_Salathiel in Strange Company_
[Sidenote: On the Road]
My preparations were quickly made. I divested myself of my robes, led
out my favorite barb, flung a haik over my shoulders, and by the help
of my Arab turban might have passed for a plunderer in any corner of
Syria. This was done unseen by any eye, for the crowd of attendants that
thronged the palace in the day were now stretched through the courts,
or on the terraces, fast asleep, under the double influence of a day of
feasting and a night of tepid summer air. I rode without stopping until
the sun began to throw up his yellow rays through the vapors of the Lake
of Tiberias. Then to ascertain alike the progress of Constantius and to
avoid the chances of meeting with some of those Roman squadrons which
were continually moving between the fortresses, I struck off the road
into a forest, tied my barb to a tree, and set forth to reconnoiter the
scene.
[Sidenote: Salathiel Meets Strangers]
Traveling on foot was the common mode in a country which, like Judea,
was but little fitted for the breed of horses, and I found no want of
companions. Pedlers, peasants, disbanded soldiers, and probably thieves
diversified my knowledge of mankind within a few miles. I escaped under
the sneer of the soldier and the compassion of the peasant. The first
glance at my wardrobe satisfied the robber that I was not worth the
exercise of his profession, or perhaps that I was a brother of the
trade. I here found none of the repulsiveness that makes the intercourse
of higher life so unproductive. Confidence was on every tongue, and I
discovered, even in the sandy ways of Palestine, that to be a judicious
listener is one of the first talents for popularity all over the world.
But of my peculiar objects I could learn nothing, though every man whom
I met had some story of the Romans. I ascertained, to my surprise, that
the intelligence which Septimius brought from the imperial cabinet was
known to the multitude. Every voice of the populace was full of tales,
probably reckoned among the profoundest secrets of the state. I have made
the same observation in later eras, and found, even in the most formal
mysteries of the most frowning governments, the rumor of the streets
outruns the cabinets. So it must be while diplomatists have tongues and
while women and domestics have curiosity.
But if I were to rely on the accuracy of those willing politicians, the
cause of independence was without hope. Human nature loves to make itself
important, and the narrator of the marvelous is always great, according
to the distention of his news. Those who had seen a cohort, invariably
magnified it into a legion; a troop of cavalry covered half a province;
and the cohorts marching from Asia Minor and Egypt for our garrisons,
were reckoned by the very largest enumeration within the teller’s
capacity.
As I was sitting by a rivulet, moistening some of the common bread of
the country which I had brought to aid my disguise, I entered into
conversation with one of those unhoused exiles of society whom at the
first glance we discern to be nature’s commoners, indebted to no man for
food, raiment, or habitation, the native dweller on the road. He had some
of the habitual jest of those who have no care, and congratulated me on
the size of my table, the meadow, and the unadulterated purity of my
potation, the brook. He informed me that he came direct from the Nile,
where he had seen the son of Vespasian at the head of a hundred thousand
men. A Syrian soldier, returning to Damascus, who joined our meal, felt
indignant at the discredit thus thrown on a general under whom he had
received three pike-wounds and leave to beg his way home. He swore by
Ashtoreth that the force under Titus was at least twice the number.
A third wanderer, a Roman veteran, of whom the remainder was covered over
with glorious patches, arrived just in time to relieve his general from
the disgrace of so limited a command, and another hundred thousand was
instantly put under his orders; sanctioned by asseverations in the name
of Jupiter Capitolinus, and as many others of the calendar as the patriot
could pronounce. This rapid recruiting threw the former authorities into
the background, and the old legionary was, for the rest of the meal, the
undisputed leader of the conversation. They had evidently heard some
rumor of our preparations.
[Sidenote: A Conversation]
“To suppose,” said the veteran, “that those circumcized dogs can stand
against a regular-bred Roman general is sacrilege. Half his army, or a
tenth of his army, would walk through the land, north and south, east and
west, as easily as I could walk through this brook.”
“No doubt of it,” said the Syrian, “if they had some of our cavalry for
flanking and foraging.”
“Aye, for anything but fighting, comrade,” said the Roman with a laugh.
“No; you leave out another capital quality,” observed the beggar, “for
none can deny that whoever may be first in the advance, the Syrians will
be first in the retreat. There are two maneuvers to make a complete
soldier—how to get into the battle, and how to get out of it. Now, the
Syrians manage the latter in the most undoubted perfection.”
“Silence, villain,” exclaimed the Syrian, “or you have robbed your last
hen-roost in this world.”
“He says nothing but the truth for all that,” interrupted the veteran.
“But neither of us taxed your cavalry with cowardice. No; it was pure
virtue. They had too much modesty to take the way into the field before
other troops, and too much humanity not to teach them how to sleep
without broken bones.”
The beggar, delighted at the prospect of a quarrel, gave the assent that
more embroiled the fray.
“Mark Antony did not say so,” murmured the indignant Syrian.
“Mark Antony!” cried the Roman, starting upon his single leg, “glory to
his name! But what could a fellow like you know about Mark Antony?”
“I only served with him,” dryly answered the Syrian.
[Sidenote: Salathiel Hears of Masada]
“Then here’s my hand for you,” exclaimed the brave old man, “we are
comrades. I would love even a dog that had seen the face of Mark Antony.
He was the first man that I ever carried buckler under. Aye, there was
a soldier for you; such men are not made in this puling age. He could
fight from morn till night, and carouse from night till morn, and never
lose his seat on his charger in the field the day after. I have seen him
run half naked through the snows in Armenia, and walk in armor in the
hottest day of Egypt. He loved the soldier, and the soldier loved him.
So, comrade, here’s to the health of Mark Antony. Ah, we shall never see
such men again.”
He drew out a flask of ration wine, closely akin to vinegar, of which he
hospitably gave us each a cup, and after pouring a libation to his hero’s
memory, whom he evidently placed among his gods, swallowed the draft, in
which we devoutly followed his example.
“Yet,” said the beggar, “if Antony was a great man, he has left
little men enough behind him. There’s, for instance, the present gay
procurator—six months in the gout, the other six months drunk, or if
sober only thinking where he can rob next. This will bring the government
into trouble before long, or I’m much mistaken. For my part, I pledge
myself if he should take any part of my property——”
“Why, if he did,” said the Syrian, “I give him credit for magic. He could
find a crop of wheat in the sand or coin money out of the air. Where does
your estate lie?”
“Comrade,” said the veteran, laughing, “recollect; if the saying be true
that people are least to be judged of by the outside, the rags of our
jovial friend must hide many a shekel; and as to where his estate lies,
he has a wide estate who has the world for his portion, and money enough
who thinks all his own that he can lay his fingers on.”
The laugh was now loud against the beggar. He, however, bore all, like
one accustomed to the buffets of fortune, and, joining in it, said:
[Sidenote: Dreams of Beggars]
“Whatever may be my talents in that way, there is no great chance of
showing them in this company; but if you should be present at the sack
of Masada, and I should meet you on your way back——”
“Masada!” exclaimed I instinctively.
“Yes, I left the town three days ago. On that very morning an order
arrived to prepare for the coming of the great and good Florus, who in
his wisdom, feeling the want of gold, has determined to fill up the
hollows of the military chest and his own purse by stripping the armory
of everything that can sell for money. My intelligence is from the best
authority. The governor’s principal bath-slave told it to one of the
damsels of the steward’s department, with whom the Ethiopian is mortally
in love, and the damsel, in a moment of confidence, told it to me. In
fact, to let you into _my_ secret, I am now looking out for Florus, in
whose train I intend to make my way back into this gold-mine.”
“The villain!” cried the veteran; “disturb the arms of the dead! Why,
they say that it has the very corselet and buckler that Mark Antony wore
when he marched against the Idumeans.”
“I fear more the disturbance of the arms of the living,” said the Syrian;
“the Jews will take it for granted that the Romans are giving up the
business in despair, and if I’m a true man, there will be blood before I
get home.”
“No fear of that, fellow soldier,” said the veteran gaily; “you have kept
your two legs, and when they have so long carried you out of harm’s way,
it would be the worst treatment possible to leave you in it at last. But
there is something in what you say. I had a dream last night. I thought
that I saw the country in a blaze, and when I started from my sleep, my
ears were filled with a sound like the trampling of ten thousand cavalry.”
I drew my breath quickly, and to conceal my emotion, gathered up the
fragments of our meal. On completing my work, I found the beggar’s eye
fixed on me,—he smiled.
[Sidenote: Salathiel Discovered]
“I too had a dream last night,” said he, “and of much the same kind. I
thought that I saw a cloud of cavalry, riding as fast as horse could lay
hoof to ground; I never saw a more dashing set since my first campaign
upon the highways of this wicked world. I’ll be sworn that whatever
their errand may be, such riders will not come back without it. Their
horses’ heads were turned toward Masada, and I am now between two minds,
whether I may not mention my dream to the procurator himself.”
I found his keen eye turned on me again.
“Absurd!” said I; “he would recommend you only to his lictor.”
“I rather think he would recommend me to his treasurer, for I never had a
dream that seemed so like a fact. I should not be surprised to find that
I had been sleeping with my eyes open.”
His look convinced me that I was known! I touched his hand, while the
soldiers were busy packing up their cups, and showed him gold. He smiled
carelessly. I laid my hand on my poniard; he but smiled again.
“The sun is burning out,” said he, “and I can stand talking here no
longer. Farewell, brave soldiers, and safe home to you! Farewell, Arab,
and safe home to those that you are looking after!”
He stalked away, and as he passed me, said in a low voice, “Glory to
Naphtali!”
After exchanging good wishes with the old men, I followed him; he led the
way toward the wood at a pace which kept me at a distance. When I reached
the shade, he stopped, and prostrated himself before me.
“Will my lord,” said he, “forgive the presumption of his servant? This
day, when I first met you, your disguise deceived me. I bear intelligence
from your friends.”
I caught the fragment of papyrus from him, and read:
“All’s well. We have hitherto met with nothing to oppose us. To-morrow
night we shall be on the ground. If no addition be made to the force
within, the surprise will be complete. Our cause itself is victory.
Health to all we love!”
“Your mission is now done,” said I; “go on to Naphtali, and you shall be
rewarded as your activity has deserved.”
[Sidenote: An Enemy of Florus]
“No,” replied he, with the easy air of a licensed humorist; “I have but
two things to think of in this world—my time and my money; of one of
them, I have infinitely more than I well know how to spend, and of the
other infinitely less. I expected to have killed a few days in going up
to Naphtali. But that hope has been cut off by my finding you half-way. I
will now try Florus, and get rid of a day or two with that most worthy of
men.”
“That I forbid,” interrupted I.
“Not if you will trust one whom your noble son has trusted. I am not
altogether without some dislike to the Romans myself, nor something
between contempt and hatred for Gessius Florus.” His countenance darkened
at the name. “I tell you,” pronounced he bitterly, “that fellow’s
pampered carcass this day contains as black a mass of villainy as stains
the earth. I have an old account to settle with him.”
His voice quivered. “I was once no rambler, no outcast of the land. I
lived on the side of Hermon, lovely Hermon! I was affianced to a maiden
of my kindred, as sweet a flower as ever blushed with love and joy.
Our bridal day was fixed. I went to Cæsarea-Philippi to purchase some
marriage presents. When I returned, I found nothing but women weeping,
and men furious with impotent rage. My bride was gone. A Roman troop
had surrounded her father’s house in the night and torn her away. Wild,
distracted, nay, I believe raving mad, I searched the land. I kept life
in me only that I might recover or revenge her. I abandoned property,
friends, all! At length I made the discovery.”
To hide his perturbation, he turned away. “Powers of justice and
vengeance!” he murmured in a shuddering tone, “are there no thunders for
such things? She had been seen by that hoary profligate. She was carried
off by him. She spurned his insults. He ordered her to be chained, to be
starved, to be lashed!”
[Sidenote: The Slowness of Revenge]
Tears sprang to his eyes. “She still spurned him. She implored to die.
She called upon my name in her misery. Wretch that I was, what could I, a
worm, do under the heel of the tyrant? But I saw her at last; I made my
way into the dungeon. There she sat, pale as the stone to which she was
chained; a silent, sightless, bloodless, mindless skeleton. I called to
her; she knew nothing. I pressed my lips to hers; she never felt them. I
bathed her cold hands in my tears—I fell at her feet—I prayed to her but
to pronounce one word, to give some sign of remembrance, to look on me.
She sat like a statue; her reason was gone, gone forever!”
He flung himself upon the ground, and writhed and groaned before me. To
turn him from a subject of such sorrow, I asked what he meant to do by
his intercourse with Florus.
“To do?—not to stab him in his bed; not to poison him in his banquet; not
to smite him with that speedy death which would be mercy—no, but to force
him into ruin step by step; to gather shame, remorse, and anguish round
him, cloud on cloud; to mix evil in his cup with such exquisite slowness
that he shall taste every drop; to strike him only so far that he may
feel the pang without being stunned; to mingle so much of hope in his
undoing that he may never enjoy the vigor of despair; to sink him into
his own Tartarus inch by inch till every fiber has its particular agony.”
He yelled, suddenly rose from the ground, and rushed forward and threaded
the thickets with a swiftness that made my pursuit in vain.