were the women who went daily to the brook Kedron, bearing loads of
clothing which they hastily washed in the running water, with faces
made white as the linen by the stories their fright invented. At any
moment this terrible Judas might leap upon them out of the hills or the
heavens.
A group of these women were one morning at the Siloam pool. Among
them was one of well-bronzed face, and short black hair which sprayed
out beneath the close folding of her soiled kerchief. This woman was
accompanied by a child who sat upon the brink of the brook, that his
feet might feel the brush of cool water as it flowed by. She untied a
hamper of garments which she had carried upon her head, and, tying up
her skirts above her knees, waded into the stream. Like the others, she
dipped the pieces altogether into the water, pounded them one by one
with a short wooden club, then wrung each garment into a tight little
bundle, and flung it upon the bank.
Suddenly a cry arose among the women. A cloud of dust appeared upon the
old road leading from Bethany. All gathered their laundered work, and
hastily climbed the steep ascent to the southern gate of the city.
"Is it Judas?" asked the boy. "Can we get in before he catches us?"
"If we hurry," replied the woman. "Come."
"I wish it were Judas," said another, pausing in the shadow of the
tower above the gate. "Since these Greek fashions have come there is
nothing but wash, wash. The new Princess has enough white linen to
cover the peak of Hermon as the snows do, and enough coloured garments
to make her like a sunset."
"Is she beautiful?" asked the strange washerwoman.
"So the men say, but----"
"But? Go on."
"Why, you yourself, girl, would be fairer than the Princess if you had
one of her jewels in your hair. And as for her figure, no one sees her
except as she lies like a painted statue in the palanquin. She may have
a turtle's back and duck's legs, for all she arches her neck like a
swan."
The clamour of the washerwomen sufficed without further watchword with
the sentry at the gate, who opened to them the "needle's eye" or small
door. Once within the city they could not be induced to venture out
again for the day, though assured that the imagined Judas was only a
Greek courier riding from the direction of Jericho, who brought tidings
that no enemy was to be seen for a distance of twenty stadia in any
direction.
Passing the cellar-like tunnel beneath the city wall the laundresses
scattered, each in her own way, through the streets.
The woman we have described, with her load upon her head like a
huge turban, and with the lad clinging to her skirts, went up the
Cheesemakers' Street to the Street of David. She paused an instant
by the little altar which stood by the street door of the house of
Glaucon, whether in detestation of this sacrilege of a home devoted to
piety or to offer a pinch of incense, an observer could not have told.
She rapped sharply at the gate. The bar was instantly dropped from
within. A short, stout man, whose long temple locks were well whitened
with years, stood in the half opening.
"What do you want?" said he, as he saw the unexpected visitors.
Before the woman could make response, the child had uttered a cry,
"It's Ephraim! It's Ephraim!"
The man started back, and stared at the lad.
"As the Lord liveth!" he exclaimed, and caught the boy to his arms.
"Surely Sheol has opened its gates. But where, woman, have you found
him?"
"It's Deborah, too!" cried the lad. "Are you blind, Ephraim, that you
cannot see Deborah?"
The woman passed through the door, and dropped the bundle from her head
upon the pavement of the court.
Old Ephraim gazed stupidly at her. Then he clutched the boy closely, as
if it were necessary to re-enforce vision by feeling the living child,
ere he could credit his senses.
"God be praised! It is she. My master's children, both!"
Overcome as by an apparition, the old servant staggered for a moment,
then with a spasmodic burst of strength grasped the door, swung it
shut, dropped the heavy cross-bar between the lintels, and stood with
his whole weight against it.
"Ephraim, I am not pursued; no one will harm me here," said Deborah.
"No one dare touch you here," replied he, with a fierce look at the
closed portal, as if in challenge of men and demons without. "No one
will touch you here, but--but you shall not go away again."
Ephraim glanced up at the sky, which dropped its light into the open
square court around which the house was built, as if he would close
that way of exit also, apparently imagining that it was only by some
such aerial flight that Deborah had formerly disappeared.
"Is Benjamin here?" inquired Deborah.
"Benjamin! God bless your lips for speaking that name once more. It's
many a day since we have heard anything but 'Glaucon,' 'Glaucon,' as
the son of Elkiah has gone in and out of his father's house. Aye, he
smote me in the face for repeating the name we called him when, on the
eighth day of his life, we circumcised him according to the Law--the
name recorded in the Temple when, about as big as Caleb, he was
enrolled as a Son of the Law, and the fringes put upon his coat. But
whence came you, my daughter? And why this dress of the serving women?
And your hands are hard, and your feet torn, and your beautiful hair
is cut off, and years have come into your face. When Huldah shall see
you, she will cry tears that are bitter as well as gladsome, for your
old nurse has sat in the house like 'Rachel, mourning for her children,
and refusing to be comforted, because they were not.' Poor hands!" He
raised them to his lips.
"Your kiss, good Ephraim, has gone far to heal them," replied Deborah,
with moistened eyes.
"And in this?" touching her garment, as if it were some unworthy thing
that defiled an altar. "In this? The daughter of my master, with robes
in her chamber fit for Sheba's queen, clad like a water carrier?"
"Huldah's fingers and mine will soon remedy these things," replied the
girl.
"That they shall"; and Ephraim's voice rang through the house:
"Huldah! Huldah!"
The old woman appeared upon the scene, with eyes flashing
contemptuously from beneath the white mantle which covered her head.
"What now, Ephraim? Are you grown so old that you dare not push the
beggars from the door? I'll show you that a woman's strength does not
ooze out through her wrinkles."
She made at the intruders, but her prowess vanished as quickly as the
strength goes from a broken bow.
"My mistress! My darlings!"
She threw herself prone upon the pavement of the court, kissed the feet
of Deborah, and fondled them.
"Poor bruised things!"
She could not rise, for Caleb had thrown himself into the lap of the
woman, who, when the first paroxysm of her excitement was gone, sat
crooning over the child, forgetful of the weary months during which her
arms had longed for him as if he had been her own.
"You were always a mother to us, Huldah. The Lord bless your dear good
heart."
"And to think that you were away from me, and wanting me!" cried the
nurse, hugging closer the blind child.
"The Lord has been with us," replied Deborah. "Some day I will tell you
all."
"I would have known all that happened to my master's daughter," said
Ephraim, "if I had known whither you had gone, for with you I had gone
also. Here have I stayed, not for love of Benjamin, but because I did
not know where to go to seek you."
"The Lord reward you, Ephraim! And now let me go to my chamber."
"That alone has been untouched," said Huldah. "You see that all else
has been changed."
Ephraim led the way across the court, Huldah following, carrying Caleb.
In the centre of the court played the little fountain; but it no longer
sent up its simple sheaf of spray. The water now trickled from the
hands of marble Cupids, and fell upon the nude form of Aphrodite, and
filled a shell-shaped basin at her feet. At the corners of the court
stood exquisite sculptures, evidencing the new taste of the master of
the house.
As Deborah stepped upon the platform, or open square room which
served as the entrance hall to the living apartments, she was
confronted by a middle-aged man, in white chiton and embroidered
girdle, with close-curled locks and flat face. His lofty but otherwise
expressionless look, and the stiffness of the motion by which he
simulated dignity, indicated that he was the chief of several Greek
servants whom Glaucon had installed.
"Not in here, woman," said he, putting his hand upon Deborah. "You
Jewish dog," he added, addressing Ephraim, "have you forgotten your
business, to bring your street herd into the house? I'll teach you."
He raised his hand to strike him, but Deborah's arm intercepted the
blow.
"Hold, I am mistress here," she said.
Her shabby garb could not disguise her supreme grace of mien, nor did
her weather-bronzed skin hide the beauty of her face or lessen the tone
of refinement in her voice. The man stared in motionless amazement as
she raised the curtain and passed within, bidding Huldah to follow.
Leaving Ephraim to tell the story of her identity, she entered the
first lower chamber, the reception-room of the mansion. She noted the
strange and foreign things which had taken the place of the familiar
furniture, much of which had been the heirloom of many generations;
then she passed to her own chamber. Here, as Huldah pointed out,
everything was as she had left it the day of her flight.
"Now, good mother, let us be alone," said she, with a fond embrace of
the old nurse.
"Here is the key of the chest," said Huldah, after much fumbling in her
bosom, and nearly denuding herself in the search. "The Greek slaves
that Benjamin has hired steal everything that their fingers touch. But
they have not come in here. Even Benjamin swore to kill them if they
did, though they have opened all his closets, except the hidden ones
between the walls."
When they were alone, and Caleb, tired of seeing every familiar thing
with those eyes in his fingers, had dropped to sleep upon the couch,
Deborah knelt by the side of it--the bed which had been hers in
childhood. She would pray. But quick memories wrought a veil that shut
out the present communion. She recollected her mother that day when
they carried her out to be buried, and when, as a parting gift, she
left them little Caleb. She thought of the happy years when Benjamin
had taken her upon his big boyish shoulders, and played with her on
the roof-top, and down by the brook Kedron where she had been to-day.
She had been wont to dream of Benjamin as a prince among the people,
and wondered if the Messiah, when He should come, would be handsomer
or braver or kinder than her brother. Then she recalled the strange
sickness that had fallen upon Caleb; the days of pain which her little
mother-hands alone could exorcise from his hot temples and writhing
form; and how, when the sickness passed, his eyes grew larger, as if
seeing things far away, but saw not anything that others looked upon.
She sat again at her father's feet, and learned from his lips the
sacred precepts of the Law and the thrilling stories of her nation's
heroes, and the wonders of Jehovah's arm made bare for Israel's
deliverance. God had been to her in those childhood days a Presence of
which she seemed conscious--the clouds His robes of glory, and every
whispering breeze His assurance of love and care.
But now--she tried to pray, but her prayer was only like the cry of a
child in fright. Her soul threw out its arms blindly grasping at she
knew not what--yet called that unknown "God's Will."
How weak she was! And yet how strong!
She realized that she was but as a leaf in the stream which the
current carries along, but which the current cannot sink. True, she
could not resist the terrible tide of circumstances into which her lot
was cast, but neither could these circumstances destroy her. She stood
with clenched hands, motionless, looking at nothing.
Her lips moved, and this they said: "I cannot even pray. I was Elkiah's
daughter, but now I am not even a woman; I am a spirit, vengeful,
hating, deceiving, or I could not do this thing. Yet surely, I am
Elkiah's daughter. This is my chamber. And this, and this, and this is
mine. O, my father, forgive me! And yet thy sainted spirit called me to
come home again. O, Lord God of my father, help me to honour his name,
and to save his house!"
XVIII
HIGH PRIEST! HIGH DEVIL!
Deborah threw off her coarse garment, and before the mirror of polished
brass--in which many generations of women had been made conscious of
the beauty for which their family was famous--she arranged her hair as
decorously as its brief length permitted, supplementing its lost beauty
with a band of pearls which she discovered in the great carved wooden
chest. Her arms were now as sun-stained as those of a Bedouin maiden
from the tribes beyond Jordan, and made goodly contrast with the silver
bracelets which once scarcely rivalled the whiteness of her skin. She
donned an embroidered bodice and outer robe of white linen, and put on
the sandals with the golden-threaded strings binding the ankles, such
as she had often worn.
"Once more I am the daughter of Elkiah."
A momentary flush of pride answered the reflection in the mirror.
She pushed it from her, and sat with folded hands upon the couch.
"A hypocrite! What better am I than that brazen mistress of Apollonius?
Oh, God, must I do this? A spy in the house of my father? Lord, lead
me. Save me from wrong-doing. Yet is it not Thy will?"
"What is it, sister?" asked Caleb, who was now awakened by Deborah's
soliloquy. He stretched out his hands to her, but shrank back as he
felt the strange texture of her robe.
"We are home again, my dear. Come, you must wear your pretty clothes."
While dressing Caleb neither of them spoke, for their attention was
drawn to loud voices which sounded from the adjacent chamber.
"The Lord be with thee, Glaucon!"
"And with thee, Menelaos!"
"Ha! ha! you haven't forgotten your old-time piety."
"If I had, the presence of the High Priest would revive the memory. I
take it that your office has more agreeable functions, now that the
King will not allow the priests to smell so much of blood and offal as
formerly. A journey to Antioch, a chariot in the processions, and a
symposium in the King's new banqueting-hall--though the wine has too
much mastic in it--must be preferable to playing chief butcher at the
Temple. Is it not so, my lord?"
"Hush, Glaucon! Your words have too much truth in them to be
agreeable," replied Menelaos. "But, by Jove!--it is convenient to have
an oath one can use without blasphemy--by Jove! I would rather be here
hobnobbing with an old comrade than tripping up on my official skirts
in Antioch."
The Priest threw himself upon the wide divan, while an attendant
arranged behind him a pile of cushions.
"Wine, Ajax!" cried Glaucon. "I am sorry we must take it no cooler than
the cellar, for these rebels have let no snow be brought from Hermon
since they sent Apollonius across the Styx."
"The gods forbid that that ravening beast Judas cut off other
supplies," replied the Priest. "Not a partridge nor a fish has been
sold at the market for a fortnight. The Princess will have double cause
for grief over the death of her cousin, the General, if she stays in
Jerusalem. So goodly a bit of flesh should be fed better. But a fine
convoy is coming down from Antioch."
"There is no doubt about her kinship to the General?" asked Glaucon.
"Oh, none whatever. Apollonius' letter to me implied as much. They
say she has great riches. The tribute of a whole city in Anatolia, or
Syria, or the devil may guess where, follows her; for Apollonius was
as bold in robbing his enemies as he was in killing them; and he loved
the woman so well that he would have let her melt off his legs had they
been golden. The Princess says that a thousand shekels belonging to
her were in Apollonius' military chest and fell into the hands of the
damned Maccabaean."
"That is the worst thing I have heard about Judas' victory," laughed
Glaucon. "But the Princess has plenty of credit, I take it, even if she
can't transport through the air the gold plates on the roofs of her
many palaces."
"Gold plates or thatch, she's rich enough," rejoined the Priest. "And,
by Aphrodite's ankle! what a woman she is! Glaucon, if it were not that
I have already at least one wife, I would cut your throat for jealousy,
for Helena evidently takes to you. She has an eye for manly beauty. And
you, Glaucon, have a face which, but for the twist in your nose that
the alipta has not yet mollified enough to straighten out, would be the
face of a god. You are an Adonis in figure. If I had your shoulders
and calves I would forswear priest's robes. What a couple you and the
Princess would make!"
The click of a brass mirror was heard as Glaucon replied, "'By
Aphrodite's ankle!' A good oath that. I will remember it. 'By
Aphrodite's ankle!' Ha! ha! A good saying! a good saying! The Princess
is a beauty, I swear! Her lips are always red."
"Not from over-use either, I take it," interjected his coacher.
"And her skin so fair!"
"Never saw anything fairer outside the shop of Demos, the cosmetic
seller in Antioch," replied Menelaos. "And, by Jove, you are a fool,
Glaucon, if you don't get her. Listen! With all of her distant
possessions I happen to know that the loss of Apollonius' box left
her in need of ready money; ready money, you understand, for she has
plenty that isn't ready. I proposed to advance her a few shekels, but
my wife Lydia, the chaste--please tell her I called her that--objects
on the ground that as High Priest I should not lend money. But really,
my wife is as jealous of Helena as a hen is of a duck. A gift from
your strong-box, Glaucon, would not be a bad investment. 'Cast thy
bread upon the waters,' says Solomon, 'and thou shalt find it after
many days.' I commend the precept to your piety, son of Elkiah the
provident."
"Perhaps I could spare something," said Glaucon, musingly.
"I do not doubt it," replied the Priest, "else you have not used well
the office I have secured for you. And how goes farming the taxes?"
"Thanks to your favouring me at Antioch, my good Menelaos, I am in
fair prospect, though we have not much gold in Jerusalem. The soldiers
have gleaned everything that glittered. But I am getting hold of some
estates, the heirs to which have either been killed or have joined the
rebels, so that their titles revert to the King. For these he gives me
fair commission.
"But there is one matter that puzzles me, Menelaos. Do you remember
the house of Shattuck? It is now a score and a half years since that
family disappeared from the city. Hosea ben Shattuck was a merchant
in Sidon wares, his shop where the Street of David bends toward the
Tyropean, his house the great one by the Tower of David. Report has
it that he journeyed to Alexandria--took ship at Gaza--but he never
returned. As Shattuck was unmarried there seems to be no one interested
in chronicling his whereabouts. The property is now one of the largest
on the tax list. I could secure the title for the value of a pedlar's
pack. Among my father's accounts I found the evidence of Shattuck's
indebtedness to the house of Elkiah in the sum of fivescore shekels,
some little matter of business between them, such as my father would
never press against a neighbor. Though he did not ask the repayment of
it, he made record, as was his habit in all money matters. He would
not exact usury from a fellow Jew, but with the usury such as our new
customs allow it would amount to thrice as much as the original debt."
"Claim the property, the whole of it, or you are a fool for a Jew, much
more for a Greek," said Menelaos eagerly.
"But if any heir should return?" queried Glaucon.
"But you said there was no heir."
"True, but one doesn't always know about such matters."
"Well, if there be, what then? On what ground could he make claim
for restitution? All titles of absentees now rest with the King. The
property, according to the last edict, will be confiscated. I can fix
it at Antioch that your indebtedness will be recognized. One hundred?
Make it a thousand. I myself will file claim, and vouch for it that
your credit in the matter is worth the entire estate of Shattuck."
"You have great power with the King, my dear Menelaos."
"Power with the King? Why, I bought him when I bought my High
Priesthood. You know that Jason, my brother, sent me to Antioch with
six hundred talents to bribe the royal pleasure for his appointment to
be High Priest. I appropriated the six hundred, added three hundred
more to it, and bought the office for myself; and so outplayed the
young trickster at his own game. Beside that, you recollect that it was
I who gave Jerusalem to the King."
"How was that? I am not so well versed in state secrets as I should
be," replied Glaucon.
"Why, when Jason, the Priest, came suddenly back from Egypt, hearing
the false report that Antiochus had died, he threw me into the dungeon
at Akra. To rescue me, and regain my conduct of affairs, the King sent
his army and took the city. So without me the King would not have had
it. No man, my dear friend, has had more to do with making the King's
fortune than I. And he cannot dispense with me yet. But I must have
some return for what I do for him--and for you. For my part in your
business, Glaucon, I shall have what portion of the gain?"
"A third," said Glaucon, hesitating, and watching the face of his
comrade.
"Make it half."
"The old greed, Menelaos. The same that always claimed the fattest bird
we snared together when we were boys."
"Greed! A proper taunt from the lips of the son of Elkiah, indeed. Who
secured for you your office of tax-farmer? And how many other estates
have you tapped like a wine-skin to fill your own jars, of which you
have told me nothing? Simon ben Shem wants to be tax-farmer in your
stead. He has done as much for me as you have, and will pay me a higher
rate for protection at Antioch."
"Forgive me, Menelaos," cried Glaucon, quivering before the Priest's
gaze like a bird bewitched by the eyes of a snake. "I always bantered
you for taking the largest game; but in the end, as you know, always
let you have it. Let it be play between us."
"Good!" replied Menelaos. "And what news of the Greek who loved you so
well that he split your skull with the discus?"
"I fear," said Glaucon, "that we will get no news from Dion. He was in
command of a company sent from our city garrison, and not a man has
returned. Poor Dion! Next to yourself, Menelaos, I never had a truer
friend. Thorough Greek that he was, he seemed to have a love for our
people. He knew the legends of Moses as well as he knew the stories of
Homer, and I think he loved them better. The Lord rest his soul if we
see him no more!"
"Amen!" said the Priest. "May Pluto give him a high place at his
banquets, for Dion was a good roysterer. He was as faithful to your
father as Æneas was to his. And he could not have searched the camps
for your brother and sister more thoroughly had he been her lover.
But farewell! The blessing of Jehovah, or Jove, or both, be with you,
Glaucon; and the smile of the Princess. Farewell!"
"Jehovah, Jove, damn him," ejaculated Glaucon, as he threw himself
upon the divan the High Priest had left. "It is bad enough for one
like me to have turned against one's people, one's own house; but for
a High Priest to become a heathen--High Devil! Faugh! Wine, Ajax! My
purple himation! The large mirror! Some oil, here! Do the locks curl
at the neck? Call the litter. I'll away to the Princess, and cast my
bread--Ha! ha!"
XIX
THE RENEGADE
"Stay, Benjamin!" cried Deborah, thrusting aside the curtains. She
stood a moment at the opening, scarcely recognizing her brother in the
heavy-lipped and maudlin face, the artificial curls, and the costume of
a Greek exquisite.
Benjamin stared an instant in stupid curiosity, then took a step or two
in fright.
"It is I! And Caleb!" cried Deborah, seizing his hands and putting them
about herself, and pressing her face to his.
"God has been good to us, and brought us home, Benjamin," shouted
Caleb, eager for his embrace.
"It is true. Yes, yes, it must be so," said Glaucon, at length coming
to his senses, with a flash of his old affectionate nature, like a
waning ember, lighting up his face with a suggestion of its former
beauty.
He drew his sister and brother both to the couch, and sat between them,
staring from one to the other.
"And you? You were not killed? What has happened? Where were you taken?"