NATHAN KEEPS HIS WORD
Clearchus and Chares shivered in the chill of the dungeon. By the
glimmer of light that entered through a narrow opening above their
heads, they saw that the place was quite bare. There was nothing but
the stone floor under their feet and the four stone walls that shut
them in.
"What think you, Chares?" Clearchus said, with the shadow of a smile.
"Nathan will never be able to rescue us from here."
"It does not look hopeful," the Theban replied, "but let us see."
He made a careful examination of the walls, finding everywhere the
solid stone unbroken. The only openings in the cell were the tiny
window and the door. The window was out of reach and so narrow that
not even a cat could have squeezed through. Chares halted at the door
and examined the bars. They were of hammered iron, as thick as the
shaft of a lance, and rendered stronger by two cross-bars, welded from
side to side. The Theban tested them gently with his hands and shook
his head.
"The blacksmith who forged them was a good workman," he said.
At that moment they heard the step of the sentry outside in the
passageway. The man carried at his girdle a bunch of great keys that
rattled as he walked. He was armed with a short spear with a long,
keen blade. He halted at the door of the cell.
"What are you doing there?" he said gruffly to Chares. "Get back!"
"No need to be angry, my friend," Chares returned good-naturedly,
falling back from the door. "What are you going to do to us?"
The jailer's brutish face assumed an expression of pleasure that was
evidently unfeigned.
"You know you are to be tortured to-morrow," he said, "and we do those
things thoroughly here. I shall help. They could not get along
without me."
"I suppose you are used to it," Chares ventured.
"My father taught me," the man replied proudly. "There is none in the
empire better with the rack than I. And he showed me how to draw the
band about a man's forehead until his eyes stick out of his head and
his skull cracks like an egg, and all without killing him. Very few
know the secret."
"And when you are through with the torture, what then?" asked Chares.
"Why, then you will die by the boat," the jailer replied.
"Do you mean we shall be drowned?" Chares inquired.
The jailer laughed harshly. "That would be too easy," he said. "Death
by the boat has nothing to do with the water, as you will find. They
will place you in the shallop with your head, arms, and feet outside.
Then they will cover you with honey and place another boat upside down
over you. This will leave your head and hands free through the holes.
The ants and the flies are fond of honey. I have known men to live a
week in their snug wooden jackets; but they usually go crazy after a
few days, when the ants begin to eat them."
"That is very interesting," Chares remarked. "When will they begin the
torture?"
"To-morrow morning," the man replied, "and I advise you to get a sound
sleep; you will be able to stand the pain better."
He passed on down the corridor, humming to himself as though his mind
were filled with pleasant thoughts.
"That is a nice prospect," Chares said, turning away from the grating.
"I wonder what Nathan intends to do?"
"We can only wait," Clearchus replied. "I think we had better pretend
that we are asleep, so that your friend the sentinel will at least let
us alone."
They stretched themselves upon the stone floor and waited, talking in
whispers. With nightfall, the prison grew utterly dark, excepting in
the corridor, where the surly guard lighted oil lamps, set at intervals
in niches in the wall. These made brief spaces of light in the gloomy
passageway, through which the man went and came with monotonous tread.
There was silence in that part of the prison where they were,
indicating that the other condemned cells were vacant. For a time the
sound of voices reached them faintly through the slit in the wall, but
these gradually ceased as the night advanced.
One of the lamps had been set directly opposite their cell, but its
feeble glimmer hardly extended to the bars of their cage, although it
rendered objects in the corridor dimly distinct.
Hour followed hour, and each seemed like a week to the young Athenian.
Chares, overcome by drowsiness, had fallen asleep at his side.
Clearchus wondered at the careless nature of his friend that permitted
him to close his eyes in the face of so horrible a death. He had no
doubt that Nathan would seek to rescue them, but he knew not when nor
how. Perhaps he would attempt intercession with Darius. Perhaps he
would defer the trial until the morning. What if he should fail?
Clearchus was far from being a coward, but his nerves shrank from the
thought of the torture and the lingering agony that would follow before
death came to set them free. The very idea of death, since now he knew
that Artemisia was living and in need of him, filled his heart with
anguish.
As he lay gazing into the corridor, with his head upon his hand, he
recalled her face as it had appeared to him in the happy garden in
Academe, with the sunlight on her hair and the color of the wild rose
in her cheeks. He remembered how her blue eyes had looked into his
with sweet wistfulness and how the tears dimmed them when she told him
of the fears that had beset her. The tears rose to his own eyes at the
remembrance, and he ground his teeth as he thought of his helplessness.
Why had he not trusted the prevision of her finer perceptions, half
ethereal as they were? Why had he not remained to defend her and to
prevent the train of misfortunes which had followed?
The sentinel paused at the door of the cell for a moment in passing.
He noted the deep breathing of Chares and resumed his march with a
yawn. Clearchus listened, mechanically counting his steps until he
should reach the spot where they were to turn. Suddenly a sound came
to his ears that caused him to sit up and listen intently. There were
other footfalls in the corridor. They were advancing in the track of
the sentinel from the direction of the entrance.
The Athenian's pulses bounded. Help had come. He stretched out his
hand to rouse Chares, but in an instant he reflected that there was
evidently no effort at concealment on the part of the newcomer. The
steps were careless and deliberate. Probably they were made by another
guard, who had come to relieve the bloodthirsty wretch outside. His
hope sank as suddenly as it had arisen and he let his hand fall.
"Why should I awaken him?" he thought. "Let him sleep."
Slowly the steps advanced. Clearchus crept to the door of the cell and
peered out through the grating. A man's figure was approaching along
the passage. It was Nathan. Clearchus rose quickly to his feet and
shook Chares by the shoulder.
"Silence!" he whispered.
The Theban rubbed his eyes and stretched his great limbs.
"Where am I?" he muttered. "Oh, yes, I remember. What has happened?"
"Nathan is here," Clearchus said.
Chares was on his feet with a bound, and both stood listening
breathlessly.
Nathan had reached the dim circle of light before their cell. His keen
black eyes were glancing to the right and left at the dark gratings.
"We are here!" Clearchus whispered through the bars.
The Israelite turned his face toward them and smiled, trying to
distinguish them in the darkness. In his hand he carried a roll of
papyrus.
"Be ready!" he said, in a scarcely audible tone.
"Who are you?" the sentinel demanded, catching sight of Nathan for the
first time.
Nathan halted close to the bars of the cell and awaited his approach
without reply.
"What are you doing here?" the man asked gruffly as he approached.
"I have an order for you," Nathan replied coolly, unrolling the papyrus
as he spoke. "Read it."
The man took the papyrus in his hand and looked at it. Then he glanced
cunningly at Nathan.
"What does it mean?" he growled, handing it back. "I cannot read."
This was evidently a contingency that had not entered into Nathan's
calculations.
"It is signed by Boupares--here, do you see!" he said, holding the
writing under the jailer's nose.
"Well, what then?" the man asked suspiciously.
"It is an order," Nathan continued. "You are to deliver the Greek
prisoners to me immediately."
"What are you going to do with them?" the jailer asked.
"Boupares desires to talk with them before they are examined," Nathan
explained.
"I shall not give them up," the jailer replied, with the air of a man
who has made up his mind. "If Boupares wishes to see them, let him
come here. They were sent to me under the seal of the king himself,
and this order of yours has no seal. Do you think I want to be boiled
alive as my comrade was last month? I can hear his yells yet, for I
helped to do it. You can tell Boupares what I have said, and now be
off."
Like most ignorant men when they think, or pretend to think, that they
are being imposed upon, the jailer raised his voice to a bullying
shout. Nathan looked apprehensively over his shoulder toward the
entrance of the prison. The harsh tone echoed between the narrow walls
and might be easily heard at the gate, where several men were stationed.
"Give me your keys," he said quietly. "You know the penalty for
disobeying an order."
The jailer stepped to the door of the cell and stood defiantly, with
his back against the bars.
"I will not give them!" he said.
From within the cell the man's figure was outlined against the light of
the lamp. Chares moved forward in the darkness behind him with
noiseless tread, and his fingers closed suddenly around the jailer's
throat. The wretch gasped once and threw up his chin, struggling
convulsively to free himself from the iron clutch that encircled his
neck. His struggles were in vain. The Theban drew him silently back
against the bars. His feet scuffled on the stone floor, and his short
spear clattered from his hand.
"Take the keys," Clearchus whispered.
Nathan quickly detached the keys from the jailer's belt and unlocked
the door of the cell. Clearchus slipped through the open door, picking
up the jailer's spear as he went. Chares relaxed his hold, and the
man's body slipped in a huddled heap to the floor.
"Come," said the Israelite. "We have no time to lose."
What he said was true. From the direction of the entrance came the
sound of voices and the flickering of a torch danced upon the walls.
"Neshak! Ho, Neshak, where are you?" called a voice.
"They are seeking the jailer," Nathan whispered. "Come!"
He darted down the corridor into the darkness, with the two Greeks at
his heels. At the end of a dozen yards they turned quickly to the
left, up a flight of stairs, and then through other passageways, until
they reached a second short stairway and emerged upon the roof.
They stood panting and listening beside the head of the stair. Above
them the wide arch of the sky was sown with stars. From the black
opening at their feet came a confused sound of cries and shouting.
"They have found the jailer's body," Nathan said. "I fear we are lost.
It shall be as Jehovah wills!"
He drew a short sword from its sheath at his side.
"Is there no other way to the roof?" Clearchus asked.
"No other way," Nathan replied; "but how can we hope to hold this
against them?"
The Athenian looked about him. The roof was built of huge slabs of
stone, fitted together without mortar, and there was nothing that might
serve as even a temporary barricade.
"If we could only raise one of these," he said, stooping over one of
the slabs.
"Not ten men could do it," Nathan replied, shaking his head.
"Let us see," said Chares.
He thrust his fingers under the stone and set his feet wide apart. The
muscles of his back and arms rose in ridges. The veins of his neck
swelled like knotted cords. The great stone stirred in its bed.
Clearchus and Nathan dropped their weapons and bent eagerly to assist
him. The ponderous mass heaved slowly upward, tilting toward the
opening that led to the stairway. From the sound of the voices within
they knew that their pursuers were close at hand.
"Life or death!" groaned Chares, the sweat streaming from his body like
rain. "Now!"
The mighty stone rose inch by inch upon its edge, standing higher than
the heads of the three men, who were now behind and beneath it. Their
pursuers had evidently halted on the stairs, expecting the opening to
the roof to be defended. Puzzled by the silence, they seemed to be
concerting a plan of attack. Suddenly they sprang upward with a shout,
thrusting forward their spears and crowding for the aperture.
The great slab stood upright, balancing on its lower end. While a man
might draw breath, it hung motionless, and then it toppled over upon
the opening from the stairs.
The foremost of the pursuers saw it and with inarticulate cries sought
to retreat. They were too late. The heavy mass crashed down upon
their heads and covered the opening. Nathan and Clearchus fell forward
with it and lay gasping. Chares swayed upon his feet and his head
reeled. The blood dripped from the ends of his fingers, where it had
burst from beneath his nails. Faintly from under the stone issued
cries of agony, as though some of the guard had been caught there and
held fast by mangled limbs.
Nathan staggered to his feet and groped for his sword. "Now for the
wall," he cried. "We may yet escape!"