Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
Euphrates, and beyond to the sea of the Scythians, the renown of my
Mira and her children will go; and they who sing of them will magnify
me, and forget that I am in the wane of life; and all the spears now
masterless will come to me, and my sword-hands multiply past counting.
Thou dost not know what it is to have sway of the desert such as will
now be mine. I tell thee it will bring tribute incalculable from
commerce, and immunity from kings. Ay, by the sword of Solomon! doth my
messenger seek favor for me of Cæsar, that will he get. Yet
nothing—nothing?”
And Ben-Hur would answer,
“Nay, sheik, have I not thy hand and heart? Let thy increase of power
and influence inure to the King who comes. Who shall say it was not
allowed thee for him? In the work I am going to, I may have great need.
Saying no now will leave me to ask of thee with better grace
hereafter.”
In the midst of a controversy of the kind, two messengers
arrived—Malluch and one unknown. The former was admitted first.
The good fellow did not attempt to hide his joy over the event of the
day.
“But, coming to that with which I am charged,” he said, “the master
Simonides sends me to say that, upon the adjournment of the games, some
of the Roman faction made haste to protest against payment of the money
prize.”
Ilderim started up, crying, in his shrillest tones,
“By the splendor of God! the East shall decide whether the race was
fairly won.”
“Nay, good sheik,” said Malluch, “the editor has paid the money.”
“’Tis well.”
“When they said Ben-Hur struck Messala’s wheel, the editor laughed, and
reminded them of the blow the Arabs had at the turn of the goal.”
“And what of the Athenian?”
“He is dead.”
“Dead!” cried Ben-Hur.
“Dead!” echoed Ilderim. “What fortune these Roman monsters have!
Messala escaped?”
“Escaped—yes, O sheik, with life; but it shall be a burden to him. The
physicians say he will live, but never walk again.”
Ben-Hur looked silently up to heaven. He had a vision of Messala,
chairbound like Simonides, and, like him, going abroad on the shoulders
of servants. The good man had abode well; but what would this one with
his pride and ambition?
“Simonides bade me say, further,” Malluch continued, “Sanballat is
having trouble. Drusus, and those who signed with him, referred the
question of paying the five talents they lost to the Consul Maxentius,
and he has referred it to Cæsar. Messala also refused his losses, and
Sanballat, in imitation of Drusus, went to the consul, where the matter
is still in advisement. The better Romans say the protestants shall not
be excused; and all the adverse factions join with them. The city rings
with the scandal.”
“What says Simonides?” asked Ben-Hur.
“The master laughs, and is well pleased. If the Roman pays, he is
ruined; if he refuses to pay, he is dishonored. The imperial policy
will decide the matter. To offend the East would be a bad beginning
with the Parthians; to offend Sheik Ilderim would be to antagonize the
Desert, over which lie all Maxentius’s lines of operation. Wherefore
Simonides bade me tell you to have no disquiet; Messala will pay.”
Ilderim was at once restored to his good-humor.
“Let us be off now,” he said, rubbing his hands. “The business will do
well with Simonides. The glory is ours. I will order the horses.”
“Stay,” said Malluch. “I left a messenger outside. Will you see him?”
“By the splendor of God! I forgot him.”
Malluch retired, and was succeeded by a lad of gentle manners and
delicate appearance, who knelt upon one knee, and said, winningly,
“Iras, the daughter of Balthasar, well known to good Sheik Ilderim,
hath intrusted me with a message to the sheik, who, she saith, will do
her great favor so he receive her congratulations on account of the
victory of his four.”
“The daughter of my friend is kind,” said Ilderim, with sparkling eyes.
“Do thou give her this jewel, in sign of the pleasure I have from her
message.”
He took a ring from his finger as he spoke.
“I will as thou sayest, O sheik,” the lad replied, and continued, “The
daughter of the Egyptian charged me further. She prays the good Sheik
Ilderim to send word to the youth Ben-Hur that her father hath taken
residence for a time in the palace of Idernee, where she will receive
the youth after the fourth hour to-morrow. And if, with her
congratulations, Sheik Ilderim will accept her gratitude for this other
favor done, she will be ever so pleased.”
The sheik looked at Ben-Hur, whose face was suffused with pleasure.
“What will you?” he asked.
“By your leave, O sheik, I will see the fair Egyptian.”
Ilderim laughed, and said, “Shall not a man enjoy his youth?”
Then Ben-Hur answered the messenger.
“Say to her who sent you that I, Ben-Hur, will see her at the palace of
Idernee, wherever that may be, to-morrow at noon.”
The lad arose, and, with silent salute, departed.
At midnight Ilderim took the road, having arranged to leave a horse and
a guide for Ben-Hur, who was to follow him.
CHAPTER XVI
Going next day to fill his appointment with Iras, Ben-Hur turned from
the Omphalus, which was in the heart of the city, into the Colonnade of
Herod, and came shortly to the palace of Idernee.
From the street he passed first into a vestibule, on the sides of which
were stairways under cover, leading up to a portico. Winged lions sat
by the stairs; in the middle there was a gigantic ibis spouting water
over the floor; the lions, ibis, walls, and floor were reminders of the
Egyptians: everything, even the balustrading of the stairs, was of
massive gray stone.
Above the vestibule, and covering the landing of the steps, arose the
portico, a pillared grace, so light, so exquisitely proportioned, it
was at that period hardly possible of conception except by a Greek. Of
marble snowy white, its effect was that of a lily dropped carelessly
upon a great bare rock.
Ben-Hur paused in the shade of the portico to admire its tracery and
finish, and the purity of its marble; then he passed on into the
palace. Ample folding-doors stood open to receive him. The passage into
which he first entered was high, but somewhat narrow; red tiling formed
the floor, and the walls were tinted to correspond. Yet this plainness
was a warning of something beautiful to come.
He moved on slowly, all his faculties in repose. Presently he would be
in the presence of Iras; she was waiting for him; waiting with song and
story and badinage, sparkling, fanciful, capricious—with smiles which
glorified her glance, and glances which lent voluptuous suggestion to
her whisper. She had sent for him the evening of the boat-ride on the
lake in the Orchard of Palms; she had sent for him now; and he was
going to her in the beautiful palace of Idernee. He was happy and
dreamful rather than thoughtless.
The passage brought him to a closed door, in front of which he paused;
and, as he did so, the broad leaves began to open of themselves,
without creak or sound of lock or latch, or touch of foot or finger.
The singularity was lost in the view that broke upon him.
Standing in the shade of the dull passage, and looking through the
doorway, he beheld the atrium of a Roman house, roomy and rich to a
fabulous degree of magnificence.
How large the chamber was cannot be stated, because of the deceit there
is in exact proportions; its depth was vista-like, something never to
be said of an equal interior. When he stopped to make survey, and
looked down upon the floor, he was standing upon the breast of a Leda,
represented as caressing a swan; and, looking farther, he saw the whole
floor was similarly laid in mosaic pictures of mythological subjects.
And there were stools and chairs, each a separate design, and a work of
art exquisitely composed, and tables much carven, and here and there
couches which were invitations of themselves. The articles of
furniture, which stood out from the walls, were duplicated on the floor
distinctly as if they floated unrippled water; even the panelling of
the walls, the figures upon them in painting and bas-relief, and the
fresco of the ceiling were reflected on the floor. The ceiling curved
up towards the centre, where there was an opening through which the
sunlight poured without hindrance, and the sky, ever so blue, seemed in
hand-reach; the impluvium under the opening was guarded by bronzed
rails; the gilded pillars supporting the roof at the edges of the
opening shone like flame where the sun struck them, and their
reflections beneath seemed to stretch to infinite depth. And there were
candelabra quaint and curious, and statuary and vases; the whole making
an interior that would have befitted well the house on the Palatine
Hill which Cicero bought of Crassus, or that other, yet more famous for
extravagance, the Tusculan villa of Scaurus.
Still in his dreamful mood, Ben-Hur sauntered about, charmed by all he
beheld, and waiting. He did not mind a little delay; when Iras was
ready, she would come or send a servant. In every well-regulated Roman
house the atrium was the reception chamber for visitors.
Twice, thrice, he made the round. As often he stood under the opening
in the roof, and pondered the sky and its azure depth; then, leaning
against a pillar, he studied the distribution of light and shade, and
its effects; here a veil diminishing objects, there a brilliance
exaggerating others; yet nobody came. Time, or rather the passage of
time, began at length to impress itself upon him, and he wondered why
Iras stayed so long. Again he traced out the figures upon the floor,
but not with the satisfaction the first inspection gave him. He paused
often to listen: directly impatience blew a little fevered breath upon
his spirit; next time it blew stronger and hotter; and at last he woke
to a consciousness of the silence which held the house in thrall, and
the thought of it made him uneasy and distrustful. Still he put the
feeling off with a smile and a promise. “Oh, she is giving the last
touch to her eyelids, or she is arranging a chaplet for me; she will
come presently, more beautiful of the delay!” He sat down then to
admire a candelabrum—a bronze plinth on rollers, filigree on the sides
and edges; the post at one end, and on the end opposite it an altar and
a female celebrant; the lamp-rests swinging by delicate chains from the
extremities of drooping palm-branches; altogether a wonder in its way.
But the silence would obtrude itself: he listened even as he looked at
the pretty object—he listened, but there was not a sound; the palace
was still as a tomb.
There might be a mistake. No, the messenger had come from the Egyptian,
and this was the palace of Idernee. Then he remembered how mysteriously
the door had opened so soundlessly, so of itself. He would see!
He went to the same door. Though he walked ever so lightly the sound of
his stepping was loud and harsh, and he shrank from it. He was getting
nervous. The cumbrous Roman lock resisted his first effort to raise it;
and the second—the blood chilled in his cheeks—he wrenched with all his
might: in vain—the door was not even shaken. A sense of danger seized
him, and for a moment he stood irresolute.
Who in Antioch had the motive to do him harm?
Messala!
And this palace of Idernee? He had seen Egypt in the vestibule, Athens
in the snowy portico; but here, in the atrium, was Rome; everything
about him betrayed Roman ownership. True, the site was on the great
thoroughfare of the city, a very public place in which to do him
violence; but for that reason it was more accordant with the audacious
genius of his enemy. The atrium underwent a change; with all its
elegance and beauty, it was no more than a trap. Apprehension always
paints in black.
The idea irritated Ben-Hur.