 IRIS, the daughter of Balthazar, sends me with salutation and a message. net. Give me the message. Would it please you to accompany her upon the lake? I will carry the answer myself. Tell her so." His shoes were brought him, and in a few minutes Ben Hurr sallied out to find the fair Egyptian. The shadow of the mountains was creeping over the orchard of palms in advance of night. A far through the trees came the tinkling of sheep-bells, the lowing of cattle, and the voices of the herdsmen bringing their charges home. Life at the orchard, it should be remembered, was in all respects as pastoral as life on the scantier meadows of the desert. Shaikh Ilderham had witnessed the exercises of the afternoon, being a repetition of those of the morning. After which he had gone to the city and answered to the invitation of Simonides. He might return in the night. But, considering the immensity of the field to be talked over with his friend, it was hardly possible. Ben Hurr, thus left alone, had seen his horses cared for, cooled and purified himself in the lake, exchanged the field garb for his customary vestments, all white, as became a seducion of this pure blood, supped early and, thanks to the strength of youth, was well recovered from the violent exertion he had undergone. It is neither wise nor honest to detract from beauty as a quality. There cannot be a refined soul insensible to its influence. The story of Pygmalion and his statue is as natural as it is poetical. Beauty is of itself a power, and it was now drawing Ben Hurr. The Egyptian was to him a wonderfully beautiful woman, beautiful of face, beautiful of form. In his thought she always appeared to him as he saw her at the fountain, and he felt the influence of her voice, sweeter because in tearful expression of gratitude to him, and of her eyes, the large, soft, black, almond-shaped eyes declarative of her race, eyes which looked more than lies in the supremous wealth of words to utter, and recurrences of the thought of her were returns just so frequent of a figure tall, slender, graceful, refined, wrapped in rich and floating drapery, wanting nothing but a fitting mind to make her, like the Shulamite, and in the same sense, terrible as an army with banners. In other words, as she returned to his fancy, the whole passionate song of Solomon came with her, inspired by her presence. With this sentiment and that feeling he was going to see if she actually satisfied them. It was not love that was taking him, but admiration and curiosity, which might be the heralds of love. The landing was a simple affair, consisting of a short stairway, and a platform garnished by some lamp-posts, yet at the top of the steps he paused, arrested by what he beheld. There was a shallop resting upon the clear water, lightly as an eggshell. An aethiope, the camel-driver at the Castilian fount, occupied the rower's place, his blackness intensified by a livery of shining white. All the boat aft was cushioned and carpeted with stuff brilliant with Tyrion red. On the rudder seat sat the Egyptian herself, sunk in Indian shawls and a very vapor of most delicate veils and scarfs. Her arms were bare to the shoulders, and not merely faultless in shape, they had the effect of compelling attention to them, their pose, their action, their expression. The hands, the fingers even, seemed endowed with graces and meaning. Each was an object of beauty. The shoulders and neck were protected from the evening air by an ample scarf, which yet did not hide them. In the glance he gave her, Ben-Hur paid no attention to these details. There was simply an impression made upon him, and, like strong light, it was a sensation, not a thing of sight or enumeration. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks. Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. Such was the impression she made upon him, translated into words. Come, she said, observing him stop, come, or I shall think you a poor sailor. The red of his cheek deepened, did she know anything of his life upon the sea? He descended to the platform at once. I was afraid, he said, as he took the vacant seat before her. Of what? Of sinking the boat, he replied, smiling. Wait until we are in deeper water, she said, giving a signal to the black who dipped the oars and they were off. If love and Ben-Hur were enemies, the latter was never more at mercy. The Egyptians sat where he could not but see her. She, whom he had already engrossed in memory as his ideal of the Shulamite. With her eyes giving light to his, the stars might come out and he not see them, and so they did. The night might fall with unrelieved darkness everywhere else, her look would make illumination for him. And then, as everybody knows, given youth and such companionship, there is no situation in which the fancy takes such complete control as upon tranquil waters under a calm night sky warm with summer. It is so easy at such time to glide imperceptibly out of the common place into the ideal. Give me the rudder, he said. No, she replied, that were to reverse the relation. Did I not ask you to ride with me? I am indebted to you and would begin payment. You may talk and I will listen, or I will talk and you will listen. That choice is yours, but it shall be mine to choose where we go and the way thither. And where may that be? You are alarmed again. O fair Egyptian, I but asked you the first question of every captive. Call me Egypt. I would rather call you Eros. You may think of me by that name, but call me Egypt. Egypt is a country and means many people. Yes, yes, and such a country. I see, it is to Egypt we are going. Would we were, I would be so glad. She sighed as she spoke. You have no care for me, then, he said. Ah, by that I know you were never there. I never was. Oh, it is the land where there are no unhappy people, the desired of all the rest of the earth, the mother of all the gods, and therefore supremely blessed. There, O son of Arius, there the happy find increase of happiness, and the wretched, going, drink once of the sweet water of the sacred river, and laugh and sing, rejoicing like children. Are not the very poor with you there as elsewhere? The very poor in Egypt are the very simple in wants and ways. She replied, They have no wish beyond enough, and how little that is. A Greek or a Roman cannot know. But I am neither Greek nor Roman. She laughed. I have a garden of roses, and in the midst of it is a tree, and its bloom is the richest of all. Whence came it, thank you. From Persia the home of the rose? No. From India then? No. Ah, one of the aisles of Greece. I will tell you, she said, a traveller found it perishing by the roadside on the plain of Rhafiam. Oh, in Judea! I put it in the earth left bare by the receding nile, and the soft south wind blew over the desert and nursed it, and the sun kissed it in pity, after which it could not else then grow and flourish. I stand in its shade now, and it thanks me with much perfume. As with the roses, so with the men of Israel. Where shall they reach perfection but in Egypt? Moses was but one of millions. Nay, there was a reader of dreams. Will you forget him? The friendly pharaohs are dead. Ah, yes. The river by which they dwelt sings to them in their tombs. Yet the same sun tempers the same air to the same people. Alexandria is but a Romantown. She has but exchanged sceptres. Caesar took from her that of the sword, and in its place left that of learning. Go with me to the Brachaeum, and I will show you the College of Nations, to the Serapion, and see the perfection of architecture, to the library, and read the immortals, to the theatre, and hear the heroics of the Greek and Hindus, to the Cay, and count the triumphs of commerce. Descend with me into the streets, O son of Arius, and when the philosophers have dispersed, and taken with them the masters of all the arts, and all the gods have home their votaries, and nothing remains of the day but its pleasures, you shall hear the stories that have amused men from the beginning, and the songs which will never, never die. As he listened, Ben-Hur was carried back to the night when, in the summer house in Jerusalem, his mother, in much the same poetry of patriotism, declaimed the departed glories of Israel. I see now why you wish to be called Egypt. Will you sing me a song if I call you by that name? I heard you last night. That was a hymn of the Nile. She answered, a lament which I sing when I would fancy I smell the breath of the desert, and hear the surge of the dear old river. Let me rather give you a piece of the Indian mind. When we get to Alexandria, I will take you to the corner of the street where you can hear it from the daughter of the Ganga who taught it to me. Kapila, you should know, was one of the most revered of the Hindu sages. Then, as if it were a natural mode of expression, she began the song. Kapila, verse 1 Kapila, Kapila, so young and true, I yearn for a glory like thine, and hail thee from battle to ask anew, Can ever thy valour be mine? Kapila sat on his charger done, a hero never so grave, who loveth all things hath fear of none, to his love that maketh me brave. A woman gave me her soul one day, the soul of my soul to be all way. Thence came my valour to me. Go try it, try it, and see. Verse 2 Kapila, Kapila, so old and gray, the queen is calling for me. But ere I go hence, I wish thou would say, How wisdom first came to thee. Kapila stood in his temple door, a priest and Aramite guys. It did not come as men get their lore, to his faith that maketh me wise. A woman gave me her heart one day, the heart of my heart to be all way. Thence came my wisdom to me. Go try it, try it, and see. Benher had not time to express his thanks for the song before the keel of the boat grated upon the underlying sand, and next moment the bow ran upon the shore. A quick voyage, O Egypt! he cried. And a briefer stay, she replied, as with a strong push, the black sent them shooting into the open water again. You will give me the rudder now. Oh, no! said she, laughing. To you, the chariot, to me, the boat. We are merely at the lake's end, and the lesson is that I must not sing any more. Having been to Egypt, let us now to the grove of Daphne. Without a song on the way, he said, in deprecation. Tell me something of the Roman from whom you saved us to-day, she asked. The request struck Benher unpleasantly. I wish this were the Nile, he said evasively. The kings and queens, having slept so long, might come down from their tombs and ride with us. They were of the Colossae and would sink our boat. The pygmies would be preferable. But tell me of the Roman. He is very wicked, is he not? I cannot say. Is he of noble family and rich? I cannot speak of his riches. How beautiful his horses were, and the bed of his chariot was gold, and the wheels ivory, and his audacity. The bystanders laughed as he rode away, they who were so nearly under his wheels. She laughed at the recollection. They were rabble, said Benher bitterly. He must be one of the monsters who are said to be growing up in Rome, Apollo's ravenous as Cerberus. Does he reside in Antioch? He is of the East somewhere. Egypt would suit him better than Syria. Hardly, Benher replied, Cleopatra is dead. That instant the lamps burning before the door of the tent came into view. The Doar, she cried. Ah, then, we have not been to Egypt. I have not seen Karnak, or Philae, or Abedos. This is not the Nile. I have but heard a song of India, and been boating in a dream. Philae, Karnak! Mourn rather that you have not seen the Ramses at Abu Simbel, looking at which makes it so easy to think of God, the maker of the heavens and earth. Or why should you mourn at all? Let us go on to the river, and if I cannot sing, she laughed, because I have said I would not, yet I can tell you stories of Egypt. Go on. I till morning comes, and the evening and the next morning, he said vehemently. Of what shall my stories be, of the mathematicians? Oh, no. Of the philosophers. No, no. Of the magicians and genii? If you will. Of war? Yes. Of love? Yes. I will tell you a cure for love. It is the story of a queen. Unreverently, the papyrus from which it was taken by the priest of Philae, were rested from the hand of the heroine herself. It is correct in form and must be true. Ne ne hofra! One. There is no parallelism in human lives. No life runs a straight line. The most perfect life develops as a circle and terminates in its beginning, making it impossible to say, this is the commencement, that is the end. Perfect lives are the treasures of God. Of great days he wears them on the ring finger of his heart-hand. Two. Ne ne hofra! Dwelled in a house close by Esouan, yet closer to the first cataract. So close indeed that the sound of the eternal battle waged there between river and rocks was of the place apart. She grew in beauty day by day, so that it was said of her, as of the poppies in her father's garden, what will she not be in the time of blooming? Each year of her life was the beginning of a new song more delightful than any of those which went before. Child was she, of a marriage between the north, bounded by the sea, and the south, bounded by the desert beyond the Luna Mountains, and one gave her its passion, the other its genius. So when they beheld her, both laughed, saying, not meanly, she is mine, but generously, ha ha, she is ours. All excellences in nature contributed to her perfection and rejoiced in her presence. Did she come or go, the birds ruffled their wings in greeting. The unruly winds sank to cooling zephyrs. The white lotus rose from the water's depth to look at her. The solemn river loitered on its way. The palm trees, nodding, shook all their plumes. And they seemed to say, this one, I gave her of my grace. That, I gave her of my brightness. The other, I gave her of my purity. And so each as it had a virtue to give. At twelve, Ney Ney Hofero was the delight of Esouan. At sixteen, the fame of her beauty was universal. At twenty, there was never a day which did not bring to her door princes of the desert on swift camels, and lords of Egypt in gilded barges, and, going away disconsolate, they reported everywhere, I have seen her, and she is not a woman, but Athor herself. 3. Now of the three hundred and thirty successors of Good King Menace, eighteen were Ethiopians, of whom Oreates was one hundred and ten years old. He had reigned seventy-six years. Under him the people thrived, and the land groaned with fatness of plenty. He practised wisdom because, having seen so much, he knew what it was. He dwelt in Memphis, having there his principal palace, his arsenals, and his treasure house. Frequently he went down to Boutos to talk with Latona. The wife of the Good King died. Too old was she for perfect embalment, yet he loved her, and mourned as the inconsolable, seeing which a Kolkite presumed one day to speak to him. O Oreates, I am astonished that one so wise and great should not know how to cure a sorrow like this. Tell me a cure, said the King. Three times the Kolkite kissed the floor, and then he replied, knowing the dead could not hear him. At Esawan lives Ney Ney Hoefra, beautiful as Athor the beautiful. Send for her. She has refused all the lords and princes, and I know not how many kings, but who can say no to Oreates? Four. Ney Ney Hoefra descended the Nile in a barge richer than any ever before seen, attended by an army in barges each but a little less fine. All Nubia and Egypt, and a myriad from Libya, and a host of troglodytes, and not a few Macrobii from beyond the mountains of the moon, lined the tented shores to see the cortege pass, wafted by perfumed winds and golden oars. Through a dromos of sphinxes and cushioned double-winged lions she was born, and sat down before Oreates sitting on a throne specially erected at the sculptured pylon of the palace. He raised her up, gave her place by his side, clasped the ureas upon her arm, kissed her, and Ney Ney Hoefra was queen of all queens. That was not enough for the wise Oreates. He wanted love, and a queen happy in his love. So he dealt with her tenderly, showing her his possessions, cities, palaces, people, his armies, his ships, and with his own hand he led her through his treasure-house, saying, O Ney Ney Hoefra, but kiss me in love, and they are all thine. And thinking she could be happy if she was not then, she kissed him once, twice, thrice. Kissed him thrice, his hundred and ten years notwithstanding. The first year she was happy, and it was very short. The third year she was wretched, and it was very long. Then she was enlightened, that which she thought love of Oreates was only a days of his power. Well for her had the days endured. Her spirits deserted her. She had long spells of tears, and her women could not remember when they heard her laugh. Of the roses on her cheeks only ashes remained. She languished and faded gradually, but certainly. Some said she was haunted by the iridesce for cruelty to a lover. Others that she was stricken by some God envious of Oreates. Whatever the cause of her decline, the charms of the magicians availed not to restore her, and the prescript of the doctor was equally without virtue. Ney Ney Hoefra was given over to die. Oreates chose a crypt for her up in the tombs of the queens, and calling the master sculptors and painters to Memphis, he set them to work upon designs more elaborate than any even in the great galleries of the dead kings. O thou beautiful as Athor herself, my queen, said the king, whose hundred and thirteen years did not lessen his ardor as a lover. Tell me, I pray, the ailment of which, alas, thou art so certainly perishing before my eyes. You will not love me any more if I tell you, she said, in doubt and fear. Not love you, I will love you the more. I swear it by the genii of amente, by the eye of Osiris I swear it. Speak, he cried, passionate as a lover, authoritative as a king. Here, then, she said, there is an anchorite, the oldest and holiest of his class, in a cave near Esuwan. His name is Minofa. He was my teacher and guardian. Send for him, O Oreates, and he will tell you that you seek to know. He will also help you find the cure for my affliction. Oreates arose rejoicing. He went away in spirit a hundred years younger than when he came. Five. Speak, said Oreates to Minofa, in the palace at Memphis. And Minofa replied, Most mighty king, if you were young, I should not answer, because I am yet pleased with life. As it is, I will say the queen, like any other mortal, is paying the penalty of a crime. A crime, exclaimed Oreates angrily. Minofa bowed very low. Yes, to herself. I am not in mood for riddles, said the king. What I say is not a riddle as you shall hear. Nenehofra grew up under my eyes and confided every incident of her life to me, among others, that she loved the son of her father's gardener, Barbeque by name. Oreates' frown, strangely enough, began to dissipate. With that love in her heart, O king, she came to you, of that love she is dying. Where is the gardener's son now? asked Oreates. In Esawan. The king went out and gave two orders. To one Oiras he said, Go to Esawan and bring hither a youth named Barbeque. You will find him in the garden of the queen's father. To another, assemble workmen and cattle and tools, and construct for me in Lake Chemis, an island which, though laden with a temple, a palace and a garden, and all manner of trees bearing fruit, and all manner of vines, shall nevertheless float about as the winds may blow it. Make the island, and let it be fully furnished by the time the moon begins to wane. Then to the queen he said, Be of cheer, I know all and have sent for Barbeque. Nenehofra kissed his hands. You shall have him to yourself, and he you to himself, nor shall any disturb your loves for a year. She kissed his feet. He raised her, and kissed her in return, and the rose came back to her cheek, the scarlet to her lips, and the laughter to her heart. Six For one year Nenehofra and Barbeque the gardener floated as the winds blew on the island of Chemis, which became one of the wonders of the world, never a home of love more beautiful. One year, seeing no one, and existing for no one but themselves, then she returned in state to the palace in Memphis, now whom lovest thou best? asked the king. She kissed his cheek and said, Take me back, O good king, for I am cured. Oriete's laughed none the worse that moment of his hundred and fourteen years. Then it is true, as Nenehofra said, Ha, ha, ha, it is true, the cure of love is love. Even so, she replied. Suddenly his manner changed, and his look became terrible. I did not find it so, he said. She shrank, affrighted. Thou, guilty, he continued, Thy offence to Oriete's the man he forgives, but thy offence to Oriete's the king remains to be punished. She cast herself at his feet. Hush, he cried, Thou art dead. He clapped his hands, and a terrible procession came in, a procession of parakeasts or embalmers, each with some implement or material of his loathsome art. The king pointed to Nenehofra. She is dead, do thy work well. Seven Nenehofra, the beautiful, after seventy-two days, was carried to the crypt chosen for her the year before, and laid with her queenly predecessors, yet there was no funeral procession in her honor across the Sacred Lake. At the conclusion of the story, Benher was sitting at the Egyptians feet, and her hand upon the tiller was covered by his hand. Nenehofra was wrong, he said. How? Love lives by loving. Then there is no cure for it? Yes, or Yetes found the cure. What was it? You are a good listener, O son of Arius. And so, with conversation and stories, they wild the hours away, as they stepped ashore, she said, to-morrow we go to the city. But you will be at the games, he asked. Oh, yes. I will send you my colors. With that, they separated. End of chapter. Book 5, chapter 4 of Benher. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Benher, A Tale of the Christ, by Lou Wallace. Book 5, chapter 4. Ilderham returned to the doe our next day about the third hour, as he dismounted a man whom he recognized as of his own tribe, came to him and said, O shake, I was bid and give thee this package, with request that thou read it at once. If there be answer I was to wait thy pleasure. Ilderham gave the package immediate attention. The seal was already broken. The address ran to Valerius Gratis at Caesarea. Abaddon, take him! growled the shake at discovering a letter in Latin. Had the missive been in Greek or Arabic he could have read it, as it was the utmost he could make out was the signature in bold Roman letters, Masala, where at his eyes twinkled. Where is the young Jew? he asked. In the field with the horses, a servant replied. The shake replaced the papyrus in its envelopes, and tucking the package under his girdle he remounted the horse. That moment a stranger made his appearance, coming apparently from the city. I am looking for shake Ilderham, sir named the generous, the stranger said. His language in attire bespoke him a Roman. What he could not read he yet could speak, so the old Arab answered, with dignity. I am shake Ilderham. The man's eyes fell. He raised them again and said with force composure, I heard you had need of a driver for the games. Ilderham's lip under the white mustache curled contemptuously. Go thy way, he said, I have a driver. He turned to ride away, but the man, lingering, spoke again. Shake I am a lover of horses, and they say you have the most beautiful in the world. The old man was touched. He drew rain as if on the point of yielding to the flattery, but finally replied, Not to-day, not to-day. Some other time I will show them to you. I am too busy just now. He rode to the field, while the stranger betook himself to town again with a smiling countenance. He had accomplished his mission. But every day thereafter, down to the great day of the games, a man, sometimes two or three men, came to the shake at the orchard, pretending to seek an engagement as driver. In such manner Masala kept watch over Ben Hur. Book five, chapter five, of Ben Hur. The shake waited well satisfied until Ben Hur drew his horses off the field for the forenoon. Well satisfied, for he had seen them, after being put through all the other paces, run full speed in such manner that it did not seem there were one the slowest and another the fastest. Run in other words, as if the four were one. This afternoon, O shake, I will give Sirius back to you. Ben Hur patted the neck of the old horse, as he spoke. I will give him back and take to the chariot. So soon, Ilderham asked. With such as these good shake one day suffices. They are not afraid. They have a man's intelligence, and they love the exercise. This one. He shook a rain over the back of the youngest of the four. You called him Aldebaran, I believe, is the swiftness. In once around the stadium he would lead the others thrice's length. Ilderham pulled his beard and said, with twinkling eyes, Aldebaran is the swiftness, but what of the slowest? This is he. Ben Hur shook the rain over Antares. This is he, but he will win. For look, you shake, he will run as utmost all day, all day, and as the sun goes down he will reach his swiftness. Right again, said Ilderham. I have but one fear, O shake. The shake became doubly serious. In his greed of triumph a Roman cannot keep honour pure. In the games all of them mark you, their tricks are infinite. In chariot racing their navery extends to everything. From horse to driver, from driver to master. Wherefore, good shake, look well to all thou hast. From this till the trial is over, let no stranger so much as see the horses. Would you be perfectly safe? Do more. Keep watch over them with armed hand, as well as sleepless eye. Then I will have no fear of the end. At the door of the tent they dismounted. What you say shall be attended to. By the splendour of God no hand shall come near them except it belong to one of the faithful. Tonight I will set watches. But, son of Arius, Ilderham drew forth the package and opened it slowly, while they walked to the divan and seated themselves. Son of Arius, see thou here, and help me with thy Latin. He passed the dispatch to Ben Hur. There, read, and read aloud, rendering what thou findest into the tongue of thy father's. Latin is an abomination. Ben Hur was in good spirits, and began the reading carelessly. Masala de gratis. He paused. A premonition drove the blood to his heart. Ilderham observed his agitation. Well, I am waiting. Ben Hur prayed pardon and recommenced the paper, which it is sufficient to say was one of the duplicates of the letter dispatched so carefully to gratis by Masala the morning after the revel in the palace. The paragraphs in the beginning were remarkable only as proof that the writer had not outgrown his habit of mockery. When they were passed and the reader came to the parts intended to refresh the memory of gratis, his voice trembled, and twice he stopped to regain his self-control. By a strong effort he continued. I recall further, he read, that thou didst make disposition of the family of her. There the reader again paused and drew a long breath. Both of us at the time supposing the plan hit upon to be the most effective possible for the purposes in view, which were silence and delivery over to inevitable but natural death. Here Ben Hur broke down utterly. The paper fell from his hands, and he covered his face. They are dead, dead! I alone him left. The shake had been a silent but not unsympathetic witness of the young man's suffering. Now he arose and said, Son of Arius, it is for me to beg thy pardon. Read the paper by thyself. When thou art strong enough to give the rest of it to me, then word, and I will return. He went out of the tent, and nothing in all his life became him better. Ben Hur flung himself on the divan and gave way to his feelings. When some what were covered, he recollected that a portion of the letter remained unread, and, taking it up, he resumed the reading. Thou wilt remember, the missive ran, what thou didst with the mother and sister of the malefactor. But if now I yield to a desire to learn if they be living or dead, Ben Hur started and read again, and then again, and at last broken to exclamation. He does not know they are dead, he does not know it! Blessed be the name of the Lord, there is yet hope. He finished the sentence and was strengthened by it, and went on bravely to the end of the letter. They are not dead, he said, after reflection. They are not dead, or he would have heard of it. A second reading, more careful than the first, confirmed him in the opinion. Then he sent for the shake. In coming to your hospitable tent, O shake, he said calmly, when the Arab was seated and they were alone, it was not in my mind to speak of myself further than to assure you I had sufficient training to be entrusted with your horses. I declined to tell you my history. But the chances which have sent this paper to my hand and given it to me to be read, are so strange that I feel bitten to trust you with everything. And I am the more inclined to do so by knowledge here conveyed that we are both of us, threatened by the same enemy, against whom it is needful that we make common cause. I will read the letter and give you explanation, after which you will not wonder I was so moved. If you thought me weak or childish, you will then excuse me. The shake held his peace, listening closely, until Benher came to the paragraph in which he was particularly mentioned. I saw the Jew yesterday in the grove of Daphne, so ran the part, and if he be not there now, he is certainly in the neighborhood, making it easy for me to keep him an eye. Indeed, without to ask me where he is now, I should say with the most positive assurance, he is to be found at the Old Orchard of Palms. Ah! exclaimed Ilderum in such a tone one might hardly say he was more surprised than angry, at the same time he clutched his beard. At the Old Orchard of Palms, Benher repeated, under the tent of the traitor, shake Ilderum. Traitor! I— The old man cried in his shrillest tone, while lip and beard curled with ire, and on his forehead and neck the veins swelled and beat as if they would burst. Yet a moment, shake, said Benher, with a deprecatory gesture, such as Masala's opinion of you, hear his threat. And he read on. Under the tent of the traitor, shake Ilderum, who cannot long escape our strong hand, be not surprised if Maxentius, as his first measure, faces the Arabon ship for forwarding to Rome. To Rome? Me? Ilderum? Shake of ten thousand horsemen with spears? Me? To Rome? He leaped rather than rose to his feet, his arms outstretched, his fingers spread and curved like claws, his eyes glittering like a serpents. O God! Nay by all the gods except of Rome! When shall this insolence end? A freeman am I, free are my people. Must we die slaves? Or worse, must I live a dog crawling to a master's feet? Must I lick his hand lest he lash me? What his mind is not mine, I am not my own. For breath of body I must be beholden to a Roman. Oh, if I were young again, oh, could I shake off twenty years? Or ten, or five? He ground his teeth and shook his hands overhead. Then under the impulse of another idea he walked away and back again to bend her swiftly and caught his shoulder with a strong grasp. If I were as thou, son of Arius, as young, as strong, as practiced in arms, if I had a motive hissing me to revenge, a motive like thine, great enough to make hate wholly, away with the skies on thy part and on mine, son of her, son of her, I say!" At that name all the currents of bend her's blood stopped. Surprised bewildered, he gazed into the Arab's eyes, now close to his, and fiercely bright. Son of her, I say, were I as thou, with half thy wrongs, bearing about with me memories like thine, I would not, I could not rest! After pausing, his words following each other torrent-like, the old man swept on. To all my grievances I would add those of the world and devote myself to vengeance. From land to land I would go firing all mankind. No war for freedom but should find me engaged. No battle against Rome in which I would not bear apart. I would turn Parthian if I could not better. If men failed me, still I would not give over the effort. By the splendor of God I would herd with wolves and make friends of lions and tigers in hopes of marshalling them against the common enemy. I would use every weapon. So my victims were Romans I would rejoice in slaughter. Quarter I would not ask, quarter I would not give. To the flames everything Roman, to the sword every Roman born. Of knights I would pray that God's, the good and the bad alike, to lend me their special terrors, tempests, drought, heat, cold, in all the nameless poisons they let loose in air, all the thousand things of which men die on sea and on land. Oh, I could not sleep, I, I— The shake stopped for want of breath, panting, ringing his hands. And soothed to say, of all the passionate bursts Ben Hur retained but a vague impression wrought by fiery eyes, a piercing voice, and a rage too intense for coherent expression. For the first time in years the desolate youth heard himself addressed by his proper name. One man at least knew him, and acknowledged it without demand of identity, and he, an Arab fresh from the desert. How came the man by his knowledge? The letter? No. It told the cruelties from which his family had suffered. He told the story of his own misfortunes, but it did not say he was the very victim whose escape from doom was the theme of the heartless narrative. That was the point of explanation he had notified the shake would follow the reading of the letter. He was pleased, and thrilled with hope restored, yet kept an air of calmness. Good shake, tell me how you came by this letter. My people keep the roads between cities, Ilderim answered bluntly. They took it from a courier. Are they known to be thy people? No. To the world they are robbers, whom it is mine to catch and slay. Again shake, you called me son of her, my father's name. I did not think myself known to a person on earth. How came you by the knowledge? Ilderim hesitated, but rallying, he answered, I know you, yet I am not free to tell you more. Someone holds you in restraint? The shake closed his mouth and walked away, but, observing Ben Hurr's disappointment, he came back and said, Let us say no more about the matter now. I will go to town. When I return I may talk to you fully. Give me the letter. Ilderim rolled the papyrus carefully, restored it to its envelopes, and became once more all energy. What sayest thou? He asked, while waiting for his horse and retinue, I told what I would do were I thou, and thou hast made no answer. I intended to answer shake, and I will. Ben Hurr's countenance and voice changed with a feeling invoked. All thou hast said I will do, all at least in the power of a man. I devoted myself to vengeance long ago. Every hour of the five years past I have lived with no other thought. I have taken no respite. I have had no pleasures of youth. The blandishments of Rome were not for me. I wanted her to educate me for revenge. I resorted to her most famous masters and professors, not those of rhetoric or philosophy, alas, I had no time for them. The arts essential to a fighting man were my desire. I associated with gladiators, and with winners of prizes in the circus, and they were my teachers. The drill-masters in the great camp accepted me as a scholar, and were proud of my attainments in their line. No shake, I am a soldier, but the things of which I dream require me to be a captain. With that thought I have taken part in the campaign against the Parthians. When it is over, then, if the Lord spare my life and strength, then—he raised his clenched hands and spoke vehemently—then I will be an enemy Roman taught in all things. Then Rome shall account to me, in Roman lives, for her ills. You have my answer, shake." Ilderan put an arm over his shoulder and kissed him, saying, passionately, If thy God favor thee not, son of her, it is because he is dead. Take thou this from me, sworn to, if so thy preference run. Thou shalt have my hands, and their fullness, men, horses, camels, and the desert for preparation. I swear it! For the present enough. Thou shalt see or hear from me before night." Being abruptly off, the shake was speedily on the road to the city. The intercepted letter was conclusive upon a number of points of great interest to Ben Hur. It had all the effect of a confession that the writer was a party to the putting away of the family with murderous intent, that he had sanctioned the plan adopted for the purpose, that he had received a portion of the proceeds of the confiscation, and was yet in enjoyment of his part, that he dreaded the unexpected appearance of what he was pleased to call the chief malefactor, and accepted it as a menace, that he contemplated such further action as would secure him in the future, and was ready to do whatever his accomplice in Caesarea might advise. And now that the letter had reached the hand of him really its subject, it was notice of danger to come, as well as a confession of guilt. So when Ilderham left the tent, Ben Hur had much to think about, requiring immediate action. His enemies were as adroit and powerful as any in the east. If they were afraid of him, he had greater reason to be afraid of them. He strove earnestly to reflect upon the situation, but could not. His feelings constantly overwhelmed him. There was a certain qualified pleasure in the assurance that his mother and sister were alive, and it mattered little that the foundation of the assurance was a mere inference. That there was one person who could tell him where they were seemed to his hope so long deferred as if discovery were now close at hand. These were mere causes of feeling. Underlying them, it must be confessed he had a superstitious fancy that God was about to make ordination in his behalf, in which event faith whispered him to stand still. Occasionally, referring to the words of Ilderham, he wondered whence the Arab derived his information about him. Not from Malak, certainly, nor from Simonides, whose interests all adverse would hold him dumb. Could Masala have been the informant? No, no. Disclosure might be dangerous in that quarter. Conjecture was vain. At the same time, often as Ben Hur was beaten back from the solution, he was consoled with the thought that whoever the person with the knowledge might be, he was a friend, and, being such, would reveal himself in good time. A little more waiting, a little more patience. Possibly the errand of the shake was to see the worthy. Possibly the letter might precipitate a full disclosure. And patient he would have been if only he could have believed Terza and his mother were waiting for him under circumstances permitting hope on their part strong as his, if, in other words, patience had not stung him with accusations respecting them. To escape such accusations he wandered far through the orchard, pausing now where the date-gatherers were busy, yet not too busy to offer him of their fruit and talk with him. Then under the great trees to watch the nesting birds, or hear the bees swarming about the berries bursting with honeyed sweetness, and filling all the green and golden spaces with the music of their beating wings. By the lake, however, he lingered longest. He might not look upon the water and its sparkling ripples, so like sensuous life, without thinking of the Egyptian and her marvellous beauty, and of floating with her here and there through the night, made brilliant by her songs and stories. He might not forget the charm of her manner, the lightness of her laugh, the flattery of her attention, the warmth of her little hand under his upon the tiller of the boat. From her it was for his thought but a short way to Balthazar, and the strange things of which he had been witness, unaccountable by any law of nature, and from him again to the king of the Jews, whom the good man, with such pathos of patience, was holding in holy promise the distance was even nearer. And there his mind stayed, finding in the mysteries of that personage a satisfaction answering well for the rest he was seeking. Because it may have been, nothing is so easy as denial of an idea not agreeable to our wishes, he rejected the definition given by Balthazar of the kingdom the king was coming to establish. A kingdom of souls, if not intolerable to his said you see in faith, seemed to him but an abstraction drawn from the depths of a devotion to fond and dreamy. A kingdom of Judea, on the other hand, was more than comprehensible. Such had been, and if only for that reason, might be again. And it suited his pride to think of a new kingdom broader of domain, richer in power, and of a more unapproachable splendor than the old one. Of a new king wiser and mightier than Solomon. A new king under whom, especially, he could find both service and revenge. In that mood he resumed to the Doar. The midday meal disposed of, still further to occupy himself, Benher had the chariot rolled out into the sunlight for inspection. The word but poorly conveys the careful study the vehicle underwent. No point or part of it escaped him. With a pleasure which will be better understood hereafter, he saw the pattern was Greek, in his judgment preferable to the Roman in many respects. It was wider between the wheels, and lower, and stronger, and the disadvantage of greater weight would be more than compensated by the greater endurance of his Arabs. Speaking generally, the carriage-makers of Rome built for the games almost solely, sacrificing safety to beauty and durability to grace, while the chariots of Achilles, and the king of men, designed for war in all its extreme tests, still ruled the taste of those who met and struggled for the crown's Ismian and Olympic. Next he brought the horses, and, hitching them to the chariot, drove to the field of exercise, where, hour after hour, he practiced them in movement under the yoke. When he came away in the evening it was with restored spirit, and a fixed purpose to defer action in the matter of Masala until the race was won or lost. He could not forego the pleasure of meeting his adversary under the eyes of the East, that there might be other competitors seem not to enter his thought. His confidence in the result was absolute, no doubt of his own skill, and as to the four, they were his full partners in the glorious game. Let him look to it, let him look to it, ha! Antares, al-Debran, shall he not, O honest Rigel, and thou, Altaire, king among coarsers, shall he not beware of us? Good hearts! So in rest he passed from horse to horse, speaking not as a master, but the senior of as many brethren. After nightfall Ben Hurr sat by the door of the tent, waiting for Ilderim, not yet returned from the city. He was not impatient, or vexed, or doubtful. The shake would be heard from, at least. Indeed whether it was from satisfaction with the performance of the four, or the refreshment there is in cold water succeeding bodily exercise, or supper partaking with royal appetite, or the reaction which, as a kindly provision of nature, always follows depression, the young man was in good humor, verging upon elation. He felt himself in the hands of Providence no longer his enemy. At last there was a sound of horses' feet coming rapidly, and Malik rode up. Son of Arius! he said cheerily, after salutation, I salute you for shake Ilderim, who requests you to mount and go to the city. He is waiting for you. Ben Hurr asked no questions, but went in where the horses were feeding. Aldebaran came to him, as if offering his service. He played with him lovingly, but passed on, and chose another, not of the four. They were sacred to the race. Very shortly the two were on the road, going swiftly and in silence. Some distance below the Selucian bridge, they crossed the river by a ferry, and riding far around on the right bank, and recrossing by another ferry, entered the city from the west. The detour was long, but Ben Hurr accepted it as a precaution for which there was good reason. Down to Simonides' landing they rode, and in front of the great warehouse, under the bridge, Malak drew rain. We are come, he said. Dismount! Ben Hurr recognized the place. Where is the shake? he asked. Come with me, I will show you. A watchman took the horses, and almost before he realized it, Ben Hurr stood once more at the door of the house, up on the greater one, listening to the response from within. In God's name, enter! CHAPTER VII Malak stopped at the door. Ben Hurr entered alone. The room was the same in which he had formally interviewed Simonides, and it had been in no wise changed, except now, close by the armchair, a polished brazen rod set on a broad wooden pedestal, arose higher than a tall man, holding lamps of silver on sliding arms, half a dozen or more in number, and all burning. The light was clear, bringing in to view the panelling on the walls, the cornice with its row of gilded balls, and the dome dully tinted with violet mica. Within a few steps Ben Hurr stopped. Three persons were present looking at him, Simonides, Ildrum, and Esther. He glanced hurriedly from one to another, as if to find answer to the question half-formed in his mind, what business can these have with me? He became calm with every sense on the alert, for the question was succeeded by another. Are they friends or enemies? At length his eyes rested upon Esther. The man returned his look kindly. In her face there was something more than kindness, something too spiritual, for definition, which yet went to his inner consciousness without definition. Shall it be said, good reader? Back of his gaze there was a comparison in which the Egyptian arose and set herself over against the gentle Jewish. But it lived an instant, and, as is the habit of such comparisons, laced away without a conclusion. Son of Hurr! The guest turned to the speaker. Son of Hurr! said Simonides, repeating the address slowly and with distinct emphasis, as if to impress all its meaning upon him, most interested in understanding it. Take thou the peace of the Lord God of our fathers. Take it from me. He paused, then added. From me and mine. The speaker sat in his chair. There were the royal head, the bloodless face, the masterful air, under the influence of which visitors forgot the broken limbs and distorted body of the man, the full black eyes gazed out under the white brows steadily but not sternly. A moment thus then he crossed his hands upon his breast. The action taken with the salutation could not be misunderstood and was not. Simonides, Ben Hurr answered, much moved. The holy peace you tender is accepted. As son to father I return it to you. Only let there be perfect understanding between us. Thus delicately he sought to put aside the submission of the merchant and, in place of the relation of master and servant, substitute one higher and holier. Simonides let fall his hands and, turning to Esther, said, does seat for the master-daughter. She hastened and brought a stool and stood with suffused face, looking from one to the other, from Ben Hurr to Simonides, from Simonides to Ben Hurr. And they waited. Each declining the superiority direction would imply. When at length the pause began to be embarrassing, Ben Hurr advanced, and gently took the stool from her, and going to the chair, placed it at the merchant's feet. I will sit here, he said. His eyes met Hurr's, an instant only, but both were better of the look. He recognized her gratitude, she his generosity and forbearance. Simonides bowed his acknowledgment. Esther, child, bring me the paper! He said, with a breath of relief. She went to a panel in the wall, opened it, took out a roll of papyri, and brought and gave it to him. Thou said it's well, son of Hurr. Simonides began, while unrolling the sheets, let us understand each other. In anticipation of the demand, which I would have made, hath thou waved it, I have here a statement covering everything necessary to the understanding required. I could see but two points involved, the property first and then our relation. The statement is explicit as to both. Would it please thee to read it now? Ben Hurr received the papers, but glanced at Ildrum. Nay, said Simonides, the shake shall not deter thee from reading. The account, such as thou wilt find it, is of a nature requiring a witness. In the attesting place at the end thou wilt find, when thou comest to it, the name Ildrum Shake. He knows all. He is thy friend. All he has been to me, that will he be to thee also. Simonides looked at the Arab, nodding pleasantly, and the latter gravely returned the nod, saying, Thou hast said— Ben Hurr replied, I know already the excellence of his friendship, and have yet to prove myself worthy of it. Immediately he continued. Here, O Simonides, I will read the papers carefully. For the present, do thou take them, and if thou be not too weary, give me their substance. Simonides took back the roll. Here, Esther, stand by me and receive the sheets, lest they fall into confusion. She took place by his chair, letting her right arm fall lightly across his shoulder, so when he spoke the account seemed to have rendition from both of them jointly. This, said Simonides, drawing out the first leaf, shows the money I had of thy fathers, being their amounts saved from the Romans. There was no property saved, only money, and that the robbers would have secured but for our Jewish custom of bills of exchange. The amounts saved, being sums I drew from Rome, Alexandria, Damascus, Carthage, Valencia, and elsewhere within the circle of trade, was one hundred and twenty talents Jewish money. He gave the sheet to Esther and took the next one. With that amount, one hundred and twenty talents, I charged myself. Here now my credits. I use the word as thou wilt see, with reference rather to the proceeds gained from the use of the money. From separate sheets he then read footings which, fractions omitted, were as follows. See our, by ships, sixty talents, goods in store, one hundred ten talents. By cargoes in transit, seventy-five talents. By camels, horses, etc., twenty talents. By warehouses, ten talents. By bills due, fifty-four talents. By money on hand and subject to draft, two hundred twenty-four talents. Total, five hundred and fifty-three talents. To these now, to the five hundred and fifty-three talents gained, add the original capital I had from thy father, and thou hast six hundred and seventy-three talents, and all thine, making thee, O son of her, the richest subject in the world. He took the papyri from Esther and, reserving one, rolled them and offered them to Ben-her. The pride perceptible in his manner was not offensive. It might have been from a sense of duty well done. It might have been for Ben-her without reference to himself. And there is nothing, he added, dropping his voice, but not his eyes. There is nothing now, thou mayest not do. The moment was one of absorbing interest to all present. Simonides crossed his hands upon his breast again. Esther was anxious, ill-derim, nervous. A man is never so on trial as in the moment of excessive good fortune. Taking the roll, Ben-her arose, struggling with emotion. All this is to me as a light from heaven sent to drive away a night which has been so long I feared it would never end, and so dark I had lost the hope of seeing, he said with a husky voice. I give first thanks to the Lord, who has not abandoned me, and my next to thee, O Simonides. Thy faithfulness outweighs the cruelty of others, and redeems our human nature. There is nothing I cannot do. Be it so. Shall any man in this my hour of such mighty privilege be more generous than I? Serve me as a witness now, shake ill-derim. Hear thou my words as I shall speak them. Hear and remember. And thou, Esther, good angel of this good man, hear thou also. He stretched his hand with the roll to Simonides. The things these papers take into account, all of them, ships, houses, goods, camels, horses, money, the least as well as the greatest, give I back to thee, O Simonides, making them all thine, and sealing them to thee and thine for ever. Esther smiled through her tears. Ill-derim pulled his beard with rapid motion, his eyes glistening like beads of jet. Simonides alone was calm. Making them to thee and thine for ever, Ben Hur continued, with better control of himself, with one exception, and upon one condition. The breath of the listeners waited upon his words. The hundred and twenty talents which were my fathers, thou shalt return to me. Ill-derim's countenance brightened. And thou shalt join me in search of my mother and sister, holding all thine subject to the expense of discovery, even as I will hold mine. Simonides was much affected. Stretching out his hand he said, I see thy spirit, son of her, and I am grateful to the Lord that he hath sent thee to me, such as thou art. If I served well thy father in life and his memory afterwards, be not afraid of default to thee, yet must I say the exception cannot stand. Exhibiting then the reserved sheet he continued, Thou hast not all the account. Take this and read. Read aloud. Ben Hur took the supplement and read it. Statement of the servants of her, rendered by Simonides, steward of the estate. One. Amra. Egyptian. Keeping the palace in Jerusalem. Two. Simonides the steward in Antioch. Three. Esther, daughter of Simonides. Now in all his thoughts of Simonides not once had it entered Ben Hur's mind that, by the law, a daughter followed the parent's condition. In all his visions of her, the sweet-faced Esther had figured as the rival of the Egyptian, and as an object of possible love. He shrank from the revelation so suddenly brought him, and looked at her blushing, and, blushing, she dropped her eyes before him. Then he said, while the papyrus rolled itself together. A man with six hundred talents is indeed rich, and may do what he pleases, but, rarer than the money, more priceless than the property, is the mind which amassed the wealth, and the heart it could not corrupt when amassed. This Simonides, and thou, fair Esther, fear not. Shake illderome here shall be witness that in the same moment ye were declared my servants, that moment I declared ye free. And what I declare, that will I put in writing. Is it not enough? Can I do more? Son of her! said Simonides. Verily thou dost make servitude lightsome. I was wrong. There are some things thou canst not do. Thou canst not make us free in law. I am thy servant for ever, because I went to the door with thy father one day, and in my ear the all marks yet abide. Did my father that? Judge him not! cried Simonides quickly. He accepted me a servant of that class because I prayed him to do so. I never repented the step. It was the price I paid for Rachel, the mother of my child here, for Rachel, who would not be my wife unless I became what she was. Was she a servant for ever? Even so. Benher walked the floor in pain of impenet wish. I was rich before, he said, stopping suddenly. I was rich with the gifts of the generous Arius. How comes this greater fortune and the mind which achieved it? Is there not a purpose of God in it all? Counsel me, O Simonides, help me to see the right and do it. Help me to be worthy my name, and what thou art in law to me, that will I be to thee in fact and deed. I will be thy servant for ever. Simonides' face actually glowed. O son of my dead master, I will do better than help. I will serve thee with all my might of mind and heart. Body I have not, it perished in thy cause, but with mind and heart I will serve thee. I swear it, by the altar of our God, and the gifts upon the altar, only make me formerly what I have assumed to be. Name it, said Ben Hur, eagerly, as steward the care of the property will be mine. Count thyself steward now, or wilt thou have it in writing. Thy word simply is enough. It was so with the Father, and I will not more from the Son. And now, if the understanding be perfect, Simonides paused. It is with me, said Ben Hur. And thou, daughter of Rachel, speak, said Simonides, lifting her arm from his shoulder. Esther left thus alone, stood a moment abashed, her color coming and going. Then she went to Ben Hur, and said, with a womanliness, singularly sweet, I am not better than my mother was, and as she is gone I pray you, O my master, let me care for my father. Ben Hur took her hand, and led her back to the chair, saying, Thou art a good child, have thy will. Simonides replaced her arm upon his neck, and there was silence for a time in the room. CHAPTER V the night is going fast, and lest we become too weary for that which is before us, let the refreshments be brought. She rang a bell, a servant answered with wine and bread which he bore round. The understanding, good my master, continued Simonides when all were served, is not perfect in my sight. Henceforth our lives will run on together like rivers which have met and joined their waters. I think their flowing will be better if every cloud is blown from the sky above them. You left my door the other day with what seemed a denial of the claims which I have just allowed in the broadest terms. But it was not so. Indeed it was not. Esther is witness that I recognized you, and that I did not abandon you, let Malik say. Malik! exclaimed Ben Hur. One bound to a chair like me must have many hands far reaching if he would move the world from which he is so cruelly barred. I have many such, and Malik is one of the best of them. And sometimes, he cast a grateful glance at the shake. Sometimes I borrow from others good of heart, like Yldrim the generous, good and brave. Let him say if I either denied or forgot you. Ben Hur looked at the Arab. This is he, good Yldrim, this is he who told you of me? Yldrim's eyes twinkled as he nodded his answer. How, O my master! said Simonides, May we without trial tell what a man is. I knew you. I saw your father in you. But the kind of man you were I did not know. There are people to whom fortune is a curse in disguise. Were you of them? I sent Malik to find out for me, and in the service he was my eyes and ears. Do not blame him. He brought me report of you which was all good. I do not, said Ben Hur, heartily. There was wisdom in your goodness. The words are very pleasant to me, said the merchant, with feeling. Very pleasant. My fear of misunderstanding is laid. Let the rivers run on now, as God may give him direction. After an interval he continued, I am compelled now by truth, the weaver sits weaving, and as the shuttle flies the cloth increases and the figures grow, and he dreams dreams meanwhile. So to my hands the fortune grew, and I wondered at the increase, and asked myself about it many times. I could see a care not my own went with the enterprises I set going. This Simoons, which smote others on the desert, jumped over the things which were mine. The storms which heaped the seashore with wrecks did but blow my ships the sooner into port. Strangest of all, I, so dependent upon others, fixed to a place like a dead thing, had never a loss by an agent, never. The elements stooped to serve me, and all my servants, in fact, were faithful. It is very strange, said Ben Hur. So I sat and kept saying, Finally, oh my master, finally I came to be of your opinion. God was in it. And like you I asked, what can his purpose be? Intelligence is never wasted. Intelligence like God's never stirs except with design. I have held the question in heart low these many years, watching for an answer. I felt sure, if God were in it, some day, in his own good time, in his own way, he would show me his purpose, making it clear as a whited house upon a hill. And I believe he has done so. Ben Hur listened with every faculty intent. Many years ago with my people, thy mother was with me, Esther, beautiful as mourning over old Olivet. I sat by the wayside out north of Jerusalem, near the tombs of the kings, when three men passed by riding great white camels, such as had never been seen in the holy city. The men were strangers, and from far countries. The first one stopped and asked me a question. Where is he that is born king of the Jews? As if to allay my wonder, he went on to say, We have seen his star in the east, and have come to worship him. I could not understand, but followed them to the Damascus gate, and of every person they met on the way, of the guard at the gate even, they asked the question. All who heard it were amazed like me. In time I forgot the circumstance, though there was much talk of it as a presage of the Messiah. Alas, alas, what children we are, even the wisest! When God walks the earth, his steps are often centuries apart. You have seen Balthazar? And heard him tell his story, said Ben Hur. A miracle, a very miracle, cried Simonides. As he told it to me, good my master, I seemed to hear the answer I had so long waited. God's purpose burst upon me. Poor will the king be when he comes, poor and friendless, without following, without armies, without cities or castles, a kingdom to be set up, and Rome reduced and blotted out. See, see, oh my master, thou flushed with strength, thou trained to arms, thou burdened with riches, behold the opportunity the Lord hath sent thee. Shall not his purpose be thine? Could a man be born to a more perfect glory? Simonides put his whole force in the appeal. But the kingdom, the kingdom! Ben Hur answered eagerly. Balthazar says it is to be of souls. The pride of the Jew was strong in Simonides, and therefore the slightly contemptuous curl of the lip with which he began his reply. Balthazar has been a witness of wonderful things, of miracles, oh my master, and when he speaks of them I bow with belief, for they are of sight and sound personal to him. But he is a son of Mizrayim, and not even a proselyte. Hardly may he be supposed to have special knowledge, by virtue of which we must bow to him in a matter of God's dealing with our Israel. The prophets had their light from heaven directly, even as he had his, many to one, and Jehovah the same for ever. I must believe the prophets. Bring me the Torah, Esther. He proceeded without waiting for her. May the testimony of a whole people be slighted, my master? Though you travel from Tyre, which is by the sea and the north, to the capital of Edom, which is in the desert south, you will not find a lisp of the Shema, an almsgiver in the temple, or any one who has ever eaten of the Lamb of the Passover, to tell you the kingdom the King is coming to build for us, the children of the Covenant, is other than of this world, like our Father David's. Now where got they the faith, ask you? We will see presently. Esther here returned, bringing a number of rolls carefully enveloped in dark brown linen, lettered quaintly in gold. Keep them, daughter, to give to me as I call for them. The Father said, in the tender voice he always used in speaking to her, and continued his argument. It were long, good my master, too long indeed, for me to repeat to you the names of the holy men who, in the providence of God, succeeded the prophets, only a little less favored than they, the seers who have written and the preachers who have taught since the captivity, the very wise who borrowed their lights from the lamp of Malachi, the last of his line, and whose great names Hillel and Shemai never tired of repeating in the colleges. Will you ask them of the kingdom? Thus the Lord of the sheep and the Book of Enoch, who is he? Who but the king of whom we are speaking? A throne is set up for him, he smites the earth, and the other kings are shaken from their thrones, and the scourges of Israel flung into a cavern of fire, flaming with pillars of fire. So also the singer of the Psalms of Solomon, Behold, O Lord, and raise up to Israel their king, the son of David, at the time thou knowest, O God, to rule Israel thy children. And he will bring the peoples of the heathen under his yoke to serve him, and he shall be a righteous king taught of God, for he shall rule all the earth by the word of his mouth for ever. One last, though not least, hear Ezra, the second Moses, in his visions of the night, and ask him who is the lion with human voice that says to the eagle, which is Rome, thou hast loved liars, and overthrown the cities of the industrious, and raised their walls, though they did thee no harm. Therefore be gone, that the earth may be refreshed and recover itself, and hope in the justice and piety of him who made her, where at the eagle was seen no more. Surely all my master, the testimony of these should be enough, but the way to the fountain's head is open. Let us go up to it at once. Some wine, Esther, and then the Torah. Dost thou believe the prophets, master? he asked, after drinking. I know thou dost, for of such was the faith of all thy kindred. Give me, Esther, the book which beareth in it the visions of Isaiah. He took one of the rolls which she had unwrapped for him, and read, The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light. They that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined, for unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder. Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. Believeest thou the prophets, oh my master? Now, Esther, the word of the Lord that came to Micah. She gave him the roll he asked. But thou, he began reading, but thou Bethlehem Ifraf, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel. This was he the very child Balthasar saw and worshipped in the cave. Believeest thou the prophets, oh my master? Give me, Esther, the words of Jeremiah. Reading that roll he read as before. Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a righteous branch, and a king shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth. In his days Judah shall be saved, and Israel shall dwell safely. As a king he shall reign, as a king, oh my master! Believeest thou the prophets? Now, daughter, the roll of the sayings of that son of Judah in whom there was no blemish. She gave him the book of Daniel. Here, my master, he said, I saw in the night visions, and behold, one like the son of man came with the clouds of heaven. And there was given him dominion and glory, and a kingdom that all people, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed. Believeest thou the prophets, oh my master? It is enough, I believe! cried Bent Hur. What, then, asked Simonides, if the king come poor, will not my master of his abundance give him help? Help him to the last shekel and the last breath, but why speak of his coming poor? Give me, Esther, the word of the Lord, as it came to Zechariah, said Simonides. She gave him one of the rolls. Hear how the king will enter Jerusalem! Then he read, Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! And thy king cometh unto thee with justice and salvation, lowly and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt, the foal of an ass. Bent Hur looked away. What see you, oh my master? Rome, he answered gloomily, Rome and her legions, I have dwelt with them in their camps, I know them. Ah, said Simonides, thou shalt be a master of legions for the king, with millions to choose from. Billions! cried Bent Hur. Simonides sat a moment thinking. The question of power should not trouble you, he next said. Bent Hur looked at him inquiringly. You were seeing the lowly king in the act of coming to his own, Simonides answered. Seeing him on the right hand, as it were, and on the left, the brassy legions of Caesar, and you were asking, what can he do? It was my very thought. Oh, my master! Simonides continued, you do not know how strong our Israel is. You think of him as a sorrowful old man weeping by the rivers of Babylon, but go up to Jerusalem next Passover and stand on the Zistis, or in the street of Barter, and see him as he is. The promise of the Lord to Father Jacob coming out of Patum Erem was a law under which our people have not ceased multiplying, not even in captivity. They grew under foot of the Egyptian. The clench of the Roman has been but wholesome nurture to them. Now they are indeed a nation and a company of nations. Nor that only, my master. In fact, to measure the strength of Israel, which is in fact measuring what the king can do, you shall not bide solely by the rule of natural increase, but add there to the other. I mean the spread of the faith which will carry you to the far and near of the whole known earth. Further, the habit is, I know, to think and speak of Jerusalem as Israel, which may be likened to our finding an embroidered shred, and holding it up as a magisterial robe of caesars. Jerusalem is but a stone of the temple, or the heart in the body. Turn from beholding the legions, strong though they may be, and count the hosts of the faithful waiting the old alarm to your tents, O Israel. Count the many in Persia. Children of those who chose not to return with the returning. Count the brethren who swarmed the marts of Egypt and farther Africa. Count the Hebrew colonists, eking prophet in the west. In Lodinum and the trade courts of Spain. Count the pure of blood and the proselytes in Greece, and in the aisles of the sea, and over in Pontus, and here in Antioch. And for that matter, those of that city lying accursed in the shadow of the unclean walls of Rome herself, count the worshipers of the Lord dwelling in tents along the deserts next to us, as well as in the deserts beyond the Nile, and in the regions across the Caspian, and up in the old lands of Gog and Magog even. Separate those who annually send gifts to the holy temple in acknowledgment of God. Separate them, so that they may be counted also. And when you have done counting—lo, my master, a census of the sword-hands that await you—lo, a kingdom already fashioned for him who is to do judgment and justice and the whole earth—in Rome, not less than in Zion—have then the answer. What Israel can do, that can the king. The picture was fervently given. Upon Ilderim it operated like the blowing of a trumpet. Oh, that I had back my youth! He cried, starting to his feet. Ben Hur sat still. The speech he saw was an invitation to devote his life and fortune to the mysterious being who was palpably as much the centre of a great hope with Simonides as with the devout Egyptian. The idea, as we have seen, was not a new one, but had come to him repeatedly—once while listening to Malak in the Grove of Daphne, afterwards more distinctly while Bathazar was giving his conception of what the kingdom was to be. Still later, in the walk through the Old Orchard, it arisen almost, if not quite, into a resolve. At such times it had come and gone only an idea, attended with feelings more or less acute. Not so now. A master had it in charge. A master was working it up. Already he had exalted it into a cause brilliant with possibilities and infinitely holy. The effect was, as if a door there to fore unseen had suddenly opened, flooding Ben Hur with light, and admitting him to a service which had been his one perfect dream—a service reaching far into the future and rich with rewards of duty done, and prizes to sweeten and soothe his ambition. One touch more was needed. Let us concede all you say, O Simonides, said Ben Hur, that the King will come, and his kingdom be as Solomon's. Say also I am ready to give myself and all I have to him in his cause. Yet more say that I should do as was God's purpose in the ordering of my life and in your quick amassment of astonishing fortune. Then what? Shall we proceed like blind men building? Shall we wait till the King comes? Or until he sends for me? You have age and experience on your side. Answer! Simonides answered at once. We have no choice, none. This letter—he produced Masala's dispatch, as he spoke—this letter is the signal for action. The alliance proposed between Masala and Gratis we are not strong enough to resist. We have not the influence at Rome nor the force here. They will kill you if we wait. How merciful they are! Look at me and judge!" He shuddered at the terrible recollection. Oh, good my master! He continued recovering himself. How strong are you? In purpose, I mean. Ben Hur did not understand him. I remember how pleasant the world was to me in my youth. Simonides proceeded. Yet, said Ben Hur, you were capable of a great sacrifice. Yes, for love. Has not life other motives as strong? Simonides shook his head. There is ambition. Ambition is forbidden, a son of Israel. What then of revenge? The spark dropped upon the inflammable passion, the man's eyes gleamed, his hand shook. He answered quickly, Revenge is a juice of right. It is the law. A camel, even a dog, will remember a wrong, cried Ilderum. Directly Simonides picked up the broken thread of his thought. There is a work, a work for the king, which should be done in advance of his coming. We may not doubt that Israel is to be his right hand. But alas, it is a hand of peace, without cunning in war. Of the millions there is not one trained band, not a captain. The mercenaries of the Herod's I do not count, for they are kept to crush us. The condition is, as the Roman would have it. His policy has fruited well for his tyranny. But the time of change is at hand, when the shepherd shall put on armor and take to spear and sword, and the feeding flocks be turned to fighting lions. Someone, my son, must have place next the king at his right hand. Who shall it be if not he who does this work well? Ben Hur's face flushed at the prospect, though he said, I see, but speak plainly. A deed to be done is one thing, how to do it is another. The sheikh and thou my master shall be principles, each with a part. I will remain here, carrying on as now, and watchful that the spring go not dry. Thou shalt be take thee to Jerusalem, and thence to the wilderness, and begin numbering the fighting men of Israel, and telling them into tens and hundreds, and choosing captains and training them, and in secret places hoarding arms, for which I shall keep thee supplied. Commencing over in Peria, thou shalt go then to Galilee, whence it is but a step to Jerusalem. In Peria the desert will be at thy back, an ill-dream in reach of thy hand. He will keep the roads so that nothing shall pass without thy knowledge. He will help thee in many ways. All the ripening time no one shall know what is here contracted. Mine is but a servant's part. I have spoken to ill-dream. What sayest thou? Ben Hur looked at the sheikh. It is, as he says, son of Hur. The Arab responded, I have given my word, and he is content with it. But thou shalt have my oath, binding me, and the ready hands of my tribe, and whatever serviceable thing I have. The three, Simonides, ill-dream, ester, gazed at Ben Hur fixedly. Every man, he answered at first sadly, has a cup of pleasure poured for him, and soon or late it comes to his hand, and he tastes and drinks. Every man but me. I see Simonides, and thou, O generous sheikh. I see whither the proposal tens. If I accept and enter upon the course, farewell peace and the hopes which cluster round it. The doors I might enter and the gates of quiet life will shut behind me, never to open again, for Rome keeps them all, and her outlawry will follow me, and her hunters. And in the tombs near cities and the dismal caverns of remotest hills I must eat my crust and take my rest. The speech was broken by a sob. All turned to ester, who hid her face upon her father's shoulder. I did not think of you, ester, said Simonides gently, for he was himself deeply moved. It is well enough, Simonides, said Ben Hur. A man bears a hard doom better, knowing there is pity for him. Let me go on. They gave him ear again. I was about to say, he continued, I have no choice but take the part you assign me, and as remaining here is to meet an ignoble death I will till the work at once. Shall we have writings, as Simonides moved by his habit of business? I rest upon your word, said Ben Hur. And I, Ilderum answered, thus simply was affected the treaty which was to alter Ben Hur's life, and almost immediately the latter added, It is done, then. May the God of Abraham help us, Simonides exclaimed. One word now, my friends, Ben Hur said more cheerfully, By your leave I will be my own until after the games. It is not probable Masala will set peril on foot for me until he is given the procurator time to answer him, and that cannot be in less than seven days from the dispatch of his letter. The meeting him in the circus is a pleasure I would buy at whatever risk. Ilderum, well pleased, assented readily, and Simonides' intent on business added, it is well. For look you, my master, the delay will give me time to do you a good part. I understood you to speak of an inheritance derived from Arius. Is it impropriety? A villa near Mycenum, and houses in Rome. I suggest, then, the sale of the property, and safe deposit of the proceeds. Give me an account of it, and I will have authorities drawn, and dispatch an agent on the mission forthwith. We will forestall the imperial robbers at least this once. You shall have the account to-morrow. Then, if there be nothing more, the work of the night is done, said Simonides. Ilderum combed his beard complacently, saying, And well done! The bread and wine again, Esther. Make Ilderum will make us happy by staying with us till to-morrow, or at his pleasure, and thou, my master. Let the horses be brought, said Ben Hur. I will return to the orchard. The enemy will not discover me if I go now, and, he glanced at Ilderum, the four will be glad to see me. As the day dawned, he and Malak dismounted at the door of the tent. Next night about the fourth hour Ben Hur stood on the terrace of the great warehouse with Esther. Below them, on the landing, there was much running about, and shifting of packages and shouting of men, whose figures, stooping, heaving, hauling, looked in the light of the crackling torches kindled in their aid, like the laboring genii of the fantastic eastern tales. A galley was being laden for instant departure. Simonides had not yet come from his office, in which, at the last moment, he would deliver to the captain of the vessel instructions to proceed without stop to Ostia, the sea-port of Rome, and, after landing a passenger there, continue more leisurely to Valencia, on the coast of Spain. The passenger is the agent going to dispose of the estate derived from Arius, the de Umvir. When the lines of the vessel are cast off, and she is put about, and her voyage begun, Ben Hur will be committed irrevocably to the work undertaken the night before. If he is disposed to repent the agreement with Ildrum, a little time has allowed him to give notice and break it off. He is master, and has only to say the word. Such may have been the thought at the moment in his mind. He was standing with folded arms, looking upon the scene in the manner of a man debating with himself. Young, handsome, rich, but recently from the patrician circles of Roman society, it is easy to think of the world besetting him with appeals, not to give more to honorous duty or ambition attended with outlawry and danger. We can even imagine the arguments with which he was pressed, the hopelessness of contention with Caesar, the uncertainty veiling everything connected with the king and his coming, the ease, honors, state, purchasable like goods in market, and strongest of all, the sense newly acquired of home, with friends to make it delightful. Only those who have been wanderers long desolate can know the power there was in the latter appeal. Let us add now the world, always cunning enough of itself, always whispering to the weak, Stay, take thine ease, always presenting the sunny side of life, the world was in this instance helped by Ben Hur's companion. Were you ever at Rome? he asked. No, Esther replied. Would you like to go? I think not. Why? I am afraid of Rome. She answered with a perceptible tremor of the voice. He looked at her then, or rather down upon her, for at his side she appeared little more than a child. In the dim light he could not see her face distinctly, even the form was shadowy. But again he was reminded of Terza, and a sudden tenderness fell upon him, just so the lost sister stood with him on the housetop the calamitous morning of the accident to Gratus. Poor Terza, where was she now? Esther had the benefit of the feeling evoked. If not his sister, he could never look upon her as his servant, and that she was his servant in fact would make him always the more considerate and gentle towards her. I cannot think of Rome. She continued recovering her voice, and speaking in her quiet, womanly way. I cannot think of Rome as a city of palaces and temples, and crowded with people. She is to me a monster which has possession of one of the beautiful lands, and lies there luring men to ruin and death. A monster which it is not possible to resist. A ravenous beast gorging with blood. Why? She faltered, looked down, stopped. Go on, said Ben her reassuringly. She drew closer to him, looked up again, and said, Why must you make her your enemy? Why not rather make peace with her, and be at rest? You have had many ills and borne them. You have survived the snares laid for you by foes. Sorrow has consumed your youth. Is it well to give it the remainder of your days? The girlish face under her eyes seemed to come nearer and get whiter as the pleading went on. He stooped towards it and asked softly, What would you have me do, Esther? 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, the statuary and 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. Here has a country-seat nearby, but in Rome they say the old Arian 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 in fall, and new ones bud in 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—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. "'Ester, 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. Masala and the procurator Gratis 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 arrest which conscience would not strangle. Is it so bad then? She asked, her voice tremulous with feeling. Then 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 man or so bewitching. He carried the hand to his lips, and gave it back. You shall be another Terza to me, Esther. Who is Terza? The little sister the Romans stole from me, and whom I must find before I can rest or be happy. Just then a gleam of light flashed a thwart 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, amidst the flashing of torches and the shouting of joyous sailors, hurried off to the sea, leaving Benher committed to the cause of the king who was to come.