will not hurt the taste of the wine, but the drunkards will sleep the
sooner and sounder. Doubtless there is somewhere on the grounds a large
pointed iron bar: is it not so?”
She replied that there was one in the provision cellar.
“It is well. In the course of the day contrive to introduce the bar, with
a note which I will give you fastened to it, into the prison through the
grated opening. Will you do it?”
She bent her head in assent.
“One other thing—the hardest but most important of all. As soon as the
mess room is quiet after the debauch, and the men are lying stupid with
drunkenness and drug, steal in on tiptoe and cut off the key from the
girdle of the captain, and unlock the dungeon door, if the young man
has not yet succeeded in prying it open. The drug is so powerful that
I think you can do it safely. If one should happen to rouse, he would,
very likely, think you had come to bring more wine and relapse into his
stupor. When the young man is free, conduct him to the north gate, which
I know you have the key of; where we will meet you with a number of men
and conduct you all to the pinnace which by that time will be near the
north hamlet. Will you do this also?”
“Oh,” the woman exclaimed with almost an air of distraction, “I am _so_
afraid. Those wicked, frightful men—how _can_ I go in among them!”
Both Seti and Rachel talked long with her; plied her with arguments and
promises; and at last had the satisfaction of seeing her more composed
and firm, and of hearing her promise that she would do as they wished.
As she rose to go, Rachel grasped her hand and said, “Now be brave for
a few hours and your fortune is made. Do all we have said—do just as we
have said. Do it for the sake of the innocent, do it for Israel’s sake,
do it for our sakes who have some claims upon you, do it for your own
sakes for whom this day may do so much.”
As the woman was turning away, Seti held out to her a vial filled with a
colored liquid. “As evening comes on pour this into a cup of water and
drink it. It is a cordial. It will strengthen and steady you for what you
have to do.... And then,” he added to Rachel, “the note and plan to be
fastened to the bar!”
She at once wrote thus: “To night we expect that the guard will be stupid
with wine and drug. When they are fully quiet after their debauch, see
what you can do toward prying open your door. If you cannot succeed, you
may still hope that the door will be unlocked shortly from without. Make
your way out of the castle by means of the inclosed plan, if no guide
appears; and meet your friends at the north gate.—R.”
She showed this to Seti, who nodded his approval. Folding her copy of the
plan into the note, she gave it to the custode—charging her to put it
through the grate while it was still light enough to read the note and
to see how best to attack the door. The woman departed some gold pieces
richer than she came.
The peddler gathered up his wares, repacked them, and went forward with
his pack. Late in the day, at a signal from Seti, the boatmen who had
scattered themselves along the bank, returned, unmoored the vessel,
pushed out silently into the stream, dropped silently down past the
castle, and as silently warped into another sheltered nook very like that
they had just left and about as far from the castle.
Here the servants spread refreshments for Rachel and her grandfather: and
then a larger outspread was made at the other end of the pinnace for the
others. While these were eating, Seti and Rachel went down among them to
speak a few kindly words, to see that their wants were well supplied,
and to ask all of them, save two or three needed to stay by the vessel,
to be ready late in the evening to escort them in a short walk they were
proposing to take. It would not be amiss if they should take bludgeons or
other arms with them: they would find a plenty of such below. Very likely
arms would not be needed; but then the place was neither Heaven nor the
Diapleuston. Is it necessary to state that no person was employed on
Alexander’s barge unless he was a Jew of his own synagogue?
How should they spend the weary hours of waiting before it would be time
to set out for the gate? Seti did something to answer this question.
As soon as the men had finished eating, he stepped to the front of the
dais with a roll in his hand, and invited all of them to come near
while he should read from their Sacred Writings. He then proceeded to
read from the Septuagint the 93d and a part of the 94th Psalm. It was
very different reading from that artificial sub cantus heard in the
synagogues. It was the reading of a prophet by a prophet, of a poet
by a poet. Such a natural, hearty, sympathetic rendering of the great
thoughts—it seemed as if the royal Psalmist, in the full glow of his
inspiration, was rehearsing his own words. The people stood with open
mouths and wondering eyes as the man of three generations—his form
erect, his eyes keen, his hair but slightly frosted, his teeth perfect,
his voice firm and resonant, his whole bearing that of one who defies
decay—celebrated in grave and majestic tones the glory of the One God,
His justice, and the final overthrow of the plans of the wicked. He
closed by reading with special slowness and emphasis these words, “_Who
will rise up for me against the evil doers—who will stand up for me
against the workers of iniquity?_”
Rolling up the parchment, he looked searchingly about on the upturned
faces.
“Friends,” said he, “we are not far from a den of evil-doers. In yonder
castle, a small band of ruffians, without warrant from the authorities,
have shut up in a dungeon the young man who stood up so nobly for our
faith in the Diapleuston a few days ago. We are here with a warrant from
the governor to rescue him. We expect this will be done about midnight
without any help from you. But we have promised to meet the rescuing
party at the north gate of the castle grounds with our men and conduct
them to the pinnace. We hope that this will be all we need to do. But
if we should be disappointed, I want you to be ready with stout hearts
and arms to succeed where others have failed. The soldiers are few, at
midnight they will be drunk, the castle will be open, and I who know
every nook in it will be your guide. Now, who of you will rise up for us
against the evil doers?”
“We will all go,” said one.
“Yes, _all_,” said another and another.
“There is none of us willing to be left behind,” exclaimed the peddler as
he looked around.
“And yet,” said Seti, “we must leave some with the vessel. Ten of your
stoutest will be enough to go with us; and you may select these for
yourselves.... Now let us kneel and pray to the God of Israel, who can do
great things for us whereof we shall be glad,” and, to the astonishment
of all, he kneeled, and spread forth his hands heavenward, and invoked
the blessing of the Most High on their undertaking with the manner of
one who saw God and stood in his very presence. Few words, but full of
meaning and realization and devotion. And that westering sun looked
through the screen of palms on as true and acceptable a prayer meeting as
he sees to-day.
In the brief twilight that follows an Egyptian sun setting, they saw a
man running down to them from the high road that skirted the bank. It
proved to be the old Egyptian custode. He was spent with running, and,
when brought up to Seti and Rachel, could hardly speak. But at last he
managed to let them know that he was much afraid, from his wife’s growing
agitation, that her courage would fail at the critical moment. All
appearances promised an agony of fright and incapacity when presence of
mind would be most needed. He begged that the lady, who only seemed to
have power to soothe and hearten her, would not fail to come with the
others. It might save everything.
“I _will_ come,” said Rachel; and, looking at Seti, she added, “I had
rather in any case go with you than remain here in suspense.”
He made no reply to her, but said to the Egyptian as he dismissed him
with a present: “Do not forget to have the north gate opened early—also
the iron door leading to the cellars. Have a lighted lantern ready as
soon as the soldiers are quiet.”
The stars came out one by one. Sirius flashed out first; then Aldebaran;
then the body and belt and sword of Orion, together with Pleiades and
Hyades and the Chambers of the South—with their pageant universe. No moon
would appear till after midnight; but such was the stellar effulgence
that nothing more seemed needed for such an enterprise.
The _flight_ of Time! Yes, he is sometimes pictured with wings as far
stretching and mighty as an archangel’s; and sometimes he seems to us
to be plying them with all his might. But not in such circumstances as
our friends were in. To eager, restless, suspenseful hearts, hoping the
best but fearing the worst, eager to work but for the present able to do
nothing, Time has no wings at all, not even feet, but creeps along as if
weighted with untold chains. So crept he that night to Seti and Rachel.
But even the snail is at last found to have moved—the most lingering hour
that ever crept toward a man, second by second, at last arrives—and so,
at last, midnight ached along and found Seti and his company at the north
gate. It was unfastened. So far, well.
They listened. They thought they could hear dull strokes at carefully
measured intervals. “Get nearer—as near as you can,” said Seti to the
peddler, “and see if the sound does not come from the dungeon.”
In a few moments the man returned to say that the prisoner was evidently
at work on his door; but that the custodes, both man and wife, were
sitting in an apparently helpless state on the steps before the iron door
leading to the vaults. He could scarcely get an intelligible word from
either of them.
“Let us go to them,” whispered Rachel to Seti; “let us go to them alone.
The men would only alarm and confound them more.”
For answer he drew her arm still further within his; and went cautiously
forward through the shadows straight toward the door of the vaults. Sure
enough, there were the custodes on the last step, cowering, trembling,
moaning faintly, almost stupid with terror. Rachel knelt by the woman,
took hold of her hand with one hand and stroked her with the other, bade
her be of good courage, if only for a little.
“You see,” said she, “that I have come to help you. Seti also is here;
and many other helpers are behind. Have you taken the cordial? Ah, I
see that you have forgotten it. Never mind, take it now. There, now I
hope you will soon feel better. What do you say? You have no strength?
You cannot go alone? Look, Deborah, let us go together as far as the
prison door and see what progress has been made. Perhaps it will not be
necessary to go for the key. Come, lean on me.”
So the woman was persuaded to her feet. The potion that Rachel had given
her seemed beginning to take effect. Seti pushed open the iron door,
found a lighted lantern just within, cautiously descended the steps with
it, closely followed by the two women. Now the blows were falling strong
and fast; as if the prisoner knew that no time was to be lost. They came
to the grated opening into the cell. Seti set the lantern by it. At once
the strokes ceased.
“Is it Aleph the Chaldean?” inquired the priest in a voice scarcely above
a whisper.
“Thank Heaven! it is the voice of Seti, my friend and father,” answered a
voice within.
“Will the door give way?” asked Seti.
“I fear not,” replied Aleph. “I cannot see where to apply the bar, and so
much of my labor is thrown away. If a light could be introduced through
the grating, I could soon tell whether freedom is possible in this way.”
“Can you get a narrow sconce that will pass through the grate?” asked
Seti of the custode.
The woman, without speaking, pointed in a vague way toward the room above.
“Do nothing till we return,” said the priest to Aleph. “We will find you
a light, or something better.”
Then he whispered to Rachel, “There is but one thing to be done. Seat the
woman on this bench and come. We must do without her. She might shriek or
fall among the men at any moment. Safer without her.”
The woman sank on the bench like a rag. Seti took down the lantern, drew
Rachel’s arm again within his own, and softly made his way up a flight of
steps to the door of the mess room. He listened a moment. Nothing was
audible but the dull hard breathing of the men within.
He gently pressed the door open. The room was full of lights of all
sorts—as if the ruffians had been afraid of darkness and meant to have
as little of it as possible. And all around—on benches, on the floor,
under the great table, hanging limp over the backs of chairs—were the
men in a state of swinish intoxication. Broken and upset cups lay about
everywhere. Pools of wine and vomit were on the table and on the floor.
The foul air was almost intolerable.
Seti took up a sword that lay on the floor, and held out the lantern to
Rachel.
“No, grandfather,” she whispered, “this work is for me. I can tread among
them more lightly than you can; and now I can see the key at the belt of
yonder man,” and she pointed to a man who sat at the head of the table,
his arms spread out upon it, and his head resting on his arms.
He expostulated, “Perhaps the woman neglected to drug the wine as she
neglected her own cordial.”
Without replying, the maiden gathered her robes tightly about her,
and stepped in among the dangerous brutes. Her feet fell as fall the
snow-flakes. Around one man, over the arm or leg of another, narrowly
missing the nodding head of a third—on she went through those swine
possessed with devils like some celestial vision, with eye and foot
steady and sure, till she reached the farther end of the room and the
side of the symposiarch. She saw the key. Oh for a knife to sever it
from the belt! She could see nowhere any sharp cutting tool. The man was
snoring heavily; the snores got into a tangle, trembled, stopped. He
groaned and moved. She stood breathlessly over him with steady, flaming
eyes till his breathing became regular again; then, seizing a small
sconce from the table, she held it under the string that fastened the key
to the belt. In a moment the two parted company. With lamp in one hand,
and the key with her draperies in the other, she made her way back to the
door and Seti as carefully as she went.
They passed out. Seti noiselessly closed the door, drew up between it and
an angle in the wall a stout bench, and descended to the dungeon. Rachel
put her hand with the narrow lamp in it through the grate, and whispered
in an unsteady voice, “We have the key. Take the light, and, if you have
displaced the door somewhat, replace it. Else the key may not work.”
He took it, made a few movements with his bar, then said, “Now try the
key.” Seti inserted it and tried to turn—alas, the bolt would not move.
“Hand the key to me,” said Aleph; “perhaps I can do better from the
inside.”
It was passed through the grate. The outside hearts stood still as the
key was heard groping for its hole, then stoutly pushed home, then
beginning to turn in the wards. Would it stop? Has it stopped? Ah, what
a moment that was! Human nature could not endure many such strains. But
hark! There is a sudden mighty heave and push and wrench; and, oh joy!
youth and strength and Heaven have surely conquered. Back flies the bolt
with a loud noise that is musical as Paradise; and lo, Aleph stands
before them. Seti threw his arms about him, and exclaimed, “My son—thank
Heaven!”
“I also thank Heaven and my foster-father,” returned Aleph warmly, as he
returned the embrace; and then, turning toward Rachel with eyes that even
in the dim light throbbed into hers thankfulness, and much besides that
made her face burn and her heart sing, he added, “And there is another
who will not be forgotten, even the angel whom God has sent to shut the
lions’ mouths so that they have not hurt me. I knew your voice, and even
your hand, as well as your chant, as you came.”
“We must hasten,” interrupted the priest. “We are not yet quite out of
the lions’ den.”
Aleph at once went into the dungeon and brought out his staff and the
lamp.
“And Deborah? It will not do to leave the poor woman here; and, shattered
as she is, she cannot help herself away. She failed us at the last
moment, but she did what she could,” whispered Rachel to Aleph as she
pointed to the custode on the bench.
He bent to look at the woman. “No, she cannot walk, and must not be left.
I will carry her.”
And he took her up as gently and as easily as one might a babe; and so,
following Seti, they went up the steps to the iron door and then out
under the blessed stars that seemed to rejoice and exult with them. Seti
did not forget to make assurance of safety doubly sure by putting another
bolted door between them and pursuit. They found the Egyptian sitting
where they had left him. He plainly was able to help himself: so, bidding
him follow, they moved on to the gate, where they found the boatmen
and peddler much alarmed at their long absence and about going to seek
them. This gate also they immediately bolted after them—thus putting a
third embarrassment in the way of pursuit. The pinnace-men could scarce
restrain their joy and shouts when they saw Aleph among them with the
woman in his arms. They did _not_ restrain themselves as soon as the bolt
of the gate went clanging home, but sent up a shout full of heartiness
and victory. The newly risen moon seemed to shout back again.
They reached the vessel without further adventure.
“Unmoor, men,” cried Seti, “and push out into the river!”
When this had been done, and the pinnace was moving gently with the
current, his voice rose again. “Before we spread our sails and take oars
for Alexandria, let us acknowledge Him who has answered our prayers.” And
so under the bright moonlight, floating gently down the restful ancient
river, with no sound on the air but his own majestic voice, the high
priest, as if primate of all religions, gave thanks, in few and fitting
words and with uplifted hands, for the success of their enterprise to Him
“who executeth judgment for the oppressed, who giveth food to the hungry,
and who looseth the prisoners.”
Now up, men, with the sails! Now, ye oarsmen with light hearts and strong
arms, ply joyfully the oars homeward! Aleph, sitting at the feet of Seti
and Rachel, is duly questioned and tells modestly his story; and he in
return soon comes to know all that we know about the measures taken for
his rescue—also about the situation of Cimon, in regard to whom his
concern seemed to have been greater than for himself. For the most part
Seti told the story. And he told it well. Rachel certainly had no reason
to complain that justice was not done to the part she had taken in the
matter. And she saw more eloquent speaking in the two luminaries that
occasionally beamed up into hers than she had ever seen in moon and
stars—or even the sun.
But toiling men must have rest and sleep. So, after the lapse of an hour
or so, during which good progress had been made, the boatmen moored again
under the screen of another leafy grove that overhung the river and laid
themselves down wherever they best could. Seti and Rachel retired below.
As for Aleph, he had had enough of inactivity. The sense and delight of
freedom once more were strong within him. He leaped ashore; and walked
about in the grove, and sometimes on the highway from Alexandria which in
general followed the banks of the river, and which the Romans, according
to their wont, kept in the best condition. While on this thoroughfare he
heard the sound of wheels and the tramp of furiously driven horses coming
from the north. He stepped into the grove. The noise rapidly grew, and
soon became mixed with the voices of men in angry dispute. As the voices
came still nearer—could it be?—Aleph thought he recognized the voice of
Draco. Then appeared a chariot drawn by two foaming horses, with four men
seated in it. When nearly abreast of him the horses suddenly stopped.
“We will go no farther,” exclaimed the voice of Draco, “till this matter
is settled. We mean that he shall die; and we also mean to be paid well
for what we have done for you. We must have enough to pay us for the loss
of our situations, and to keep us in Rome, or wherever we choose to go,
for the rest of our lives. We want the talents down—all of them. We are
not a-going to trust you for a yearly stipend, which may and may not be
paid; we must have everything in our own power. You did not promise so
much? But you promised to pay us liberally; and the pay must be what _we_
call liberal. Cannot get so many talents? You can at least steal them
from your father, or from the treasury of the province—we do not care
which. We do not care how you come by the money if so be that we get it.”
In the course of the violent altercation that followed Aleph recognized
three other voices—that of the equestrian trainer, that of Antis, and
that of Sextus Flaccus who seemed in a half drunken state. He also
gathered that Sextus had been berating the trainers for their defeat
by Aleph until the passionate men had been provoked beyond measure,
lost all self-control, and were ready to do almost anything to gratify
their resentment. Sextus was too much in wine to see his danger; kept on
abusing them roundly; and even went so far as to threaten that he would
pay them little or nothing for their services. This had brought matters
to a crisis.
“Now,” said Draco at last, with an oath as horrible as a pagan or an
atheist could swear, “let us have done with this. Tell us, Sextus
Flaccus, what you will do—yes or no. Will you promise by the soul of your
mother, the only oath you are likely to keep, that within five days, by
hook or by crook, you will pay over to us the money we demand? If not,
you drunken fool, we will strangle you on the spot and throw your body
into the river. It will be said that you fell into the river in a drunken
fit. And everybody will believe the story—even your own father. Swear,
I say, or _die_, DIE. We can help ourselves at the castle to more than
you are likely to give us, if it be true, as we hear, that your father
hides his treasures there; and then we will take to the desert and have
everybody for a prey. Come!”
Nothing came from Sextus but a new volley of provoking epithets and
threats.
The two trainers grasped him. A struggle followed. “Drive on a little
farther to a better spot,” cried Draco to Antis.
The horses sprang forward under the lash and soon disappeared. But Aleph
could hear the noise of scuffle, muffled calls for help, half suffocated
cries of terror. He ran after the chariot as fast as possible: at length
descried it standing by the roadside empty. At the same time he heard a
loud splash and saw three men run up from the river bank, leap into the
chariot, and drive off at a furious pace. It was vain to pursue—perhaps
he might rescue the victim. So he rushed to the bank which the men had
just left; and leaned over the water, holding by a friendly sapling that
bent over the stream. At first he could see nothing, coming as he did
from the bright moonlight; but in a moment he saw a hand just sinking
beneath the water—saw also a crocodile close by in the act of turning
over to seize his prey. Quick as thought he struck at the monster with
his staff, and then, plunging his arm deep in the water, caught the
fingers of Sextus just as they were passing out of reach, and drew the
body to the bank. It was apparently lifeless. The proper way of treating
such a body is no discovery of modern times. Aleph was not ignorant
of it, promptly used it, and found signs that life was not extinct,
though flickering in its socket. He took up the body and hastened
to return to the pinnace. He found it all alive with anxiety at his
disappearance—especially after the sounds of strife and rushing wheels
had faintly come to them. Seti and Rachel met him, as he stepped on board
with his burden, with a joyful welcome and inquiring looks.
“Sextus Flaccus, nearly or quite murdered by his comrades—first
throttled, and then drowned!”