Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
She hesitated a moment, then asked, in return, “Is the property near
Rome a residence?”
“Yes.”
“And pretty?”
“It is beautiful—a palace in the midst of gardens and shell-strewn
walks; fountains without and within; statuary in the shady nooks; hills
around covered with vines, and so high that Neapolis and Vesuvius are
in sight, and the sea an expanse of purpling blue dotted with restless
sails. Cæsar has a country-seat near-by, but in Rome they say the old
Arrian villa is the prettiest.”
“And the life there, is it quiet?”
“There was never a summer day, never a moonlit night, more quiet, save
when visitors come. Now that the old owner is gone, and I am here,
there is nothing to break its silence—nothing, unless it be the
whispering of servants, or the whistling of happy birds, or the noise
of fountains at play; it is changeless, except as day by day old
flowers fade and fall, and new ones bud and bloom, and the sunlight
gives place to the shadow of a passing cloud. The life, Esther, was all
too quiet for me. It made me restless by keeping always present a
feeling that I, who have so much to do, was dropping into idle habits,
and tying myself with silken chains, and after a while—and not a long
while either—would end with nothing done.”
She looked off over the river.
“Why did you ask?” he said.
“Good my master—”
“No, no, Esther—not that. Call me friend—brother, if you will; I am not
your master, and will not be. Call me brother.”
He could not see the flush of pleasure which reddened her face, and the
glow of the eyes that went out lost in the void above the river.
“I cannot understand,” she said, “the nature which prefers the life you
are going to—a life of—”
“Of violence, and it may be of blood,” he said, completing the
sentence.
“Yes,” she added, “the nature which could prefer that life to such as
might be in the beautiful villa.”
“Esther, you mistake. There is no preference. Alas! the Roman is not so
kind. I am going of necessity. To stay here is to die; and if I go
there, the end will be the same—a poisoned cup, a bravo’s blow, or a
judge’s sentence obtained by perjury. Messala and the procurator Gratus
are rich with plunder of my father’s estate, and it is more important
to them to keep their gains now than was their getting in the first
instance. A peaceable settlement is out of reach, because of the
confession it would imply. And then—then— Ah, Esther, if I could buy
them, I do not know that I would. I do not believe peace possible to
me; no, not even in the sleepy shade and sweet air of the marble
porches of the old villa—no matter who might be there to help me bear
the burden of the days, nor by what patience of love she made the
effort. Peace is not possible to me while my people are lost, for I
must be watchful to find them. If I find them, and they have suffered
wrong, shall not the guilty suffer for it? If they are dead by
violence, shall the murderers escape? Oh, I could not sleep for dreams!
Nor could the holiest love, by any stratagem, lull me to a rest which
conscience would not strangle.”
“Is it so bad then?” she asked, her voice tremulous with feeling. “Can
nothing, nothing, be done?”
Ben-Hur took her hand.
“Do you care so much for me?”
“Yes,” she answered, simply.
The hand was warm, and in the palm of his it was lost. He felt it
tremble. Then the Egyptian came, so the opposite of this little one; so
tall, so audacious, with a flattery so cunning, a wit so ready, a
beauty so wonderful, a manner so bewitching. He carried the hand to his
lips, and gave it back.
“You shall be another Tirzah to me, Esther.”
“Who is Tirzah?”
“The little sister the Roman stole from me, and whom I must find before
I can rest or be happy.”
Just then a gleam of light flashed athwart the terrace and fell upon
the two; and, looking round, they saw a servant roll Simonides in his
chair out of the door. They went to the merchant, and in the after-talk
he was principal.
Immediately the lines of the galley were cast off, and she swung round,
and, midst the flashing of torches and the shouting of joyous sailors,
hurried off to the sea—leaving Ben-Hur committed to the cause of the
KING WHO WAS TO COME.
CHAPTER X
The day before the games, in the afternoon, all Ilderim’s racing
property was taken to the city, and put in quarters adjoining the
Circus. Along with it the good man carried a great deal of property not
of that class; so with servants, retainers mounted and armed, horses in
leading, cattle driven, camels laden with baggage, his outgoing from
the Orchard was not unlike a tribal migration. The people along the
road failed not to laugh at his motley procession; on the other side,
it was observed that, with all his irascibility, he was not in the
least offended by their rudeness. If he was under surveillance, as he
had reason to believe, the informer would describe the semi-barbarous
show with which he came up to the races. The Romans would laugh; the
city would be amused; but what cared he? Next morning the pageant would
be far on the road to the desert, and going with it would be every
movable thing of value belonging to the Orchard—everything save such as
were essential to the success of his four. He was, in fact, started
home; his tents were all folded; the dowar was no more; in twelve hours
all would be out of reach, pursue who might. A man is never safer than
when he is under the laugh; and the shrewd old Arab knew it.
Neither he nor Ben-Hur overestimated the influence of Messala; it was
their opinion, however, that he would not begin active measures against
them until after the meeting in the Circus; if defeated there,
especially if defeated by Ben-Hur, they might instantly look for the
worst he could do; he might not even wait for advices from Gratus. With
this view, they shaped their course, and were prepared to betake
themselves out of harm’s way. They rode together now in good spirits,
calmly confident of success on the morrow.
On the way, they came upon Malluch in waiting for them. The faithful
fellow gave no sign by which it was possible to infer any knowledge on
his part of the relationship so recently admitted between Ben-Hur and
Simonides, or of the treaty between them and Ilderim. He exchanged
salutations as usual, and produced a paper, saying to the sheik, “I
have here the notice of the editor of the games, just issued, in which
you will find your horses published for the race. You will find in it
also the order of exercises. Without waiting, good sheik, I
congratulate you upon your victory.”
He gave the paper over, and, leaving the worthy to master it, turned to
Ben-Hur.
“To you also, son of Arrius, my congratulations. There is nothing now
to prevent your meeting Messala. Every condition preliminary to the
race is complied with. I have the assurance from the editor himself.”
“I thank you, Malluch,” said Ben-Hur.
Malluch proceeded:
“Your color is white, and Messala’s mixed scarlet and gold. The good
effects of the choice are visible already. Boys are now hawking white
ribbons along the streets; tomorrow every Arab and Jew in the city will
wear them. In the Circus you will see the white fairly divide the
galleries with the red.”
“The galleries—but not the tribunal over the Porta Pompae.”
“No; the scarlet and gold will rule there. But if we win”—Malluch
chuckled with the pleasure of the thought—“if we win, how the
dignitaries will tremble! They will bet, of course, according to their
scorn of everything not Roman—two, three, five to one on Messala,
because he is Roman.” Dropping his voice yet lower, he added, “It ill
becomes a Jew of good standing in the Temple to put his money at such a
hazard; yet, in confidence, I will have a friend next behind the
consul’s seat to accept offers of three to one, or five, or ten—the
madness may go to such height. I have put to his order six thousand
shekels for the purpose.”
“Nay, Malluch,” said Ben-Hur, “a Roman will wager only in his Roman
coin. Suppose you find your friend to-night, and place to his order
sestertii in such amount as you choose. And look you, Malluch—let him
be instructed to seek wagers with Messala and his supporters; Ilderim’s
four against Messala’s.”
Malluch reflected a moment.
“The effect will be to centre interest upon your contest.”
“The very thing I seek, Malluch.”
“I see, I see.”
“Ay, Malluch; would you serve me perfectly, help me to fix the public
eye upon our race—Messala’s and mine.”
Malluch spoke quickly—“It can be done.”
“Then let it be done,” said Ben-Hur.
“Enormous wagers offered will answer; if the offers are accepted, all
the better.”
Malluch turned his eyes watchfully upon Ben-Hur.
“Shall I not have back the equivalent of his robbery?” said Ben-Hur,
partly to himself. “Another opportunity may not come. And if I could
break him in fortune as well as in pride! Our father Jacob could take
no offence.”
A look of determined will knit his handsome face, giving emphasis to
his further speech.
“Yes, it shall be. Hark, Malluch! Stop not in thy offer of sestertii.
Advance them to talents, if any there be who dare so high. Five, ten,
twenty talents; ay, fifty, so the wager be with Messala himself.”
“It is a mighty sum,” said Malluch. “I must have security.”
“So thou shalt. Go to Simonides, and tell him I wish the matter
arranged. Tell him my heart is set on the ruin of my enemy, and that
the opportunity hath such excellent promise that I choose such hazards.
On our side be the God of our fathers. Go, good Malluch. Let this not
slip.”
And Malluch, greatly delighted, gave him parting salutation, and
started to ride away, but returned presently.
“Your pardon,” he said to Ben-Hur. “There was another matter. I could
not get near Messala’s chariot myself, but I had another measure it;
and, from his report, its hub stands quite a palm higher from the
ground than yours.”
“A palm! So much?” cried Ben-Hur, joyfully.
Then he leaned over to Malluch.
“As thou art a son of Judah, Malluch, and faithful to thy kin, get thee
a seat in the gallery over the Gate of Triumph, down close to the
balcony in front of the pillars, and watch well when we make the turns
there; watch well, for if I have favor at all, I will— Nay, Malluch,
let it go unsaid! Only get thee there, and watch well.”
At that moment a cry burst from Ilderim.
“Ha! By the splendor of God! what is this?”
He drew near Ben-Hur with a finger pointing on the face of the notice.
“Read,” said Ben-Hur.
“No; better thou.”
Ben-Hur took the paper, which, signed by the prefect of the province as
editor, performed the office of a modern programme, giving particularly
the several divertisements provided for the occasion. It informed the
public that there would be first a procession of extraordinary
splendor; that the procession would be succeeded by the customary
honors to the god Consus, whereupon the games would begin; running,
leaping, wrestling, boxing, each in the order stated. The names of the
competitors were given, with their several nationalities and schools of
training, the trials in which they had been engaged, the prizes won,
and the prizes now offered; under the latter head the sums of money
were stated in illuminated letters, telling of the departure of the day
when the simple chaplet of pine or laurel was fully enough for the
victor, hungering for glory as something better than riches, and
content with it.
Over these parts of the programme Ben-Hur sped with rapid eyes. At last
he came to the announcement of the race. He read it slowly. Attending
lovers of the heroic sports were assured they would certainly be
gratified by an Orestean struggle unparalleled in Antioch. The city