Ben-Hur
Page 18
SON OF HUR
It was also amazing how patient a man could be, but Iras didn’t see that. Ben-Hur had to forge the sheik’s horses into a victorious team in less than a week. He knew that as individual equine athletes, they were unsurpassed. But they were not yet a team. So Ben-Hur spent much of that day simply getting acquainted with the bays. Far at the back of the encampment, right against the hill, the rest of the sheik’s animals were held in enormous enclosures. A dusty track had been laid out sometime in the past; one of the sheik’s grooms assured Ben-Hur that the track exactly replicated the shape and distance of the track in the stadium. Throughout that long, hot day, the man and the four horses could be seen on or near the track. Ben-Hur harnessed them to a practice chariot singly and in pairs. He switched the pairs. He put them on long reins and cantered them around him in tight circles. They rested when it got hot, the horses dozing near Ben-Hur, who lay on a pile of clean straw. To his own surprise, he fell deeply asleep, waking suddenly when a blade of straw tickled his nose.
By the time the sun dropped behind the hill, he was satisfied with the day’s work. He knew how he would harness the horses. The next step would be to get them pulling as one. As they walked together back through the encampment, the tall, agile man with the four bays ambling behind him, people smiled and greeted him or the horses. The sheik’s people were proud of the Sons of the Wind, and word traveled fast. This new man would make them all proud.
Ben-Hur looked around appreciatively. It was an orderly camp and a prosperous one. The children were plump, the tents tightly woven, and good smells came from the cooking fires. As the sky turned darker blue, groups were gathering around the fires for the evening meal. Ben-Hur wondered if Ilderim would have returned from his business in Antioch in time for dinner.
But to his surprise, it was Malluch who greeted him at the sheik’s tent, with a summons. “Sheik Ilderim sends his greetings,” Malluch said, “and would be grateful if you could meet him in the city at the house of the merchant Simonides.”
Simonides! Ben-Hur was startled. He had almost managed to forget! In his complete concentration on the upcoming race, he had pushed Simonides to the back of his mind. Well, and why not? The man had wanted nothing to do with him. Far better to spend his time with the horses.
Malluch must have taken his silence for reluctance, for he apologized. “The sheik said he was sorry to summon you after what he was sure has been a long day with the horses. But there is some strategy regarding the race . . .” When Ben-Hur still didn’t answer, Malluch added, “We are to borrow Balthasar’s camel.”
The two men’s eyes met and Ben-Hur smiled. “Oh, Malluch, not another camel!”
“I was instructed to add,” Malluch said formally, “that Balthasar’s howdah is also at your service. And that we will dine on the road.” At that he smiled as well. “We’ll get better food from the sheik’s kitchen than from Simonides’s, anyway. And I have to admit, I’ve been wanting to see the inside of that howdah.”
A souvenir spoon featuring the chariot race scene and Lew Wallace’s face and study on the handle
Ben-Hur laughed. “All right, Malluch. I can tell when I am outmaneuvered. I will come with you. But pride requires that I wash off the dust of the stables—”
“And the straw from your hair,” Malluch added helpfully.
“And the straw. I was getting to that. I will be with you, and clean, by the time the camel is ready.”
He wasn’t, but the camel had not been waiting long. The two men clambered into the howdah, and the Nubian driver led the beast out the winding path through the date orchard, lifting a hand as they passed the sentry at the entrance to the oasis. Ben-Hur was busy investigating a basket that held warm bread, dates, hummus, and a clay pot full of spicy meat patties. The two men focused on eating and did not speak until the camel had reached the outskirts of the city and begun threading its conspicuous way along the wharves. Ben-Hur gazed across the river at the vast Roman palace, wondering where Messala’s horses were stabled. Then the camel suddenly halted and folded its legs so they could dismount from the howdah. Malluch said something to the Nubian that Ben-Hur didn’t catch, and the Nubian turned away.
“We’ll go on foot from here,” Malluch said blandly.
“Malluch,” Ben-Hur said, following him, “I find myself somewhat confused.”
“Oh?”
“What language was that you just spoke with Balthasar’s servant?”
“I suppose you would call it a kind of gutter Greek.”
“Much spoken in Antioch?”
“Well, you know,” Malluch answered. “In a town like this, most people speak a little bit of many languages.”
“And why did you tell him to go back to the oasis?”
“Ah,” Malluch said with a nod as he skirted a barrel broken open on the street. “You speak some Greek too.”
“In Rome, too, people speak many languages.”
“Of course.”
Malluch had been leading the way, but Ben-Hur reached out and hooked a finger into the neck of his robe. “Am I being captured, Malluch? You wouldn’t have whisked me away from the oasis for some purpose I don’t understand?”
Malluch stopped and faced Ben-Hur. “Yes. I have. But it’s nothing that will hurt you or interfere with the chariot race.” The light was fading and they stood in a narrow alley, but even so he could see anger on Ben-Hur’s face. “I apologize. I am under orders. You will understand very soon. That’s all I can say.”
“We are truly going to Simonides?”
“Yes. But it was thought better that the camel not be seen,” Malluch answered and moved forward to lead the way again. “Or you, for that matter.”
“By whom?”
“The Romans,” Malluch answered. “Or those in their pay.”
“But . . .”
Malluch turned back to him and said, suddenly serious, “Not here.”
After that Ben-Hur could only follow him meekly until they rounded a corner and he recognized Simonides’s tall house on the riverfront.
It was a hot, humid night with a feeble breeze that did little more than carry heavy, dank odors through the air. Ben-Hur couldn’t help glancing at the ships swaying gently on their moorings, each with its sails tightly furled and a riding light amidships: a well-managed fleet.
To his surprise, Malluch did not go around to the main warehouse entrance but unlocked a narrow side door and beckoned. Without a word he led Ben-Hur up a steep, winding staircase. At the top, he knocked on another narrow door and entered without waiting for a response.
They were in Simonides’s airy workroom. Tall lamps burned in each corner and the long windows stood open to the river. Sheik Ilderim rose from the divan where he had been sitting, cross-legged, and Esther rolled Simonides’s chair around to face the two men. She had protested: it was late; her father needed sleep. But his old friend Ilderim was adamant that the meeting be held that very night. “There is no time to lose, Esther,” he had told her privately. “And think of this: what we plan matters deeply to your father. You will see.”
It was Ilderim who greeted the two men emerging from the private stair, and Ilderim who asked about the training of the horses. Courtesy required that the younger man reply politely, but he shot a glance at Malluch that made Esther uncomfortable.
Her father touched her hand. “Wheel me closer,” he whispered. So she moved his rolling chair forward. He tapped her wrist again, urging her closer still, enough that everyone fell silent. “Son of Hur,” he said, looking steadily into Ben-Hur’s eyes. He waited for a moment and repeated, “Judah, son of my old friend Ithamar, of the house of Hur, I give you the peace of the Lord God of our fathers.”
After his long day with the horses, and in his confusion, it took Ben-Hur a moment to take in Simonides’s words, and when he did, he felt his face freeze. His eyes locked on Simonides’s and he saw the older man smiling.
“Simonides,” he answered solemnly, “God’s holy peace be with you and yours
.” He struggled for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. Then he knelt next to Simonides’s chair and held out his hands to clasp, very gently, the broken and crooked hands in the older man’s lap. “With you and yours forever. While it is in my power, I will do anything I can to preserve this household, in thanks for the sacrifices you made in my father’s name.”
Simonides lifted a hand and laid it briefly on Ben-Hur’s shoulder. “Ah,” he said in his surprisingly deep voice, “we have much greater projects in mind for you. Esther, would you get the papers?”
Esther crossed to the worktable to fetch the papyrus rolls her father had been toiling away on all day. When she put them into his hands, she saw that he was smiling. “Thank you, dear girl,” he said. “Would you get a stool for young Judah? Put it next to me.”
As she moved the stool, she caught Ilderim watching her. He nodded slightly. Did he look smug? Perhaps. It didn’t matter. If her father was happy, she was pleased. She set down the stool and stepped back next to Malluch.
“First let me explain why I didn’t acknowledge you at once,” Simonides began.
“No explanation is necessary,” Ben-Hur said. “I can understand now how careful you must be.”
“No, you cannot,” Simonides said sharply. “You have known the harsh side of Roman power, but you are a young man still and physically whole. I did not suffer at their hands to give your father’s fortune away by a careless mistake to the first man who appears to claim it. Though Esther protested, and though you are the very image of your father, I needed to know more about you. So I sent Malluch to follow you.”
“Malluch was your spy?” Ben-Hur asked, turning around to glare at him.
“I apologize, son of Hur,” said Malluch. “But I serve my master. So indirectly, I serve you. As I hope to do to the end of my days.”
“Think of Malluch as my eyes and ears in Antioch,” Simonides said. “I asked him to follow you because I needed to know if you were indeed who you said. And if so, what kind of man might you be? You must know that I have been searching all over the empire to find you ever since I got word that the Romans had taken your family. I had long since given up when you arrived at my door looking for all the world like a Roman!”
“Yes, of course,” Ben-Hur said. “But what could Malluch have learned about me?”
“Many a young man has lost his way in the Grove of Daphne,” Simonides said. “What with the women and the music and the pagan worship, there are many paths to destruction. A man who merely falls asleep under a tree is a man with a steady temperament.”
“Or a man with other concerns,” Ben-Hur added.
“Indeed,” agreed Simonides. “And I ask your forgiveness. Again, it was Esther who pointed out to me how cruel it was to rob you of your last hope.”
She felt herself blush as the young man lifted his dark eyes to hers. “How could I not forgive you?” he asked, turning back to her father.
“Ah, you say this even before you know!” Simonides almost crowed, tapping the roll of papyrus in his lap. “Here, son of Hur, is the accounting of your father’s property. That is to say, not the property itself, which was appropriated by the Romans. The palace, as you know, and all the goods and warehouses and animals and ships your family possessed are gone. I suspect that Gratus did very well out of the fall of the house of Hur. But the money was held in bills of exchange, which they couldn’t find. When I liquidated all of them, from Rome to Damascus to Valencia, the amount was 120 talents.” He held up a sheet of papyrus, which Esther took from his hand.
“And it has been my care ever since to put this money to use and make it grow. So the assets you now possess are as follows.” He gave a new page to Ben-Hur, who read aloud.
“‘Ships, 160 talents. Goods in storage, 110 talents. Cargo in transit, 75 talents. Livestock, 23 talents. Warehouses, 17 talents. Money on hand, 224 talents. Bills due to be paid, 53 talents. For a total of 556 talents.’”
Judah looked blank. It was an enormous sum.
“And we add to this the 120 talents I had from your father to begin: the total is 676 talents!”
There was a hush in the room. Even Esther knew that a talent was the amount of gold that weighed as much as a man. The sum Ben-Hur now possessed would have filled the room, the warehouse—would have sunk all the ships floating in the river below.
“I think you must be the richest man in the world,” Ilderim said from across the room.
“Yes,” Simonides agreed simply. “He is. But the important thing is, there is nothing now that you cannot do.”
Ben-Hur laid the papyrus very carefully back on Simonides’s lap and got up from the stool. With everyone’s eyes upon him, he crossed the room to the little balcony and went out. He stood there for a long minute, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, facing the river, his mind completely blank. Then he turned and reentered the room.
ENORMOUS WEALTH
By any estimation, 676 talents of gold would be a staggering sum. In today’s dollars, each talent would be worth around $3.15 million dollars, for a total well exceeding $2 billion. Esther’s concept of its volume, however, is a significant exaggeration. Each talent of gold would take up about five quarts. The total amount in gold would be approximately three cubic meters (or 214,000 tablespoons).
He knelt at Simonides’s feet. “Friend of my father, I will never be able to repay you for your stewardship of my father’s property. The loyalty you have just demonstrated brightens my opinion of my fellow man. And I would like to mark my gratitude.” He glanced over to the sheik. “Will you serve as a witness to my decision?”
“Happily,” Ilderim said.
“Then let us make this official. Perhaps Malluch could write . . .”
“Not I,” he said cheerfully. “I can’t read or write. Esther often serves as her father’s scribe, though.” He bustled across the room and opened a cupboard, bringing out papyrus and ink.
Calmly Esther sat at a table and looked at Ben-Hur, ready with her brush.
“Everything you have just accounted for, warehouses and ships and livestock and goods . . . all 556 talents’ worth of property and money that you have made over the years, I am returning to you, Simonides. I will retain the 120 talents that were originally my father’s. The rest is yours.”
Esther’s hand faltered, but Ben-Hur continued.
“However, I add one condition. No, two. First, that you will continue to help manage this fortune. The mind that made it grow is worth more than any capital sum.”
Simonides inclined his head to accept the compliment. In this realm, he knew his own worth.
SLAVERY AND FREEDOM
In Jewish tradition, according to Deuteronomy 15, when a Hebrew sold himself and became a servant of another family, he was bound to serve the family for six years. In the seventh year he was to be set free with generous gifts.
But if the servant declined to leave because of his great love for the family he served, one was to take an awl and ceremonially push it through his earlobe into the door. And after that he would be recognized as the family’s servant for life.
“And the second condition is that you will join your efforts to mine to help me find my mother and sister. With eyes and ears like those of Malluch, in Rome or Jerusalem, surely we can find a trace of my family. What you have shown me today—” he laid a hand on the accounting—“is remarkable. But I can’t rest until I know where my mother and Tirzah are, dead or alive.”
“You must know that we have tried without ceasing to trace them,” Simonides said gravely. “We will increase our efforts. If there is any trace of them anywhere in the empire, we will find it.” He took another slip of papyrus from his lap. “The accounting is not quite complete. You have seen records of most of your father’s assets, but here are three more. I will read the list.” He held it up close to his eyes. “The slaves of Hur: One—Amrah the Egyptian, resident in Jerusalem. Two—Simonides, steward, resident in Antioch. Three—Esther, daughter of Simonides.”
“No. In fact, Judah, you can’t free me. I willingly became your father’s slave in order to marry Esther’s mother, Rachel. It is a permanent state and I have never regretted it. Esther, however, you may free, if she chooses.”
“But I don’t,” she said calmly. “I prefer to stay just as I am. And as my father is.”
Ben-Hur sighed. “It seems wrong. To think that I have power over your very lives . . .”
Simonides broke in. “You possess that power in any case, Judah. We are bound together for your father’s sake if nothing else. You can do something for me, though.”
“Whatever you ask is yours,” Ben-Hur replied.
“Make me your steward as I was your father’s.”
“Of course! We will put it into writing . . .”
“No need,” Simonides broke in. “Your word is enough.”
“Thank you,” Ben-Hur said simply. He turned and walked the length of the room and back. “But now . . .” He looked in turn at everyone—Esther, Malluch, Ilderim, and Simonides. “I inherited a fortune from Arrius. Suddenly I possess another one. I don’t care about gambling or building a palace or any of the ways men use vast wealth. What should I do with all this money?”
Ilderim and Simonides exchanged glances.
“Well,” said the sheik, “we have a notion.”
CHAPTER 26
WHO?
That night the spy met Messala at the stable. He felt very clever about it. Until that point the meetings had all been Messala’s idea, at places and times Messala named. On this occasion, though, the spy had information. Useful, important information that he thought Messala should pay a lot for. But it was information that would lose value if he didn’t sell it soon enough.