Just outside the Bethlehem gate stood a Roman soldier, on guard. He was
arrayed in full armor, with helmet. At his side he wore a short sword,
and held in his hand a long spear. He stood there all day almost
motionless, so that one could readily have believed him to be a man made
of iron. The city people went in and out of the gate and beggars lolled
in the shade under the archway, fruit venders and wine dealers set their
baskets and jugs down on the ground beside the soldier, but he scarcely
took the trouble to turn his head to look at them.
It seemed as though he wanted to say: This is nothing to see. What do I
care about you who labor and barter and come driving with oil casks and
wine sacks! Let me see an army prepare to meet the enemy! Let me see the
excitement and the hot struggle, when horsemen charge down upon a troop
of foot-soldiers! Let me see the brave men who rush forward to scale the
walls of a beleaguered city! Nothing is pleasing to my sight but war. I
long to see the Roman Eagles glisten in the air! I long for the
trumpets’ blast, for shining weapons, for the splash of red blood!
Just beyond the city gate lay a fine meadow, overgrown with lilies. Day
by day the soldier stood with his eyes turned toward this meadow, but
never for a moment did he think of admiring the extraordinary beauty of
the flowers. Sometimes he noticed that the passers-by stopped to admire
the lilies, and it amazed him to think that people would delay their
travels to look at anything so trivial. These people do not know what is
beautiful, thought he.
And as he thought thus, he saw no more the green fields and olive groves
round about Bethlehem; but dreamed himself away in a burning-hot desert
in sunny Libya. He saw a legion of soldiers march forward in a long,
straight line over the yellow, trackless sand. There was no protection
against the sun’s piercing rays, no cooling stream, no apparent
boundaries to the desert, and no goal in sight, no end to their
wanderings. He saw soldiers, exhausted by hunger and thirst, march
forward with faltering step; he saw one after another drop to the
ground, overcome by the scorching heat. Nevertheless, they marched
onward without a murmur, without a thought of deserting their leader and
turning back.
Now, _there_ is something beautiful! thought the soldier, something that
is worth the glance of a valiant man!
Since the soldier stood on guard at the same post day after day, he had
the best opportunity to watch the pretty children who played about him.
But it was with the children as with the flowers: he didn’t understand
that it could be worth his while to notice them. What is this to rejoice
over? thought he, when he saw people smile as they watched the
children’s games. It is strange that any one can find pleasure in a mere
nothing.
One day when the soldier was standing at his accustomed post, he saw a
little boy about three years old come out on the meadow to play. He was
a poor lad, who was dressed in a scanty sheepskin, and who played quite
by himself. The soldier stood and regarded the newcomer almost without
being aware of it himself. The first thing that attracted him was that
the little one ran so lightly over the field that he seemed scarcely to
touch the tips of the grass-blades. Later, as he followed the child’s
play, he was even more astonished. “By my sword!” he exclaimed, “this
child does not play like the others. What can it be that occupies him?”
As the child played only a few paces away, he could see well enough what
the little one was doing. He saw how he reached out his hand to capture
a bee that sat upon the edge of a flower and was so heavily laden with
pollen that it could hardly lift its wings for flight. He saw, to his
great surprise, that the bee let itself be taken without trying to
escape, and without using its sting. When the little one held the bee
secure between his fingers, he ran over to a crack in the city wall,
where a swarm of bees had their home, and set the bee down. As soon as
he had helped one bee in this way, he hastened back to help another. All
day long the soldier saw him catch bees and carry them to their home.
“That boy is certainly more foolish than any I’ve seen hitherto,”
thought the soldier. “What put it into his head to try and help these
bees, who can take such good care of themselves without him, and who can
sting him at that? What kind of a man will he become if he lives, I
wonder?”
The little one came back day after day and played in the meadow, and the
soldier couldn’t help marveling at him and his games.
“It is very strange,” thought he. “Here I have stood on guard for fully
three years, and thus far I have seen nothing that could interest me,
except this infant.”
But the soldier was in nowise pleased with the child; quite the reverse!
For this child reminded him of a dreadful prediction made by an old
Hebrew seer, who had prophesied that a time of peace should come to this
world some day; during a period of a thousand years no blood would be
shed, no wars waged, but human beings would love one another like
brethren. When the soldier thought that anything so dreadful might
really come to pass, a shudder passed through his body, and he gripped
his spear hard, as if he sought support.
And now, the more the soldier saw of the little one and his play, the
more he thought of the Thousand-year Reign of Peace. He did not fear
that it had come already, but he did not like to be reminded of anything
so hateful!
One day, when the little one was playing among the flowers on the pretty
meadow, a very heavy shower came bursting through the clouds. When he
noticed how big and heavy the drops were that beat down upon the
sensitive lilies, he seemed anxious for his pretty friends. He hurried
away to the biggest and loveliest among them, and bent towards the
ground the stiff stalk which held up the lily, so that the raindrops
caught the chalices on their under side. As soon as he had treated one
flower like this, he ran to another and bent its stem in the same way,
so that the flower-cups were turned toward the ground. And then to a
third and a fourth, until all the flowers in the meadow were protected
against the rainfall.
The soldier smiled to himself when he saw the boy’s work. “I’m afraid
the lilies won’t thank him for this,” said he. “Naturally, every stalk
is broken. It will never do to bend such stiff growths in that way!”
But when the shower was over, the soldier saw the little lad hurry over
to the lilies and raise them up. To his utter astonishment, the boy
straightened the stiff stalks without the least difficulty. It was
apparent that not one of them was either broken or bruised. He ran from
flower to flower, and soon all the rescued lilies shone in their full
splendor in the meadow.
When the soldier saw this, he was seized with a singular rage. “What a
queer child!” thought he. “It is incredible that he can undertake
anything so idiotic. What kind of a man will he make, who cannot even
bear to see a lily destroyed? How would it turn out if such a one had to
go to war? What would he do if they ordered him to burn a house filled
with women and children, or to sink a ship with all souls on board?”
Again he thought of the old prophecy, and he began to fear that the time
had actually come for its fulfilment. “Since a child like this is here,”
thought he, “perhaps this awful time is very close at hand. Already,
peace prevails over the whole earth; and surely the day of war will
nevermore dawn. From this time forth, all peoples will be of the same
mind as this child: they will be afraid to injure one another, yea, they
will not have the heart even to crush a bee or a flower! No great deeds
will be done, no glorious battles won, and no brilliant triumvirate will
march up to the Capitol. Nothing more will happen that a brave man could
long for.”
And the soldier—who all the while hoped he would soon live through new
wars and longed, through daring feats, to raise himself to power and
riches—felt so exasperated with the little three-year-old that he
raised his spear threateningly the next time the child ran past.
Another day it was neither the bees nor the lilies the little one sought
to protect, but he undertook something which struck the soldier as being
much more needless and thankless.
It was a fearfully hot day, and the sunrays fell upon the soldier’s
helmet and armor and heated them until he felt as if he wore a suit of
fire. To the passers-by it looked as if he must suffer tortures from the
heat. His bloodshot eyes were ready to burst from their sockets, and his
lips were dry and shriveled. But as he was inured to the burning heat of
African deserts, he thought this a mere trifle, and it didn’t occur to
him to move from his accustomed place. On the contrary, he took pleasure
in showing the passers-by that he was so strong and hardy and did not
need to seek shelter from the sun.
While he stood thus, and let himself be nearly broiled alive, the little
boy who was wont to play in the meadow came suddenly up to him. He knew
very well that the soldier was not one of his friends and so he was
always careful not to come within reach of his spear; but now he ran up
to him, and regarded him long and carefully; then he hurried as fast as
he could towards the road. When he came back, he held both hands like a
bowl, and carried in this way a few drops of water.
“Mayhap this infant has taken it upon himself to run and fetch water for
me,” thought the soldier. “He is certainly wanting in common sense.
Should not a Roman soldier be able to stand a little heat! What need for
that youngster to run around and help those who require no help! I don’t
want his compassion. I wish he and all like him were out of the world!”
The little one came walking very slowly. He held his fingers close
together, so that nothing should be spilled or wasted. All the while, as
he was nearing the soldier, he kept his eyes anxiously fixed upon the
little water which he brought with him, and did not see that the man
stood there frowning, with a forbidding look in his eye. Then the child
came up to the soldier and offered him the water.
On the way his heavy blond curls had tumbled down over his forehead and
eyes. He shook his head several times to get the hair out of his eyes,
so that he could look up. When he succeeded at last, and became
conscious of the hard expression on the soldier’s face, he was not
frightened, but stood still and begged him, with a bewitching smile, to
taste of the water which he had brought with him. But the soldier felt
no desire to accept a kindness from the child, whom he regarded as his
enemy. He did not look down into his pretty face, but stood rigid and
immovable, and showed no sign that he understood what the child wished
to do for him.
Nor could the child understand that the man wished to repel him. He
smiled all the while just as confidently, raised himself on the tips of
his toes, and stretched his hands as high as he could that the big
soldier might more easily get at the water.
The soldier felt so insulted because a mere child wished to help him
that he gripped his spear to drive the little one away.
But just at that moment the extreme heat and sunshine beat down upon the
soldier with such intensity that he saw red flames dance before his eyes
and felt his brains melt within his head. He feared the sun would kill
him, if he could not find instant relief.
Beside himself with terror at the danger hovering over him, the soldier
threw his spear on the ground, seized the child with both hands, lifted
him up, and absorbed as much as he could of the water which the little
one held in his hands.
Only a few drops touched his tongue, but more was not needed. As soon as
he had tasted of the water, a delicious coolness surged through his
body, and he felt no more that the helmet and armor burnt and oppressed
him. The sunrays had lost their deadly power. His dry lips became soft
and moist again, and red flames no longer danced before his eyes.
Before he had time to realize all this, he had already put down the
child, who ran back to the meadow to play. Astonished, the soldier began
to say to himself: “What kind of water was this that the child gave me?
It was a glorious drink! I must really show him my gratitude.”
But inasmuch as he hated the little one, he soon dismissed this idea.
“It is only a child,” thought he, “and does not know why he acts in this
way or that way. He plays only the play that pleases him best. Does he
perhaps receive any gratitude from the bees or the lilies? On that
youngster’s account I need give myself no trouble. He doesn’t even know
that he has succored me.”
The soldier felt, if possible, even more exasperated with the child a
moment later, when he saw the commander of the Roman soldiers, who were
encamped in Bethlehem, come out through the gate. “Just see what a risk
I have run through that little one’s rash behavior!” thought he. “If by
chance Voltigius had come a moment earlier, he would have seen me
standing with a child in my arms.”
Meanwhile, the Commander walked straight up to the soldier and asked him
if they might speak together there without danger of being overheard. He
had a secret to impart to him. “If we move ten paces from the gate,”
replied the soldier, “no one can hear us.”
“You know,” said the Commander, “that King Herod, time and again, has
tried to get possession of a child that is growing up here in Bethlehem.
His soothsayers and priests have told him that this child shall ascend
his throne. Moreover, they have predicted that the new King will
inaugurate a thousand-year reign of peace and holiness. You understand,
of course, that Herod would willingly make him—Harmless!”
“I understand!” said the soldier eagerly. “But that ought to be the
easiest thing in the world.”
“It would certainly be very easy,” said the Commander, “if the King only
knew which one of all the children here in Bethlehem is The One.”
The soldier knit his brows. “It is a pity his soothsayers can not
enlighten him about this,” said he.
“But now Herod has hit upon a ruse, whereby he believes he can make the
young Peace-Prince harmless,” continued the Commander. “He promises a
handsome gift to each and all who will help him.”
“Whatsoever Voltigius commands shall be carried out, even without money
or gifts,” said the soldier.
“I thank you,” replied the Commander. “Listen, now, to the King’s plan!
He intends to celebrate the birthday of his youngest son by arranging a
festival, to which all male children in Bethlehem, who are between the
ages of two and three years, shall be bidden, together with their
mothers. And during this festival——” He checked himself suddenly, and
laughed when he saw the look of disgust on the soldier’s face.
“My friend,” he continued, “you need not fear that Herod thinks of using
us as child-nurses. Now bend your ear to my mouth, and I’ll confide to
you his design.”
The Commander whispered long with the soldier, and when he had disclosed
all, he said:
“I need hardly tell you that absolute silence is imperative, lest the
whole undertaking miscarry.”
“You know, Voltigius, that you can rely on me,” said the soldier.
When the Commander had gone and the soldier once more stood alone at his
post, he looked around for the child. The little one played all the
while among the flowers, and the soldier caught himself thinking that
the boy swayed above them as light and attractive as a butterfly.
Suddenly he began to laugh. “True,” said he, “I shall not have to vex
myself very long over this child. He shall be bidden to the feast of
Herod this evening.”
He remained at his post all that day, until the even was come, and it
was time to close the city gate for the night.
When this was done, he wandered through narrow and dark streets, to a
splendid palace which Herod owned in Bethlehem.
In the center of this immense palace was a large stone-paved court
encircled by buildings, around which ran three open galleries, one above
the other. The King had ordered that the festival for the Bethlehem
children should be held on the uppermost of these galleries.
This gallery, by the King’s express command, was transformed so that it
looked like a covered walk in a beautiful flower-garden. The ceiling was
hidden by creeping vines hung with thick clusters of luscious grapes,
and alongside the walls, and against the pillars stood small pomegranate
trees, laden with ripe fruit. The floors were strewn with rose-leaves,
lying thick and soft like a carpet. And all along the balustrades, the
cornices, the tables, and the low divans, ran garlands of lustrous white
lilies.
Here and there in this flower garden stood great marble basins where
glittering gold and silver fish played in the transparent water.
Multi-colored birds from distant lands sat in the trees, and in a cage
sat an old raven that chattered incessantly.
When the festival began children and mothers filed into the gallery.
Immediately after they had entered the palace, the children were arrayed
in white dresses with purple borders and were given wreaths of roses for
their dark, curly heads. The women came in, regal, in their crimson and
blue robes, and their white veils, which hung in long, loose folds from
high-peaked head-dresses, adorned with gold coins and chains. Some
carried their children mounted upon their shoulders; others led their
sons by the hand; some, again, whose children were afraid or shy, had
taken them up in their arms.
The women seated themselves on the floor of the gallery. As soon as they
had taken their places, slaves came in and placed before them low
tables, which they spread with the choicest of foods and wines—as
befitting a King’s feast—and all these happy mothers began to eat and
drink, maintaining all the while that proud, graceful dignity, which is
the greatest ornament of the Bethlehem women.
Along the farthest wall of the gallery, and almost hidden by
flower-garlands and fruit trees, was stationed a double line of soldiers
in full armor. They stood, perfectly immovable, as if they had no
concern with that which went on around them. The women could not refrain
from casting a questioning glance, now and then, at this troop of
iron-clad men. “For what are they needed here?” they whispered. “Does
Herod think we women do not know how to conduct ourselves? Does he
believe it is necessary for so many soldiers to guard us?”
But others whispered that this was as it should be in a King’s home.
Herod himself never gave a banquet without having his house filled with
soldiers. It was to honor them that the heavily armored warriors stood
there on guard.
During the first few moments of the feast, the children felt timid and
uncertain, and sat quietly beside their mothers. But soon they began to
move about and take possession of all the good things which Herod
offered them.
It was an enchanted land that the King had created for his little
guests. When they wandered through the gallery, they found bee-hives
whose honey they could pillage without the interference of a single
crotchety bee. They found trees which, bending, lowered their
fruit-laden branches down to them. In a corner they found magicians who,
on the instant, conjured their pockets full of toys; and in another
corner they discovered a wild-beast tamer who showed them a pair of
tigers, so tame that they could ride them.
But in this paradise with all its joys there was nothing which so
attracted the attention of these little ones as the long line of
soldiers who stood immovable at the extreme end of the gallery. Their
eyes were captivated by their shining helmets, their stern, haughty
faces, and their short swords, which reposed in richly jeweled sheaths.
All the while, as they played and romped with one another, they thought
continually about the soldiers. They still held themselves at a
distance, but they longed to get near the men to see if they were alive
and really could move themselves.
The play and festivities increased every moment, but the soldiers stood
all the while immovable. It seemed incredible to the little ones that
people could stand so near the clusters of grapes and all the other
dainties, without reaching out a hand to take them.
Finally, there was one boy who couldn’t restrain his curiosity any
longer. Slowly, but prepared for hasty retreat, he approached one of the
armored men; and when he remained just as rigid and motionless, the
child came nearer and nearer. At last he was so close to him that he
could touch his shoe latchets and his shins.
Then—as though this had been an unheard-of crime—all at once these
iron-men set themselves in motion. With indescribable fury they threw
themselves upon the children, and seized them! Some swung them over
their heads, like missiles, and flung them between lamps and garlands
over the balustrade and down to the court, where they were killed the
instant they struck the stone pavement. Others drew their swords and
pierced the children’s hearts; others, again, crushed their heads
against the walls before they threw them down into the dark courtyard.
The first moment after the onslaught, there was an ominous stillness.
While the tiny bodies still swayed in the air, the women were petrified
with amazement! But simultaneously all these unhappy mothers awoke to
understand what had happened, and with one great cry they rushed toward
the soldiers. There were still a few children left up in the gallery who
had not been captured during the first attack. The soldiers pursued them
and their mothers threw themselves in front of them and clutched with
bare hands the naked swords, to avert the death-blow. Several women,
whose children were already dead, threw themselves upon the soldiers,
clutched them by the throat, and sought to avenge the death of their
little ones by strangling their murderers.
During this wild confusion, while fearful shrieks rang through the
palace, and the most inhuman death cruelties were being enacted, the
soldier who was wont to stand on guard at the city gate stood motionless
at the head of the stairs which led down from the gallery. He took no
part in the strife and the murder: only against the women who had
succeeded in snatching their children and tried to fly down the stairs
with them did he lift his sword. And just the sight of him, where he
stood, grim and inflexible, was so terrifying that the fleeing ones
chose rather to cast themselves over the balustrade or turn back into
the heat of the struggle, than risk the danger of crowding past him.
“Voltigius certainly did the right thing when he gave _me_ this post,”
thought the soldier. “A young and thoughtless warrior would have left
his place and rushed into the confusion. If I had let myself be tempted
away from here, ten children at least would have escaped.”
While he was thinking of this, a young woman, who had snatched up her
child, came rushing towards him in hurried flight. None of the warriors
whom she had to pass could stop her, because they were in the midst of
the struggle with other women, and in this way she had reached the end
of the gallery.
“Ah, there’s one who is about to escape!” thought the soldier. “Neither
she nor the child is wounded.”
The woman came toward the soldier with such speed that she appeared to
be flying, and he didn’t have time to distinguish the features of either
the woman or her child. He only pointed his sword at them, and the
woman, with the child in her arms, dashed against it. He expected that
the next second both she and the child would fall to the ground pierced
through and through.
But just then the soldier heard an angry buzzing over his head, and the
next instant he felt a sharp pain in one eye. It was so intense that he
was stunned, bewildered, and the sword dropped from his hand. He raised
his hand to his eye and caught hold of a bee, and understood that that
which caused this awful suffering was only the sting of the tiny
creature. Quick as a flash, he stooped down and picked up his sword, in
the hope that as yet it was not too late to intercept the runaways.
But the little bee had done its work very well.
During the short time that the soldier was blinded, the young mother had
succeeded in rushing past him and down the stairs; and although he
hurried after her with all haste, he could not find her. She had
vanished; and in all that great palace there was no one who could
discover any trace of her.
The following morning, the soldier, together with several of his
comrades, stood on guard, just within the city gate. The hour was early,
and the city gates had only just been opened. But it appeared as though
no one had expected that they would be opened that morning; for no
throngs of field laborers streamed out of the city, as they usually did
of a morning. All the Bethlehem inhabitants were so filled with terror
over the night’s bloodshed that no one dared to leave his home.
“By my sword!” said the soldier, as he stood and stared down the narrow
street which led toward the gate, “I believe Voltigius has made a stupid
blunder. It would have been better had he kept the gates closed and
ordered a thorough search of every house in the city, until he had found
the boy who managed to escape from the feast. Voltigius expects that his
parents will try to get him away from here as soon as they learn that
the gates are open. I fear this is not a wise calculation. How easily
they could conceal a child!”
He wondered if they would try to hide the child in a fruit basket or in
some huge oil cask, or amongst the grain-bales of a caravan.
While he stood there on the watch for any attempt to deceive him in this
way, he saw a man and a woman who came hurriedly down the street and
were nearing the gate. They walked rapidly and cast anxious looks behind
them, as though they were fleeing from some danger. The man held an ax
in his hand with a firm grip, as if determined to fight should any one
bar his way. But the soldier did not look at the man as much as he did
at the woman. He thought that she was just as tall as the young mother
who got away from him the night before. He observed also that she had
thrown her skirt over her head. “Perhaps she wears it like this,”
thought he, “to conceal the fact that she holds a child on her arm.”
The nearer they approached, the plainer he saw the child which the woman
bore on her arm outlined under the raised robe. “I’m positive it is the
one who got away last night. I didn’t see her face, but I recognize the
tall figure. And here she comes now, with the child on her arm, and
without even trying to keep it concealed. I had not dared to hope for
such a lucky chance,” said the soldier to himself.
The man and woman continued their rapid pace all the way to the city
gate. Evidently, they had not anticipated being intercepted here. They
trembled with fright when the soldier leveled his spear at them, and
barred their passage.
“Why do you refuse to let us go out in the fields to our work?” asked
the man.
“You may go presently,” said the soldier, “but first I must see what
your wife has hidden behind her robe.”
“What is there to see?” said the man. “It is only bread and wine, which
we must live upon to-day.”
“You speak the truth, perchance,” said the soldier, “but if it is as you
say, why does she turn away? Why does she not willingly let me see what
she carries?”
“I do not wish that you shall see it,” said the man, “and I command you
to let us pass!”
With this he raised his ax, but the woman laid her hand on his arm.
“Enter thou not into strife!” she pleaded. “I will try some other way. I
shall let him see what I bear, and I know that he can not harm it.” With
a proud and confident smile she turned toward the soldier, and threw
back a fold of her robe.
Instantly the soldier staggered back and closed his eyes, as if dazed by
a strong light. That which the woman held concealed under her robe
reflected such a dazzling white light that at first he did not know what
he saw.
“I thought you held a child on your arm,” he said.
“You see what I hold,” the woman answered.
Then the soldier finally saw that that which dazzled and shone was only
a cluster of white lilies, the same kind that grew in the meadow; but
their luster was much richer and more radiant. He could hardly bear to
look at them.
He stuck his hand in among the flowers. He couldn’t help thinking that
it must be a child the woman carried, but he felt only the cool
flower-petals.
He was bitterly deceived, and in his wrath he would gladly have taken
both the man and the woman prisoners, but he knew that he could give no
reason for such a proceeding.
When the woman saw his confusion, she said: “Will you not let us go
now?”
The soldier quietly lowered the spear and stepped aside.
The woman drew her robe over the flowers once more, and at the same time
she looked with a sweet smile upon that which she bore on her arm. “I
knew that you could not harm it, did you but see it,” she said to the
soldier.
With this, they hastened away; and the soldier stood and stared after
them as long as they were within sight.
While he followed them with his eyes, he almost felt sure that the woman
did not carry on her arm a cluster of lilies, but an actual, living
child.
While he still stood and stared after the wanderers, he heard loud
shouts from the street. It was Voltigius, with several of his men, who
came running.
“Stop them!” they cried. “Close the gates on them! Don’t let them
escape!”
And when they came up to the soldier, they said that they had tracked
the runaway boy. They had sought him in his home, but then he had
escaped again. They had seen his parents hasten away with him. The
father was a strong, gray-bearded man who carried an ax; the mother was
a tall woman who held a child concealed under a raised robe.
The same moment that Voltigius related this, there came a Bedouin riding
in through the gate on a good horse. Without a word, the soldier rushed
up to the rider, jerked him down off the horse and threw him to the
ground, and, with one bound, jumped into the saddle and dashed away
toward the road.
* * * * *
Two days later, the soldier rode forward through the dreary
mountain-desert, which is the whole southern part of Judea. All the
while he was pursuing the three fugitives from Bethlehem, and he was
beside himself because the fruitless hunt never came to an end.
“It looks, forsooth, as though these creatures had the power to sink
into the earth,” he grumbled. “How many times during these days have I
not been so close to them that I’ve been on the point of throwing my
spear at the child, and yet they have escaped me! I begin to think that
I shall never catch up with them.”
He felt despondent, like one who believes he is struggling against some
superior power. He asked himself if it might not be possible that the
gods protected these people against him.
“This trouble is in vain. Let me turn back before I perish from hunger
and thirst in this barren land!” he said to himself, again and again.
Then he was seized with fear of that which awaited him on his
home-coming, should he turn back without having accomplished his
mission.
Twice he had permitted the child to escape, and neither Voltigius nor
Herod would pardon him for anything of the kind.
“As long as Herod knows that one of the Bethlehem children still lives,
he will always be haunted by the same anxiety and dread,” said the
soldier. “Most likely he will try to ease his worries by nailing me to a
cross.”
It was a hot noonday hour, and he suffered tortures from the ride
through this mountain district on a road which wound around steep cliffs
where no breeze stirred. Both horse and rider were ready to drop.
Several hours before he had lost every trace of the fugitives, and he
felt more disheartened than ever.
“I must give it up,” thought he. “I verily believe it is time wasted to
pursue them further. They must perish anyway in this awful wilderness.”
As he thought this, he discovered, in a mountain-wall near the roadside,
the vaulted entrance to a grotto.
Immediately he rode up to the opening. “I will rest a while in this cool
mountain cave,” thought he. “Then, mayhap, I can continue the pursuit
with renewed strength.”
As he was about to enter, he was struck with amazement! On each side of
the opening grew a beautiful lily. The two stalks stood there tall and
erect and full of blossoms. They sent forth an intoxicating odor of
honey, and many bees buzzed around them.
It was such an uncommon sight in this wilderness that the soldier did
something extraordinary. He broke off a large white flower and took it
with him into the cave.
The cave was neither deep nor dark, and as soon as he entered he saw
that there were already three travelers within: a man, a woman, and a
child, who lay stretched out upon the ground, lost in deep slumber.
The soldier had never before felt his heart beat as it did at this
vision. They were the three runaways whom he had hunted so long. He
recognized them instantly. And here they lay sleeping, unable to defend
themselves and wholly in his power.
He drew his sword quickly and bent over the sleeping child.
Cautiously he lowered the sword toward the infant’s heart, and measured
carefully, in order to kill with a single thrust.
He paused an instant to look at the child’s countenance. Now, when he
was certain of victory, he felt a grim pleasure in beholding his victim.
But when he saw the child his joy increased, for he recognized the
little boy whom he had seen play with bees and lilies in the meadow
beyond the city gate.
“Why, of course I should have understood this all the time!” thought he.
“This is why I have always hated the child. This is the pretended Prince
of Peace.”
He lowered his sword again while he thought: “When I lay this child’s
head at Herod’s feet, he will make me Commander of his Life Guard.”
As he brought the point of the sword nearer and nearer the heart of the
sleeping child, he reveled in the thought: “This time, at least, no one
shall come between us and snatch him from my power.”
But the soldier still held in his hand the lily which he had broken off
at the grotto entrance; and while he was thinking of his good fortune, a
bee that had been hidden in its chalice flew towards him and buzzed
around his head.
He staggered back. Suddenly he remembered the bees which the boy had
carried to their home, and he remembered that it was a bee that had
helped the child escape from Herod’s feast. This thought struck him with
surprise. He held the sword suspended, and stood still and listened for
the bee.
Now he did not hear the tiny creature’s buzzing. As he stood there,
perfectly still, he became conscious of the strong, delicious perfume
which came from the lily that he held in his hand.
Then he began to think of the lilies that the little one had saved; he
remembered that it was a cluster of lilies that had hidden the child
from his view and made possible the escape through the city gate.
He became more and more thoughtful, and he drew back the sword.
“The bees and the lilies have requited his good deeds,” he whispered to
himself. Then he was struck by the thought that the little one had once
shown even him a kindness, and a deep crimson flush mounted to his brow.
“Can a Roman soldier forget to requite an accepted service?” he
whispered.
He fought a short battle with himself. He thought of Herod, and of his
own desire to destroy the young Peace-Prince.
“It does not become me to murder this child who has saved my life,” he
said, at last.
And he bent down and laid his sword beside the child, that the fugitives
on awakening should understand the danger they had escaped.
Then he saw that the child was awake. He lay and regarded the soldier
with the beautiful eyes which shone like stars.
And the warrior bent a knee before the child.
“Lord, _thou_ art the Mighty One!” said he. “Thou art the strong
Conqueror! Thou art He whom the gods love! Thou art He who shall tread
upon adders and scorpions!”
He kissed his feet and stole softly out from the grotto, while the
little one smiled and smiled after him with great, astonished
child-eyes.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: The Flight Into Egypt]