Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
Arabs; and they, from faith in the blood of the sheik’s four, blent
largely with hate of the Romans, whom they desired, above all things,
to see beaten and humbled, mounted the white, making the most noisy,
and probably the most numerous, faction of all.
As the charioteers move on in the circuit, the excitement increases; at
the second goal, where, especially in the galleries, the white is the
ruling color, the people exhaust their flowers and rive the air with
screams.
“Messala! Messala!”
“Ben-Hur! Ben-Hur!”
Such are the cries.
Upon the passage of the procession, the factionists take their seats
and resume conversation.
“Ah, by Bacchus! was he not handsome?” exclaims a woman, whose Romanism
is betrayed by the colors flying in her hair.
“And how splendid his chariot!” replies a neighbor, of the same
proclivities. “It is all ivory and gold. Jupiter grant he wins!”
The notes on the bench behind them were entirely different.
“A hundred shekels on the Jew!”
The voice is high and shrill.
“Nay, be thou not rash,” whispers a moderating friend to the speaker.
“The children of Jacob are not much given to Gentile sports, which are
too often accursed in the sight of the Lord.”
“True, but saw you ever one more cool and assured? And what an arm he
has!”
“And what horses!” says a third.
“And for that,” a fourth one adds, “they say he has all the tricks of
the Romans.”
A woman completes the eulogium:
“Yes, and he is even handsomer than the Roman.”
Thus encouraged, the enthusiast shrieks again, “A hundred shekels on
the Jew!”
“Thou fool!” answers an Antiochian, from a bench well forward on the
balcony. “Knowest thou not there are fifty talents laid against him,
six to one, on Messala? Put up thy shekels, lest Abraham rise and smite
thee.”
“Ha, ha! thou ass of Antioch! Cease thy bray. Knowest thou not it was
Messala betting on himself?”
Such the reply.
And so ran the controversy, not always good-natured.
When at length the march was ended and the Porta Pompae received back
the procession, Ben-Hur knew he had his prayer.
The eyes of the East were upon his contest with Messala.
CHAPTER XIII
About three o’clock, speaking in modern style, the program was
concluded except the chariot-race. The editor, wisely considerate of
the comfort of the people, chose that time for a recess. At once the
vomitoria were thrown open, and all who could hastened to the portico
outside where the restaurateurs had their quarters. Those who remained
yawned, talked, gossiped, consulted their tablets, and, all
distinctions else forgotten, merged into but two classes—the winners,
who were happy, and the losers, who were grum and captious.
Now, however, a third class of spectators, composed of citizens who
desired only to witness the chariot-race, availed themselves of the
recess to come in and take their reserved seats; by so doing they
thought to attract the least attention and give the least offence.
Among these were Simonides and his party, whose places were in the
vicinity of the main entrance on the north side, opposite the consul.
As the four stout servants carried the merchant in his chair up the
aisle, curiosity was much excited. Presently some one called his name.
Those about caught it and passed it on along the benches to the west;
and there was hurried climbing on seats to get sight of the man about
whom common report had coined and put in circulation a romance so mixed
of good fortune and bad that the like had never been known or heard of
before.
Ilderim was also recognized and warmly greeted; but nobody knew
Balthasar or the two women who followed him closely veiled.
The people made way for the party respectfully, and the ushers seated
them in easy speaking distance of each other down by the balustrade
overlooking the arena. In providence of comfort, they sat upon cushions
and had stools for footrests.
The women were Iras and Esther.
Upon being seated, the latter cast a frightened look over the Circus,
and drew the veil closer about her face; while the Egyptian, letting
her veil fall upon her shoulders, gave herself to view, and gazed at
the scene with the seeming unconsciousness of being stared at, which,
in a woman, is usually the result of long social habitude.
The new-comers generally were yet making their first examination of the
great spectacle, beginning with the consul and his attendants, when
some workmen ran in and commenced to stretch a chalked rope across the
arena from balcony to balcony in front of the pillars of the first
goal.
About the same time, also, six men came in through the Porta Pompae and
took post, one in front of each occupied stall; whereat there was a
prolonged hum of voices in every quarter.
“See, see! The green goes to number four on the right; the Athenian is
there.”
“And Messala—yes, he is in number two.”
“The Corinthian—”
“Watch the white! See, he crosses over, he stops; number one it
is—number one on the left.”
“No, the black stops there, and the white at number two.”
“So it is.”
These gate-keepers, it should be understood, were dressed in tunics
colored like those of the competing charioteers; so, when they took
their stations, everybody knew the particular stall in which his
favorite was that moment waiting.
“Did you ever see Messala?” the Egyptian asked Esther.
The Jewess shuddered as she answered no. If not her father’s enemy, the
Roman was Ben-Hur’s.
“He is beautiful as Apollo.”
As Iras spoke, her large eyes brightened and she shook her jeweled fan.
Esther looked at her with the thought, “Is he, then, so much handsomer
than Ben-Hur?” Next moment she heard Ilderim say to her father, “Yes,
his stall is number two on the left of the Porta Pompae;” and, thinking
it was of Ben-Hur he spoke, her eyes turned that way. Taking but the
briefest glance at the wattled face of the gate, she drew the veil
close and muttered a little prayer.
Presently Sanballat came to the party.
“I am just from the stalls, O sheik,” he said, bowing gravely to
Ilderim, who began combing his beard, while his eyes glittered with
eager inquiry. “The horses are in perfect condition.”
Ilderim replied simply, “If they are beaten, I pray it be by some other
than Messala.”
Turning then to Simonides, Sanballat drew out a tablet, saying, “I
bring you also something of interest. I reported, you will remember,
the wager concluded with Messala last night, and stated that I left
another which, if taken, was to be delivered to me in writing to-day
before the race began. Here it is.”
Simonides took the tablet and read the memorandum carefully.
“Yes,” he said, “their emissary came to ask me if you had so much money
with me. Keep the tablet close. If you lose, you know where to come; if
you win”—his face knit hard—“if you win—ah, friend, see to it! See the
signers escape not; hold them to the last shekel. That is what they
would with us.”
“Trust me,” replied the purveyor.
“Will you not sit with us?” asked Simonides.
“You are very good,” the other returned; “but if I leave the consul,
young Rome yonder will boil over. Peace to you; peace to all.”
At length the recess came to an end.
The trumpeters blew a call at which the absentees rushed back to their
places. At the same time, some attendants appeared in the arena, and,
climbing upon the division wall, went to an entablature near the second
goal at the west end, and placed upon it seven wooden balls; then
returning to the first goal, upon an entablature there they set up
seven other pieces of wood hewn to represent dolphins.
“What shall they do with the balls and fishes, O sheik?” asked
Balthasar.
“Hast thou never attended a race?”
“Never before; and hardly know I why I am here.”
“Well, they are to keep the count. At the end of each round run thou
shalt see one ball and one fish taken down.”
The preparations were now complete, and presently a trumpeter in gaudy
uniform arose by the editor, ready to blow the signal of commencement
promptly at his order. Straightway the stir of the people and the hum
of their conversation died away. Every face near-by, and every face in
the lessening perspective, turned to the east, as all eyes settled upon
the gates of the six stalls which shut in the competitors.
The unusual flush upon his face gave proof that even Simonides had
caught the universal excitement. Ilderim pulled his beard fast and
furious.
“Look now for the Roman,” said the fair Egyptian to Esther, who did not
hear her, for, with close-drawn veil and beating heart, she sat
watching for Ben-Hur.
The structure containing the stalls, it should be observed, was in form
of the segment of a circle, retired on the right so that its central
point was projected forward, and midway the course, on the starting
side of the first goal. Every stall, consequently, was equally distant
from the starting-line or chalked rope above mentioned.
The trumpet sounded short and sharp; whereupon the starters, one for
each chariot, leaped down from behind the pillars of the goal, ready to
give assistance if any of the fours proved unmanageable.
Again the trumpet blew, and simultaneously the gate-keepers threw the
stalls open.
First appeared the mounted attendants of the charioteers, five in all,
Ben-Hur having rejected the service. The chalked line was lowered to
let them pass, then raised again. They were beautifully mounted, yet
scarcely observed as they rode forward; for all the time the trampling
of eager horses, and the voices of drivers scarcely less eager, were
heard behind in the stalls, so that one might not look away an instant
from the gaping doors.
The chalked line up again, the gate-keepers called their men; instantly
the ushers on the balcony waved their hands, and shouted with all their
strength, “Down! down!”
As well have whistled to stay a storm.
Forth from each stall, like missiles in a volley from so many great
guns, rushed the six fours; and up the vast assemblage arose,
electrified and irrepressible, and, leaping upon the benches, filled
the Circus and the air above it with yells and screams. This was the
time for which they had so patiently waited!—this the moment of supreme
interest treasured up in talk and dreams since the proclamation of the
games!
“He is come—there—look!” cried Iras, pointing to Messala.
“I see him,” answered Esther, looking at Ben-Hur.
The veil was withdrawn. For an instant the little Jewess was brave. An
idea of the joy there is in doing an heroic deed under the eyes of a
multitude came to her, and she understood ever after how, at such
times, the souls of men, in the frenzy of performance, laugh at death
or forget it utterly.
The competitors were now under view from nearly every part of the
Circus, yet the race was not begun; they had first to make the chalked
line successfully.
The line was stretched for the purpose of equalizing the start. If it
were dashed upon, discomfiture of man and horses might be apprehended;
on the other hand, to approach it timidly was to incur the hazard of
being thrown behind in the beginning of the race; and that was certain
forfeit of the great advantage always striven for—the position next the
division wall on the inner line of the course.
This trial, its perils and consequences, the spectators knew
thoroughly; and if the opinion of old Nestor, uttered that time he
handed the reins to his son, were true—
“It is not strength, but art, obtained the prize,
And to be swift is less than to be wise”—
all on the benches might well look for warning of the winner to be now
given, justifying the interest with which they breathlessly watched for
the result.
The arena swam in a dazzle of light; yet each driver looked first thing