THE BONDMAN OF HATE
In a city like Ptolemais, where many pagans lived extravagantly and
many Jews lived thriftily, there were, as naturally follows, many
money-lenders among the sons of Abraham.
"Seek them all," was Agrippa's charge, "but Peter, the usurer. Him,
thou hadst better avoid."
The young Essene laid aside the prince's dress, with its embroidery of
precious metal, and, getting into a simpler garment affected by the
stewards to men of rank, went out into the city to borrow twenty
thousand drachmae.
He did not get the twenty thousand drachmae, but he found, instead, that
Herod Agrippa was the most notorious bankrupt in the world. Being a
Jew and by heritage thrifty, the discovery shook him in his respect for
the prince, but at the same time a resolution shaped itself in him
against the usurers. But, on a certain day, he returned to the little
house in the suburbs of the city to report that he had been placidly
refused by every money-lending Jew or Gentile, except Peter, in the
seaport.
But he delivered his tidings unmoved.
"Be of hope," he said to Cypros, whose head drooped at the news; "there
are many untried ways."
He went again into the city, and visited the khans. There might be
new-comers who were money-lenders in other cities.
There were such as guests in Ptolemais, but from their lips he learned
that Agrippa was black-listed from the Adriatic to the Euphrates; but
Marsyas did not return to the house in the suburbs that night. The
weight of his obligation was too heavy to endure the added burden which
the sight of Agrippa's suspense had become.
He went to the rabbis of Ptolemais; they told him that they were not
money-lenders. He applied to the prefect of the city, who laughed at
him. Hoping that the name of Agrippa as a bankrupt had not penetrated
into the fields he journeyed into the country-side of Syria and tried
an oil-merchant, a rustic, rich and unlettered. But the oil-merchant
came up to Ptolemais and made inquiry, shrugged his shoulders, glowered
at Marsyas and went back to his groves.
An Egyptian seller of purple landed at Ptolemais from Alexandria. The
name of the city of hope attracted Marsyas and he met the merchant at
the wharves. But the seller of purple had been to Rome and the topmost
name on his list of debtors was Herod Agrippa.
At the end of three days, Marsyas returned to the house in the suburbs
to assure the prince that he had not deserted and went again on his
search.
His invariable failures began to teach him a certain shrewdness. He
discovered early that Essenic frankness would not serve his ends. He
found that men were approachable through certain channels; that it was
better to speak advisedly than frankly; to lay plans, rather than to
wait on events; to use devices rather than persuasion. These things
admitted, he discovered that he had unconsciously subordinated them to
his use. Though momentarily alarmed, he did not hate himself as he
should. On the other hand, it was pleasurable to lay siege to men and
try them at their own scheming.
At night in a dutiful effort to cleanse himself of the day's
accumulation of worldliness, he went to the open proseuchae, where in
the dark of the great out-of-doors, he was least likely to be noticed,
to comfort himself with stolen worship, stolen profit from the Law.
But the Law was not tender to those who lived as Stephen lived, and
died as Stephen died. Not in all that great and holy scroll which the
Reader read was there compassion for the blasphemer. Also, he heard of
the great plague of persecution which Saul had loosed upon the
Nazarenes in Jerusalem and how the Pharisee had become a mighty man
before the Council, and an awe and a terror to the congregation. So he
came away from the proseuchae, not only unhelped but harmed, embittered,
enraged, alienated from his faith, and hungering for vengeance.
By day, he walked through the commercial districts of Ptolemais and
pushed his almost hopeless search with an energy that did not flag at
continued failure. He knew that if he obtained the twenty thousand
drachmae, he bound Agrippa the surer to his oath of allegiance to the
cause against Saul. Despair, therefore, was a banished and forbidden
thing.
His plans, however, had been tried and proved fruitless. Typically a
soldier of fortune, he was relying upon the exigencies of chance.
Ptolemais was a normal town, with large interest and pleasures, and the
fair day was too fleeting for one to stop and take heed of another.
Passers pushed and hurried him when he came upon those more busy than
he. Sailors, bronzed as Tatars, were probably the sole loiterers
besides the inevitable oriental feature, the sidewalk mendicant.
So it was that on a certain day when Marsyas overtook a lectica in the
street, the old man within complained aloud and had no audience, except
his plodding bearers, or the attention of a glance, or a slackened step
now and again among the citizens.
"They rob me!" he was crying when Marsyas came up with him.
The young man turned quickly; the declaration was alarming. His eyes
encountered the face of Peter, the usurer, a stout, gray old Jew, in
the apparel of a Sadducee.
Seeing that he had won the young man's notice the old usurer seized the
opportunity to enlarge.
"They ruin me!" he cried.
Marsyas bowed gravely. "Thy pardon, sir," he said. "May I be of
service?"
"They sap my life!" the old man continued more violently, as if the
young man's question had excited him. "They take, and demand more;
they waste, and must be replenished! I drop into the grave and there
will be nothing left to buy a tomb to receive me!"
The words were directed to Marsyas, and the young man having halted
could not go on without awkwardness.
"I pray thee," he urged, "tell me who plagues thee thus."
"The tradesmen! Because I am wealthy, they augment their hire; because
I must buy, they increase their price; they hold necessities out of my
reach! It is a conspiracy between them because I am of lowly birth,
and I go from one to another and find no relief! Behold!" He shook
out a shawl which had been folded across his knees. "I must have it to
protect me against the cold. It is inferior; it is scant; yet it cost
me fifteen pieces of silver!"
Marsyas glanced at the mantle; even with his little knowledge of
fabrics it appeared not worth its price.
"Thou hast servants, good sir, and camels," he said, drawn into
suggestion in spite of himself. "Do I overstep my privilege to suggest
that thou mayest send to Anthedon or to Caesarea and buy in other
cities?"
"But the hire--the hire! And how should I know that the knavery does
not extend to Anthedon and Caesarea?"
"Then," said Marsyas, "establish thine own booths here and undersell
the robbers."
There was silence; the small eyes of the old man narrowed and ignited.
"A just punishment," he muttered. "A proper punishment!"
"Or this," Marsyas continued, interested in his own conspiracy. "Thou
sayest they oppress thee because thou art a lowly man! They are
foolish. Display them thy power and punish them. Thou art a great
usurer; powerful families here are in thy debt. How strong a hand thou
holdest over them! What canst thou not compel them to do! Nay, good
sir; to me, it seemeth thou hast the whip-hand over these tradesmen!"
The old man rubbed his hands. "An engaging picture," he said. "But
unless I haste, they will ruin me yet!"
Marsyas shook his head. "Not if the tales of thy famous wealth be
true."
The lectica had moved along beside him and he waited now to be
dismissed; but, contrary to custom of that rank which is privileged to
command, the old man waited for Marsyas to take his leave.
"Methinks," he began, "I have seen thee--"
"Doubtless," Marsyas interrupted hastily. "I am a steward here in
Ptolemais. But I have an errand here, good sir; by thy leave, I shall
depart."
The old man made a motion of assent, but he followed the young Essene
with a thoughtful eye.
"If I am to know the world's way," Marsyas said to himself, "I can use
it, if need be."
He did not visit another usurer, but on the following day went to those
places likely to be the haunts of Peter. When, presently, he
discovered the old man near a fountain, Marsyas did not attempt to
catch his eye. But one of Peter's servants touched him on the arm and
told him that the master beckoned, and he hastened to the old man's
side.
"Who is thy master?" Peter asked.
Marsyas winced, but restrained a declaration of his free-born state.
"A Roman citizen who is preparing to return to Italy."
"A Roman!" Peter repeated. "But thou art a Jew, or the blood of the
race in thee lies."
"A Jew without taint of other blood in all the line."
"Art satisfied with thy service--serving a Roman?" was the demand.
"None has a better lord!" replied Marsyas quietly, but with an inward
delight in leading the old man on.
"But it should be more lawful for thee to serve a Jew," Peter declared.
"A Roman's slave, a slave for ever; a Jew's slave, a slave but six
years--"
Marsyas could rest no longer under the intimation of bondage.
"Good sir, I am not a slave."
"Ho! a hireling."
"No; a free man, unattached and serving for love."
Peter scratched his head. "For love only? Then why not come and be my
steward for wages?"
"Thou canst not pay my price," he said with meaning.
The old man lifted his withered chin.
"Thy price!" he repeated haughtily. "And pray, sirrah, what is thy
price?"
A figurative answer to add to his first sententious remark was on
Marsyas' lips, but he halted suddenly, and a little pallor came into
his face.
"On another day, I shall tell thee," he said after a silence, and the
old man impatiently dismissed him.
Marsyas turned away from the heart of the city and went straight to the
house in the suburbs.
He found Agrippa stretched on a couch where the air entered through the
west lattice, and the place otherwise solitary. The princess and the
children with the servants had gone into the city.
Marsyas came uncalled to Agrippa's side, and the prince noted the
change on the young man's face. He looked expectant.
"My lord," Marsyas said, "thou didst say to me several days ago that
thou didst hate a vower of vows. Yet no man is chafed by a vow except
him who finds it hard to keep. Wherefore, I pray thee, for the
prospering of the cause and mine, assure me once more of thy good
intent toward Judea."
The Herod raised his fine brows.
"How now, Marsyas? Has the knowledge that I am a Herod been slandering
me to you?"
"Nay, my lord; thou hast won me; and I shall not stop at sacrifice for
thy cause, which is mine."
"What canst thou do, my Marsyas?"
"Get thee money."
"I give thee my word, Marsyas. It has been sorely battered dodging
debts, yet it is still intact enough to contain mine honor. I give
thee my word."
Marsyas lingered with an averted face, which Agrippa tried in vain to
understand. He added nothing to emphasize his avowal; perhaps he
realized at that moment, more keenly than ever afterward, how much a
man wants to be believed.
Presently the young man spoke in another tone.
"Who is this Peter, that I may not ask him for a loan?"
"I owe him a talent already," Agrippa answered with a lazy smile,
"which he advanced to me while he was yet my mother's slave."
"Then thou knowest him! How--how is he favored in disposition?"
"How is Peter favored? Are slaves favored? Nay, they are tempered
like asses, cattle and apes--like beasts. Wherefore, this Peter is
voracious, balky, amiable enough if thou yieldest him provender--not
bad, but, like any donkey, could be better."
Marsyas' eyes fell again; it seemed that he hesitated at his next
question, as though upon its answer turned a matter of great moment.
"Art thou in all truth assured that this Alexandrian will lend thee
money?" he asked presently, beset by the possibility of doubt.
Agrippa laughed outright. "Jove, but this questioning hath a familiar
ring! Surely thou wast sired of a money-lender, Marsyas, else his
inquiries would not arise so naturally to thy lips! Will the
Alexandrian lend? Of a surety! And even if not, then will my mother's
friend, the noble Antonia, Caesar's sister-in-law. If Caesar had not
been so precipitate and hastened me out of Rome, I should have borrowed
the sum of her ten years ago. I have not borrowed of the Alexandrian
ere this because I had not the money to carry me thither."
After a pause, Agrippa anticipated a further question and continued.
"The Alexandrian is Alexander Lysimachus, the noblest Jew a generation
hath produced. Even Rome, that hath such little use for our blood,
waives its ancient judgment against Lysimachus. He is alabarch of the
Jews in Alexandria, able as a Roman, just as a Jew, refined as a Greek,
versatile as an Alexandrian. I saw him four years ago, here, in
Jerusalem, when he brought his wife's remains to bury them on sacred
soil. He had with him two sons, one a man, grown, with his father's
genius, but without his father's soul; the other a handsome lad of
undeveloped character, and a daughter, a veritable sprite for beauty,
and a sibyl for wits. I was afraid of her; I, a Herod and a married
man, turning forty, was afraid of her! But get me the twenty thousand
drachmae, Marsyas, and thou shall see her--_Hercle_--a thousand pardons!
I forgot that thou art an Essene!"
Marsyas stood silent once more, and Agrippa waited.
"And yet one other thing, my lord," the Essene said finally. "I serve
thee no less for love, because I serve thee also for a purpose. Thou
wilt not forget to serve me, when thou comest to thine own?"
"I give thee again my much misused word, Marsyas. Believe me, thou
hast forced more truths out of me than any ever achieved before.
Cypros will make thee her inquisitor when next she suspects me of
warmth toward a maiden!"
Marsyas lifted the prince's hand and pressed it to his lips. Without
further word, he went out of the chamber and returned to the city.
He sought out the counting-room of Peter the usurer, and found within a
commotion and a gathered crowd. The old man himself stood in a
steward's place behind a grating of bronze, with lists and coffers
about him. Without stood a brown woman, in a strange dress
sufficiently rough to establish her state of servitude, and she bore in
her hands a sheep-skin bag that seemed to be filled with coins.
About her was a group of men of nationalities so diverse and so
evidently perplexed that Marsyas immediately surmised that they had
been summoned as interpreters for a stranger whom they could not
understand.
The brown woman was passive: the usurer behind his grating in such a
state of great excitement and anxiety that moisture stood out on his
wrinkled forehead. His eyes were on the sheep-skin bag; evidently the
brown woman was bringing him money, and his fear that the treasure
would escape made the old man desperate.
"Have ye forgotten your mother-tongues?" he fumed at the polyglot
assembly, "or are ye base-born Syrians boasting a nationality that ye
can not prove? Hold! Let her not go forth, good citizens; doubtless
she hath come from a foreign debtor to repay me! Close the doors
without!"
Marsyas pressed through the crowd to the grating, and the old man
discovered him.
"Hither, hither, my friend," he exclaimed. "See if thou canst tell
what manner of stranger we have here."
The young Essene had been examining the woman; with a quick glance,
now, he inspected her face. Dark the complexion, the eyes olive-green
as chrysolite, mysterious and hypnotic; the features regular as an
Egyptian's, but stronger and more beautiful; the physique refined, yet
hardy. The mystic air of the Ganges breathed from her scented shawl.
The young man's training in languages was not overtaxed.
"What is thy will?" he asked in the tongue of the Brahmins.
"To exchange Hindu money for Roman coin," was the instant reply.
Marsyas turned to Peter.
"This is an Indian woman," he explained. "She wishes to exchange coin
of her country for Roman money."
"Good!" the old man cried, rubbing his hands. "We shall oblige her.
Foreign coins are so much bullion; yet, we pay only its face value, in
Roman moneys! Good! I shall melt it, and deliver it to the Roman
mint! Good! But--but how shall I know one of these outlandish coins
from another?"
"I can tell you," Marsyas answered.
The assembled group drifted out of the counting-room and the usurer,
sighing his delight, opened a gate and bade Marsyas and the Hindu woman
come into the apartment behind the screen. There the exchange was
made, and the old usurer, trusting to the Hindu's ignorance of the
language, permitted no moment to pass without comment on his profit.
Presently, Marsyas turned to the woman.
"You lose money by this traffic," he said deliberately.
"Rest thee, brother," was the calm reply, "I know it. Yet I must have
Roman coin to carry me to Egypt."
Marsyas glanced at her apparel. In spite of its humble appearance, it
was the owner of this treasure, that dwelt within it.
The exchange was made, amounting to something over twenty thousand
drachmae. Marsyas, with wistful eyes, saw her put the treasure away in
the sheepskin bag. He arose as she arose, and the two were conducted
out by Peter.
Without, it had grown dark. The woman had made no effort to hide the
nature of her burden. She made an almost haughty gesture of farewell
to Marsyas.
"I shall serve thee, perchance, one day," she said and passed out.
Marsyas followed her. At the threshold, he wavered and stepping into
the street stopped.
She made a small, frail, dusky apparition, under the black shadows of
the bulky buildings of Ptolemais--a profitable victim for some
light-footed highwayman, less sorely in need of money than he. But she
evidently felt no fear.
Then, he turned and went back into the counting-room.
Peter was behind his grating.
"Who and what art thou?" the usurer demanded, with no little admiration
in his tone.
"I am," Marsyas answered, "a doctor of Laws, a master of languages, a
doctor of medicines, a scholar of the College at Jerusalem, a postulant
Essene."
The reply was intentionally full.
"And a steward for love, only!"
"Only for a time. When I can repay thee a debt long standing, I shall
cease to serve at all."
The usurer's eyes brightened. "A debt," he repeated softly. "Is this
my fortunate day? Which of the bankrupts who owe me has been
replenished?"
"Not yet, the one of whom I speak," Marsyas replied. "Hast thou heard
of Herod Agrippa?"
"Herod Agrippa! Evil day that he borrowed a talent of me, never to
return it!"
"Perchance, some day--"
"Never! Whosoever lends him money pitches it into the sea!"
"Yet the sea hath given up its treasure, at times. But let me trouble
thee with a question. What price did the costliest slave in thy
knowledge command?"
"What price? A slave? In Rome? Nay, then, let me think. A Georgian
female captive of much beauty was sold to Sejanus once for six hundred
thousand drachmae--"
"I speak of serving-men," Marsyas interrupted.
"Nay, then: Caesar owns a physician worth eighty thousand drachmae."
"Hath he cured any in Caesar's house of poisoning; can he speak many
languages; is he also a doctor of Laws and a good Jew?"
The usurer shook his head.
"What price, then, should I he worth to Caesar?" Marsyas demanded.
"Sell not thyself to Caesar," Peter cried, flinging up his hands. "It
is forbidden!"
"I shall not sell myself," Marsyas said. "I have come only to find how
to value my services."
"Whom dost thou serve?" the old man demanded. Marsyas was not ready to
disclose his identity.
"A Roman. Peace and the continuance of good fortune be thine."
He bowed and passed out of the counting-room.
The usurer stood a moment, then summoned his servants, and, getting
himself into street dress, hastened to follow the young man. Marsyas
turned his steps toward the house in the suburbs.
There were several torches about the painted gate in the wall and the
light shone on a group alighting from a curricle. Cypros and her
children had returned from the city, and Agrippa had come forth to
receive them. Marsyas joined the group and Peter's lectica was borne
up to the circle of radiance under the torches. The old man's eyes
filled with wrath when he recognized Agrippa. He stood up and surveyed
him with scorn.
"A Roman!" he scoffed. "A Roman, only to add the vices of the race to
the meanness of a Herod! Back to my house, slaves! We have taken
profitless pains!"
Agrippa's anger leaped into his face and Marsyas pursued and overtook
the litter.
"Thy pardon, sir," he began.
"I have a right to attach thee for the talent thy master owes me,"
Peter stormed.
"Peace, good sir! I am not a slave."
Peter chewed his mustache impotently, but the young Essene dropped his
Greek and spoke in Hebrew, the language of the synagogue, the true
badge of Judaism.
"Perchance we may bargain together. Wouldst have me for hire?"
Peter smoldered in sulky silence.
"I can not serve longer without compensation," Marsyas pursued.
"What sum in hire?" Peter demanded.
"Twenty thousand drachmae--"
Peter blazed, but Marsyas stopped his invective with a motion.
"Nay, peace! I have not finished. Twenty thousand drachmae in loan to
Agrippa, and I will serve thee gratis till he redeems me by paying the
principal and the talent he owes."
The usurer, with a snort, abruptly ordered the slaves to proceed.
The next day, Marsyas, loitering on purpose near the usurer's, was
approached by a servant and sent into the presence of Peter.
"Hath the bankrupt any hopes?" the money-lender demanded without
preliminary.
"He goes to Alexandria, for money, and thence to imperial favor in
Rome. There is Antonia who will aid him, as thou knowest. Unless thou
helpest him to reach either of these two places, he is of a surety
bankrupt; wherefore he can never pay thee the talent or even the
interest."
Peter dismissed him moodily and Marsyas returned to the prince. But
the next day Peter appeared at Agrippa's door and was conducted to the
prince's presence, where Cypros sat with him and Marsyas waited. The
old man made no greeting.
"Thou knowest me, Agrippa," he began at once. "For thy mother's sake,
whose happy slave I was, I will take thine Essene at his terms, less
the interest on the twenty thousand drachmae."
"My Essene at his terms," Agrippa repeated in perplexity. But Marsyas,
with a movement of command, broke in.
"The bargain is at first hand between thee and me, good sir," he said
to Peter. "The second contract shall be between the prince and myself.
Bring the money here at sunset and the writings shall be ready for
thee."
"Twenty thousand drachmae, less mine interest on the sum," Peter
insisted.
"Less thine interest," Marsyas assented, and Peter went out.
Agrippa got upon his feet and gazed gravely at Marsyas.
"What is this?" he asked.
"I have bound thee to my cause," the young man answered.
"How? Nay, answer me, Marsyas. What hast thou done?" the prince
urged, impelled by affection as well as wonder.
"I have bought my revenge, and have paid for it with a season of
bondage."
"Hast thou given thyself in hostage for us?" Cypros cried, springing up.
Marsyas, without reply, moved to leave the room. But Agrippa planted
himself in the young man's way, and Cypros in tears slipped down on her
knees at his side, and, raising his hand, kissed it.
"We shall not forget," she whispered to him.
"I shall not know peace till I have redeemed thee," Agrippa declared
with misted eyes.
Great haste to get away from the overwhelmed pair seized the Essene.
Trembling he shook off their hold and hurried out into the air.
He had to quiet a great amazement in him at the thing he had planned
for so many days to do. After a long agitated tramp in search of
composure, he began to see more clearly the results of his extreme act.
He had fixed himself within reach of Vitellius and the Sanhedrim:
unless the ill fortune of the luckless prince improved, he had bound
himself to servitude for a lifetime.
But he drew his hand across his troubled forehead and smiled grimly.
He had made his first decisive step against Saul!