CHAPTER XVII.
An hour later a white chiton might have been seen hanging heavily in the sultry air from the limbs of a juniper bush, that grew out of a sandy mound between two great boulders on the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee. Under the shelter of the rocks were two men, the one having on only a pair of leather trousers; the other, but for a close-fitting shirt, entirely nude. This was not the most decorous position in which to find the King of Tyre and his aristocratic nobleman; yet they both seemed supremely, even hilariously, happy. King Hiram had completed the story of his adventures; and Hanno, donning his chiton, entered upon the account of the events that had occurred recently at Tyre.
The priests, he said, after consultation, and with some misgiving as to their policy, agreed to encourage the popular belief that King Hiram had been bodily translated to some heavenly world by the favor and power of Baal. They boasted thus a greater miracle on the part of their god than those reported in the olden times of the exploits of Jehovah in Israel, who took Enoch, Moses, and Elijah away without their seeing death. For several days the Tyrian populace held high festival in devout celebration of this astounding event. The city was given over to orgies that drained much wealth into the coffers of the priests. Half the jewels of Tyre, and heaps of coins, were stored in the Temple of Melkarth. A hundred skins of choicest wine were poured into the sacred lake around the Maabed. So many men offered themselves for the priestly occupation, expecting miraculous reward, that some of the shops of the artisans were closed for lack of workmen, and many ships were delayed in sailing because they were unmanned.
Perhaps Ahimelek was the most ostentatious donor, "unless," said Hanno, "I myself surpassed him in extravagant zeal. Three ship-loads of dye-stuffs I emptied into the Egyptian harbor, empurpling the water, and staining the stones of the quay with royal tints against the time of our king's return.
"The priests were not long in discovering the real method of your disappearance, but to have confessed it would have brought the whole affair into such disrepute that the people would have torn Egbalus and the rest of us to pieces."
"But was your hand not suspected?" asked Hiram.
"I think not. I anticipated that I too should have to flee, and prepared to do so; but the falling of the foundation of the image, through the accidental burning of some wooden supports, completely blocked the passage from those who investigated it; and I have since removed every royal rag you left in the vault beyond.
"Egbalus summoned a few of the more cautious and desperate, among whom I was surprised to find myself, and revealed his own view and policy. The shrewd old fox was certain that you had escaped by some ruse. You must be tracked and killed, even if you had gone to where the Nile begins in the melting of the mountains, or had become a savage in the islands of tin. Priests were despatched to Greece, to Susa, to Damascus, to Memphis, and Thebes. A dozen are tracking this Jews' land. I volunteered in such fine frenzy—this fresh gash on my breast is the mark of my vow—that Egbalus hugged me to his villainous heart, and called me a true son of Baal, and offered me the fairest girl born of his concubine Tissa for wife when I returned.
"I thought to go out alone. But I knew little of these inland roads, so yoked myself with old Abdemon, the shrewdest of all the priests. He was poor in tramping, and weak of arm, but had the wiliest head for this sort of business. He knew every path in the Jews' land. I felt sure that he would get your foot-prints, unless you had taken to flight in the air; so I joined with him. He struck your trail at once. He scented you near the crater of Giscala, and put the two devils you spoke of on guard there, while we watched here by the sea."
"He was drowned when the boat sank?" asked Hiram.
"Yes, he sank like a stone. If he had swum a stroke I would have choked him in the water. Indeed, when I saw your boat go down I drew a dagger on him, but before I could use it our boat was in the same straits."
"But what of Zillah?"
"There is nothing to report, except what was known to all before the day of the sacrifice. Her father had made a close alliance with Egbalus. Believing that you were doomed, he offered his daughter to your cousin Rubaal, and pledged the same dowry as he had pledged to you."
"That shall never be!" cried Hiram with impatient fury. "I will return to Tyre, steal my way into the city, cut the throats of these wretches, and flee with my betrothed."
"You shall return, but not now."
"Why not now? I cannot, I will not, wander about like a cowardly fugitive."
"Wait at least, my king, until you get the mail on your hand to strike the great blow that will shatter all this horrid tyranny at once. No harm can come to Zillah. It was because I knew your hot blood and quick determination that I sought more eagerly to find you, and prevent your sudden return. Trust me in Tyre. The marriage with Rubaal cannot take place until the next festival of Astarte and Tammuz. A hundred things may happen before that. Patience! and then not mere vengeance, King Hiram, but your restoration, and the renewed splendor of your power! I believe in it, and if the gods will not send it, we will make it. Loving you as I do, I am not risking my life merely for yours, but for your crown as well. Tyre must be saved, made rich, powerful, the mistress of Sidon, the queen of the Great Sea, the conqueror of—"
"Peace! peace! good Hanno. Let's first think of how to save a whole skin, instead of gilding a new crown. But see! your boat has floated, and is drifting this way."
Hanno looked sharply at the distant object.
"And, by the mouth of Dagon! old Abdemon is on her, clinging to her bottom."
"I will smash his skull with the very stone I had selected for yours," cried the almost frantic king. "If I cannot dispense justice in my own kingdom, I can here."
"No, no," said Hanno; "leave him to me. Get you gone out of sight. If he has seen you I will put him out of the way. If he has not seen you, he will confirm the report that you were drowned. That will recall all the priests from pursuit, and leave the field free for us to work. Hide away!"
Hanno plunged into the sea, and swam to the floating wreck. Abdemon was barely alive. He had ceased to cling, and was lying limp across the bottom of the upturned boat. The sea had subsided, else he had been washed off. It was nearly another hour before Hanno was able to work the wreck to the beach and carry the nearly unconscious priest ashore.
As Abdemon recovered his senses, it was plain that he had seen nothing of what had occurred.
"The Cabeiri have avenged Baal," cried he. "I could have died willingly after I saw the sea swallow up the traitorous king, but I could not bear the thought of being myself drowned in the same water. Baal be praised! Baal be praised!"
"And now," suggested Hanno, "we must hasten back to Tyre with the news. The sooner the search ceases, and the priests return, the less danger of suspicion by the people. Baal has taken his offering, whether by fire or water it matters not that the crowd should know."
"Baal be praised!" echoed Abdemon.
"Could you not return alone?" asked Hanno. "I, as a new priest, and one assigned by our most worshipful chief to the superintendency of our temple property, would learn of the practices of worship among these tribes of Ammon and Moab. And then I would visit Jerusalem, where these Jews are rebuilding their temple. I may learn much that will add to the splendor and impressiveness of our worship."
After some further consultation Hanno's plans were approved by his fellow-priest. They talked about the renovation of temples and the coming glory of the priestly guild, when the wealth of Ahimelek should augment the treasury of Melkarth.
Near nightfall a fisherman rowed Hanno and Abdemon across the upper end of the Sea of Galilee to one of the little hamlets there, and under the starlight he brought Hanno back to the eastern shore.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The veracious chronicler of the adventures of King Hiram is compelled to pass over in silence a period of several months. As certain rivers disappear, and flow for a distance beneath the ground, so the course of events, as directed by the discreet and wary Hanno, was for a while inscrutable. We will follow it, however, from the point where it came again into the daylight of observation.
Since men began to travel on the earth, innkeepers have been noted for the courtesy, tact, and assiduity with which they have reaped the rewards of their business. On a certain day Solomon Ben Eli, innkeeper at Jericho, in the valley of the Lower Jordan, found all the above-named qualities of his disposition exercised to the utmost. This was the day before the opening of the annual Feast of Tabernacles at Jerusalem, during the seven days of which celebration the men from all parts of the land came together at the Sacred City.
The hostelry at Jericho—called Beth Elisha, in honor of the prophet whose miraculous cruse of salt once healed the spring hard by, which now supplied the town with delightful water—was a long, low building, rambling, and diverse as the various generations which had successively built upon it. During the night all its rooms and ingles had been crowded with pilgrims from up the Jordan and beyond it. Early in the morning, long before the sun had looked over the beetling cliffs of Moab, the multitude poured forth into the court-yard. They were clad in gay garments of many colors, and were not unlike the variously plumed doves which came out of their adjacent cotes, and filled the air with their flapping wings and querulous cooing. The shed that enclosed the opposite side of the yard discharged a more turbulent crowd of horses and camels, asses and mules, which were kicking and rumping one another in the attempt to get their noses into the great stone trough that stood in the centre of the court. The crisp air resounded with the unedifying matins of mingled grunts, neighs, and brays, which were far from being reduced to harmony by the shouts of the drivers.
It was easier for the host to seem ubiquitous than it was for him to command in himself such a variety of tempers as the occasion required. He must placate those who grumbled at their reckoning; hasten his laggard servants; adjudicate the quarrels of guests over the uncertain ownership of bits of harness; must smile, yet frown; beam knowingly, yet knit his brows in simulated perplexity; be patient, yet keep the sharpest eye and quickest tongue; and shift all these aspects in such rapid succession that they seemed to be simultaneous. We may forgive this prince of innkeepers if for a moment he did not maintain to perfection his manifold part. Such was the moment when a servant announced to him that Rabbi Shimeal, the most noted man in the synagogue at Jericho, would speak with him at the gate.
"A pretty time of day for him to come! I'll warrant he has been up all night owling it over some verse of the law. Or he wants a gift for the synagogue. Tell him his affairs must wait until I can get this holy crowd off for the Temple," was Solomon Ben Eli's petulant response.
The servant soon returned with the statement that the Rabbi Shimeal must have his assistance in providing a beast to convey to Jerusalem no less a personage than Ezra, the Great Scribe, who was a guest at the rabbi's house, and whose animal had given out under the terrible heat of the previous day, as he had journeyed through the villages of the Jordan plain, pursuing his holy work of inspecting the copies of the Law used in the newly established synagogues.
Solomon Ben Eli was shocked at this news, as if an angel's wing had brushed his face.
"Heaven forgive me!" said he, making low obeisance before his servant, in obliviousness to the fact that that son of Gibeon was not the great man of God himself.
"But this is unfortunate," he added, rubbing his hands nervously. "I have not a horse left, nor a camel, and not even an ass."
The attention of the bystanders being drawn to the host's dilemma, a marvellous spirit of sympathy with him and of devotion to Ezra was instantly displayed. Every one urged upon his neighbor the duty of self-sacrifice, as if each were ashamed of the others for allowing the Great Scribe's detention or even inconvenience.
"If my horse was strong and handsome, like yours," said one, "I would gallop at once to the rabbi's. Mine is but a spavined beast, and it would be a disgrace for the holy man of God to bestride him."
"I would instantly offer my steed," responded the other, "but he is poorly broken, and the Scribe—be it reverently spoken—is too old to control him. I could never forgive myself if my beast were the cause of Ezra's breaking his holy neck among the rocks of Cherith."
A young man stood by who was noticeable from the fact that his garments were richer in texture than those of most of the pilgrims, though he was not arrayed for the festival. His cloak, which he drew closely around him as a protection from the chill morning air, was that of a traveller. Beneath it he wore a belt, which supported both a sword and an inkhorn, and thus indicated the trade of merchant. The short black beard about his lower features was balanced by a head-dress of black silk, which was bound about his brows with a purple cord, and fell down upon the back of his neck and shoulders. He was plainly a Phœnician, but confessed that many months had elapsed since he had been to the coast. For his identification and safety from the imposition of petty officials in the various lands he might have occasion to traverse in following his trade, he carried a letter issued by King Hiram of Tyre, and bearing the royal seal. Similar letters were borne as passports by all the captains of vessels and masters of caravans who represented the genuine business houses in the cities of Phœnicia; and by these credentials they were distinguished from the irresponsible adventurers who, in the convenient disguise of travelling merchants, infested all those countries.
The young merchant, observing the perplexity of Solomon, the host, addressed him:
"If his Excellency the Great Scribe will accept the courtesy of a stranger, let him take any of my beasts."
"Thanks, noble Marduk!" replied the innkeeper, in grateful relief. "But I regret that my own people are thus rebuked by a Gentile."
"Nay," replied Marduk, "I would not rebuke your people. They have each only one riding-beast, while I have many. My animals are lightly laden, and we can distribute the burden of one upon the others."
"And, I bethink me, the Scribe will ride upon nothing but an ass," replied Solomon. "He cites the growing infirmities of years as his excuse. I will convey your courteous offer to the rabbi."
"And bid him say to the Scribe," added the Phœnician, "that if he can delay his departure until the crowd has preceded us, my party will gladly bear him company."
CHAPTER XIX.
An hour later the inn-yard was deserted, except by a single group of persons who, notwithstanding their exceedingly diverse appearances, were preparing to depart together. There was the party of Marduk, which, besides the merchant himself, consisted of Eliezar, a Damascene, a shrewd tradesman to whom were intrusted the details of the business; and there were half a score of others who filled the various offices of the travelling camp—cook, tent-maker, camel-drivers, muleteers, and the like. With their clattering tongues and jangling accoutrements, as they ranged their various beasts for the journey, they were in unique contrast with the company of Jews who had accepted their convoy.
Chief among the latter was Ezra the Scribe. He was slight in natural stature, which was further diminished by the bowing weight of years. Long gray forelocks hung down from his temples and mingled with his beard. His forehead was high and straight. His face showed the incipient emaciation of advancing years, being sunken beneath the cheek-bones. Restless gray eyes twinkled in their deep setting, and suggested his undiminished brightness of intelligence. His whole aspect betokened great amiability and kindliness of disposition, united, however, with rigid firmness of conviction and powers of patient endurance. One who was over-critical in reading the countenance might perhaps have pronounced it lacking in indications of that self-assertion and daring which fit a man for leadership in troublous times. Marduk said to himself: "That man would never make a soldier; though he might make a martyr."
The Scribe was accompanied by two young men. One was Malachi, whose face, though not beautiful, was strangely prepossessing. The deep weather-tinge did not take from it a sunny brightness, a sort of translucency due to habitual high and pure thinking. His head, however, seemed to overweight his body. His eyes were large, and wide open; and, while really fixed upon one's face, gave the impression of being focused upon something beyond or within one. His brows were heavy, and, at times, seemed to project until they dropped new shadows upon his face, whose lines contracted under the intensity of painful thoughts. As Marduk afterwards noticed, Malachi was often absent-minded; indeed, was never entirely otherwise. While engaging freely in conversation, he was never fully engaged by what was said; and, though he contributed more than most men to the elucidation of various subjects, one felt that he reserved more than he gave; that he was a critic rather than a participant in what was going on. He seemed to be two persons; the greater personality unexpressed, but observant and waiting.
Marduk was not surprised at the innkeeper's information that Malachi was the favorite pupil of Ezra, and that the Scribe did not hesitate to pronounce the young man's spiritual discernment as something akin to the prophetic gift. He even had said that, when he prayed for the renovation of Israel, he could not avoid associating his hopes in some way with the career of his young disciple.
Malachi's companion was in every respect diverse. Marduk noticed first of all this man's fine physique. He was robust and muscular; round-headed; red-haired; rollicking, yet quick-tempered; impudent at one moment, and apologetic the next. For instance, while Malachi reverently bowed his head, and waited until Ezra was first seated on his beast before mounting his own, his young comrade seemed to forget his obeisance, and, without ceremony, almost lifted the Scribe in his strong arms, and placed him in the high saddle upon the rump of the ass. Then, at a bound, he was astride his own restless charger.
Solomon Ben Eli whispered to Marduk that this young man was Manasseh, grandson of the High Priest Eliashib; who might one day come into that office himself—that is, if he could curb his restless disposition as effectively as he curbed his steed.
The good host also ventured the further information that Ezra loved Manasseh, and had said that he was "only like the Sea of Galilee, which often hides its transparent depth beneath a ruffled surface."
Solomon added to this his own criticism: "If Manasseh once settles down, he will make just the man to reform Israel. He has immense will and courage, and draws the best young blood of Jerusalem with him. But if he does not change, he will be only like a stout centre-pole of a tent that is not well set, tottering in the wind, and endangering the whole, however strong may be the cords and stakes. It is a pity that he and Malachi cannot be rolled into one, be thoroughly mixed, and then be evenly divided into two again, as the flour and the butter in the making of two cakes."
Solomon parted with his guests, as they passed from his gate, with that versatile courtesy which innkeepers and politicians alone acquire to perfection. He reverently kissed the hand of the Scribe. He bowed with great respect to Malachi. He gave Manasseh a whisper that provoked his merriest laugh. But he pressed his hand heartily with Marduk's—perhaps the sensation of the merchant's generous darics had not yet left his own palm.
The cavalcade once on the road, Ezra made his grateful acknowledgment to the Phœnician for the use of his beast.
"I would you had selected a nobler animal!" said Marduk, smiling at the picture of the greatest man of the Jewish nation sceptred with a donkey-punching stick, having declined the service of an attendant to propel the beast from behind.
"The little ass and I will be good friends," replied Ezra, facetiously. "His short steps will not jostle my thoughts. An attendant might make havoc in my meditations by punching him at an unfortunate moment."
Then he more seriously added: "Know, good Marduk, that the ass is a most honorable beast. There is a prediction among us Hebrews that, when our Great King shall come, he will make his triumphant entry into Jerusalem riding upon an ass. And, besides," resuming his pleasantry, "our Psalmist says, 'A horse is a vain thing for safety,' as you will be apt to find out before we get through the rocky ravine between this and Enshemesh, unless your steed's feet have been trained like those of the goats."
"I am told that the way before us is noted for the license taken by robbers," said Marduk. "My company will therefore be a safe escort."
"I accept your company heartily," replied Ezra, "but will need no protection. It is now many years since I came from Babylon. I then refused to ask of the Great King an escort of soldiers, for the hand of our God is upon all them for good that seek him. From that day I have never borne a weapon, nor had an armed attendant. I have gone safely throughout the land, and even among the Jews scattered abroad, and have found no evil; nor will I ever.
"But the route we are taking will be of interest to you, I think, without the hazard of carnal adventure. The deep gorge we are entering, and up which we must climb some three thousand cubits before we reach the high ground of Olivet, takes its name from the brook Cherith, and is famous as having been the hiding-place of our prophet Elijah, where he was fed by ravens during a terrible famine that came upon our land according to his prediction. It was during the reign of King Ahab and his Sidonian wife, Jezebel, a priestess of Astarte, who made Israel to sin in following Baal. But pardon this unkind allusion to the worship of your people. I would not wound another's convictions, however strongly I might hold my own."
"Do not apologize for it," replied Marduk. "One should speak of his faith freely in his own land; and I think also in all lands. Therefore, I venture to make an argument for the Phœnician faith, assuming the recent news from the coast to be true. Your land is famous for its miracles, but Tyre just now seems the special arena for divine exploits."
"You refer, doubtless, to the alleged translation of King Hiram?" replied Ezra. "I have not investigated the story; nor do I think one needs to do so in order to judge of it. It is, even in its own assumption, totally different from the miracles of Israel. Ours were openly wrought by God, with his high hand and outstretched arm. All people could judge them; as the dividing waters of the Red Sea and Jordan, the sun standing still in heaven, and the like. But the marvel of Tyre was wrought, I am told, within a cordon of priests who carefully surrounded the place. Now, a miracle wrought for priests is apt to be a priest-wrought miracle. But—"
The conversation was interrupted by Marduk's horse suddenly taking fright, losing his footing on the narrow path, and nearly precipitating its rider into the brook Cherith, which gleamed, a tiny thread of white water, far below. As by dexterous management he enabled the horse to recover himself, Marduk laughingly admitted that he was enough of a Jew now to believe the Psalmist's saying about the horse being a vain thing for safety, at least in such places as this.
"But what have we here?" he cried, leaping from his beast. "This earth did not give way itself. The path has been dug under, and only the surface shell left. It is a prepared avalanche; and, by the rays of Baal! there is an ambushment below. See! the villains are skulking back into the hills. They were to tumble us and our baggage down there, and then pluck us at their leisure."
Ezra raised his hands in prayer, and repeated: "We thank thee, O Lord, for the fulfilment of thy promise through thy servant Moses: 'Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler. He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.'"
The Phœnician was as much impressed with the beauty and tranquillity of the Scribe's faith as with the horrible catastrophe that had so nearly overwhelmed them; especially as he recalled Ezra's statement that so his God had always delivered him.
CHAPTER XX.
From this point of the journey Marduk insisted on riding ahead with Manasseh, lest new dangers might await them. That sort of clairvoyance which generous souls have in detecting congenial spirits quickly put these two young men at ease with each other. Their horses were not unmatched in strength and nerve, and caught from their riders a sense of good-fellowship. Scarcely waiting their masters' will, they dashed together up the steep ascents, raced across the open spaces, and waited impatiently with tossing manes and pawing hoofs for the laggard train. Their riders ran many a tilt of wit and braggadocio, rivalling each other in their stories of adventure. The merchant related exploits in many lands; enough to have made the reputation of a veteran soldier, sailor, and merchant combined.
"It is a pity you are not a Jew," said Manasseh. "We have some quick blood at Jerusalem that would mix well with yours. You see this dagger!" tossing a bright blade into the air, and catching it deftly by the handle. "Father Ezra there does not know that his good boy goes armed. I keep this just as a memento of an escapade some of us youngsters made from the walls of Jerusalem one night. We sacked a camp of Samaritans who had come too near us and blocked the road to the north gate. Every day these half-breed marauders sent some insult to our people; but never after that night. Nehemiah, our governor, thought that he and Ezra had prayed them away; and so these saints stole our credit."
"I am part Jew," replied Marduk, "for I belong to all nations. See, here are my credentials!" producing a handful of coins. "The golden ring of Egypt, the double-stater of Greece, the daric of Persia, and the shekel of you Jews. One metal, many shapes; so man is one, nations and customs many; and, for all that you and I know, one God, and many notions of him. El, Bel, Baal, Jove, Jehovah, the same metal in thought, but stamped with different dies. All gods are one."
"Say rather that One God is all," interposed Malachi, who had ridden up just in time to catch the last sentence.
The party halted for rest and lunch at the upper end of the ravine of Cherith. The travellers were awed into silence by the view here presented. The ravine is a jagged cut in the earth, nearly five hundred cubits deep, in places scarcely wider than the tiny brook that glides like a shining serpent at its bottom, and winds down, with a thousand turns, for miles, until it debouches between awful cliffs into the open valley of the Jordan.
Refreshments were furnished from the well-stocked hampers of the merchant. The mules and horses were unladen and tethered. The ungainly camels crouched down for relief under their loads. After an hour's rest the Jews proposed to take their leave of their kind patron of the road, and hasten on to Jerusalem. The merchant's beasts should not be hurried, but Manasseh avowed that Ezra would rather die of exhaustion on the road than be left outside the gates of Jerusalem after sunset on this particular night, which was that of the preparation for the great Feast of Tabernacles.
The parting of Marduk and Manasseh was not until the latter had exacted a promise from the Phœnician that he would become his guest while in the city. The Jews joined with others of their nation, pilgrims to the city, who had halted for midday rest, and who now made their way towards Enshemesh joyous with their songs, such as:
"I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord. Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem, whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, unto the testimony of Israel, to give thanks unto the name of the Lord."
Scarcely had the pilgrims disappeared over the hill-tops when two men were observed climbing up through the ravine. They rode upon mules. One was old; the other a stalwart youth. Eliezar, the Damascene steward of Marduk's camp, recognized the elder one as he drew near, and ran out to meet him.
"Why, it is Ben Yusef of Giscala! And this is the fine lad whom I last saw the height of a kid! The air of Galilee grows big men, as it grows big hills."
"But what brings Eliezar here?" asked Ben Yusef. "Was not the northern country of Syria large enough for the sale of your merchandise?"
In a few words Eliezar narrated how that, from being a private peddler of such goods as a meagre purse could buy, he had come to be the viceroy, satrap, tirshatha, prime-minister, or whatever term of speech might suit the office, of no less notable a merchant than Marduk, famed in many lands for his great enterprise—"Marduk of Tyre."
"Of Tyre!" exclaimed Ben Yusef. "Then Elnathan and I would speak with him."
Marduk had eyed the new-comers with that keenness which a merchant acquires in recognizing the sort of men it will pay to deal with, and had turned away to give orders for the reloading of his beasts, but approached the strangers on hearing Ben Yusef's remark.
"I am Marduk of Tyre, and your servant," said he, bowing with indifferent courtesy.
"My lad has acquaintance there, of which he would inquire," replied the old man.
Elnathan walked a little way with Marduk; and, as they turned, the latter was heard to say:
"I can give no information, for my route has been from Egypt across the desert of Arabia. Nor can I offer you encouragement, since it may be some moons yet before I again visit the coast. But if your Galilean flocks are well fleeced we may some day strike a bargain for their wool."
Ben Yusef and his son, with suitable apologies for their intrusion upon the great merchant's privacy, and with familiar parting from Eliezar, went their way towards Jerusalem. Marduk's party followed.
CHAPTER XXI.
The last glow had faded from the western sky as Marduk looked towards it over the shoulder of Olivet. But there burst upon the view of the Phœnician a scene of weird magnificence. The stars above seemed to reflect themselves in hundreds of lights that gleamed along the hill-side, and from the valley between Olivet and the city. In sombre contrast with these, the walls of Jerusalem, with their regular outline broken by the temple and scattered turrets, rose black as a rayless night. But as Marduk gazed, the temple suddenly blazed as if with volcanic brilliance. It seemed like some massive altar in the midst of flames that had fallen upon it out of heaven. Every graceful architectural line was revealed, every burnished plate of gold and brass glowed in the fire. Only the outer surface of the city walls remained unillumined, and in their immense mass of darkness made the contrast startling and sublime.
Marduk's awe did not stifle his Phœnician curiosity; and, leaving his men to arrange his camp, he turned towards a couple of Jews who were engaged in erecting a booth near him. They proved to be Ben Yusef and his son. The venerable man was evidently inclined to be communicative, if one might judge from the low tones in which they conversed, as they walked among the booths and back into the shadows of Olivet. Anon they stood by Marduk's tent, while the Jew pointed out the objects of interest, and explained their significance.
"There are in the court of the temple two enormous lamp standards, each fifty cubits in height, and supporting four immense basins of oil. The garments worn by the priests during the year have been twisted into great wicks, and now at a signal have been suddenly lighted. See, too, hundreds of hand-torches are being waved by priests who crowd the court! The night gloom that first hung over the city symbolled the moral and spiritual darkness which we Jews believe hangs over all the nations, as our prophet Isaiah said, 'Behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people.' The bursting illumination, throwing its glare for leagues through the night, expresses our faith that the truth of Jehovah shall shine forth from Judaism and fill all lands, as Isaiah also says, 'Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. And the Gentiles shall come to thy light and kings to the brightness of thy rising.'"
"But what mean the sudden shouting and singing?" asked Marduk.
"Listen closely," replied Ben Yusef, "and you will hear the Levites, who stand on the fifteen steps leading from the women's court. They strike their harps and cymbals as they chant the fifteen Songs of Degrees, some of which you may have heard the pilgrims singing as they were coming up hither. See! they are dancing over there; and soon the whole city, and these multitudes outside, will join the innocent revelry. It is a sin not to be merry to-night. The man whose griefs have made him shun the face of his fellows must be neighborly now. The stranger must make a comrade of the one next to him. Our God is a happy divinity, and men may share the joy of the Lord."
Marduk did not sleep that night. Most of the hours were spent in the company of Ben Yusef and Elnathan. They wandered among the booths, which the Jew said were everywhere, not only in the fields, but in the city, wherever there was space enough in the streets, in the house-courts, on the roofs, on the walls. Indeed, the stone city and the stony hills about were mantled with an artificial forest of palm and pine, olive and myrtle.
"But," asked Marduk, "how dare so many Jews leave their homes to come hither in such times as these? The Samaritans and other enemies of your nation must take advantage of this."
"No," replied Ben Yusef; "our God, who stopped the mouths of the lions when our prophet Daniel was thrown to them by Nebuchadnezzar, stops the wrath of our enemies at such times. When our three annual festivals were set up, ages ago, in the days of Moses, Jehovah promised: 'Neither shall any man desire thy land when thou shalt go up to appear before the Lord thy God thrice in the year.' I leave my own little girl alone in my tent in far Galilee, fearing no evil for her until I return."
All night long joy echoed from the walls and over the hills about Jerusalem. With the first pale shimmer of daylight over Olivet came a hush. The people stood by their booths, with faces turned towards the city, in silent expectation. At length a sweet note floated out from the temple precinct.
Ben Yusef pointed to the distant forms of two priests who, leaving the temple, advanced eastward across the court, carrying great silver trumpets. Reaching the wall, they suddenly turned their backs to the east, and shouted in loud tones these words: "Our fathers once turned their back to the sanctuary, and their faces to the east, and worshipped the sun-god: but we will lift our eyes to Jehovah."
Soon a thick column of smoke rose from the great altar in the temple court, and outspread above the sacred precinct like a canopy, its edges fraying in the scarcely moving air, and, as Marduk said, "floating some fringes of its blessing to the good heathen beyond."
"Yes," replied Ben Yusef, "for during the week of festivity seventy bullocks will be offered—a round number for all the nations of the world."
CHAPTER XXII.
Scarcely had the Phœnician inspected his own camp, and eaten his breakfast, when Manasseh approached. His coming was heralded by a commotion among the people, who everywhere recognized the aristocratic descendant of the high priest, his well-known freedom of life and liberalism in opinion rendering him at once the most popular and unpopular of the young men of Jerusalem. He insisted upon acting the part of host to Marduk, or at least of guide for the day.
"Our Jewish customs will interest you; and, in turn, I would learn from you the ideas of the many peoples you have come to know in your travels, so that our obligations will be mutual and equal, to say nothing of your courtesy yesterday," was the argument by which Manasseh overcame the Phœnician's scruples. Together the young men mingled in the crowds, each carrying the lulabh, a bunch of myrtle and palm entwined with a willow spray.
At the temple they saw the two processions, one headed by a priest bearing in a golden pitcher water from the pool of Siloam, the other by a priest carrying a pitcher of wine, which they poured together at the base of the altar. Manasseh explained this beautiful ceremonial as an oblation of gratitude for the rain that fertilized the fields and for the yield of the vineyards.
They afterwards joined with a multitude in front of a raised platform, from which was an almost continuous reading of the ancient laws of Israel by different persons. The readings were only interspersed with brief interpretations by rabbis of repute.
The deepest interest was manifested when the venerable Scribe, Ezra, mounted the platform, accompanied by Malachi. The former began to speak, but his voice was not heard beyond the group immediately about him. It was evident, however, that he had said little beyond commending to the people his disciple Malachi.
Marduk was surprised at the awe with which the young interpreter was received. But this surprise did not remain as Malachi spoke. Such simplicity combined with elevation of thought, such reasonableness with rapt fervor, such practicality with deep spirituality, the Phœnician had never heard before. He felt the spell of the speaker's eloquence, and was about to join the crowd as they murmured their Amen to a special appeal to conscience and faith, when his thoughts were interrupted by Manasseh's hand upon his arm:
"Come, good Marduk, this can hardly interest you. You are to break bread with me."
To Marduk's hesitation to inflict his heathen presence upon the household of the high priest at such a time, Manasseh explained that he lived by himself during the festival. He had pitched his booth upon a house-top. According to custom, every Jew was to keep open table.
"And lest your humility should again object to becoming my guest," said he, laughing, "I will tell you that we are enjoined at such times not to invite our own family or particular circle, but to share our provender with the stranger, the poor, and the fatherless. And you are a stranger—I hope neither poor nor fatherless."
"Yes, especially poor," said Marduk, jingling coins in his wallet. "So with that understanding I will go with you, provided you will also feed figs to a spavined ass if we find one on the way."
"There is one of our customs I do not like," replied Manasseh, drawing his arm through that of his friend, "especially when I am hungry. An old saw has it that devout people will hasten to worship, but return to their homes with lingering feet; so you see all these people crawling along when their bellies would fly. Mine is as empty as the whale's was when he had ejected Jonah."
As they walked leisurely the Phœnician remarked: "If there are bigots among the Jews, you are not one of them."
"I trust not; but it is because I believe more than most Jews."
"Believe more? One would imagine less."
"On the other hand, I believe more. I believe the Lord is too great a God to be confined to Jews' notions. They belittle him. I love Ezra for personal reasons; but I wish the Lord would take him to heaven in a chariot of fire, if he would only take along our Tirshatha, Nehemiah, to drive it. Nehemiah, you know, is in Susa now. I hope the Persian king will keep him there. Nehemiah is a bigot. He insists on driving out of Jerusalem every woman whose blood is not of the purest Jewish stock, forcibly divorcing her from her husband, and disinheriting her children."
"What argument can they advance for such harsh measures?"
"Oh, the need of pure blood; the fact that Solomon got into trouble through marrying foreign wives; the fact that the children of mothers who were Gentiles would not be stiff enough in keeping up strictly Jewish customs. I admit that the mixing of bloods has not strengthened pure Judaism of late, and that some whom Nehemiah calls the half-breeds are pulling up as fast as he plants. I am not a rebel, not a traitor to my people, because I want to see the Jewish religion broadened and liberalized, until you Baalites even can worship at our altars. Our old prophecies speak of our light enlightening the Gentiles. But how can that be if we shut our light in the stone lantern of our own notions and customs?"
"Does Malachi hold closely with Ezra and Nehemiah?" asked Marduk.
"That I cannot say. I hope not, for Malachi is the coming power in Jerusalem. He seems inspired at times; and, for that matter, he once told me he thought he was; that he felt the impulse of thoughts that came from beyond himself. He said something like this: 'At times my holiest feelings seem unholy; my highest thoughts grovelling. A sense of the law of the Lord binds my sense of right, as a vast crystal holds within it some speck of dirt that glistens.' He says, also, he has impressions he cannot utter; as if he stood in the presence of some glorious being who was coming to be the King of Israel. He cannot shake off the feeling. But here we are at my booth."
CHAPTER XXIII.
The two young men turned in at a little gateway leading from the street, entered a small court, and climbed a stone stairway that ran up the outside of the building to the roof. A booth of four upright poles, covered with brush and leaves, made a shelter from the noon sun that was beating hot upon the stone parapets. The repast showed that Manasseh was as free in living as he was in thinking. The richest condiments and wines of various vintages were used in a familiar manner, and evinced that Manasseh was in no need of instruction in the art of feasting from even the travelled Marduk.
The perfect day overhead, the magnificent landscape of the hills roundabout Jerusalem, a Samaritan banner far off towards the north, which waved its harmless defiance to the streamers that floated from the hundreds of booths in the Valley of Jehosaphat and on the slopes of Olivet—and perhaps the generous flow and mixture of wines—warmed the hearts of the young feasters into familiarity and confidence.
"Manasseh, you would make a superb high priest, only your Urim and Thummim should have, instead of the twelve stones for the tribes of Israel, seventy gems for all the rest of the heathen world, for whom, I understand, you offer seventy bullocks during this festival. Now, I am in the merchandise business, and can trick you out with them. But I am afraid these stiff Jews will never give you the breastplate, unless you repent. Tell me frankly why you show so much heat about the Jews not being allowed to marry foreign wives. Your blood is clear enough from Aaron."
"I stand for the principle of the thing, Marduk."
"That is good," replied the Phœnician. "But perhaps you would like a heathen girl thrown in along with the principle, as this good Bethlehem wine is spiced with something that grew in Arabia. A handsome fellow like you, who goes prowling about among the Samaritans, must have seen fairer flesh than is caged in Jerusalem. I suspect that some Moabitish Ruth, like the one your great Boaz married, has tempted your patriotism. Eh? Or some Egyptian, like the priest's daughter your mighty Moses picked up? Why not start a harem of beauties, as Solomon did? Come now, tell me your secret—for you show no such gall about any other subject."
Manasseh got up, walked to the parapet and leaned over, as if searching for his answer in the stony street below. Coming back to the booth, he slapped Marduk on the shoulder, with—
"Well, since you have guessed, I will confess it. And, Marduk, to be bold about it, you can help me."
"I? Why, of course I can. I have decked out many a maiden, and can present you yours in all the elegance of the Queen of Sheba, who, you say, fell in love with that other gay Jerusalemite, King Solomon. What will you have? Pearls from the lands beyond the Euphrates? Diamonds that were once in the crown of Kassandane, the blind queen of Cyrus the Great? Silks from Damascus, dyed in the purple of Tyre? Ointments and perfumes of the newest fashion in Athens? Give me your list."
"I wish I could buy these," said Manasseh. "But you forget that we Jews did not steal the treasury of Darius, when we came back from Babylon. Yet there is something more valuable than any of these I would get first."
"Why, what an ambitious fellow you are! I have mentioned the rarest trinkets in the world. What more would you have? Name the article: I will try to get it."
"Agreed! get out your tablets."
"Agreed! what is it?"
"I want the girl."
"Ho! ho!" laughed Marduk. "Your love is like heat-lightning; it has flashed, but struck nothing. You would like me to bring you a statue, such as one of our Tyrian kings made, which was of such marvellous beauty that it came to life, and jumped into his arms."
"No," said Manasseh, "mine has life, but I cannot get her into my arms."
"Hum-m-m!" ejaculated Marduk, taking his turn in walking to the parapet and looking over.
He brushed some troubled wrinkles from his brow as he turned towards his friend. He slapped Manasseh on the shoulder.
"I will do it, if possible," said he.
Manasseh had closely watched Marduk's action, and baited a question with a similar suspicion.
"Would you not like me to help you? I have wondered what led a thriving merchant like you to go through our land; for our people are too poor to buy your wares. Some Jewish maiden? Eh? Let's make a compact. I will help you to yours, if you will help me to mine. There is lawful precedent for your marrying a woman of my race. In our annals we read that when King Solomon would build the temple, King Hiram of Tyre sent him a famous artisan, who was also named Hiram—for it seems that half the babies of your town are called by that name: I wonder how you escaped the common title—and this workman, Hiram, was the son of a Tyrian man by a Jewish woman. And here is Tobiah, the Satrap of the Ammonites, who is now honored with rooms in our temple, much to the grievance of Ezra. He married the daughter of one of our best citizens, Shechaniah. So tell me the dove that you are swirling through our skies to pounce upon, and I will help you in any honorable way. If Nehemiah should return, he could not forbid your marriage. All he could do, if by any means he acquired the power he aims at, would be to drive you from the city. But if you can help me to the possession of my dove, I can offer you a royal refuge, for I shall have a power that even the Tirshatha could not long dispute."
"Oh! I see it all," said Marduk, "you would be son-in-law to Sanballat of Samaria. But do you have the heart of the maiden? Indeed, have you ever seen her? She is reputed to be of queenly beauty, but of an untamed Moabitish spirit. Woe to you if you catch a tigress for her spots!"
"Seen her? Ah, my dear friend, when you go to see her on my behalf you will not need to tell my name, but just let her look into your eyes. She will see me pictured there by your very thought of me. Seen her? Ay, by daylight, and moonlight, and, best of all, by eyelight, when our lashes touched. There are exits from Jerusalem that few know, and I have more than once been reported sick in my chamber, when I was in the tent of Sanballat."
"Say no more," said Marduk. "I will help you to a soft place in the Samaritan's palace, and to the soft arms of the fair Nicaso: and you will help me—if I want you to?"
"It is agreed," eagerly cried Manasseh. "Bring out the parchments."
"No, we will not write it, lest the flies read it and buzz it into the ears of men."
"Crack a stone then, and each carry a half, in pledge that each will fit himself into the other's plans, as one part of the stone fits into the other."
A broken bit from the stone parapet that surrounded the roof was cracked in two. Each placed a piece in his wallet, and, with many wishes for mutual success, the young men parted.
CHAPTER XXIV.
The town of Samaria crowned the hill that rises from the centre of a magnificent valley, like an inverted cup in a lordly dish. Far away to the east stand the mountain walls of Gilead and Ammon and Moab; while on the west stretch the uplands of Ephraim and the gleaming waters of the Great Sea. The nearer hills, terraced into gigantic steps, and ordinarily luxuriant with vineyards and fig gardens, were now covered with rankest vegetation of wild growth, at once nature's rebuke and invitation to the husbandman.
The old palace of Ahab, built with bankrupting magnificence by that renegade king of Israel, had long since fallen to ruin. Hard by stood a sarcophagus in which had once rested the spice-embalmed body of some fair princess, but which was now the feeding-trough for a herd of swine. A superb pillar of porphyry, polished until it had once reflected the gay lights that flashed about it, was now a scratching-post for the cattle that roamed at will through the valley.
Since the Persian king had appointed Sanballat, the Moabite chieftain, to be satrap of Samaria, the land had been somewhat improved. The bats had been frightened out of the niches in the palace. The storks no longer sat enthroned upon the stately columns, nor posed upon one leg, with drooping wings, looking down lugubriously upon the passer-by—the symbolic funeral directors of dead empires since time began. The great cedar roof that once spanned the hall had been succeeded by a double awning of canvas—the outer covering of black goat's hair, the inner of white linen, upon which were wrought tapestries whose gay colors compensated for their rude forms.
By the side of the grand doorway, with its enormous lintels and cracked cross-piece of stone, stood the tall banner-staff of the satrap, in sight of a hundred tents which sheltered the standing army of Samaria. This band of braves was composed chiefly of Moabitish men, swarthy, long-limbed, with treacherous looks, as if seeking to repel the historic taunt of their ill-begetting as a race from the incestuous daughter of Lot. Their officers were lithe and gallant Persians, each one of whom boasted the various deeds he would have performed if the last expedition against the Greeks had not been chiefly a naval affair. More plausible, perhaps, were their stories of hair-breadth escapes in their adventures connected with the harems of Babylon and Susa.
Sanballat, the satrap, was not in military mood as he reclined upon a long divan in his pavilion. Seated upon the floor beside him, fondling his long beard, was a young girl. A glance could detect their relationship. The stiff black bristles that stood upon the man's head were surely of kin to the raven locks that fell softly about her temples. Both had the same jet eyes. In hers the pupils contrasted finely with the pure white balls; in his they were set in blood-shot orbs. Her forehead was low and broad, but moulded as if by some sculptor; his was of the same outline, but knobbed, as if with fiercer passions, and wrinkled by a hundred cares, no one of which had as yet dropped a shadow upon her brow. The father's straight lips were slightly arched in the daughter. Her lips won by asking; his evidently gained only by commanding. His skin was tanned and roughed by years of exposure to the elements, perhaps discolored by excessive use of wine; hers was bronzed by the kissing of the Syrian sun, but not enough to hide the healthy blood that tinted itself through, and displayed her beauty in all the delicate shades of blushes. The crimson upon her cheeks and temples was just now of a deeper hue than usual, as Sanballat was saying:
"My Nicaso must let her father keep charge of her heart. The satrap's daughter shall not be as other maidens, the prey of any fine fellow whose manner may be pleasing. Such a face and form as yours, to say nothing of your lineage, would gain you admission to the court of Susa or Memphis. Old Orpha, your nurse, tells me that you talk overmuch of some young swain. I do not ask who, for none worthy of my fair one lives in Samaria."
"I believe you," replied the girl, playfully plucking a gray hair from his beard. "No one in Samaria is good enough for the great Sanballat's daughter. I will sell for too much; for—a satrapy of all Palestine, if Artaxerxes likes my looks! or for an alliance with the new king of Tyre, if the daughter of the rich Ahimelek dies broken-hearted because Baal will not send back her Hiram."
She leaped to her feet, and, catching up a timbrel, gracefully performed the movement of a dance.
"By Astarte!" cried the satrap, "such a woman never graced this place since Jezebel. Aha! no little Ahab shall catch my wild pigeon. Have a care, Nicaso, who sets a snare for you!"
Her laugh rang merrily. "Be sure I shall keep myself bright and safe, like a new coin in the box, for the day of sale."
She looked between the swinging curtains.
"But here comes one handsome enough to be cup-bearer to you, father, when I have bought you a throne. I will begone. Only don't sell me through him. He is a merchant. One, two, three camels heavily laden, and himself on horseback. He could trinket me out fit for Tammuz himself, I have no doubt. And, father," she threw her arms fondly about his neck, "just a necklace, or an anklet, or an armlet, or a cap of coins! I will sell better for an ornament."
The girl disappeared through the rear of the pavilion into the palace enclosure. Sanballat rose to welcome his visitor at the entrance.
The traveller dismounted from his horse, and made a low salâm, which the satrap returned as cordially as his reserve of official dignity permitted.
"I am Marduk, servant, if you will permit, to my Lord Sanballat," said the stranger.
"Ah, Marduk of Tyre! Your fame as a merchant has come before you. Welcome good Marduk of Tyre."
"I hardly deserve the title 'from Tyre,' for many months have passed since I worshipped Melkarth in his temple there. I am rather a citizen of the world. The Isles of Greece, the Nile to the Cataracts, the shores of the Red Sea, the lands of Ammon and Moab, and even Jerusalem might claim me."
"The more welcome, then," replied Sanballat. "The proverb says, 'A travelled man is a wise man,' but it ought to have said, if he did not linger too long in Jerusalem; for only fools are there. Shake off the dust of the Jews' land, and make one of us, good Marduk."
Servants relieved the stranger of his upper garment and sandals; they brought water and washed his feet. Others offered refreshments, of which Sanballat partook with his guest.
"And what land pleases you best?" asked the host as they lingered over the cup of wine.
"No land is fairer than Samaria, my lord. Your fields are richer than I have seen for many a day. The vale of Shechem, by which I entered your domain, is a place where the gods might be pleased to abide with men. As I looked up to the heights of Gerizim I could well believe the legend that there, rather than on the hill where the Jews have put their temple, the great Father Abraham offered the sacrifice of his son."
"A sacrifice that Jehovah would not accept," said Sanballat, sneeringly; "but he preferred a ram as something nobler than a Jew. Baal did accept the sacrifice of the heroic Prince of Tyre. Ah! he was worthy of the god's feast even without being roasted—eh, Marduk? But don't take offence. I meant no irreverence to Baal. I believe in Baal as much as you do."
"I do not doubt it," replied Marduk.
"Yes, I worship Baal," continued Sanballat, scarcely pausing. "That is, as a Moabite I worship Baal-Chemosh; but in this land of ancient Israel I have to keep on good terms with Jehovah, or, as I should call him, Baal of Israel."
"That is wise," replied Marduk. "I have studied closely the strange people at Jerusalem. They are truly possessed by their God. Jehovah is a reality among these hills, whatever he may be elsewhere."
"Yes," said Sanballat, "Jehovah is a god of the hills. Baal can't match him there. But down on the coast, in your country, Jehovah cannot keep a foothold."
"Have you noted," interrupted Marduk, "how the power of the Jews is growing? Thousands of them, once scattered among all countries, are returning. They are bringing with them great wealth, and are building the waste places. The enthusiasm for revived Israel is like a disease that floats in the air over many lands, and fastens on those who are susceptible; and every Jew from Babylon to Gades is in the catching condition. I wonder that you do not make an alliance with them, and reap in their harvest, my Lord Sanballat?"
"Reap their harvest! That I would—with a torch. Think you, Marduk! I have offered these miserable Jews my friendship. Even offered to help them build their city. But their ass-headed stubbornness would not listen to me. There was a time when I could have cut all their throats, and yet I spared them."
Sanballat strode up and down the apartment. When he had worked off the froth of his passion the native cunning of the man asserted itself, and, sitting down close to his guest, he studied his face for a moment. "You said, Make an alliance? Is it possible?"
"Possible! Why not?" replied Marduk. "Only Ezra and Nehemiah have heretofore prevented, and now Ezra is like an old dog who keeps his spirit but has lost his teeth. He cannot hold on to affairs long. And as for Nehemiah, the Tirshatha, he is enamoured of the feasts at the palace of Susa, and shows no sign of coming back."
"The Tirshatha! A curse on that mongrel Persian and Jewish dog!"
Sanballat took another turn about the room, as uneasy as a chained bear with a dog snapping at his legs. The exercise clarified his half-drunken wits, and he resumed the council.
"Ezra's teeth may be broken, but that whelp Nehemiah's teeth are sharp enough. But for him I should now have my palace on the hill of Zion, and my soldiers be encamped in the valley of Jehosaphat. Then, think of it, Marduk! mine should be the satrapy from Syria to Egypt."
"The thing is possible yet," replied Marduk. "There is no ruler now at Jerusalem. The high priest's family are chief in influence. They are jealous of Nehemiah, and do not want him back from Susa. They are ready to strengthen themselves in any way. They are already scratching the ambitious itch of Tobiah, the Ammonite. They have torn out the walls between the priest's chambers to make state quarters for his Impudence in the very temple itself."
"Humph! Tobiah cannot help them," said Sanballat.
"But he can help himself by them," replied Marduk.
"He shall not."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Why not?" Sanballat was again upon his feet, and shook his fist in the face of Marduk, as if the guest were the hated Tobiah. "Why not? Because"—he fairly shrieked out his spleen—"because he is an Ammonite. Moab must have the ascendency in this land, so far as Persia allows either of us to rule. The blood of every man of Moab would turn to adder's poison if Tobiah were anything higher than the servant of Sanballat."
"Then prevent him."
"Prevent him! I shall, or may the fire of Chemosh burn me! But, good Marduk, tell me how you would do it?"
"Why, by offering better alliance with the priests myself. The rising man in Jerusalem is Manasseh. He is grandson of Eliashib, the high priest. He is as astute as Nehemiah, and more popular. If the Tirshatha does not come back, Manasseh will be proclaimed governor. If Nehemiah should return, Manasseh, by virtue of his priestly rank, must be the man of his right hand."
"Grandson of Eliashib? Then he is still young, and unmarried."
"Yes."
Sanballat took a long turn about the apartment. Seating himself again, he put his head close to Marduk's.
"You have seen my daughter?"
"I have heard of her beauty. It is famed everywhere. Good blood will come to the cheek as well as put strength into the arm. They say she is a sprig of yourself, my Lord Sanballat."
"Woe to the man that should say differently," replied the Moabite, feeling the flattery. "Is Manasseh comely, well built, strong; or a sleek priest that dare not draw a knife but on a bullock?"
"No man is better gifted in body or mind than Manasseh. Far be it from me, a stranger, to suggest such a thing to my Lord Sanballat; but since you have first mentioned it, I make bold to say that there is no alliance so permanent between rulers as an alliance of blood. As the blood gives a common life to all the body, and prevents the parts from falling asunder through disagreement, so it is with an alliance of blood among nations. Besides, such a union with one who is to be high priest would modify the strictness of the Jews' religion, and lead to some common code of worship in which Jehovite and Baalite might unite. I foresee from that a new Syria, its people one, its ruler Sanballat, and its great temple here in Samaria, or, perhaps, upon Mount Gerizim itself. All Phœnicia might be brought into such a confederation. Think of the riches of Tyre and Sidon, the stronghold of Jerusalem, the great tribes across the Jordan, perhaps Damascus, all under the suzerainty of Samaria!"
Sanballat was carried away with this conceit, which it was evident Marduk had only revived in his mind, not suggested. He strode to the palace front, and looked out over the hills. His eyes widened as if taking in the vision of his new empire. Marduk followed him. The satrap put his arm fondly about his guest.
"You speak as the Jews say Daniel did in Babylon when he told the king his dream, for what you say has been my waking vision for years, yet I have breathed it to none. And why should it not be accomplished?"
"It may be, and you yourself have suggested the first stitch in the new fabric—the union of your house with that of the high priest."
"Well said, Marduk! Well said! I would see the young man. No father can fix the stars for his child's destiny until he sees if they reflect themselves brightly in her heart. If Nicaso should evince repugnance to the Jew, or he should not be taken with the charms of a Moabite—"
"Impossible! Impossible to either, when they meet! Two such comely persons must love at sight. Besides, they could not resist the wooing of great state necessities, ambition for the glory of rank and power, and the praise which we can make sure each shall hear of the other, even before they meet."
"Marduk, you are a statesman, worthy of the repute of your King Hiram, whom Baal has taken to himself; for they say he was the wisest man that ever sat in the council of Tyre. Draw up the compact, Marduk. You merchants know the form. We will study it at our leisure, for you are to be my guest until you return to Jerusalem with authority to consummate the union of Nicaso and Manasseh; of Nicaso and Manasseh! The names sound well together. Ay, the union of Samaria and Judah, of Sanballat and all Syria!"
Sanballat was in high spirits. He ordered a jar of the wine of Hebron, "the only wine the King of Persia will drink, but not too good for Marduk and the Satrap of Samaria, of Syria." He called for his captains, and distributed among them a skin of beer, the brewing of Damascus. Dancers were summoned; men who, balancing pitchers and jars of water upon their heads, took their steps dexterously between the waving blades of swords; and women who exhibited every possible grace of motion with their bodies, while allowing only the slightest motion of their feet. Horsemen performed marvellous exploits. The camel-drivers added their share to the hilarity by attempting to imitate these equestrian movements upon their awkward beasts. A score or two of asses were forced into orchestral braying by tickling their noses, and brought to a sudden silence by twisting their tails.
As the crowd withdrew to regale themselves with a largess of leben, the daughter of the satrap appeared. Her maidens spread an elegant rug, wrought on the looms of Tehera, a gift to the satrap from Artaxerxes.
Nicaso's entire person was covered with a long veil. Though it was supposed to hide her features, it coquettishly revealed not only enough to assure Marduk that the fame of her beauty was warranted, but also to make him feel that her part of the entertainment was not altogether due to obedience to her father's wish, but was also a gratuitous compliment to his presence.
A harp was brought to her. To its accompaniment she sang a song based upon the legendary love of Solomon for the Shulammite maiden, his wooing, and her rejection of royal favors through constancy to her shepherd lover. Nicaso's voice was exceedingly rich and flexible. It well represented the gentler sentiments; but was startlingly effective in its deeper tones, which were adapted to the wilder portions of the song, and suggested an untamed element in the singer herself.