Ben-Hur: A tale of the Christ
“Well, if I put on his tunic, and dress him in these clothes of mine,
and you and I go away together, leaving him here, can you not get your
sestertii from Messala all the same? You have only to make him believe
it me that is dead.”
Thord laughed till the tears ran into his mouth.
“Ha, ha, ha! Ten thousand sestertii were never won so easily. And a
wine-shop by the Great Circus!—all for a lie without blood in it! Ha,
ha, ha! Give me thy hand, O son of Arrius. Get on now, and—ha, ha,
ha!—if ever you come to Rome, fail not to ask for the wine-shop of
Thord the Northman. By the beard of Irmin, I will give you the best,
though I borrow it from Cæsar!”
They shook hands again; after which the exchange of clothes was
effected. It was arranged then that a messenger should go at night to
Thord’s lodging-place with the four thousand sestertii. When they were
done, the giant knocked at the front door; it opened to him; and,
passing out of the atrium, he led Ben-Hur into a room adjoining, where
the latter completed his attire from the coarse garments of the dead
pugilist. They separated directly in the Omphalus.
“Fail not, O son of Arrius, fail not the wine-shop near the Great
Circus! Ha, ha, ha! By the beard of Irmin, there was never fortune
gained so cheap. The gods keep you!”
Upon leaving the atrium, Ben-Hur gave a last look at the myrmidon as he
lay in the Jewish vestments, and was satisfied. The likeness was
striking. If Thord kept faith, the cheat was a secret to endure
forever.
At night, in the house of Simonides, Ben-Hur told the good man all that
had taken place in the palace of Idernee; and it was agreed that, after
a few days, public inquiry should be set afloat for the discovery of
the whereabouts of the son of Arrius. Eventually the matter was to be
carried boldly to Maxentius; then, if the mystery came not out, it was
concluded that Messala and Gratus would be at rest and happy, and
Ben-Hur free to betake himself to Jerusalem, to make search for his
lost people.
At the leave-taking, Simonides sat in his chair out on the terrace
overlooking the river, and gave his farewell and the peace of the Lord
with the impressment of a father. Esther went with the young man to the
head of the steps.
“If I find my mother, Esther, thou shalt go to her at Jerusalem, and be
a sister to Tirzah.”
And with the words he kissed her.
Was it only a kiss of peace?
He crossed the river next to the late quarters of Ilderim, where he
found the Arab who was to serve him as guide. The horses were brought
out.
“This one is thine,” said the Arab.
Ben-Hur looked, and, lo! it was Aldebaran, the swiftest and brightest
of the sons of Mira, and, next to Sirius, the beloved of the sheik; and
he knew the old man’s heart came to him along with the gift.
The corpse in the atrium was taken up and buried by night; and, as part
of Messala’s plan, a courier was sent off to Gratus to make him at rest
by the announcement of Ben-Hur’s death—this time past question.
Ere long a wine-shop was opened near the Circus Maximus, with
inscription over the door:
THORD THE NORTHMAN.
BOOK SIXTH
“Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that woman’s mate?
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.”
COLERIDGE.
CHAPTER I
Our story moves forward now thirty days from the night Ben-Hur left
Antioch to go out with Sheik Ilderim into the desert.
A great change has befallen—great at least as respects the fortunes of
our hero. _Valerius Gratus has been succeeded by Pontius Pilate!_
The removal, it may be remarked, cost Simonides exactly five talents
Roman money in hand paid to Sejanus, who was then in height of power as
imperial favorite; the object being to help Ben-Hur, by lessening his
exposure while in and about Jerusalem attempting discovery of his
people. To such pious use the faithful servant put the winnings from
Drusus and his associates; all of whom, having paid their wagers,
became at once and naturally the enemies of Messala, whose repudiation
was yet an unsettled question in Rome.
Brief as the time was, already the Jews knew the change of rulers was
not for the better.
The cohorts sent to relieve the garrison of Antonia made their entry
into the city by night; next morning the first sight that greeted the
people resident in the neighborhood was the walls of the old Tower
decorated with military ensigns, which unfortunately consisted of busts
of the emperor mixed with eagles and globes. A multitude, in passion,
marched to Cæsarea, where Pilate was lingering, and implored him to
remove the detested images. Five days and nights they beset his palace
gates; at last he appointed a meeting with them in the Circus. When
they were assembled, he encircled them with soldiers; instead of
resisting, they offered him their lives, and conquered. He recalled the
images and ensigns to Cæsarea, where Gratus, with more consideration,
had kept such abominations housed during the eleven years of his reign.
The worst of men do once in a while vary their wickednesses by good
acts; so with Pilate. He ordered an inspection of all the prisons in
Judea, and a return of the names of the persons in custody, with a
statement of the crimes for which they had been committed. Doubtless,
the motive was the one so common with officials just installed—dread of
entailed responsibility; the people, however, in thought of the good
which might come of the measure, gave him credit, and, for a period,
were comforted. The revelations were astonishing. Hundreds of persons
were released against whom there were no accusations; many others came
to light who had long been accounted dead; yet more amazing, there was
opening of dungeons not merely unknown at the time by the people, but
actually forgotten by the prison authorities. With one instance of the
latter kind we have now to deal; and, strange to say, it occurred in
Jerusalem.
The Tower of Antonia, which will be remembered as occupying two thirds
of the sacred area on Mount Moriah, was originally a castle built by
the Macedonians. Afterwards, John Hyrcanus erected the castle into a
fortress for the defence of the Temple, and in his day it was
considered impregnable to assault; but when Herod came with his bolder
genius, he strengthened its walls and extended them, leaving a vast
pile which included every appurtenance necessary for the stronghold he
intended it to be forever; such as offices, barracks, armories,
magazines, cisterns, and last, though not least, prisons of all grades.
He levelled the solid rock, and tapped it with deep excavations, and
built over them; connecting the whole great mass with the Temple by a
beautiful colonnade, from the roof of which one could look down over
the courts of the sacred structure. In such condition the Tower fell at
last out of his hands into those of the Romans, who were quick to see
its strength and advantages, and convert it to uses becoming such
masters. All through the administration of Gratus it had been a
garrisoned citadel and underground prison terrible to revolutionists.
Woe when the cohorts poured from its gates to suppress disorder! Woe
not less when a Jew passed the same gates going in under arrest!
With this explanation, we hasten to our story.
The order of the new procurator requiring a report of the persons in
custody was received at the Tower of Antonia, and promptly executed;
and two days have gone since the last unfortunate was brought up for
examination. The tabulated statement, ready for forwarding, lies on the
table of the tribune in command; in five minutes more it will be on the
way to Pilate, sojourning in the palace up on Mount Zion.
The tribune’s office is spacious and cool, and furnished in a style
suitable to the dignity of the commandant of a post in every respect so
important. Looking in upon him about the seventh hour of the day, the
officer appears weary and impatient; when the report is despatched, he
will to the roof of the colonnade for air and exercise, and the
amusement to be had watching the Jews over in the courts of the Temple.
His subordinates and clerks share his impatience.
In the spell of waiting a man appeared in a doorway leading to an
adjoining apartment. He rattled a bunch of keys, each heavy as a
hammer, and at once attracted the chief’s attention.
“Ah, Gesius! come in,” the tribune said.
As the new-comer approached the table behind which the chief sat in an
easy-chair, everybody present looked at him, and, observing a certain
expression of alarm and mortification on his face, became silent that
they might hear what he had to say.
“O tribune!” he began, bending low, “I fear to tell what now I bring
you.”
“Another mistake—ha, Gesius?”
“If I could persuade myself it is but a mistake, I would not be
afraid.”
“A crime then—or, worse, a breach of duty. Thou mayst laugh at Cæsar,
or curse the gods, and live; but if the offence be to the eagles—ah,
thou knowest, Gesius—go on!”
“It is now about eight years since Valerius Gratus selected me to be
keeper of prisoners here in the Tower,” said the man, deliberately. “I
remember the morning I entered upon the duties of my office. There had
been a riot the day before, and fighting in the streets. We slew many
Jews, and suffered on our side. The affair came, it was said, of an
attempt to assassinate Gratus, who had been knocked from his horse by a
tile thrown from a roof. I found him sitting where you now sit, O
tribune, his head swathed in bandages. He told me of my selection, and
gave me these keys, numbered to correspond with the numbers of the
cells; they were the badges of my office, he said, and not to be parted
with. There was a roll of parchment on the table. Calling me to him, he
opened the roll. ‘Here are maps of the cells,’ said he. There were
three of them. ‘This one,’ he went on, ‘shows the arrangement of the
upper floor; this second one gives you the second floor; and this last
is of the lower floor. I give them to you in trust.’ I took them from
his hand, and he said, further, ‘Now you have the keys and the maps; go
immediately, and acquaint yourself with the whole arrangement; visit
each cell, and see to its condition. When anything is needed for the
security of a prisoner, order it according to your judgment, for you
are the master under me, and no other.’
“I saluted him, and turned to go away; he called me back. ‘Ah, I
forgot,’ he said. ‘Give me the map of the third floor.’ I gave it to
him, and he spread it upon the table. ‘Here, Gesius,’ he said, ‘see
this cell.’ He laid his finger on the one numbered V. ‘There are three
men confined in that cell, desperate characters, who by some means got
hold of a state secret, and suffer for their curiosity, which’—he
looked at me severely—‘in such matters is worse than a crime.
Accordingly, they are blind and tongueless, and are placed there for
life. They shall have nothing but food and drink, to be given them
through a hole, which you will find in the wall covered by a slide. Do
you hear, Gesius?’ I made him answer. ‘It is well,’ he continued. ‘One
thing more which you shall not forget, or’—he looked at me
threateningly—‘The door of their cell—cell number V. on the same
floor—this one, Gesius’—he put his finger on the particular cell to
impress my memory—‘shall never be opened for any purpose, neither to
let one in nor out, not even yourself.’ ‘But if they die?’ I asked. ‘If
they die,’ he said, ‘the cell shall be their tomb. They were put there
to die, and be lost. The cell is leprous. Do you understand?’ With that
he let me go.”
Gesius stopped, and from the breast of his tunic drew three parchments,
all much yellowed by time and use; selecting one of them, he spread it