by Wallace, Lew
“I am afraid of Rome,” she answered, with a perceptible tremor of the voice.
He looked at her then—or rather down upon her, for at his side she appeared little more than a child. In the dim light he could not see her face distinctly; even the form was shadowy. But again he was reminded of Tirzah, and a sudden tenderness fell upon him—just so the lost sister stood with him on the house-top the calamitous morning of the accident to Gratus. Poor Tirzah! Where was she now? Esther had the benefit of the feeling evoked. If not his sister, he could never look upon her as his servant; and that she was his servant in fact would make him always the more considerate and gentle towards her.
“I cannot think of Rome,” she continued, recovering her voice, and speaking in her quiet, womanly way—“I cannot think of Rome as a city of palaces and temples, and crowded with people; she is to me a monster which has possession of one of the beautiful lands, and lies there luring men to ruin and death—a monster which it is not possible to resist—a ravenous beast gorging with blood. Why—”
She faltered, looked down, stopped.
“Go on,” said Ben-Hur, reassuringly.
She drew closer to him, looked up again, and said, “Why must you make her your enemy? Why not rather make peace with her, and be at rest? You have had many ills, and borne them; you have survived the snares laid for you by foes. Sorrow has consumed your youth; is it well to give it the remainder of your days?”
The girlish face under his eyes seemed to come nearer and get whiter as the pleading went on; he stooped towards it, and asked, softly, “What would you have me do, Esther?”
She hesitated a moment, then asked, in return, “Is the property near Rome a residence?”
“Yes.”
“And pretty?”
“It is beautiful—a palace in the midst of gardens and shell-strewn walks; fountains without and within; statuary in the shady nooks; hills around covered with vines, and so high that Neapolis and Vesuvius are in sight, and the sea an expanse of purpling blue dotted with restless sails. Caesar has a country-seat near by, but in Rome they say the old Arrian villa is the prettiest.”
“And the life there, is it quiet?”
“There was never a summer day, never a moonlit night, more quiet, save when visitors come. Now that the old owner is gone, and I am here, there is nothing to break its silence—nothing, unless it be the whispering of servants, or the whistling of happy birds, or the noise of fountains at play; it is changeless, except as day by day old flowers fade and fall, and new ones bud and bloom, and the sunlight gives place to the shadow of a passing cloud. The life, Esther, was all too quiet for me. It made me restless by keeping always present a feeling that I, who have so much to do, was dropping into idle habits, and tying myself with silken chains, and after a while—and not a long while either—would end with nothing done.”
She looked off over the river.
“Why did you ask?” he said.
“Good my master—”
“No, no, Esther—not that. Call me friend—brother, if you will; I am not your master, and will not be. Call me brother.”
He could not see the flush of pleasure which reddened her face, and the glow of the eyes that went out lost in the void above the river.
“I cannot understand,” she said, “the nature which prefers the life you are going to—a life—”
“Of violence, and it may be of blood,” he said, completing the sentence.
“Yes,” she added, “the nature which could prefer that life to such as might be in the beautiful villa.”
“Esther, you mistake. There is no preference. Alas! the Roman is not so kind. I am going of necessity. To stay here is to die; and if I go there, the end will be the same—a poisoned cup, a bravo’s blow, or a judge’s sentence obtained by perjury. Messala and the procurator Gratus are rich with plunder of my father’s estate, and it is more important to them to keep their gains now than was their getting in the first instance. A peaceable settlement is out of reach, because of the confession it would imply. And then—then—Ah, Esther, if I could buy them, I do not know that I would. I do not believe peace possible to me; no, not even in the sleepy shade and sweet air of the marble porches of the old villa—no matter who might be there to help me bear the burdens of the days, nor by what patience of love she made the effort. Peace is not possible to me while my people are lost, for I must be watchful to find them. If I find them, and they have suffered wrong, shall not the guilty suffer for it? If they are dead by violence, shall the murderers escape? Oh, I could not sleep for dreams! Nor could the holiest love, by any stratagem, lull me to a rest which conscience would not strangle.”
“Is it so bad then?” she asked, her voice tremulous with feeling. “Can nothing, nothing, be done?”
Ben-Hur took her hand.
“Do you care so much for me?”
“Yes,” she answered, simply.
The hand was warm, and in the palm of his it was lost. He felt it tremble. Then the Egyptian came, so the opposite of this little one; so tall, so audacious, with a flattery so cunning, a wit so ready, a beauty so wonderful, a manner so bewitching. He carried the hand to his lips, and gave it back.
“You shall be another Tirzah to me, Esther.”
“Who is Tirzah?”
“The little sister the Roman stole from me, and whom I must find before I can rest or be happy.”
Just then a gleam of light flashed athwart the terrace and fell upon the two; and, looking round, they saw a servant roll Simonides in his chair out of the door. They went to the merchant, and in the after-talk he was principal.
Immediately the lines of the galley were cast off, and she swung round, and, midst the flashing of torches and the shouting of joyous sailors, hurried off to the sea—leaving Ben-Hur committed to the cause of the KING WHO WAS TO COME.
CHAPTER X
THE day before the games, in the afternoon, all Ilderim’s racing property was taken to the city, and put in quarters adjoining the Circus. Along with it the good man carried a great deal of property not of that class; so with servants, retainers mounted and armed, horses in leading, cattle driven, camels laden with baggage, his outgoing from the Orchard was not unlike a tribal migration. The people along the road failed not to laugh at his motley procession; on the other side, it was observed that, with all his irascibility, he was not in the least offended by their rudeness. If he was under surveillance, as he had reason to believe, the informer would describe the semi-barbarous show with which he came up to the races. The Romans would laugh; the city would be amused; but what cared he? Next morning the pageant would be far on the road to the desert, and going with it would be every movable thing of value belonging to the Orchard—everything save such as were essential to the success of his four. He was, in fact, started home; his tents were all folded; the dowar was no more; in twelve hours all would be out of reach, pursue who might. A man is never safer than when he is under the laugh; and the shrewd old Arab knew it.
Neither he nor Ben-Hur overestimated the influence of Messala; it was their opinion, however, that he would not begin active measures against them until after the meeting in the Circus; if defeated there, especially if defeated by Ben-Hur, they might instantly look for the worst he could do; he might not even wait for advices from Gratus. With this view, they shaped their course, and were prepared to betake themselves out of harm’s way. They rode together now in good spirits, calmly confident of success on the morrow.
On the way, they came upon Malluch in waiting for them. The faithful fellow gave no sign by which it was possible to infer any knowledge on his part of the relationship so recently admitted between Ben-Hur and Simonides, or of the treaty between them and Ilderim. He exchanged salutations as usual, and produced a paper, saying to the sheik, “I have here the notice of the editor of the games, just issued, in which you will find your horses published for the race. You will find in it also the order of exercises. Without waiting, good sheik, I congratulate you upon your vict
ory.”
He gave the paper over, and, leaving the worthy to master it, turned to Ben-Hur.
“To you also, son of Arrius, my congratulations. There is nothing now to prevent your meeting Messala. Every condition preliminary to the race is complied with. I have the assurance from the editor himself.”
“I thank you, Malluch,” said Ben-Hur.
Malluch proceeded:
“Your color is white, and Messala’s mixed scarlet and gold. The good effects of the choice are visible already. Boys are now hawking white ribbons along the streets; to-morrow every Arab and Jew in the city will wear them. In the Circus you will see the white fairly divide the galleries with the red.”
“The galleries—but not the tribunal over the Porta Pompae.”
“No; the scarlet and gold will rule there. But if we win”—Malluch chuckled with the pleasure of the thought—“if we win, how the dignitaries will tremble! They will bet, of course, according to their scorn of everything not Roman—two, three, five to one on Messala, because he is Roman.” Dropping his voice yet lower, he added, “It ill becomes a Jew of good standing in the Temple to put his money at such a hazard; yet, in confidence, I will have a friend next behind the consul’s seat to accept offers of three to one, or five, or ten—the madness may go to such height. I have put to his order six thousand shekels for the purpose.”
“Nay, Malluch,” said Ben-Hur, “a Roman will wager only in his Roman coin. Suppose you find your friend to-night, and place to his order sestertii in such amount as you choose. And look you, Malluch—let him be instructed to seek wagers with Messala and his supporters; Ilderim’s four against Messala’s.”
Malluch reflected a moment.
“The effect will be to centre interest upon your contest.”
“The very thing I seek, Malluch.”
“I see, I see.”
“Ay, Malluch; would you serve me perfectly, help me to fix the public eye upon our race—Messala’s and mine.”
Malluch spoke quickly—“It can be done.”
“Then let it be done,” said Ben-Hur.
“Enormous wagers offered will answer; if the offers are accepted, all the better.”
Malluch turned his eyes watchfully upon Ben-Hur.
“Shall I not have back the equivalent of his robbery?” said Ben-Hur, partly to himself. “Another opportunity may not come. And if I could break him in fortune as well as in pride! Our father Jacob could take no offence.”
A look of determined will knit his handsome face, giving emphasis to his further speech.
“Yes, it shall be. Hark, Malluch! Stop not in thy offer of sestertii. Advance them to talents, if any there be who dare so high. Five, ten, twenty talents; ay, fifty, so the wager be with Messala himself.”
“It is a mighty sum,” said Malluch. “I must have security.”
“So thou shalt. Go to Simonides, and tell him I wish the matter arranged. Tell him my heart is set on the ruin of my enemy, and that the opportunity hath such excellent promise that I choose such hazards. On our side be the God of our fathers. Go, good Malluch. Let this not slip.”
And Malluch, greatly delighted, gave him parting salutation, and started to ride away, but returned presently.
“Your pardon,” he said to Ben-Hur. “There was another matter. I could not get near Messala’s chariot myself, but I had another measure it; and, from his report, its hub stands quite a palm higher from the ground than yours.”
“A palm! So much?” cried Ben-Hur, joyfully.
Then he leaned over to Malluch.
“As thou art a son of Judah, Malluch, and faithful to thy kin, get thee a seat in the gallery over the Gate of Triumph, down close to the balcony in front of the pillars, and watch well when we make the turns there; watch well, for if I have favor at all, I will—Nay, Malluch, let it go unsaid! Only get thee there, and watch well.”
At that moment a cry burst from Ilderim.
“Ha! By the splendor of God! what is this?”
He drew near Ben-Hur with a finger pointing on the face of the notice.
“Read,” said Ben-Hur.
“No; better thou.”
Ben-Hur took the paper, which, signed by the prefect of the province as editor, performed the office of a modern programme, giving particularly the several divertise ments provided for the occasion. It informed the public that there would be first a procession of extraordinary splendor; that the procession would be succeeded by the customary honors to the god Consus, whereupon the games would begin; running, leaping, wrestling, boxing, each in the order stated. The names of the competitors were given, with their several nationalities and schools of training, the trials in which they had been engaged, the prizes won, and the prizes now offered; under the latter head the sums of money were stated in illuminated letters, telling of the departure of the day when the simple chaplet of pine or laurel was fully enough for the victor, hungering for glory as something better than riches, and content with it.
Over these parts of the programme Ben-Hur sped with rapid eyes. At last he came to the announcement of the race. He read it slowly. Attending lovers of the heroic sports were assured they would certainly be gratified by an Orestean struggle unparalleled in Antioch. The city offered the spectacle in honor of the consul. One hundred thousand sestertii and a crown of laurel were the prizes. Then followed the particulars. The entries were six in all—fours only permitted; and, to further interest in the performance, the competitors would be turned into the course together. Each four then received description.
“I. A four of Lysippus the Corinthian—two grays, a bay, and a black; entered at Alexandria last year, and again at Corinth, where they were winners. Lysippus, driver. Color, yellow.
“II. A four of Messala of Rome—two white, two black; victors of the Circensian as exhibited in the Circus Maximus last year. Messala, driver. Colors, scarlet and gold.
“III. A four of Cleanthes the Athenian—three gray, one bay; winners at the Isthmian last year. Cleanthes, driver. Color, green.
“IV. A four of Dicaeus the Byzantine—two black, one gray, one bay; winners this year at Byzantium. Dicaeus, driver. Color, black.
“V. A four of Admetus the Sidonian—all grays. Thrice entered at Caesarea, and thrice victors. Admetus, driver. Color, blue.
“VI. A four of Ilderim, sheik of the Desert. All bays; first race. Ben-Hur, a Jew, driver. Color, white.”
Ben-Hur, a Jew, driver!
Why that name instead of Arrius?
Ben-Hur raised his eyes to Ilderim. He had found the cause of the Arab’s outcry. Both rushed to the same conclusion.
The hand was the hand of Messala!
CHAPTER XI
EVENING was hardly come upon Antioch, when the Omphalus, nearly in the centre of the city, became a troubled fountain from which in every direction, but chiefly down to the Nymphaeum and east and west along the Colonnade of Herod, flowed currents of people, for the time given up to Bacchus and Apollo.
For such indulgence anything more fitting cannot be imagined than the great roofed streets, which were literally miles on miles of porticos wrought of marble, polished to the last degree of finish, and all gifts to the voluptuous city by princes careless of expenditure where, as in this instance, they thought they were eternizing themselves. Darkness was not permitted anywhere; and the singing, the laughter, the shouting, were incessant, and in compound like the roar of waters dashing through hollow grots, confused by a multitude of echoes.
The many nationalities represented, though they might have amazed a stranger, were not peculiar to Antioch. Of the various missions of the great empire, one seems to have been the fusion of men and the introduction of strangers to each other; accordingly, whole peoples rose up and went at pleasure, taking with them their costumes, customs, speech, and gods; and where they chose, they stopped, engaged in business, built houses, erected altars, and were what they had been at home.
There was a peculiarity, however, which could not have failed the noti
ce of a looker-on this night in Antioch. Nearly everybody wore the colors of one or other of the charioteers announced for the morrow’s race. Sometimes it was in form of a scarf, sometimes a badge; often a ribbon or a feather. Whatever the form, it signified merely the wearer’s partiality; thus, green published a friend of Cleanthes the Athenian, and black an adherent of the Byzantine. This was according to a custom, old probably as the day of the race of Orestes—a custom, by the way, worthy of study as a marvel of history, illustrative of the absurd yet appalling extremities to which men frequently suffer their follies to drag them.
The observer abroad on this occasion, once attracted to the wearing of colors, would have very shortly decided that there were three in predominance—green, white, and the mixed scarlet and gold.
But let us from the streets to the palace on the island. The five great chandeliers in the saloon are freshly lighted. The assemblage is much the same as that already noticed in connection with the place. The divan has its corps of sleepers and burden of garments, and the tables yet resound with the rattle and clash of dice. Yet the greater part of the company are not doing anything. They walk about, or yawn tremendously, or pause as they pass each other to exchange idle nothings. Will the weather be fair to-morrow? Are the preparations for the games complete? Do the laws of the Circus in Antioch differ from the laws of the Circus in Rome? Truth is, the young fellows are suffering from ennui. Their heavy work is done; that is, we would find their tablets, could we look at them, covered with memoranda of wagers—wagers on every contest; on the running, the wrestling, the boxing; on everything but the chariot-race.
And why not on that?
Good reader, they cannot find anybody who will hazard so much as a denarius with them against Messala.
There are no colors in the saloon but his.
No one thinks of his defeat.
Why, they say, is he not perfect in his training? Did he not graduate from an imperial lanista? Were not his horses winners at the Circensian in the Circus Maximus? And then—ah, yes! he is a Roman!