lustrous mane, the other grasping the tall spear to draw it from its
socket in the ground, his attitude was such as to fascinate any lover
of a manly form. He was fully conscious of this, and kept his pose at
first in the hope that the woman would notice him. Then he remained
motionless because the spell which held Deborah looking heavenward also
held him staring at her. His feeling of slighted dignity passed away
almost as quickly as the shadow of a flying bird. Deborah seemed more
than a woman, some priestess illumined with the light of her shrine,
which was invisible to all eyes but her own. The Arab felt himself
drawn to a kindred worship; at least, he worshipped the worshipper.
Slowly the rhapsody faded from her face. When she turned toward
her companion she was simply a woman, with a girlish sweetness and
timidity. Nadan had seen a flower which, when the sunlight fell upon
it, burst at once from bud to glorious fulness, and when darkness came
closed its petals again. Were human beings sometimes gifted with such
powers? All his Arab superstitions about genii and other wonderful
creatures who live on the borderland between the visible and invisible
world were beginning to perplex and awe him, when Deborah's simple and
confiding manner reassured him that he had only a human being to deal
with, though an exceedingly fascinating one.
"I shall conduct you to Masada," said he, making deep obeisance.
"It need not be," replied Deborah.
"It must be," said the youth, with a tone of authority which, however,
indicated that he was commanding himself rather than her. "The way is
full of dangers. Few ever cross the great gorge of the lower Kedron;
and none but those who know the path. All the wild beasts, driven from
the open, find lair in its caves and thickets."
"Then I will follow the highway to Jericho, and there take the road by
the sea," said Deborah.
"Men might be more cruel than the beasts," was the Arab's reply. "You
cannot go alone. If I may not accompany you, I must follow; for my
father's bidding I would not dare to disobey. He will require of me an
accounting of my safe conduct of you to the fortress of your kinsman."
"Not if I myself release you from the duty."
"You cannot. Yusef is lord of these hills. Besides you are his guest
until the shadow of Masada itself protects you. It shall never be said
that ill has befallen the daughter of Elkiah anywhere within the echo
of Yusef's or Nadan's bugle."
Deborah replied with look and tone that completely won her companion:
"Sheikh Yusef is very gracious. The house of Elkiah will ever remember
his kindness this day, and that of his son."
Nadan fell upon one knee, and kissed the hem of her garment.
"I beg you then to lead the way at once," said Deborah, "for we must
hasten."
The Arab readjusted the saddle.
"I shall walk," said Deborah.
"That cannot be," replied the young man, catching a glimpse of her
broken sandal. "And see, even Emir forbids it."
The horse had thrust his long nose into her hands.
"Emir--the Prince--and does he not deserve the name?" said Nadan, who
evidently shared his personal conceit with his pride in his beast.
"Emir's stock is as old and pure as the fountain of Dûk by the city of
Jericho, whose waters they say your prophet Elisha healed--Emir will
have no other rider to-day than yourself. See, he himself says so," for
the horse was rubbing his head against her shoulder.
Nadan made his hand the stirrup, and lifted Deborah to the saddle.
"Were the daughter of Elkiah as ignorant of horses as they say all
Jerusalem women are, Emir would carry you as safely as if he had arms,
and you lay within them. But you are no stranger to the saddle. Come,
Emir, we must be to-night at Masada."
He patted the head of the horse.
"You remember, my Emir, the tournament you had with Ben Aaron's Nagid,
which means the same as Emir? It was Prince against Prince indeed. Our
lady should have seen us that day. Eh, Emir?"
The horse shook his long mane, pawed the ground, and whinnied his
challenge, as if his master's words were the promise of another contest.
Nadan took the single rein and led the way. Neither spoke for a long
while. At length Deborah gave a cry. Emir raised his head, and neighed
like the blast of a trumpet.
They had climbed to the summit of a high hill. Before them stretched
the plain of the Jordan. To the north a silver thread ran through a
vast tapestry of green. To the south was the Sea of Salt, like a shield
of bronze inlaid with variegated precious stones, so many were the hues
which the soft and cloud-flecked light painted upon its surface. The
plain of Jordan lay thousands of feet beneath them, a picture bordered
on the east by the cliffs of Moab, whose many-colored rocks gleamed
like piled fragments of a rainbow, and to the north by the white
shoulders of Hermon, like those of a maiden who has not yet learned to
shun the eyes of men.
Midway the scene were the gray walls and flattened white domes of
Jericho. Scattered here and there, as far as the eye could reach, were
clusters of tents. In one group were hundreds of awning-like structures
made of black camel's hair. In another group were pyramidal tents,
some white, some striped with orange or blue. In the distance these
flaxen towns, with green fig orchards or dusky forests of olive for the
background, gleamed like dewdrops on outspread leaves.
Deborah's cry had been evoked partly by the magnificent vision. Had
Emir's big eyes detected the tents of his master in the distance?
Nadan pointed out to Deborah the various camps. The Jordan valley had
become the rendezvous of the warriors of many tribes, waiting the
decision of the Council of the Sheikhs for their contemplated raid upon
the Maccabæans.
"The camps will not break up to-morrow, as had been planned, of that
I am sure," said the guide. "There has been much division of opinion
among the Sheikhs. Some distrust the Greeks more than they hate the
Jews; and the news from Jerusalem that the Greeks have broken faith
with those who, like yourself, have gone over to them, will destroy all
zeal for helping the foreigners, as the dead water of the Sea of Salt
yonder kills the bushes on the shore. I would rather make alliance
with Judas, for every Bedouin loves a hero."
Nadan instantly repented this last sentence of his speech, for he knew
that the Hellenizing sect of the Jews, to which he assumed that his
companion belonged, hated the Maccabæans. He glanced at her face to
meet her displeasure with apology. But no frown was there. She even put
her hand on Nadan's shoulder as he stood by her saddle. He thought he
detected in her look a tender passion astir for himself; for was he not
a hero too?
"It is true that Judas is a wonderful warrior," said she. "And some
claim more for him than skill and bravery. His people deem him
inspired. Even in Jerusalem are those who avow that his victories
at the Wady and Bethhoron were given him by Heaven. But what think
you, Nadan? Is not all genius to plan great deeds, and all heroism to
execute them, the gift of Heaven? I sometimes fear lest, except among
those Maccabæans, and your own tribesmen, the world has forgotten
how to be great. Oh, to be a man, Nadan, and to wear armor, and to
ride a steed like Emir! It seems to me that I would fight always in
company with the bravest and best, and call them the favored of Heaven,
whatever creed or kingdom they belonged to. But it must be wrong to
talk so."
The young man was intoxicated with his companion's spirit. He cried
enthusiastically:
"Wert thou a man! Ah, there were a chieftain I would follow!"
Then catching his reward from her smile, his gallantry became two-fold,
as he added, "And I could swear allegiance to the daughter of Elkiah,
even if she were not a man."
"You are my protector," said Deborah, with dignified rebuke in her
tones. "Let us hasten on, I beg you."
Nadan led the way. It was exceedingly rough. They soon looked down
into the awful gorge of the lower Kedron, a gash hundreds of feet in
depth, as if some Titanic foe had endeavored to strike the world to
the heart. The eye could not detect room for the path of a goat along
its precipitous sides. One might have said that an eagle would grow
dizzy in flying across the mighty chasm. But Nadan led the way rapidly,
followed by the sure feet of Emir. The beast, as if mindful of the
need of his burden, picked his steps not only in the safest but the
easiest places. Down, down they went, from ledge to ledge, through
narrow crevices, now knee-deep in the sandy débris lodged in seams of
rock, and now with sliding hoofs over brief declivities. At the very
bottom of the chasm they crossed the fretting waters of the brook; then
climbed the steep wall of rock beyond.
When they reached the top another magnificent view burst upon them.
They were just above the Sea of Salt, its blue surface gleaming amid
the white saline shores like a turquoise set in a circlet of silver.
Down, down again they went, until, two hours later, they struck the
level roadway along the very edge of this vast bituminous pool. The
sun was past meridian, and soon the bold headlands of the mountains of
Engedi to the west would shut out the light. On Deborah's insistence
Nadan mounted behind her; and giving Emir the rein they sped rapidly
southward. The glowing Sea of Death on the one hand, and the terrible
cliffs on the other, would have suppressed desire of conversation even
if Deborah had not been preoccupied with her own thoughts.
Dusk had already thickened the air about them, leaving only the bright
glow of fading daylight to banner the mighty parapets of Moab across
the sea, when there arose by their side the tall pinnacle of Masada--a
single monolith penetrating the sky hundreds of cubits above them. Its
base was an immense scarp ascended only by a narrow foot-path. Here
Emir was tethered, and sent his whinnying salutation echoing among the
rocks. Deborah needed the strong hand of Nadan as they threaded their
way upward.
Near the summit the whole peak seemed cut off from access. A fringe
of jagged peaks stood about the central cone, like the tents of a
body-guard protecting the pavilion of a militant monarch. Within these
natural towers the ground fell into a deep moat. This was crossed by a
narrow neck of higher ground, an artificial viaduct admitting passage
only in single file, and flanked by deep and perilous declivities.
The travellers were fairly upon this natural bridge when a score of
forms rose behind them to dispute their return, and as many more
challenged their advance. Ben Aaron lived in troublous times, and, as
a Jew among Moabite and Arabian tribes, held his stronghold like an
eagle's eyrie amid hostile beaks.
To the challenge the young Arab answered with his name. A moment later
appeared a tall man, slightly bent with years. His restless gray
eyes suggested one who succeeded rather by caution than by courage.
He passed through the guard on the castle side of the causeway, and,
making deep salaam, kissed the Arab upon both cheeks.
"The Lord be with thee, Nadan, son of Yusef! What good intent has led
you to climb so high? There are no eggs in this nest for you to rob;
and if Ben Aaron had a brood of his own begetting they would cackle
their welcome to the boldest rider and handsomest Sheikh of the plain.
That Nadan knows full well. Peace be with thee! But who have you here?
Some distressed soul of my people, I see from her face. Yusef has a
hard hand, but it is soft and tender betimes. That I have often proved."
"I have brought to your protection this kinswoman, the daughter of
Elkiah of Jerusalem. My father bids me deliver her to your hands, in
token of the peace that shall ever be between us," replied the young
Sheikh.
"Elkiah's daughter? Deborah? Child of Miriam who was the child of Leah,
our mother's sister?"
"I am Miriam's child," said the fugitive.
"I see it. I see it," replied Ben Aaron, pressing the black locks back
from her face. "And but that Elkiah was richer than I, thou mightest
have been my daughter; and such thou shalt be now, for I see there is
need. Come, Nadan, you must break bread with me."
"My father's command is that I do not loiter," replied the Arab. "Night
is shutting in the way, and I must be upon the high-road quickly, or
even my Emir's eyes will not find it."
"Then the Lord go with thee! And Jotham and Joshua shall see you safely
down to the seashore."
"It is not necessary."
"True, not for thee, but for Ben Aaron's hospitality. My love to the
noble Yusef! and my thanks for this new mark of his goodness in giving
me my kinswoman."
The two men salaamed to the ground. Nadan lifted the hand of Deborah to
his lips. He looked into her face as if he would have its fair features
stamped upon his soul, as a seal makes its impression on wax.
Her returning glance, and the warmth of her gratitude, though expressed
in briefest sentence, "I thank you, good Nadan," sent him away with
something else than a warrior's pride in his heart.
XXXIII
WITH BEN AARON
As the form of Nadan was lost behind the battlement of rocks, Ben Aaron
turned to Deborah.
"My child, why this coarse and torn garb? I did not ask in the presence
of the Arab, lest the story might shame the good name of the house of
Elkiah. But come within, and tell me in the confidence of our kinship;
and as the Lord liveth, if man hath harmed thee, I will plant my spear
before his tent ere the sun set again, though he were Sheikh Yusef
himself. But you are faint, my daughter. You must rest; and, when
refreshed with the warm goat's milk and the meat, I must have the tale
of the happenings, even as if my ears were those of Elkiah himself--the
Lord rest his spirit!"
"Adah! Zillah!"
He clapped his hands, and serving-women came from the low doorway of
what was called the Castle of Masada, but seemed to Deborah more like a
covert for cattle, so rude was the structure.
"Adah will bring water; and Zillah fetch you the garments of wool; aye,
and the leben will bring warmth to your cheek."
Deborah evinced a moment's indecision. Her wearied flesh clamored for
the offered cheer, yet her strong purpose prevailed.
"My thanks, Ben Aaron, but I have come upon a mission that may not be
delayed even by your hospitality. As the good servant of our father
Abraham at the house of Laban, so I must say to you, my father's
kinsman, 'I will not eat until I have told mine errand.' And this
raiment and these bleeding feet are fitting to my story. If I find not
favor for my cause, then let me depart. You know that my father's house
has sided with the Greeks."
"And well; for why should they perish?" interrupted her host.
"Say not so. The Greeks have turned to be enemies of our people. I
myself was a prisoner in my father's house, doomed to death. I fled to
the wilderness, to the Arabs, until these, our ancient enemies, less
cruel than the Greeks, have brought me here to you. There is no hope
for our people in this alliance with those who destroy our altars. God
has brought to confusion and shame and destruction those of us who have
consented to worship their false gods. He saves only His true people.
Our hope is in the sons of Mattathias."
Ben Aaron raised his hand in protest.
"Nay," continued the eager woman, "hear me. The sons of Mattathias are
the arrows of our God. Already He has sped them with His strength. If
the arch of the sky were His bow and the lightning His arrows, the
Greeks had not been smitten more disastrously. Without human aid Judas
has already overthrown two armies of the heathen. I know that he will
soon meet a third. If then Judas be beaten, the Greeks swear by their
gods that no Jew, whatever may have been his alliance with Antiochus,
shall live in the land. This fortress, as you know, is not safe even
from the arrows and swords of the valley Sheikhs; how can it withstand
the engines of war with which the Greeks batter down walls and towers?
But if Judas be again victorious, then the Romans will send armies to
his assistance. Of this he already has assurance. The blood of Aaron
and Elkiah is that of the sons of Mattathias."
"This is strange tidings," said Ben Aaron. "Come within the lamp-light
that I may see if fright has not robbed you of your wits, my daughter."
Deborah stood beneath the rays under the rude portal. Ben Aaron caught
the vision of her superb face, as she said:
"Think you that fright drove me through the wilderness of the Kedron
and Engedi, when I might have fled to the camp of Judas? I have come,
my kinsman, because our faith, our blood, is one. My father, Elkiah,
said that Ben Aaron would protect his children."
"And so he will! And so he will!" cried Ben Aaron vehemently.
"It is impossible that I abide here," continued Deborah. "This
stronghold is itself doomed. The Arabs of the valley are already
gathering like eagles waiting for a carcass. I myself heard Yusef
mutter curses on the name of Ben Aaron, and that, too, in the ears of
his son Nadan. Did not Nadan but now refuse to break bread with you?
Why should he break bread with you when to-morrow his tribe may feast
here at will, and no Ben Aaron be living to bid them either welcome or
begone? What means the gathering of all the tribes in the great plain?
Their tents gleam from Jericho to Galilee almost as continuously as the
sacred river itself. Will Ben Aaron submit?"
The man stood rigid, his hands clenched, his eyes drinking her spirit
as he watched her and heard her heroic appeal.
"I have ten score men," said he, as if speaking to himself. "Bethuel,
too, has bidden me beware the tribesmen. Bethuel is my Captain; a
braver or wiser man never threw spear. I would have speech with him.
You will tell me more, my daughter, as we are at meat."
"But tell me first," she insisted, "has my errand found favor with you?
If not, I will go alone to the Maccabæans."
"I cannot answer you nay, my daughter. But you shall tell it all to
Bethuel. Is it not enough for the moment that Deborah has found favor
with her kinsman, and that his life shall be for hers whether she go or
stay? Aye, you have Miriam's face. Know you, my child, that when you
were born your father pledged me that you should become the bride of my
Josiah, whom the Lord so soon after took from me. Since the same plague
struck down the lad and his mother, Ben Aaron has lived a lonely life,
overlooking this Sea of Death, for so it seemed fitting for one with a
desolate heart, and no wife nor child to cheer it. The Lord has sent
you to me, my child. No other angel have I seen on this barren peak.
Let Bethuel say why I should not go with you."
If care and kindly purpose could have recuperated the strength of the
traveller, the hands of Adah and Zillah would have taken away all
aches. But ablution in the water cooled by filtering through the coarse
clay jars, and the savory supper, only allayed her excitement. As she
began to rest she for the first time began to realize how utterly
wearied she was. She begged Ben Aaron that she might sleep until the
morning; in the meantime he and Bethuel should consider the answer he
was to give.
The news Deborah had brought spread like fire in the brambles
throughout the little colony, for such it was rather than a single
household. Scores of herdsmen that night gathered in the great central
chamber. This was built of unhewn and unmortared stones, the débris of
the storm-shattered crags about the summit of Masada.
It was the supper hour. Great pots steamed with the parched corn
boiling in milk. Two whole goats, only the entrails having been
removed, were being roasted on great wooden spits over the fire in the
centre of the room. The savor of their flesh, mingled with the smoke,
poured through the opening in the roof. This was an incense pleasing,
if not to the gods, surely to the thousands of rooks collected upon the
dried mud interlaced with sticks which made the roof.
Around the great chamber were sheds, from which came the lowing of
cattle and the cries of the milkers. Without could be heard the
clattering of wooden shoes on the rocks as the herdsmen clambered up
from a lower plateau where the sheep were folded for the night.
Bethuel was closeted with his master in an adjacent room. The noise of
the feasters ceased until each one threw himself down in his blanket
upon the earthen floor. Then the voices of Ben Aaron and his chief
broke the stillness. The debate had evidently been serious, for Bethuel
exclaimed:
"It is the hour I have warned my lord must come. Our flocks are
constantly stolen. Our herders are assaulted except as they go in
bands. The tribesmen no longer keep faith with us. The Greeks--have I
not often said it?--could not protect us if they would. The daughter of
Elkiah has come to us as the angel to the threshing-floor of Gideon. We
need no miracle of the dew on the fleece, and no fire to burst from the
rock, to tell us the will of the Lord. Our God is with Judas and his
brethren. The maiden's voice is His call from afar."
"Bethuel was always over-ready to fight," replied Ben Aaron.
"And," retorted Bethuel, "Ben Aaron has too long been, as the Arabs are
everywhere saying, like a sick eagle on his nest. What is all the gold
my lord has stored between these walls? My master's wealth and fame are
like yonder nail that has rusted in the wall, and will scarcely hold
the weight of his armor."
"It is true. It is true. Bethuel, my grief has aged me. I am but a
rusted nail. But the words of Bethuel and my kinswoman have touched me
with youth again. Bethuel, we will fight. Do you remember, my son, how
we used to fight? How we won these heights for our castle? How many
years have gone? Summon my people, Bethuel. It were better to fall in
war than to die here. Summon the people, Bethuel!"
XXXIV
QUICK LOVE: QUICK HATE!
It was the fifth day since Deborah's disappearance. No tidings had come
to make even a rift in the cloud on Judas' brow. Toward noon scouts,
who had been sent to the Jordan to discover any possible trace of
kidnapping by the tribesmen, returned with the reports that the camps,
which had rapidly formed in the valley, had as suddenly broken up, the
Sheikhs retiring east or north to their separate pasture lands.
"The Lord be praised!" said Judas. "It can only have been by the
interposition of an angel; for Yusef the Arabian, I know, had sworn to
assail us, and for this and this only the tribes were gathered. Let us
hope for the maiden."
"How does this portend her safety?" asked Simon. "If the tribesmen have
gone, may they not have taken her with them or slain her?"
"True," replied Judas, "but if the Lord will that we shall be delivered
from their menace, then He has not deserted our cause, as I confess my
sins made me fear; and why should He spare us, and allow harm to come
to the maiden?"
Simon mused anxiously a moment before he answered:
"Does Judas love the daughter of Elkiah? Has the sentiment of swains
turned her skirts into those of an angel? Beware, my brother. Every man
has his vulnerable spot. It is not timely for our Samson to be shorn
of his locks."
Judas' face blazed with rage. His lips were clenched as if their
resolute keeper could with difficulty bar the egress of lawless words.
But slowly the color faded from his countenance. He turned away,
addressing only himself:
"She will come yet!"
Scarcely had he spoken when, over the shoulder of the hill of Gibeah,
appeared the familiar outline of the Bedouin steed and the thread-like
lance. But from the uplifted point floated the pennant denoting the
peaceful intent of the comer, who rode leisurely on. Judas himself went
to meet him.
"Peace be to you!"
"Peace!"
The rider dismounted, and, planting his lance, bowed low to the ground.
"I am Nadan, son of Yusef. My father bids me say, 'Let there be peace
between him and the son of Mattathias."
"Let there be peace!" responded Judas.
He picked from the ground a round stone, broke it in twain upon a rock,
and gave the half to Nadan.
"Nay, let me give better pledge of our covenant," said the young man.
"The highway from Jericho is this hour filled with the herds of Ben
Aaron of Masada, and ten score men are coming to you."
"The road is dangerous for so few," interjected Judas.
"Not so," replied Nadan, "since this----"
He held in his hand a piece of stone not dissimilar to that Judas had
given him.
"Ben Aaron holds the other half. Is it enough?"
Judas' face revealed an instant of incredulity; but the eager frankness
of the young man dispelled it.
"It is enough," he replied. "When Masada falls of its own weight into
the sea then the covenant of the son of Yusef may be broken."
"My thanks," said Nadan, "and since I have found some favor, I would
ask for more."
"You have but to speak it."
"Son of Mattathias, the house of Elkiah in Jerusalem is in alliance
with the Greeks."
"It is true."
"That may be broken."
"How?"
"Elkiah's daughter is fair, and she pleases me," said Nadan, a blush
blending finely with his proud mien.
"You have seen her?"
"She has been in my power."
"Where is she?"