“That could become a kind of border war.”
“It could. Sometimes it does. Believe me, this sheik is ruthless, as was his father and his father before him. You will see him with his horses, and he seems almost foolish about them. You will not see the armory that travels with the tribe, even to the Orchard of the Palms. There are a great number of very sharp weapons that can be snatched up in an instant by people who know exactly what to do with them.”
“So then, the Romans?”
“As you might expect. A train of tax collectors was raided on Ilderim’s land and the Romans held him responsible.”
“Which is only justice, in some sense,” Ben-Hur said reluctantly.
“In some sense,” Malluch agreed. “Ilderim repaid every sestertium. Even using the Romans’ estimate of what they lost, which was certainly exaggerated. But they also claimed his horses. All of the foals of that year, they took back to Rome.”
“What?” Ben-Hur was startled. “How? On shipboard?”
“I don’t know the details. I have heard they sent some by land. Many of those sent by sea died. But enough reached Rome to satisfy the emperor.”
Ben-Hur sat up. “Oh! I remember! I remember when they came! It was a scandal. I didn’t quite understand. I was new to Rome. Some had been ill-treated. But others recovered and were raced. And bred. They were magnificent.”
“And the offspring return here from time to time. That Roman driver today, who tried to run down the crowd at the fountain? Those were probably the offspring of Ilderim’s horses.”
“And that dog Messala wants to run them against the beautiful bays!” Ben-Hur broke out.
Malluch was startled. “That dog? Do you know him? Or are you just, because he is a Roman . . . ?”
“I know him, Malluch,” Ben-Hur said. “I’ll tell you in a moment.”
“But he saw you! Face-to-face, you were closer to him than I am! How could he not recognize you?”
“I have changed,” Ben-Hur said bitterly. “He last saw me as a boy. He probably believes I am dead.”
Malluch twisted around on the saddle to look Ben-Hur full in the face. The camels were crossing a vast field of tall green grass. On the road ahead, beyond a range of hills, the broken canopy of palms announced they were nearing their destination. “Look—the Orchard of the Palms. See how the road winds? It will be well guarded. Ilderim keeps his people safe.”
“And his herds, I suppose. After the Romans humiliated him.”
“Yes,” Malluch said. “I think that was the worst part of that episode. To be Sheik Ilderim is to protect what is yours. And Rome made him a liar. Now tell me your story, quickly, before we arrive.”
Briefly and without emotion, Ben-Hur ran through his tale: the parade, the tile, the capture, the parting from his sister and mother. The galleys, the sea battle, the years in Rome as Arrius’s adopted son. The sentry had stepped forward to block the road when he finished.
“And Messala?” Malluch asked. “What is his role in all of this?”
“He was my best friend,” Ben-Hur said. “And he betrayed me to the Romans.”
The men had only time to share a long glance before the sentry challenged them. Ben-Hur did not bother to answer the challenge; he merely lifted the gold chalice so that the sentry could see it. Malluch was amused: his new friend might hate Rome, but he had acquired some of a Roman’s lordly ways.
A desert oasis
CHAPTER 20
IN THE TENTS
Even the fiercest nomadic desert chieftain may have a favored oasis. He would not, of course, admit such a weakness; as a nomad, all places, whether parched or lush, windblown or sheltered, must be alike to him. But when the long train of Ilderim’s camels and herds and humans wound its way into the Orchard of the Palms, there was always an air of merriment about. And even the sheik himself, when he thrust his sword into the soft green grass to show where his tent pole should be planted, smiled broadly at the men and women who surrounded him. At the orchard they could let down their guard. Encircled by hills, with one easily watched entrance, lying next to the lake, it provided safety, water, and endless forage for the beasts. Life was easy at the orchard.
ACTORS WHO HAVE PORTRAYED ILDERIM
Mitchell Lewis—1925
Hugh Griffith—1959
Art Malik—2010 (miniseries)
Morgan Freeman—2016
And this year it was also proving interesting. There was the usual business to be transacted in Antioch; even a desert chieftain may have to handle money and supplies and commercial agreements. While he was there, Ilderim would pass many an hour with Simonides, working out the canniest way to move goods from the East through the wild areas under Ilderim’s control. The two men would bicker and bargain with gusto.
Then there was the unexpected pleasure, this year, of Balthasar’s presence—though Balthasar’s daughter, Ilderim thought, was creating some tension among the people. If only she would truly veil herself like the other women! And stop walking by the lakeside all alone. With her arms uncovered. As he stood at the opening to his tent, Ilderim wondered if a word to her father might help. He began to formulate what he would say, but no useful phrases came to mind.
A warm breath blew in his ear, and one of the horses dropped its head onto his shoulder. That was the best thing about the orchard, thought Ilderim: the horses loved it. Every year when they arrived, they dropped to the grass and rolled and rolled.
But the race! He took a deep breath, remembering the earlier incident on the track. The horses were unharmed. There was that. He felt a nudge from behind—another of the horses, curious, not wanting to miss anything. But who would drive them now? He’d been a fool to trust that Roman. But when his own driver had broken a leg, what could he do? And he so deeply desired to win the race! He had never had a better team. There would never be a bigger crowd, not outside of Rome. And none of his own men . . . He squinted, trying to decide how to put it. None of his own men had earned the respect of the horses, he decided. He squinted again. Visitors? His long sight was fading. Another thing to worry about.
Bedouins and their tents
Yes, visitors. Two scruffy camels, animals he’d be embarrassed to ride. And on one of them, Simonides’s man Malluch. The other man was a stranger. The sentry had let them pass without a challenge or a message. Interesting.
So Ilderim left the door of his tent, followed by two of the bay horses, picking their way gracefully over the grass.
Malluch’s camel knelt, but the stranger’s camel refused to. The man laughed and swung his leg over the saddle, then vaulted lightly to the ground. “Never again, Malluch, I swear it. I will not ride another camel,” Ilderim heard the man say.
“Peace be with you,” Ilderim called out. “You are welcome among us.”
“And peace to you also,” both men answered.
Then, to Ilderim’s surprise, the horses ambled forward. The tall man held out his hands and let the velvety muzzles run over them. One of the bays took another half step and rubbed his head against the stranger’s chest.
“Ho, Aldebaran,” called Ilderim. “No need to startle our guests.”
“I’m grateful,” responded the man. “I admired these fellows at the grove today.” He ran a hand down Aldebaran’s neck, smoothing the satin coat and murmuring under his breath. The horse’s ears flickered—they understood each other.
“Your Honor,” Malluch said, drawing the sheik aside, “forgive me, but I came here only to show the way. We met Balthasar today at the Grove of Daphne, and my friend was able to perform a service for him. Balthasar summoned him here.”
“All the better,” Ilderim answered. “Of course a service done to a guest of mine is also a service to me. But you can’t do me the honor of entering my tent?”
“Alas, no. I am expected back in Antioch. But I will return to the orchard tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Malluch,” Ben-Hur said. “I am so grateful that our ways crossed today. May I rely a little furt
her on your kindness?”
“Of course,” Malluch answered.
“Would you take that beast back to Antioch with you?” Ben-Hur pointed to the camel. “And perhaps send a saddle horse to replace him?”
“You don’t care for our ships of the desert?” Ilderim asked.
“I think perhaps my ship was closer to a raft,” Ben-Hur answered. “I’ve never met an animal I disliked more, and I’d rather walk back to Antioch barefoot than ride it again.”
“I feel sure that won’t be necessary,” Ilderim said. “Now, please, come into my tent. Aldebaran, Rigel, show him.” He clucked with his tongue and gestured. Nudging the newcomer with their noses, the bays urged him toward the wide door of the tent, where a serving man waited at the edge of a vast, magnificent carpet.
The horses pushed their way through a curtain that divided the tent, while the two men let the servant take off their shoes and outer robes. A young woman appeared with fresh white linen robes, and another with a bowl of water. The men sat on the wide divan that ran around three sides of the tent, piled with cushions and bolsters, while the woman washed their feet. Ilderim noticed his guest’s eye roving around the tent.
“Have you ever been in a nomad’s dwelling?” he asked.
“No,” his guest answered. “I admire the arrangements very much.” He looked up at the tent pole and the tightly stretched roof. “How long does it take to dismantle?”
“In case of a raid, you mean? That depends on how many men I have,” Ilderim answered. “But if we need to be swift, we can be.”
“And the fabric—is it woven from your sheep?”
“From the goats. It’s more durable. But these—” his hand rubbed the yellow cover of the divan—“need not be so sturdy. They come from our sheep. Which of course are not yellow. I believe they use turmeric for the dye.”
Sheik Ilderim (Mitchell Lewis) welcomes horses into his tent in this scene from the 1925 MGM film.
“And forgive me the curiosity,” Ben-Hur went on, “but is it common to share a tent with horses?”
“No,” Ilderim answered. “But as you seem to have understood, these particular horses are more to me than animals.” He turned to the servant and said, “Go to the tent where the Egyptian is staying and tell him that a guest has come. We hope he will join us.” And to Ben-Hur, he continued, “I would be more than honored if you would stay the night with us. Or indeed as long as you can honor us. But certainly you will dine. And if you must return to Antioch after nightfall, I will send you with an escort. On a horse.”
“Thank you,” Ben-Hur answered. “Your kindness makes me understand why the hospitality of the desert is famous.”
“And now, if you will forgive my curiosity, may I know something more about you? We learn to judge people quickly in the desert, but I admit I am puzzled. Malluch did not introduce you.”
Ben-Hur paused. “I am called Judah,” he said after a moment.
Sheik Ilderim might have expected more than simply a first name, but he smoothly said, “A Jew, then. I have never known one who could make friends with a horse so quickly.”
“I am a Jew,” Ben-Hur answered. “But I have spent the last years in Rome—a good portion of that,” he added with a smile, “around stables. The emperor’s stables, in fact.”
“Ah,” Ilderim answered. “In what capacity?”
“I would say, as a competitor.”
Now Ilderim looked at his guest more carefully. It made sense, of course: he was built like an athlete, tall and loose-limbed, with long arms and huge hands. The better to hold a handful of reins, Ilderim thought.
As if reading the sheik’s mind, Ben-Hur held out his hands, palms up. “Yes,” he said. “You see the calluses. I have raced a chariot in the circus in Rome.”
Ilderim frowned. “But I don’t remember a Jewish driver,” he said.
“No,” Ben-Hur answered. “While in Rome I was known as Arrius, after my adoptive father. But he died recently, and I have reclaimed my original name.”
“And what brings you to Antioch?” Ilderim asked.
But at that moment, Balthasar appeared at the door of the tent, followed by his daughter. Ilderim felt a spurt of annoyance; surely the women of Egypt did not go everywhere the men did? But he rose to his feet at once, as did Ben-Hur. And by the time they were all settled again with a special cushion for Iras’s bare feet, Ilderim saw with surprise that Ben-Hur held a golden chalice in his hand.
He crossed the carpet and held it out to Iras. “When I saw you at the Grove of Daphne,” he said, “I was startled by your kindness and did not think to refuse this. But of course I cannot accept such a gift. It was my privilege to be of help to you.”
“What I give, I do not take back,” Iras said, looking up at him. “Whether you choose to keep it is not my affair.”
“Your thanks are all I could possibly value.” He set the chalice next to her on the divan. Then, with considerable dignity, he resumed his seat near Ilderim.
“And who will explain this to me?” the sheik asked.
“Today at the grove,” Balthasar spoke in his reedy voice, “we were nearly run down by some boor of a Roman. We had stopped at the Fountain of Castalia for a drink, and this fellow whipped his horses into a gallop just to have the pleasure of frightening the crowd. The camel, of course, could not be budged. But this man—” he gestured to Ben-Hur—“caught the harness of the leader and brought the team to a halt. Not many men would have had the strength or courage to do that,” he said directly to Ben-Hur. “Perhaps I will find another way to convey my thanks.”
“Truly, sir,” Ben-Hur said, “you make too much of a moment’s impulse.”
“But what boor of a Roman?” Ilderim asked, eyes narrowed. “I saw only one Roman at the track today. Driving the black-and-white team. In fact I wondered if they had not been horses from my bloodlines.”
“I wondered that too,” Ben-Hur said quickly. “They looked similar to the bays. Not as fine, to be sure. But the way they carried their heads and the strength of the hindquarters . . .”
“And how would the Roman come to have horses from the desert?” Balthasar asked.
“Oh, my friend, Roman spoils,” Ilderim answered. “You know all too well how it is.”
“I do,” Balthasar answered, nodding. He turned to Ben-Hur. “Although I am Egyptian, I spent a year living with the sheik in the farthest corners of the desert. The Romans leave their traces even there.”
“I understood that you were Egyptian,” Ben-Hur said. “You are a long way from home.”
“True.” Balthasar glanced at Ilderim and smiled. “Shall I tell him the story?”
Ilderim looked at his young guest, and Ben-Hur felt for a moment that he was being judged, though he could not have said why. “Yes, I think you should,” Ilderim answered with a little smile. “I think this is a man who would like to hear your tale.”
“Many years ago . . . ,” Balthasar began. “But perhaps I should go back further. I will tell you only that I had for some time been seeking wisdom. Reading, studying. Searching the writings of Greeks and Egyptians and other wise men for the truth, which I felt I had not yet encountered. Is there one god? Are there many? What should men do while they are on earth? Will they live beyond death? The Romans worship their great men as gods; can man be divine or become so? All of these questions were a torment to me.
“Then at a certain point, I knew. Not what the truth was—far from that. But I knew that I had to go out and find it.” He looked down at his hands, lightly clasped in his lap. “I was already old, you know. Far too old to go out searching like that. But I had spent so much time wondering, and this intention was so clear. So I went.” He shook his head. “It was the oddest thing. I knew what I was to take, and how. Just one camel—the camel you met this afternoon, in fact. Not even my favorite beast—an unpleasant creature even for a camel. But that was the one. And certain supplies. And I was to follow a certain path. I had no sense of where I was going—eas
t, of course, then north, I could tell from the sun, but I never knew from one day to the next where the path would lead. The camel seemed to have understood. I let it find the way. And one day, I met two other men. Do you know how we say, ‘in the middle of nowhere’? It truly was the middle of nowhere. But there they were, each of them on a camel that could have been the brother of mine.”
Balthasar paused and Ben-Hur noticed that his daughter had left without anyone’s noticing. She had probably heard the story before.
“One of them was Greek, and one a man from India. None of us spoke another’s language, but we all understood each other.” Balthasar lifted his hands and let them drop into his lap. “We did not know how. And all three of us were on the same mission. We were all seeking the truth. The way to be good men, I suppose. And to make the most of our lives. And whether there is any hope of a life beyond this one.” He nodded, and the peacock plume on his turban dipped.
“It is a long story,” he said to Ben-Hur. “And my daughter, Iras, has heard it too often. She does not like to think about her father’s folly because by the ways of the world, this was madness. Though as you see, I survived.”
Balthasar was silent for a moment and did not notice when a servant entered the tent silently. Ben-Hur saw that outside the door of the tent, the sunlight on the lake was turning golden and the palms cast dark stripes of shadow on the grass. Ilderim whispered to the servant, and Balthasar looked around as if he had forgotten where he was.
“We traveled together, the three of us,” he resumed the story. “Eventually a star came to guide us. It sounds like nonsense, but I will just tell you this part of the tale as it happened. A star came and guided us, and we knew, somehow, that we were going to find a savior. Do you understand what I mean?” he asked, looking at each of them. In the telling of the story he had somehow gained stature and authority. “A savior who would be our Redeemer.”
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