THE MERCHANT DEMETRIUS
When on that fateful night in the Old Tower Miriam sprang forward to
strike the lantern from the hand of the Jew, Nehushta, who was bending
over the fallen Marcus and dragging at his body, did not even see that
she had left the door.
With an effort, the slope of the rocky passage beyond favouring her,
she half-drew, half-lifted the Roman through the entrance. Then it was,
as she straightened herself a little to take breath, that she heard the
thud of the rock door closing behind her. Still, as it was dark, she
did not guess that Miriam was parted from them, for she said:
“Ah! into what troubles do not these men lead us poor women. Well, just
in time, and I think that none of them saw us.”
There was no answer. Sound could not pierce that wall and the place was
silent as a tomb.
“Lady! In the Name of Christ, where are you, lady?” asked Nehushta in a
piercing whisper, and the echoes of the gallery answered—“Where are
you, lady?”
Just then Marcus awoke.
“What has chanced? What place is this, Miriam?” he asked.
“This has chanced,” answered Nehushta in the same awful voice. “We are
in the passage leading to the vaults; Miriam is in the hands of the
Jews in the Old Tower, and the door is shut between us. Accursed Roman!
to save your life she has sacrificed herself. Without doubt she sprang
from the door to dash the lantern from the hand of the Jew, and before
she could return again it had swung home. Now they will crucify her
because she rescued you—a Roman.”
“Don’t talk, woman,” broke in Marcus savagely, “open the door. I am
still a man, I can still fight, or,” he added with a groan, remembering
that he had no sword, “at the least I can die for her.”
“I cannot,” gasped Nehushta. “She had the iron that lifts the secret
latch. If you had kept your sword, Roman, it might perhaps have served,
but that has gone also.”
“Break it down,” said Marcus. “Come, I will help.”
“Yes, yes, Roman, you will help to break down three feet of solid
stone.”
Then began that hideous scene whereof something has been said. Nehushta
strove to reach the latch with her fingers. Marcus, standing upon one
foot, strove to shake the stone with his shoulder, the black, silent
stone that never so much as stirred. Yet they worked madly, their
breath coming in great gasps, knowing that the work was in vain, and
that even if they could open the door, by now it would be to find
Miriam gone, or at the best to be taken themselves. Suddenly Marcus
ceased from his labour.
“Lost!” he moaned, “and for my sake. O ye gods! for my sake.” Then down
he fell, his harness clattering on the rocky step, and lay there,
muttering and laughing foolishly.
Nehushta ceased also, gasping: “The Lord help you, Miriam, for I
cannot. Oh! after all these years to lose you thus, and because of that
man!” and she glared through the darkness towards the fallen Marcus,
thinking in her heart that she would kill him.
“Nay,” she said to herself, “she loved him, and did she know it might
pain her. Better kill myself; yes, and if I were sure that she is dead
this, sin or no sin, I would do.”
As she sat thus, helpless, hopeless, she saw a light coming up the
stair towards them. It was borne by Ithiel. Nehushta rose and faced
him.
“Praise be to God! there you are at length,” he said. “Thrice have I
been up this stair wondering why Miriam did not come.”
“Brother Ithiel,” answered Nehushta, “Miriam will come no more; she is
gone, leaving us in exchange this man Marcus, the Roman prefect of
Horse.”
“What do you mean? What do you mean?” he gasped. “Where is Miriam?”
“In the hands of the Jews,” she answered. Then she told him all that
story.
“There is nothing to be done,” he moaned when she had finished. “To
open the door now would be but to reveal the secret of our hiding-place
to the Jews or to the Romans, either of whom would put us to the sword,
the Jews for food, the Romans because we are Jews. We can only leave
her to God and protect ourselves.”
“Had I my will,” answered Nehushta, “I would leave myself to God and
still strive to protect her. Yet you are right, seeing that many lives
cannot be risked for the sake of one girl. But what of this man?”
“We will do our best for him,” answered Ithiel, “for so she who
sacrificed herself for his sake would have wished. Also years ago he
was our guest and befriended us. Stay here a while and I will bring men
to carry him to the vault.”
So Ithiel went away to return with sundry of the brethren, who lifted
Marcus and bore him down the stairs and passages to that darksome
chamber where Miriam had slept, while other brethren shut the
trap-door, and loosened the roof of the passage, blocking it with stone
so that without great labour none could pass that path for ever.
Here in this silent, sunless vault for many, many days Marcus lay sick
with a brain fever, of which, had it not been for the skilful nursing
of Nehushta and of the leeches among the Essenes, he must certainly
have died. But these leeches, who were very clever, doctored the deep
sword-cut in his head, removing with little iron hooks the fragments of
bone which pressed upon his brain, and dressing that wound and another
in his knee with salves.
Meanwhile, they learned by their spies that both the Temple and Mount
Sion had fallen. Also they heard of the trial of Miriam and of her
exposure on the Gate Nicanor, but of what happened to her afterwards
they could gather nothing. So they mourned her as dead.
Now, their food being at length exhausted and the watch of the Romans
having relaxed, they determined, those who were left of them, for some
had died and Ithiel himself was very ill, to attempt to escape from the
hateful vaults that had sheltered them for all these months. A question
arose as to what was to be done with Marcus, now but a shadow of a man,
who still wandered somewhat in his mind, but who had passed the worst
of his sickness and seemed like to live. Some were for abandoning him;
some for sending him back to the Romans; but Nehushta showed that it
would be wise to keep him as a hostage, so that if they were attacked
they might produce him and in return for their care, perhaps buy their
lives. In the end they agreed upon this course, not so much for what
they might gain by it, but because they knew that it would have pleased
the lost maid whom they called their Queen, who had perished to save
this man.
So it came about that upon a certain night of rain and storm, when none
were stirring, a number of men with faces white as lepers, of the hue,
indeed, of roots that have pushed in the dark, might have been seen
travelling down the cavern quarries, now tenanted only by the corpses
of those who had perished there from starvation, and so through the
hole beneath the wall into the free air. With them went litters bearing
their sick, and among the sick, Ithiel and Marcus. None hindered their
flight, for the Romans had deserted this part of the ruined city and
were encamped around the towers in the neighbourhood of Mount Sion,
where some few Jews still held out.
Thus it happened that by morning they were well on the road to Jericho,
which, always a desert country, was now quite devoid of life. On they
went, living on roots and such little food as still remained to them,
to Jericho itself, where they found nothing but a ruin haunted by a few
starving wretches. Thence they travelled to their own village, to
discover that, for the most part, this also had been burnt. But certain
caverns in the hillside behind, which they used as store-houses,
remained, and undiscovered in them a secret stock of corn and wine that
gave them food.
Here, then, they camped and set to work to sow the fields which no
Romans or robbers had been able to destroy, and so lived hardly, but
unmolested, till at length the first harvest came and with it plenty.
In this dry and wholesome air Marcus recovered rapidly, who by nature
was very strong. When first his wits returned to him he recognised
Nehushta, and asked her what had chanced. She told him all she knew,
and that she believed Miriam to be dead, tidings which caused him to
fall into a deep melancholy. Meanwhile, the Essenes treated him with
kindness, but let him understand that he was their prisoner. Nor if he
had wished it, and they had given him leave to go, could he have left
them at that time, seeing that the slightest of his hurts proved to be
the worst, since the spear or sword-cut having penetrated to the joint
and let out the oil, the wound in his knee would heal only by very slow
degrees, and for many weeks left him so lame that he could not walk
without a crutch. So here he sat by the banks of the Jordan, mourning
the past and well-nigh hopeless for the future.
Thus in solitude, tended by Nehushta, who now had grown very grim and
old, and by the poor remnant of the Essenes, Marcus passed four or five
miserable months. As he grew stronger he would limp down to the village
where his hosts were engaged in rebuilding some of their dwellings, and
sit in the garden of the house that was once occupied by Miriam. Now it
was but an overgrown place, yet among the pomegranate bushes still
stood that shed which she had used as a workshop, and in it, lying here
and there as they had fallen, some of her unfinished marbles, among
them one of himself which she began and cast aside before she executed
that bust which Nero had named divine and set him to guard in the
Temple at Rome. To Marcus it was a sad place, haunted by a thousand
memories, yet he loved it because those memories were all of Miriam.
Titus, said rumour, having accomplished the utter destruction of
Jerusalem, had moved his army to Cæsarea or Berytus, where he passed
the winter season in celebrating games in the amphitheatres. These he
made splendid by the slaughter of vast numbers of Jewish prisoners, who
were forced to fight against each other, or, after the cruel Roman
fashion, exposed to the attacks of ravenous wild beasts. But although
he thought of doing so, Marcus had no means of communicating with
Titus, and was still too lame to attempt escape. Could he have found
any, indeed, to make use of them might have brought destruction upon
the Essenes, who had treated him kindly and saved his life. Also among
the Romans it was a disgrace for a soldier, and especially for an
officer of high rank, to be made prisoner, and he was loth to expose
his own shame. As Gallus had told Miriam, no Roman should be taken
alive. So Marcus attempted to do nothing, but waited, sick at heart,
for whatever fate fortune might send him. Indeed, had he been quite
sure that Miriam was dead, he, who was disgraced and a captive, would
have slain himself and followed her. But although none doubted her
death—except Nehushta—his spirit did not tell him that this was so.
Thus it came about that Marcus lived on among the Essenes till his
health and strength came back to him, as it was appointed that he
should do until the time came for him to act. At length that time came.
When Samuel, the Essene, left Tyre, bearing the letter and the ring of
Miriam, he journeyed to Jerusalem to find the Holy City but a heap of
ruins, haunted by hyænas and birds of prey that feasted on the
innumerable dead. Still, faithful to his trust, he strove to discover
that entrance to the caverns of which Miriam had told him, and to this
end hovered day by day upon the north side of the city near to the old
Damascus Gate. The hole he could not find, for there were thousands of
stones behind which jackals had burrowed, and how was he to know which
of these openings led to caverns, nor were there any left to direct
him. Still, Samuel searched and waited in the hope that one day an
Essene might appear who would guide him to the hiding-place of the
brethren. But no Essene appeared, for the good reason that they had
fled already. In the end he was seized by a patrol of Roman soldiers
who had observed him hovering about the place and questioned him very
strictly as to his business. He replied that it was to gather herbs for
food, whereon their officer said that they would find him food and with
it some useful work. So they took him and pressed him into a gang of
captives who were engaged in pulling down the walls, that Jerusalem
might nevermore become a fortified city. In this gang he was forced to
labour for over four months, receiving only his daily bread in payment,
and with it many blows and hard words, until at last he found an
opportunity to make his escape.
Now among his fellow-slaves was a man whose brother belonged to the
Order of the Essenes, and from him he learned that they had gone back
to Jordan. So thither Samuel started, having Miriam’s ring still hidden
safely about his person. Reaching the place without further accident he
declared himself to the Essenes, who received him with joy, which was
not to be wondered at, since he was able to tell them that Miriam, whom
they named their Queen and believed to be dead, was still alive. He
asked them if they had a Roman prisoner called Marcus hidden away among
them, and when they answered that this was so, said that he had a
message from Miriam which he was charged to deliver to him. Then they
led him to the garden where her workshop had been, telling him that
there he would find the Roman.
Marcus was seated in the garden, basking in the sunshine, and with him
Nehushta. They were talking of Miriam—indeed, they spoke of little
else.
“Alas! although I seem to know her yet alive, I fear that she must be
dead,” Marcus was saying. “It is not possible that she could have lived
through that night of the burning of the Temple.”
“It does not seem possible,” answered Nehushta, “yet I believe that she
did live—as in your heart you believe also. I do not think it was fated
that any Christian should perish in that war, since it has been
prophesied otherwise.”
“Prove it to me, woman, and I should be inclined to become a Christian,
but of prophecies and such vague talk I am weary.”
“You will become a Christian when your heart is touched and not
before,” answered Nehushta sharply. “That light is from within.”
As she spoke the bushes parted and they saw the Essene, Samuel,
standing in front of them.
“Whom do you seek, man?” asked Nehushta, who did not know him.
“I seek the noble Roman, Marcus,” he answered, “for whom I have a
message. Is that he?”
“I am he,” said Marcus, “and now, who sent you and what is your
message?”
“The Queen of the Essenes, whose name is Miriam, sent me,” replied the
man.
Now both of them sprang to their feet.
“What token do you bear?” asked Marcus in a slow, restrained voice,
“for know, we thought that lady dead.”
“This,” he answered, and drawing the ring from his robe he handed it to
him, adding, “Do you acknowledge the token?”
“I acknowledge it. There is no such other ring. Have you aught else?”
“I had a letter, but it is lost. The Roman soldiers robbed me of my
robe in which it was sewn, and I never saw it more. But the ring I
saved by hiding it in my mouth while they searched me.”
Marcus groaned, but Nehushta said quickly:
“Did she give you no message? Tell us your story and be swift.”
So he told them all.
“How long was this ago?” asked Nehushta.
“Nearly five months. For a hundred and twenty days I was kept as a
slave at Jerusalem, labouring at the levelling of the walls.”
“Five months,” said Marcus. “Tell me, do you know whether Titus has
sailed?”
“I heard that he had departed from Alexandria on his road to Rome.”
“Miriam will walk in his Triumph, and afterwards be sold as a slave!
Woman, there is no time to lose,” said Marcus.
“None,” answered Nehushta; “still, there is time to thank this faithful
messenger.”
“Ay,” said Marcus. “Man, what reward do you seek? Whatever it be it
shall be paid to you who have endured so much. Yes, it shall be paid,
though here and now I have no money.”
“I seek no reward,” replied the Essene, “who have but fulfilled my
promise and done my duty.”
“Yet Heaven shall reward you,” said Nehushta. “And now let us hence to
Ithiel.”
Back they went swiftly to the caves that were occupied by the Essenes
during the rebuilding of their houses. In a little cabin that was open
to the air lay Ithiel. The old man was on his death-bed, for age,
hardship, and anxiety had done their work with him, so that now he was
unable to stand, but reclined upon a pallet awaiting his release. To
him they told their story.
“God is merciful,” he said, when he had heard it. “I feared that she
might be dead, for in the presence of so much desolation, my faith
grows weak.”
“It may be so,” answered Marcus, “but your merciful God will allow this
maiden to be set up in the Forum at Rome and sold to the highest
bidder. It would have been better that she perished on the gate
Nicanor.”
“Perhaps this same God,” answered Ithiel with a faint smile, “will
deliver her from that fate, as He has delivered her from many others.
Now what do you seek, my lord Marcus?”
“I seek liberty, which hitherto you have refused to me, Ithiel. I must
travel to Rome as fast as ships and horses can carry me. I desire to be
present at that auction of the captives. At least, I am rich and can
purchase Miriam—unless I am too late.”
“Purchase her to be your slave?”
“Nay, to be my wife.”
“She will not marry you; you are not a Christian.”
“Then, if she asks it, to set her free. Man, would it not be better
that she should fall into my hands than into those of the first
passer-by who chances to take a fancy to her face?”
“Yes, I think it is better,” answered Ithiel, “though who am I that I
should judge? Let the Court be summoned and at once. This matter must
be laid before them. If you should purchase her and she desires it, do
you promise that you will set her free?”
“I promise it.”
Ithiel looked at him strangely and said: “Good, but in the hour of
temptation, if it should come, see that you do not forget your word.”
So the Court was called together, not the full hundred that used to sit
in the great hall, but a bare score of the survivors of the Essenes,
and to them the brother, Samuel, repeated his tale. To them also Marcus
made his petition for freedom, that he might journey to Rome with
Nehushta, and if it were possible, deliver Miriam from her bonds. Now,
some of the more timid of the Essenes spoke against the release of so
valuable a hostage upon the chance of his being able to aid Miriam, but
Ithiel cried from his litter:
“What! Would you allow our own advantage to prevail against the hope
that this maiden, who is loved by everyone of us, may be saved? Shame
upon the thought. Let the Roman go upon his errand, since we cannot.”
So in the end they agreed to let him go, and, as he had none, even
provided money for his faring out of their scanty, secret store,
trusting that he might find opportunity to repay it in time to come.
That night Marcus and Nehushta bade farewell to Ithiel.
“I am dying,” said the old Essene. “Before ever you can set foot in
Rome the breath will be out of my body, and beneath the desert sand I
shall lie at peace—who desire peace. Yet, say to Miriam, my niece, that
my spirit will watch over her spirit, awaiting its coming in a land
where there are no more wars and tribulations, and that, meanwhile, I
who love her bid her to be of good cheer and to fear nothing.”
So they parted from Ithiel and travelled upon horses to Joppa, Marcus
disguising his name and rank lest some officer among the Romans should
detain him. Here by good fortune they found a ship sailing for
Alexandria, and in the port of Alexandria a merchant vessel bound for
Rhegium, in which they took passage, none asking them who they might
be.
Upon the night of the burning of the Temple, Caleb, escaping the
slaughter, was driven with Simon the Zealot across the bridge into the
Upper City, which bridge they broke down behind them. Once he tried to
return, in the mad hope that during the confusion he might reach the
gate Nicanor and, if she still lived, rescue Miriam. But already the
Romans held the head of the bridge, and already the Jews were hacking
at its timbers, so in that endeavour he failed and in his heart made
sure that Miriam had perished. So bitterly did Caleb mourn, who, fierce
and wayward as he was by nature, still loved her more than all the
world besides, that for six days or more he sought death in every
desperate adventure which came to his hand, and they were many. But
death fled him, and on the seventh day he had tidings.
A man who was hidden among the ruins of the cloisters managed to escape
to the Upper City. From him Caleb learned that the woman, who was said
to have been found upon the roof of the gate Nicanor, had been brought
before Titus, who gave her over to the charge of a Roman captain, by
whom she had been taken without the walls. He knew no more. The story
was slight enough, yet it sufficed for Caleb, who was certain that this
woman must be Miriam. From that moment he determined to abandon the
cause of the Jews, which, indeed, was now hopeless, and to seek out
Miriam, wherever she might be. Yet, search as he would, another fifteen
days went by before he could find his opportunity.
At length Caleb was placed in charge of a watch upon the wall, and, the
other members of his company falling asleep from faintness and fatigue,
contrived in the dark to let himself down by a rope which he had
secreted, dropping from the end of it into the ditch. In this ditch he
found many dead bodies, and from one of them, that of a peasant who had
died but recently, took the clothes and a long winter cloak of
sheepskins, which he exchanged for his own garments. Then, keeping only
his sword, which he hid beneath the cloak, he passed the Roman pickets
in the gloom and fled into the country. When daylight came Caleb cut
off his beard and trimmed his long hair short. After this, meeting a
countryman with a load of vegetables which he had licence to sell in
the Roman camp Caleb bought his store from him for a piece of gold, for
he was well furnished with money, promising the simple man that if he
said a word of it he would find him out and kill him. Then
counterfeiting the speech and actions of a peasant, which he, who had
been brought up among them down by the banks of Jordan, well could do,
Caleb marched boldly to the nearest Roman camp and offered his wares
for sale.
Now this camp was situated outside the gate of Gennat, not far from the
tower Hippicus. Therefore, it is not strange that although in the
course of his bargaining he made diligent inquiry as to the fate of the
girl who had been taken to the gate Nicanor, Caleb could hear nothing
of her, seeing that she was in a camp situated on the Mount of Olives,
upon the other side of Jerusalem. Baffled for that day, Caleb continued
his inquiries on the next, taking a fresh supply of vegetables, which
he purchased from the same peasant, to another body of soldiers camping
in the Valley of Himnon. So he went on from day to day searching the
troops which surrounded the city, and working from the Valley of Himnon
northwards along the Valley of the Kedron, till on the tenth day he
came to a little hospital camp pitched on the slope of the hill
opposite to the ruin which once had been the Golden Gate. Here, while
proffering his vegetables, he fell into talk with the cook who was sent
to chaffer with him.
“Ah!” said the cook handling the basket with satisfaction, “it is a
pity, friend, that you did not bring this stuff here a while ago when
we wanted it sorely and found it hard to come by in this barren,
sword-wasted land.”
“Why?” asked Caleb carelessly.
“Oh! because of a prisoner we had here, a girl whose sufferings had
made her sick in mind and body, and whose appetite I never knew how to
tempt, for she turned from meat, and ever asked for fish, of which, of
course, we had none, or failing that, for green food and fruits.”
“What were her name and story?” asked Caleb.
“As for her name I know it not. We called her Pearl-Maiden because of a
collar of pearls she wore and because also she was white and beautiful
as a pearl. Oh! beautiful indeed, and so gentle and sweet, even in her
sickness, that the roughest brute of a legionary with a broken head
could not choose but to love her. Much more then, that old bear,
Gallus, who watched her as though she were his own cub.”
“Indeed? And where is this beautiful lady now? I should like to sell
her something.”
“Gone, gone, and left us all mourning.”
“Not dead?” said Caleb in a new voice of eager dismay, “Oh! not dead?”
The fat cook looked at him calmly.
“You take a strange interest in our Pearl-Maiden, Cabbage-seller,” he
said. “And, now that I come to think of it, you are a strange-looking
man for a peasant.”
With an effort Caleb recovered his self-command.
“Once I was better off than I am now, friend,” he answered. “As you
know, in this country the wheel of fortune has turned rather quick of
late.”
“Yes, yes, and left many crushed flat behind it.”
“The reason why I am interested,” went on Caleb, taking no heed, “is
that I may have lost a fine market for my goods.”
“Well, and so you have, friend. Some days ago the Pearl-Maiden departed
to Tyre in charge of the captain, Gallus, on her way to Rome. Perhaps
you would wish to follow and sell her your onions there.”
“Perhaps I should,” answered Caleb. “When you Romans have gone this
seems likely to become a bad country for gardeners, since owls and
jackals do not buy fruit, and you will leave no other living thing
behind you.”
“True,” answered the cook. “Cæsar knows how to handle a broom and he
has made a very clean sweep,” and he pointed complacently to the
heaped-up ruins of the Temple before them. “But how much for the whole
basket full?”
“Take them, friend,” said Caleb, “and sell them to your mess for the
best price that you can get. You need not mention that you paid
nothing.”
“Oh! no, I won’t mention it. Good morning, Mr. Cabbage-grower, good
morning.”
Then he stood still watching as Caleb vanished quickly among the great
boles of the olive trees. “What can stir a Jew so much,” he reflected
to himself, “as to make him give something for nothing, and especially
to a Roman? Perhaps he is Pearl-Maiden’s brother. No, that can’t be
from his eyes—her lover more likely. Well, it is no affair of mine, and
although he never grew them, the vegetables are good and fresh.”
That evening when Caleb, still disguised as a peasant, was travelling
through the growing twilight across the hills that bordered the road to
Tyre, he heard a mighty wailing rise from Jerusalem and knew that it
was the death-cry of his people. Now, everywhere above such portions of
the beleaguered city as remained standing, shot up tall spires and
wreaths of flame. Titus had forced the walls, and thousands upon
thousands of Jews were perishing beneath the swords of his soldiers, or
in the fires of their burning homes. Still, some ninety thousand were
left alive, to be driven like cattle into the Court of Women. Here more
than ten thousand died of starvation, while some were set aside to
grace the Triumph, some to be slaughtered in the amphitheatres at
Cæsarea and Berytus, but the most were transported to Egypt, there,
until they died, to labour in the desert mines. Thus was the last
desolation accomplished and the prophecy fulfilled: “And the Lord shall
bring thee into Egypt again with ships . . . and there ye shall sell
yourselves unto your enemies for bondmen and for bondwomen, and no man
shall buy you.” Thus did “Ephraim return to Egypt,” whence he came
forth to sojourn in the Promised Land until the cup of his sin was
full. Now once more that land was a desert without inhabitants; all its
pleasant places were waste; all its fenced cities destroyed, and over
their ruins and the bones of their children flew Cæsar’s eagles. The
war was ended, there was peace in Judæa. _Solitudinem faciunt pacem
appellant!_
When Caleb reached Tyre, by the last light of the setting sun he saw a
white-sailed galley beating her way out to sea. Entering the city, he
inquired who went in the galley and was told Gallus, a Roman captain,
in charge of a number of sick and wounded men, many of the treasures of
the Temple, and a beautiful girl, who was said to be the grand-daughter
of Benoni of that town.
Then knowing that he was too late, Caleb groaned in bitterness of
spirit. Presently, however, he took thought. Now, Caleb was wise in his
generation, for at the beginning of this long war he had sold all his
land and houses for gold and jewels, which, to a very great value, he
had left hidden in Tyre in the house of a man he trusted, an old
servant of his father’s. To this store he had added from time to time
out of the proceeds of plunder, of trading, and of the ransom of a rich
Roman knight who was his captive, so that now his wealth was great.
Going to the man’s house, Caleb claimed and packed this treasure in
bales of Syrian carpets to resemble merchandise.
Then the peasant who had travelled into Tyre upon business about a
mule, was seen no more, but in place of him appeared Demetrius, the
Egyptian merchant, who bought largely, though always at night, of the
merchandise of Tyre, and sailed with it by the first ship to
Alexandria. Here this merchant bought much more goods, such as would
find a ready sale in the Roman market, enough to fill the half of a
galley, indeed, which lay in the harbour near the Pharos lading for
Syracuse and Rhegium.
At length the galley sailed, meaning to make Crete, but was caught by a
winter storm and driven to Paphos in Cyprus, where, being afraid to
attempt the seas again, let the merchant, Demetrius, do what he would
to urge them forward, the captain and crew of the galley determined to
winter. So they beached her in the harbour and went up to the great
temple, rejoicing to pay their vows and offer gifts to Venus, who had
delivered them from the fury of the seas, that they might swell the
number of her votaries.
But although he accompanied them, since otherwise they might have
suspected that he was a Jew, Demetrius, who sought another goddess,
cursed Venus in his heart, knowing that had it not been for her
delights the sailors would have risked the weather. Still, there was no
help for it and no other ship by which he could sail, so here he abode
for more than three months, spending his time in Curium, Amathos and
Salamis, trading among the rich natives of Cyprus, out of whom he made
a large profit, and adding wine, and copper from Tamasus to his other
merchandise, as much as there was room for on the ship.
In the end after the great spring festival, for the captain said that
it would not be fortunate to leave until this had been celebrated, they
set sail and came by way of Rhodes to the Island of Crete, and thence
touching at Cythera to Syracuse in Sicily, and so at last to Rhegium.
Here the merchant, Demetrius, transhipped his goods into a vessel that
was sailing to the port of Centum Cellæ, and having reached that place
hired transport to convey them to Rome, nearly forty miles away.