Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
folds so as to show the shape of the head without enlarging it; the
whole finished by a tassel dropping from the crown point of the cap.
She had rings, ear and finger; anklets and bracelets, all of gold; and
around her neck there was a collar of gold, curiously garnished with a
network of delicate chains, to which were pendants of pearl. The edges
of her eyelids were painted, and the tips of her fingers stained. Her
hair fell in two long plaits down her back. A curled lock rested upon
each cheek in front of the ear. Altogether it would have been
impossible to deny her grace, refinement, and beauty.
“Very pretty, my Tirzah, very pretty!” he said, with animation.
“The song?” she asked.
“Yes—and the singer, too. It has the conceit of a Greek. Where did you
get it?”
“You remember the Greek who sang in the theatre last month? They said
he used to be a singer at the court for Herod and his sister Salome. He
came out just after an exhibition of wrestlers, when the house was full
of noise. At his first note everything became so quiet that I heard
every word. I got the song from him.”
“But he sang in Greek.”
“And I in Hebrew.”
“Ah, yes. I am proud of my little sister. Have you another as good?”
“Very many. But let them go now. Amrah sent me to tell you she will
bring you your breakfast, and that you need not come down. She should
be here by this time. She thinks you sick—that a dreadful accident
happened you yesterday. What was it? Tell me, and I will help Amrah
doctor you. She knows the cures of the Egyptians, who were always a
stupid set; but I have a great many recipes of the Arabs who—”
“Are even more stupid than the Egyptians,” he said, shaking his head.
“Do you think so? Very well, then,” she replied, almost without pause,
and putting her hands to her left ear. “We will have nothing to do with
any of them. I have here what is much surer and better—the amulet which
was given to some of our people—I cannot tell when, it was so far
back—by a Persian magician. See, the inscription is almost worn out.”
She offered him the earring, which he took, looked at, and handed back,
laughing.
“If I were dying, Tirzah, I could not use the charm. It is a relic of
idolatry, forbidden every believing son and daughter of Abraham. Take
it, but do not wear it any more.”
“Forbidden! Not so,” she said. “Our father’s mother wore it I do not
know how many Sabbaths in her life. It has cured I do not know how many
people—more than three anyhow. It is approved—look, here is the mark of
the rabbis.”
“I have no faith in amulets.”
She raised her eyes to his in astonishment.
“What would Amrah say?”
“Amrah’s father and mother tended sakiyeh for a garden on the Nile.”
“But Gamaliel!”
“He says they are godless inventions of unbelievers and Shechemites.”
Tirzah looked at the ring doubtfully.
“What shall I do with it?”
“Wear it, my little sister. It becomes you—it helps make you beautiful,
though I think you that without help.”
Satisfied, she returned the amulet to her ear just as Amrah entered the
summer chamber, bearing a platter, with wash-bowl, water, and napkins.
Not being a Pharisee, the ablution was short and simple with Judah. The
servant then went out, leaving Tirzah to dress his hair. When a lock
was disposed to her satisfaction, she would unloose the small metallic
mirror which, as was the fashion among her fair countrywomen, she wore
at her girdle, and gave it to him, that he might see the triumph, and
how handsome it made him. Meanwhile they kept up their conversation.
“What do you think, Tirzah?—I am going away.”
She dropped her hands with amazement.
“Going away! When? Where? For what?”
He laughed.
“Three questions, all in a breath! What a body you are!” Next instant
he became serious. “You know the law requires me to follow some
occupation. Our good father set me an example. Even you would despise
me if I spent in idleness the results of his industry and knowledge. I
am going to Rome.”
“Oh, I will go with you.”
“You must stay with mother. If both of us leave her she will die.”
The brightness faded from her face.
“Ah, yes, yes! But—must you go? Here in Jerusalem you can learn all
that is needed to be a merchant—if that is what you are thinking of.”
“But that is not what I am thinking of. The law does not require the
son to be what the father was.”
“What else can you be?”
“A soldier,” he replied, with a certain pride of voice.
Tears came into her eyes.
“You will be killed.”
“If God’s will, be it so. But, Tirzah, the soldiers are not all
killed.”
She threw her arms around his neck, as if to hold him back.
“We are so happy! Stay at home, my brother.”
“Home cannot always be what it is. You yourself will be going away
before long.”
“Never!”
He smiled at her earnestness.
“A prince of Judah, or some other of one of the tribes, will come soon
and claim my Tirzah, and ride away with her, to be the light of another
house. What will then become of me?”
She answered with sobs.
“War is a trade,” he continued, more soberly. “To learn it thoroughly,
one must go to school, and there is no school like a Roman camp.”
“You would not fight for Rome?” she asked, holding her breath.
“And you—even you hate her. The whole world hates her. In that, O
Tirzah, find the reason of the answer I give you— Yes, I will fight for
her, if, in return, she will teach me how one day to fight against
her.”
“When will you go?”
Amrah’s steps were then heard returning.
“Hist!” he said. “Do not let her know of what I am thinking.”
The faithful slave came in with breakfast, and placed the waiter
holding it upon a stool before them; then, with white napkins upon her
arm, she remained to serve them. They dipped their fingers in a bowl of
water, and were rinsing them, when a noise arrested their attention.
They listened, and distinguished martial music in the street on the
north side of the house.
“Soldiers from the Praetorium! I must see them,” he cried, springing
from the divan, and running out.
In a moment more he was leaning over the parapet of tiles which guarded
the roof at the extreme northeast corner, so absorbed that he did not
notice Tirzah by his side, resting one hand upon his shoulder.
Their position—the roof being the highest one in the locality—commanded
the house-tops eastward as far as the huge irregular Tower of Antonia,
which has been already mentioned as a citadel for the garrison and
military headquarters for the governor. The street, not more than ten
feet wide, was spanned here and there by bridges, open and covered,
which, like the roofs along the way, were beginning to be occupied by
men, women, and children, called out by the music. The word is used,
though it is hardly fitting; what the people heard when they came forth
was rather an uproar of trumpets and the shriller _litui_ so delightful
to the soldiers.
The array after a while came into view of the two upon the house of the
Hurs. First, a vanguard of the light-armed—mostly slingers and
bowmen—marching with wide intervals between their ranks and files; next
a body of heavy-armed infantry, bearing large shields, and hastoe
longoe, or spears identical with those used in the duels before Ilium;
then the musicians; and then an officer riding alone, but followed
closely by a guard of cavalry; after them again, a column of infantry
also heavy-armed, which, moving in close order, crowded the streets
from wall to wall, and appeared to be without end.
The brawny limbs of the men; the cadenced motion from right to left of
the shields; the sparkle of scales, buckles, and breastplates and
helms, all perfectly burnished; the plumes nodding above the tall
crests; the sway of ensigns and iron-shod spears; the bold, confident
step, exactly timed and measured; the demeanor, so grave, yet so
watchful; the machine-like unity of the whole moving mass—made an
impression upon Judah, but as something felt rather than seen. Two
objects fixed his attention—the eagle of the legion first—a gilded
effigy perched on a tall shaft, with wings outspread until they met
above its head. He knew that, when brought from its chamber in the
Tower, it had been received with divine honors.
The officer riding alone in the midst of the column was the other
attraction. His head was bare; otherwise he was in full armor. At his
left hip he wore a short sword; in his hand, however, he carried a
truncheon, which looked like a roll of white paper. He sat upon a
purple cloth instead of a saddle, and that, and a bridle with a
forestall of gold and reins of yellow silk broadly fringed at the lower
edge, completed the housings of the horse.
While the man was yet in the distance, Judah observed that his presence
was sufficient to throw the people looking at him into angry
excitement. They would lean over the parapets or stand boldly out, and
shake their fists at him; they followed him with loud cries, and spit
at him as he passed under the bridges; the women even flung their
sandals, sometimes with such good effect as to hit him. When he was
nearer, the yells became distinguishable—“Robber, tyrant, dog of a
Roman! Away with Ishmael! Give us back our Hannas!”
When quite near, Judah could see that, as was but natural, the man did
not share the indifference so superbly shown by the soldiers; his face
was dark and sullen, and the glances he occasionally cast at his
persecutors were full of menace; the very timid shrank from them.
Now the lad had heard of the custom, borrowed from a habit of the first
Cæsar, by which chief commanders, to indicate their rank, appeared in
public with only a laurel vine upon their heads. By that sign he knew
this officer—VALERIUS GRATUS, THE NEW PROCURATOR OF JUDEA!
To say truth now, the Roman under the unprovoked storm had the young
Jew’s sympathy; so that when he reached the corner of the house, the
latter leaned yet farther over the parapet to see him go by, and in the
act rested a hand upon a tile which had been a long time cracked and
allowed to go unnoticed. The pressure was strong enough to displace the
outer piece, which started to fall. A thrill of horror shot through the
youth. He reached out to catch the missile. In appearance the motion
was exactly that of one pitching something from him. The effort
failed—nay, it served to push the descending fragment farther out over
the wall. He shouted with all his might. The soldiers of the guard
looked up; so did the great man, and that moment the missile struck
him, and he fell from his seat as dead.
The cohort halted; the guards leaped from their horses, and hastened to
cover the chief with their shields. On the other hand, the people who
witnessed the affair, never doubting that the blow had been purposely
dealt, cheered the lad as he yet stooped in full view over the parapet,
transfixed by what he beheld, and by anticipation of the consequences
flashed all too plainly upon him.
A mischievous spirit flew with incredible speed from roof to roof along
the line of march, seizing the people, and urging them all alike. They
laid hands upon the parapets and tore up the tiling and the sunburnt
mud of which the house-tops were for the most part made, and with blind
fury began to fling them upon the legionaries halted below. A battle
then ensued. Discipline, of course, prevailed. The struggle, the
slaughter, the skill of one side, the desperation of the other, are
alike unnecessary to our story. Let us look rather to the wretched
author of it all.
He arose from the parapet, his face very pale.
“O Tirzah, Tirzah! What will become of us?”
She had not seen the occurrence below, but was listening to the
shouting and watching the mad activity of the people in view on the