us to take it away.”

  “Have you never killed a man? Maybe last night, in the dark and the fire, as you tried to save your own life?”

  Ben-Hur did not answer right away, but he remembered the red cloud of blood in the sea as he watched the man he’d killed sink. “I did,” Ben-Hur finally said. “It will be counted against me, I know. But I won’t help you do this.”

  Arrius sighed. “You remind me of your father. He was stubborn too. Don’t you see the shame for me, as a Roman, to submit to captivity? Success and honor are everything for us!”

  “But not for us, tribune. We have laws. I saved your life, so I am responsible for it. Take back the ring.”

  “And if I were to command you?”

  “You can’t. Just for now, I’m not a slave. I may become one again. I think that is a sail off to the north. I know the pirates will put me back on the bench. But at this moment I don’t have to obey your command and I choose not to honor your request. Just now I am a Jewish man obeying my laws. So I give you back your ring.” He pulled it off and held it out.

  Arrius shook his head and Judah opened his hand. No response from Arrius. So Ben-Hur tilted his flat palm and the ring dropped into the cloudy water. It glittered for a second, then was gone.

  “That was a mistake,” Arrius said. “I can do nothing for you now, if I die.”

  “Tribune, you have already shown me more kindness than you could know. For three years I have been nothing more than an animal to every single person I met.” He paused. “No, there was one other: a man my age gave me water in Nazareth, two days after it all happened. But since that moment, nothing, until you spoke to me of my family. How could I kill you after that?”

  “I don’t need your help to die, you know,” said Arrius. “I could just slip from the bench. It will get easier as the day goes by.”

  “Then why ask me?”

  “It’s the Roman way,” Arrius said with a shrug. “And the Greek. When Socrates wanted to die, someone gave him the hemlock.”

  Ben-Hur shook his head. “That has nothing to do with me. And I think we will know, long before the end of the day, what our fate is going to be. There is a sail, and it is coming our way.”

  The previous night had seemed long, but it was nothing compared to that morning. Arrius was too severely injured to do more than lie supine, fretting. Pride kept him from peppering Ben-Hur with questions, but he was restless and agitated. Ben-Hur was desperate for a better view of the distant craft, but the waterlogged bench was too narrow and unstable to allow him to lift his head much above the waterline. Which raised another problem: if the ship did approach, how could Ben-Hur and Arrius ensure they were seen? Ben-Hur was regretting that he’d let Arrius’s cuirass and helmet sink when he rescued the man; the sun flashing off their beaten metal could have attracted eyes to them.

  But what if the wrong ship came? Ben-Hur glanced at Arrius, lying with his eyes closed now. Was he paler than he had been? Would he even live through the day?

  “Tribune, how can I tell a Roman ship from the corsairs?”

  Arrius looked startled. “You don’t know?”

  “The only time I ever went on deck was to transfer from one ship to another,” Ben-Hur reminded him. “All I know is inside the hull. And every ship I have seen was Roman.”

  “Roman ships always carry a helmet at the peak of the mast,” Arrius answered. “And . . . do you see any flags?”

  SANCTITY OF LIFE

  Jewish law protects and reveres life, and Jewish scholars have traditionally considered both suicide and murder very serious sins. In Rome, on the other hand, suicides were common and overall accepted. Romans considered suicide a much more honorable death than execution.

  “She is still too far away.”

  “Flags would mean a Roman ship celebrating victory.”

  “I will hope that’s what appears, then.” Ben-Hu
r looked down at the tribune. “But it will take some time. Can we tear your tunic to cover your face from the sun? It’s going to be merciless. And the thirst will be easier to bear if you’re covered.”

  Arrius lifted the hem of his tunic and tried to tear it. “You’re stronger than I am. See what you can do.”

  “Since I’ve refused to take your life, I still feel responsible for you,” Judah said with a tiny smile. He leaned over to tug at the hem. It was finely woven, seamless, and refused to give way. Ben-Hur tried to tear it with his teeth but the fine edge held.

  “Roman weaving,” Arrius said. “Meant to last forever. Like the empire.”

  “It would be a pity if the garment outlasted its wearer,” Ben-Hur said.

  “That’s in the hands of the gods now,” Arrius retorted and closed his eyes.

  He might have slept. He might just have wanted to retreat. Ben-Hur couldn’t blame him. Their chances of survival looked poor. In the water all around, he saw only wreckage. Destruction ruled: charred planking, frayed ropes, shattered spars. Much of the material floating could not be identified, though some of it had to be human. Eventually it would all rot and sink. Or the scavengers of the sea would swallow it, from above or below the surface. At that thought, Judah had to prevent himself from pulling his trailing feet out of the water. That would upset the precarious balance of the plank and give Arrius the end he seemed to want.