Ben-Hur; a tale of the Christ

by Lew Wallace

  CHAPTER III

  The first person to go out of the city upon the opening of theSheep's Gate next morning was Amrah, basket on arm. No questionswere asked her by the keepers, since the morning itself had notbeen more regular in coming than she; they knew her somebody'sfaithful servant, and that was enough for them.

  Down the eastern valley she took her way. The side of Olivet,darkly green, was spotted with white tents recently put up bypeople attending the feasts; the hour, however, was too earlyfor the strangers to be abroad; still, had it not been so, noone would have troubled her. Past Gethsemane; past the tombs atthe meeting of the Bethany roads; past the sepulchral village ofSiloam she went. Occasionally the decrepit little body staggered;once she sat down to get her breath; rising shortly, she struggledon with renewed haste. The great rocks on either hand, if they hadhad ears, might have heard her mutter to herself; could they haveseen, it would have been to observe how frequently she looked upover the Mount, reproving the dawn for its promptness; if it hadbeen possible for them to gossip, not improbably they would havesaid to each other, "Our friend is in a hurry this morning;the mouths she goes to feed must be very hungry."

  When at last she reached the King's Garden she slackened her gait;for then the grim city of the lepers was in view, extending farround the pitted south hill of Hinnom.

  As the reader must by this time have surmised, she was going toher mistress, whose tomb, it will be remembered, overlooked thewell En-Rogel.

  Early as it was, the unhappy woman was up and sitting outside,leaving Tirzah asleep within. The course of the malady had beenterribly swift in the three years. Conscious of her appearance,with the refined instincts of her nature, she kept her whole personhabitually covered. Seldom as possible she permitted even Tirzah tosee her.

  This morning she was taking the air with bared head, knowing therewas no one to be shocked by the exposure. The light was not full,but enough to show the ravages to which she had been subject.Her hair was snow-white and unmanageably coarse, falling overher back and shoulders like so much silver wire. The eyelids,the lips, the nostrils, the flesh of the cheeks, were either goneor reduced to fetid rawness. The neck was a mass of ash-coloredscales. One hand lay outside the folds of her habit rigid asthat of a skeleton; the nails had been eaten away; the joints ofthe fingers, if not bare to the bone, were swollen knots crustedwith red secretion. Head, face, neck, and hand indicated all tooplainly the condition of the whole body. Seeing her thus, it waseasy to understand how the once fair widow of the princely Hurhad been able to maintain her incognito so well through such aperiod of years.

  When the sun would gild the crest of Olivet and the Mount ofOffence with light sharper and more brilliant in that old landthan in the West, she knew Amrah would come, first to the well,then to a stone midway the well and the foot of the hill on whichshe had her abode, and that the good servant would there depositthe food she carried in the basket, and fill the water-jar afreshfor the day. Of her former plentitude of happiness, that briefvisit was all that remained to the unfortunate. She could then askabout her son, and be told of his welfare, with such bits of newsconcerning him as the messenger could glean. Usually the informationwas meagre enough, yet comforting; at times she heard he was at home;then she would issue from her dreary cell at break of day, and sittill noon, and from noon to set of sun, a motionless figure drapedin white, looking, statue-like, invariably to one point--over theTemple to the spot under the rounded sky where the old house stood,dear in memory, and dearer because he was there. Nothing else wasleft her. Tirzah she counted of the dead; and as for herself,she simply waited the end, knowing every hour of life was anhour of dying--happily, of painless dying.

  The things of nature about the hill to keep her sensitive tothe world's attractions were wretchedly scant; beasts and birdsavoided the place as if they knew its history and present use;every green thing perished in its first season; the winds warredupon the shrubs and venturous grasses, leaving to drought such asthey could not uproot. Look where she would, the view was madedepressingly suggestive by tombs--tombs above her, tombs below,tombs opposite her own tomb--all now freshly whitened in warningto visiting pilgrims. In the sky--clear, fair, inviting--one wouldthink she might have found some relief to her ache of mind; but,alas! in making the beautiful elsewhere the sun served her never sounfriendly--it did but disclose her growing hideousness. But for thesun she would not have been the horror she was to herself, nor beenwaked so cruelly from dreams of Tirzah as she used to be. The giftof seeing can be sometimes a dreadful curse.

  Does one ask why she did not make an end to her sufferings?

  THE LAW FORBADE HER!

  A Gentile may smile at the answer; but so will not a son of Israel.

  While she sat there peopling the dusky solitude with thoughts evenmore cheerless, suddenly a woman came up the hill staggering andspent with exertion.

  The widow arose hastily, and covering her head, cried, in a voiceunnaturally harsh, "Unclean, unclean!"

  In a moment, heedless of the notice, Amrah was at her feet. All thelong-pent love of the simple creature burst forth: with tears andpassionate exclamations she kissed her mistress's garments, and fora while the latter strove to escape from her; then, seeing shecould not, she waited till the violence of the paroxysm was over.

  "What have you done, Amrah?" she said. "Is it by such disobedienceyou prove your love for us? Wicked woman! You are lost; and he--yourmaster--you can never, never go back to him."

  Amrah grovelled sobbing in the dust.

  "The ban of the Law is upon you, too; you cannot return to Jerusalem.What will become of us? Who will bring us bread? O wicked, wicked Amrah!We are all, all undone alike!"

  "Mercy, mercy!" Amrah answered from the ground.

  "You should have been merciful to yourself, and by so doing beenmost merciful to us. Now where can we fly? There is no one tohelp us. O false servant! The wrath of the Lord was already tooheavy upon us."

  Here Tirzah, awakened by the noise, appeared at the door of thetomb. The pen shrinks from the picture she presented. In thehalf-clad apparition, patched with scales, lividly seamed,nearly blind, its limbs and extremities swollen to grotesquelargeness, familiar eyes however sharpened by love could nothave recognized the creature of childish grace and purity wefirst beheld her.

  "Is it Amrah, mother?"

  The servant tried to crawl to her also.

  "Stay, Amrah!" the widow cried, imperiously. "I forbid you touchingher. Rise, and get you gone before any at the well see you here.Nay, I forgot--it is too late! You must remain now and share ourdoom. Rise, I say!"

  Amrah rose to her knees, and said, brokenly and with clasped hands,"O good mistress! I am not false--I am not wicked. I bring you goodtidings."

  "Of Judah?" and as she spoke, the widow half withdrew the clothfrom her head.

  "There is a wonderful man," Amrah continued, "who has power to cureyou. He speaks a word, and the sick are made well, and even the deadcome to life. I have come to take you to him."

  "Poor Amrah!" said Tirzah, compassionately.

  "No," cried Amrah, detecting the doubt underlying the expression--"no,as the Lord lives, even the Lord of Israel, my God as well as yours,I speak the truth. Go with me, I pray, and lose no time. This morninghe will pass by on his way to the city. See! the day is at hand.Take the food here--eat, and let us go."

  The mother listened eagerly. Not unlikely she had heard of thewonderful man, for by this time his fame had penetrated everynook in the land.

  "Who is he?" she asked.

  "A Nazarene."

  "Who told you about him?"

  "Judah."

  "Judah told you? Is he at home?"

  "He came last night."

  The widow, trying to still the beating of her heart, was silentawhile.

  "Did Judah send you to tell us this?" she next asked.

  "No. He believes you dead."

  "There was a prophet once who cured a leper," the mother saidthoughtfully to Tirzah; "but he had
his power from God." Thenaddressing Amrah, she asked, "How does my son know this man sopossessed?"

  "He was travelling with him, and heard the lepers call, and sawthem go away well. First there was one man; then there were ten;and they were all made whole."

  The elder listener was silent again. The skeleton hand shook. We maybelieve she was struggling to give the story the sanction of faith,which is always an absolutist in demand, and that it was with her aswith the men of the day, eye-witnesses of what was done by the Christ,as well as the myriads who have succeeded them. She did not questionthe performance, for her own son was the witness testifying throughthe servant; but she strove to comprehend the power by which workso astonishing could be done by a man. Well enough to make inquiryas to the fact; to comprehend the power, on the other hand, it isfirst necessary to comprehend God; and he who waits for that willdie waiting. With her, however, the hesitation was brief. To Tirzahshe said,

  "This must be the Messiah!"

  She spoke not coldly, like one reasoning a doubt away, but as awoman of Israel familiar with the promises of God to her race--awoman of understanding, ready to be glad over the least sign ofthe realization of the promises.

  "There was a time when Jerusalem and all Judea were filled with astory that he was born. I remember it. By this time he should bea man. It must be--it is he. Yes," she said to Amrah, "we will gowith you. Bring the water which you will find in the tomb in a jar,and set the food for us. We will eat and be gone."

  The breakfast, partaken under excitement, was soon despatched, and thethree women set out on their extraordinary journey. As Tirzah hadcaught the confident spirit of the others, there was but one fearthat troubled the party. Bethany, Amrah said, was the town the manwas coming from; now from that to Jerusalem there were three roads,or rather paths--one over the first summit of Olivet, a secondat its base, a third between the second summit and the Mountof Offence. The three were not far apart; far enough, however,to make it possible for the unfortunates to miss the Nazarene ifthey failed the one he chose to come by.

  A little questioning satisfied the mother that Amrah knew nothingof the country beyond the Cedron, and even less of the intentionsof the man they were going to see, if they could. She discerned,also, that both Amrah and Tirzah--the one from confirmed habitsof servitude, the other from natural dependency--looked to herfor guidance; and she accepted the charge.

  "We will go first to Bethphage," she said to them. "There, if theLord favor us, we may learn what else to do."

  They descended the hill to Tophet and the King's Garden, and pausedin the deep trail furrowed through them by centuries of wayfaring.

  "I am afraid of the road," the matron said. "Better that we keepto the country among the rocks and trees. This is feast-day,and on the hill-sides yonder I see signs of a great multitudein attendance. By going across the Mount of Offence here we mayavoid them."

  Tirzah had been walking with great difficulty; upon hearing thisher heart began to fail her.

  "The mount is steep, mother; I cannot climb it."

  "Remember, we are going to find health and life. See, my child,how the day brightens around us! And yonder are women coming thisway to the well. They will stone us if we stay here. Come, be strongthis once."

  Thus the mother, not less tortured herself, sought to inspirethe daughter; and Amrah came to her aid. To this time the latterhad not touched the persons of the afflicted, nor they her; now,in disregard of consequences as well as of command, the faithfulcreature went to Tirzah, and put her arm over her shoulder, andwhispered, "Lean on me. I am strong, though I am old; and it isbut a little way off. There--now we can go."

  The face of the hill they essayed to cross was somewhat broken withpits, and ruins of old structures; but when at last they stood uponthe top to rest, and looked at the spectacle presented them overin the northwest--at the Temple and its courtly terraces, at Zion,at the enduring towers white beetling into the sky beyond--the motherwas strengthened with a love of life for life's sake.

  "Look, Tirzah," she said--"look at the plates of gold on the GateBeautiful. How they give back the flames of the sun, brightness forbrightness! Do you remember we used to go up there? Will it not bepleasant to do so again? And think--home is but a little way off.I can almost see it over the roof of the Holy of Holies; and Judahwill be there to receive us!"

  From the side of the middle summit garnished green with myrtle andolive trees, they saw, upon looking that way next, thin columns ofsmoke rising lightly and straight up into the pulseless morning,each a warning of restless pilgrims astir, and of the flight ofthe pitiless hours, and the need of haste.

  Though the good servant toiled faithfully to lighten the laborin descending the hill-side, not sparing herself in the least,the girl moaned at every step; sometimes in extremity of anguishshe cried out. Upon reaching the road--that is, the road betweenthe Mount of Offence and the middle or second summit of Olivet--shefell down exhausted.

  "Go on with Amrah, mother, and leave me here," she said, faintly.

  "No, no, Tirzah. What would the gain be to me if I were healedand you not? When Judah asks for you, as he will, what would Ihave to say to him were I to leave you?"

  "Tell him I loved him."

  The elder leper arose from bending over the fainting sufferer,and gazed about her with that sensation of hope perishing whichis more nearly like annihilation of the soul than anything else.The supremest joy of the thought of cure was inseparable from Tirzah,who was not too old to forget, in the happiness of healthful life tocome, the years of misery by which she had been so reduced in bodyand broken in spirit. Even as the brave woman was about leaving theventure they were engaged in to the determination of God, she saw aman on foot coming rapidly up the road from the east.

  "Courage, Tirzah! Be of cheer," she said. "Yonder I know is oneto tell us of the Nazarene."

  Amrah helped the girl to a sitting posture, and supported herwhile the man advanced.

  "In your goodness, mother, you forget what we are. The strangerwill go around us; his best gift to us will be a curse, if nota stone."

  "We will see."

  There was no other answer to be given, since the mother was toowell and sadly acquainted with the treatment outcasts of theclass to which she belonged were accustomed to at the hands ofher countrymen.

  As has been said, the road at the edge of which the group was postedwas little more than a worn path or trail, winding crookedly throughtumuli of limestone. If the stranger kept it, he must meet them faceto face; and he did so, until near enough to hear the cry she wasbound to give. Then, uncovering her head, a further demand of thelaw, she shouted shrilly,

  "Unclean, unclean!"

  To her surprise, the man came steadily on.

  "What would you have?" he asked, stopping opposite them not fouryards off.

  "Thou seest us. Have a care," the mother said, with dignity.

  "Woman, I am the courier of him who speaketh but once to such asthou and they are healed. I am not afraid."

  "The Nazarene?"

  "The Messiah," he said.

  "Is it true that he cometh to the city to-day?"

  "He is now at Bethphage."

  "On what road, master?"

  "This one."

  She clasped her hands, and looked up thankfully.

  "For whom takest thou him?" the man asked, with pity.

  "The Son of God," she replied.

  "Stay thou here then; or, as there is a multitude with him, take thystand by the rock yonder, the white one under the tree; and as hegoeth by fail not to call to him; call, and fear not. If thy faithbut equal thy knowledge, he will hear thee though all the heavensthunder. I go to tell Israel, assembled in and about the city,that he is at hand, and to make ready to receive him. Peace tothee and thine, woman."

  The stranger moved on.

  "Did you hear, Tirzah? Did you hear? The Nazarene is on the road,on this one, and he will hear us. Once more, my child--oh, only once!and let us to the rock. It is but a step."<
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  Thus encouraged Tirzah took Amrah's hand and arose; but as theywere going, Amrah said, "Stay; the man is returning." And theywaited for him.

  "I pray your grace, woman," he said, upon overtaking them. "Rememberingthat the sun will be hot before the Nazarene arrives, and that thecity is near by to give me refreshment should I need it, I thoughtthis water would do thee better than it will me. Take it and be ofgood cheer. Call to him as he passes."

  He followed the words by offering her a gourd full of water,such as foot-travellers sometimes carried with them in theirjourneys across the hills; and instead of placing the gift onthe ground for her to take up when he was at a safe distance,he gave it into her hand.

  "Art thou a Jew?" she asked, surprised.

  "I am that, and better; I am a disciple of the Christ who teachethdaily by word and example this thing which I have done unto you.The world hath long known the word charity without understanding it.Again I say peace and good cheer to thee and thine."

  He went on, and they went slowly to the rock he had pointed outto them, high as their heads, and scarcely thirty yards from theroad on the right. Standing in front of it, the mother satisfiedherself they could be seen and heard plainly by passers-by whosenotice they desired to attract. There they cast themselves underthe tree in its shade, and drank of the gourd, and rested refreshed.Ere long Tirzah slept, and fearing to disturb her, the others heldtheir peace.