_TO THE LION._
[Illustration: Initial]
The day preceding these surprising events, Beltrezzor had taken the keeper
of the prison aboard the new ship which lay at the pier. He had shown him
the immense treasures in his rosewood boxes—the accumulation of a long
life and successful trade in the far Eastern countries which abound in
diamonds and precious stones.
Euphorbus opened his eyes in great astonishment. He had never seen so much
wealth before. To his feeble arithmetic it was absolutely incalculable.
“Euphorbus,” said my uncle, looking toward the blue line of the sea which
was visible in the distance, “if this vessel sails from this point
to-morrow evening at four o’clock, do you think she could get out of the
river and to sea before night came on, to escape any vessel started in
pursuit of her half an hour after she weighed anchor?”
“Yes, she could not be overtaken by any sail now in the river?”
“I make liberal calculations. I say half an hour, but she will have an
hour or two hours the start.”
“Then she is perfectly safe,” said the other.
“Euphorbus!” continued my uncle, looking him in the face, “you are a Gaul.
Away over there lies your beautiful country, with its glorious mountains,
its swift rivers, its rich fields, its vineyards, its brave warriors. Do
you not wish to see it again?”
“Yes,” said the soldier with a sigh.
“Here you are a stranger, an exile, a prisoner yourself. What are these
Romans to you, hereditary enemies, that you should obey them? robbers and
murderers of your friends and countrymen, that you should love them?”
“I despise them,” said Euphorbus, gruffly.
“In Gaul you could be happy. You could return to your old home perhaps.”
“The Romans have burnt it.”
“You could rebuild it. You could take care of your mother in her old age.
You could have a wife at your side and children about your knees.”
“Do not talk about these things!” said the Gaul. “They sadden me.”
“Talk about them? You shall have them; they are yours. This vessel is
yours; one-half of that immense treasure is yours.”
“Mine? mine?”
“Yes, yours, on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“That you bring my little Mary out of the amphitheatre to-morrow—” and the
old man, overpowered by the strain upon his feelings, burst into tears.
Euphorbus was deeply moved.
“You ask an impossibility! Oh that I could—”
“Will you if you can?” exclaimed the old man, earnestly seizing him by the
hand.
“Certainly I will—”
“It is all I ask!” said Beltrezzor. “Leave it to me. Let me into your
private room at three o’clock and I will explain everything to you. If you
are not satisfied you can then refuse.”
“You speak mysteries,” said the Gaul; “but you yourself are a mystery.
Come, as you promise. My life is not much, and I am willing to risk it for
you and your little Mary as you call her.”
My uncle had been twice every day to visit his niece. The more he saw of
her helplessness, her purity, her suffering and her terror, the more she
entwined herself about his heart, and the more resolutely did he labor to
achieve her deliverance. She clung to him so tenderly, and as the fatal
hour approached her fear of the lion became so heartrending, that the old
man could hardly tear himself from her embraces.
The Roman guard, accustomed to him, received his coins smilingly and
scarcely noticed his coming out. For three days before the Sabbath he had
worn a green shade over his eyes.
“I got dust in them,” said he to the soldiers, “and an old man’s eyes are
weak.”
Three o’clock, Sabbath, arrived. Beltrezzor was admitted into the private
room of the keeper. The amphitheatre was crowded, and crowds were still
pressing on the outside for admission. The games and combats were going
on, to the great delight of the immense audience, for they occasionally
shook the building with shouts of laughter and thunders of applause. The
huge lion, irritated by these noises and raging with hunger, sent up roar
after roar, which appalled the stoutest hearts among the spectators.
Euphorbus, stern and pale, came into his office.
“Now for your plan,” said he to Beltrezzor. “It is now or never.”
My uncle drew from the ample folds of his robe a package, which he laid on
a table.
“Now,” said he, “attention! Mary and I are to change places. She is to
come out with you, disguised as her uncle. I am to remain in the dungeon,
disguised as Mary.”
Euphorbus staggered back with protruded eyes.
“And to be thrown to the lion yourself?”
“It is the only way,” said the old man, slowly and meekly.
Euphorbus fell upon his neck and kissed his cheek:
“I have heard that heroes were sometimes elevated into gods; but you are
the only man of whom I could believe it.”
“You see,” continued Beltrezzor, “here is a mask of the finest parchment,
painted in imitation of Mary’s face, with long beautiful golden hair
attached to the headpiece.”
“It is indeed an astonishing likeness. The face is perfect. And where is
the mask in imitation of yours?”
He untied a string behind his neck, and drew off his hair and beard at
once. He was a beardless bald old man. He wore his mask.
“Any one wearing this would be mistaken for me. There was one difficulty
about the eyes. We got over that by wearing the green shade. There was
another about the nose and mouth. She must hold her handkerchief to her
face, as is natural in grief. The illusion will be complete.
“Here are two flat pieces of cork,” he continued, “to be put into my
sandals, which are peculiarly constructed so as to conceal them. That will
add an inch to Mary’s height. Then you see my turban is so arranged that a
little traction here elevates it an inch more. That will make it right,
for she is nearly as tall as I am. The robes you know we can simply
exchange.”
The old man dwelt upon these details until he convinced Euphorbus that the
singular exchange was perfectly feasible.
The voice of Simon Magus was now heard in the courtyard. He had just
looked into Mary’s window to see that his victim had not escaped. He threw
the guard some money. He then spoke to three men who stood before him with
long poles in their hands, each pole having an iron hook at the end of it.
He spoke so loud that Mary and every one heard him:
“You will stand inside the iron railing and watch the lion’s attack. So
long as he eats the neck and shoulders or the lower half of the body, let
him alone. When he begins upon the chest, drag the body away from him with
your hooks. Remember! I want the woman’s heart uninjured. If you cannot do
it, I will give the signal for the keepers to throw in the murderer
Trebonius. That will save my prize and satisfy the people.”
After this horrible speech he entered the amphitheatre by a private way
and resumed his seat near the gorgeous chair of Lelius.
“The coast is clear,” said Euphorbus. “Now is our time.”
They entered the courtyard. Euphorbus gave the guards double money.
“Our poor old friend,” said he, “is overwhelmed with grief to-day. He
cannot speak. It is his last visit.”
They passed into the dungeon. Mary was crouching in one corner, white as a
corpse. She sprang to her uncle’s arms. She could not speak; she could not
weep. Terror had paralyzed the fountains of thought and sorrow.
“I have come to save you, my child,” said the old man, “Courage! and you
will be free in ten minutes. Lazarus is in the street waiting for you.
Martha is on a beautiful ship waiting for you. In one hour you will be on
the blue sea sailing away from this awful city.”
Mary stared at him in wild surprise.
“Free? Lazarus waiting! and Martha?”
The transition from total despair to hope was too much for her weak
nerves. She swooned.
The old man knelt by her side, kissing her hands and chafing her temples
while the great tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Too bad! too bad!” said Euphorbus, “when time is so precious”—and he
busied himself in forcing a stimulus into her mouth.
She revived presently and sat up.
“You say I may be saved, uncle. Now tell me how. I am calm and can
comprehend you perfectly.”
Beltrezzor proceeded to explain everything as he had done to Euphorbus.
She heard him patiently, and then said in a quiet tone:
“And, poor good man! do you think I will permit you to be eaten by the
lion in my place? Oh no, that is impossible. Think of some other plan.”
“There is no other way. I shall not be eaten by the lion.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not a Christian. You are condemned for heresy. I am a
Gentile.”
“But they will kill you for contriving my escape, and this good keeper
also.”
“Oh no! That offence is not punishable with death. They will fine me
heavily, but I am rich and can pay. The keeper will escape with you and
protect you.”
After much persuasion and argument on one side and many doubts and
questionings on the other, Mary’s scruples were at last overcome, and the
transformation in both parties effected so adroitly that detection seemed
impossible.
Mary suddenly turned her earnest eyes on Beltrezzor’s face.
“Uncle, if you deceive me in this matter, it will kill me.”
“Courage! my sweet girl,” said the old man, smiling—“come what may. I
shall rest better to-night than I did last night; and the sun will shine
for me more beautifully to-morrow than it has to-day.”
“Come, come,” said Euphorbus, “we must be going.”
Oh the anguish of that parting!
Mary put the green shade over her eyes and the handkerchief to her mouth
and walked slowly but bravely out with the keeper. The guard let them
pass. One fellow looked closely after them, and then stepped to the window
and looked in. Mary with her golden tresses falling over her shoulders was
kneeling in prayer!
Who can imagine the thoughts of that brave old man, as he knelt in the
woman’s dress, with the lion’s growl in his ear! How eagerly he listened!
How freely he breathed when he heard no interruption in the courtyard; no
outcry; no alarm. They are safe! How he lifted his heart to heaven!
Did he spend that last hour in prayer? To what God did he pray? What faith
did he offer up as his claim to salvation? What matters it? Had he not
kept the commandments of God?
Was not his soul free from irreverence and profanity and theft and murder
and adultery and perjury and uncharitableness? Did he not love his
neighbor more than himself?
This disciple of Zoroaster, was he not a child of God?
The hour passed. There was a solemn hush in the grand amphitheatre. The
dead gladiators were dragged from the arena. Sliding panels were withdrawn
and the great Næmean lion was seen behind his iron bars furiously lashing
his sides with his tail.
The herald of Lelius cried with a loud voice:
“Bring forth the woman!”
There was a great rustling and stir in the vast audience. Every one held
his breath. A sudden outcry was raised from the prison:
“She has escaped!”
It was echoed by a thousand hoarse whispers in the crowd—“She has
escaped!” There was a tremendous excitement. All stood upon their feet.
How? where? when? by whom? echoed from all sides. Simon Magus, a picture
of flaming wrath, leaped into the arena and ran through the walk enclosed
by iron railings that led into the prison.
He returned in a moment dragging the poor, old, bald-headed and beardless
man by the arms, and holding up the female mask in the air, he exclaimed:
“The woman and the keeper have fled; but here is the miscreant; here is
the criminal! Clear the arena and give him to the lion.”
“Give him to the lion!” echoed thousands of voices, followed by thunders
of applause.
A tall, stern-looking man, in the front row of seats, sprang to his feet
and looking over to Lelius, exclaimed:
“Justice! justice! This man is no Christian; this man is no heretic.”
“To the lion—to the lion!” interrupted the multitude with fiercer yells
than before.
Simon Magus motioned significantly to the governor.
“To the lion,” said Lelius, waving his hand.
“I defy you,” said the speaker, in a loud and stern voice—“I defy you to
throw him to the lion.
“In the name of the Senate and people of Rome I warn you that this man,
Beltrezzor of Persia, is a Roman citizen.”
Silence was partly restored; all eyes glaring upon the speaker as he
continued.
“Not by birth nor by purchase, but by special decree of the Senate for
commercial services rendered the Roman empire by this man, one of the
wealthiest and noblest men of the East. I am his agent and correspondent
for Antioch. I have seen him before. I know him, and I can prove what I
say.”
“Release the Roman citizen,” said Lelius in a proud and haughty tone,
rising from his seat.
Whilst he was speaking Beltrezzor sank gently to the ground. He had been
released by an authority higher than that of Rome.
“He is dead!” exclaimed a thousand voices at once.
“He died of fear,” said Simon Magus.
“He died of joy,” said the voice from the benches; “for that face is the
face of an angel.”
[Illustration: Ornament]
[Illustration: Ornament]