 Book 5, Chapter 10, of Ben Hur. The day before the games, in the afternoon, all Ilderham's racing property was taken to the city and put in quarters adjoining the circus. Along with it the good man carried a great deal of property not of that class. So with servants, retainers mounted and armed, horses in leading, cattle driven, camels laden with baggage, his outgoing from the orchard was not unlike a tribal migration. The people along the road failed not to laugh at his motley procession. On the other side it was observed that, with all his irascibility, he was not in the least offended by their rudeness. If he was under surveillance, as he had reason to believe, the informer would describe the semi-barberous show with which he came up to the races. The Romans would laugh. The city would be amused. But what cared he? Next morning the pageant would be far on the road to the desert, and going with it would be every movable thing of value belonging to the orchard. Everything saved such as were essential to the success of his fore. He was, in fact, started home. His tents were all folded. The Doar was no more. In twelve hours all would be out of reach, pursue whom might. A man is never safer than when he is under the laugh, and the shrewd old Arab knew it. Neither he nor Ben Hur overestimated the influence of Masala. It was their opinion, however, that he would not begin active measures against them until after the meeting in the circus. If defeated there, especially if defeated by Ben Hur, they might instantly look for the worst he could do. He might not even wait for advice from Gratis. With this few they shaped their course, and were prepared to betake themselves out of harm's way. They rode together now in good spirits, calmly confident of success on the morrow. On the way they came upon Malak and waiting for them. The faithful fellow gave no sign by which it was possible to infer any knowledge on his part of the relationship, so recently admitted between Ben Hur and Simonides, or of the treaty between them and Ildrum. He exchanged salutations, as usual, and produced a paper, saying to the sheikh, I have here the notice of the editor of the games, just issued, in which you will find your horses published for the race. You will find in it also the order of exercises. Not waiting, good sheikh, I congratulate you upon your victory. He gave the paper over, and leaving the worthy to master it, turned to Ben Hur. To you also, son of Arius, my congratulations! There is nothing now to prevent your meeting, Missala. Every condition preliminary to the race is complied with. I have the assurance from the editor himself. I thank you, Malak, said Ben Hur. Malak proceeded. Your colour is white, and Missala's mixed scarlet and gold. The good effects of the choice are visible already. Boys are now hawking white ribbons along the streets. Tomorrow every Arab and Jew in the city will wear them. In the circus you will see the white fairly divide the galleries with the red. The galleries, but not the tribunal over the port of Pompeii. No, the scarlet and gold will rule there. But if we win, Malak chuckled with the pleasure of the thought, if we win, how the dignitaries will tremble, they will bet, of course, according to their scorn of everything not Roman, two, three, five to one on Missala because he is Roman. Dropping his voice yet lower, he added, Yet ill becomes a Jew of good standing in the temple to put his money at such a hazard. Yet, in confidence, I will have a friend next behind the consul's seat to accept offers of three to one, or five, or ten. The madness may go to such height. I have put to his order six thousand shekels for the purpose. Nay, Malak, said Benher, a Roman will wager only in his Roman coin. Suppose you find your friend to-night, and place in his order, says Sturtii, in such a mount as you choose. And look you, Malak, let him be instructed to seek wagers with Missala and his supporters, comes for against Missala's. Malak reflected a moment. The effect will be to center interest upon your contest. The very thing I seek, Malak. I see, I see. Aye, Malak, would you serve me perfectly, help me to fix the public eye upon our race, Missala's and mine. Malak spoke quickly. It can be done. Then let it be done, said Benher. Enormous wagers offered will answer, if the offers are accepted, all the better. Malak turned his eyes watchfully upon Benher. Shall I not have backed the equivalent of his robbery, said Benher, partly to himself? Another opportunity may not come, enough I could break him in fortune as well as in pride. Our father Jacob would take no offense. A look of determined will knit his handsome face, giving emphasis to his further speech. Yes, it shall be. Hark, Malak! Stop not, and thy offer of Sesturtii. Advance them to talents, if any there be who dare so high. Five, ten, twenty talents. Aye, fifty, sow the wager bee with Missala himself. It is a mighty sum, said Malak. I must have security. So thou shalt. Go to Simonides and tell him I wish the matter arranged. Tell him my heart is set on the ruin of my enemy, and that the opportunity hath such excellent promise that I choose such hazards. On our side be the God of our fathers. Go, good Malak, let this not slip. And Malak, greatly delighted, gave him parting salutation and started to ride away, but returned presently. Your pardon, he said to Benher. There was another matter. I could not get near Missala's chariot myself, but I had another measure it, and from his report its hub stands quite a palm higher from the ground than yours. A palm! So much! cried Benher joyfully. Then he leaned over to Malak. As thou art a son of Judah, Malak, and faithful to thy kin, get thee a seat in the gallery over the gate of triumph, down close to the balcony in front of the pillars, and watch well when we make the turns there. Watch well, for if I have favor at all, I will. Say, Malak, let it go unsaid. Only get thee there, and watch well. At that moment a cry burst from Ildrum. Ha! by the splendor of God! What is this? He drew near Benher with a finger pointing on the face of the notice. Read, said Benher. No, better thou! Benher took the paper, which, signed by the prefect of the province as editor, performed the office of a modern program, giving particularly the several divertisements provided for the occasion. It informed the public that there would be first a procession of extraordinary splendor, that the procession would be succeeded by the customary honors to the God Consas, where upon the games would begin, running, leaping, wrestling, boxing, each in the order stated. The names of the competitors were given, with their several nationalities and schools of training, the trials in which they had been engaged, the prizes won, and the prizes now offered. Under the latter head the sums of money were stated in illuminated letters, telling of the departure of the day when the simple chaplet of pine or laurel was fully enough for the victor, hungering for glory, as something better than riches, and content with it. Under these parts of the program Benher sped with rapid eyes. At last he came to the announcement of the race. He read it slowly. Attending lovers of the heroic sports were assured that they could certainly be gratified by an Orestian struggle unparalleled in Antioch. The city offered the spectacle in honor of the consul. One hundred thousand Cestertii, and a crown of laurel, were the prizes. Then followed the particulars. The entries were six in all, fours only permitted, and to further interest in the performance the competitors would be turned into the course together. Each four then received description. One, a four of Lycippus the Corinthian, two greys, a bay and a black, entered at Alexandria last year, and a Gaddic Corinth, where they were winners. Lycippus, driver, color, yellow. Two, a four of Masala of Rome, two white, two black, victors of their Cersensian as exhibited in the Circus Maximus last year. Masala, driver, colors, scarlet, and gold. Three, a four of Cleanthes the Athenian, three gray, one bay, winners at the Isthmian last year. Cleanthes, driver, color, green. Four, a four of Diceus the Byzantine, two black, one gray, one bay, winners this year at Byzantium. Diceus, driver, color, black. Five, a four of Admitus the Sedonian, all greys, thrice entered at Caesarea and thrice victors. Admitus, driver, color, blue. Six, a four of Ilderum, shake of the desert, all bays, first race. Benhur, a Jew, driver, color, white. Benhur, a Jew, driver, why that name instead of Arius? Benhur raised his eyes to Ilderum. He had found the cause of the Arab's outcry. Both rushed to the same conclusion. The hand was the hand of Masala. End of Chapter. Book 5, Chapter 11 of Benhur. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Benhur, A Tale of the Christ. By Lou Wallace. Book 5, Chapter 11. Evening was hardly come upon Antioch when the Yom Phallus, nearly in the center of the city, became a troubled fountain from which in every direction, but chiefly down to the Nymphaeum and east and west along the colonnade of Herod, flowed currents of people for the time given up to Bacchus and Apollo. For such indulgence anything more fitting cannot be imagined than the great roofed streets which were literally miles on miles of porticoes wrought of marble, polished to the last degree of finish, and all gifts to the voluptuous city by Prince's careless of expenditure where, as in this instance, they thought they were eternizing themselves. Darkness was not permitted anywhere, and the singing, the laughter, the shouting were incessant, and in compound like the roar of waters dashing through hollow grottoes, confused by a multitude of echoes. The many nationalities represented, although they might have amazed a stranger, were not peculiar to Antioch. Of the various missions of the great empire, one seems to have been the fusion of men and the introduction of strangers to each other. Accordingly whole peoples rose up and went at pleasure, taking with them their costumes, costumes, speech, and gods, and where they chose they stopped, engaged in business, built houses, erected altars, and were what they had been at home. There was a peculiarity, however, which could not have failed the notice of a looker on, this night in Antioch. Nearly everybody wore the colors of one or other of the charioteers announced for the morrow's race. Sometimes it was in form of a scarf, sometimes a badge, often a ribbon or a feather. Whatever the form it signified merely the wearer's partiality. Thus Green published a friend of Cleanthe's, the Athenian, and Black an adherent of the Byzantine. This was according to a custom, old probably as the day of the race of Orestes, accustomed by the way worthy of study as a marvel of history, illustrative of the absurd yet appalling extremities to which men frequently suffer their follies to drag them. The observer abroad on this occasion, once attracted to the wearing of colors, would have very shortly decided that there were three in predominance, Green, White, and the mixed Scarlet and Gold. But led us from the streets to the palace on the island. The five great chandeliers in the saloon are freshly lighted. The assemblage is much the same as that already noticed in connection with the place. The divan has its core of sleepers and burden of garments, and the tables yet resound with a rattling clash of dice. Yet the greater part of the company are not doing anything. They walk about, or yawn tremendously, or pause as they pass each other to exchange idle nothings. Will the weather be fair to moral? Are the preparations for the games complete? Do the laws of the circus in Antioch differ from the laws of the circus in Rome? Truth is, the young fellows are suffering from ennui. Their heavy work is done. That is, we would find their tablets, could we look at them, covered with memoranda of wagers, wagers on every contest, on the running, the wrestling, the boxing, on everything but the chariot race. And why not on that? Good reader, they cannot find anybody who will hazard so much as a denarius with them against Missala. There are no colours in the saloon but his. No one thinks of his defeat. Why, they say, is he not perfect in his training? Did he not graduate from an imperial lannistra? Were not his horse's winners at the Cersensian in the Circus Maximus? And then ah, yes, he is a Roman. In a corner, at ease on the Divan, Missala himself may be seen. Around him, sitting or standing, are his courtierly admirers, plying him with questions. There is, of course, but one topic. Enter Drusus and Sicilius. Ah, cries the young prince, throwing himself on the Divan at Missala's feet. Ah, by Bacchus, I am tired. Wither away, asked Missala. Up the street, up to the Amphalus and beyond. Who shall say how far? Rivers of people, never so many in the city before. They say we will see the whole world at the Circus tomorrow. Missala laughed scornfully. The idiots, per pole! They never beheld a Cersensian with Caesar for editor. But, my Drusus, what found you? Nothing. Ah, you forget, said Sicilius. What? asked Drusus. The procession of whites. Merebole! cried Drusus, half-rising. We met a faction of whites, and they had a banner, but— he fell back indolently. Cruel Drusus, not to go on, said Missala. Scum of the desert worth a, my Missala, and garbage-eaters from the Jacob's Temple in Jerusalem. What had I to do with them? Nay, said Sicilius. Drusus is afraid of a laugh, but I am not, my Missala. Speak thou then. Well, we stopped the faction and offered them a wager, said Drusus, relenting, and taking the word from the shadows' mouth. One fellow with not enough skin on his face to make a worm for a carp, stepped forth, and said, Yes, I drew my tablets. Who is your man? I asked. Benher the Jew, said he. Then I. What shall it be? How much? He answered, Ah, ah. Excuse me, Missala, by Job's thunder I cannot go on for laughter. The listeners leaned forward. Missala looked to Sicilius. A shekel, said the latter, Ah, a shekel, a shekel! A burst of scornful laughter ran fast upon the repetition. And what did Drusus? asked Missala. An outcry over about the door just then occasioned a rush to that quarter, and as the noise there continued and grew louder, even Sicilius betook himself off, pausing only to say, The noble Drusus, my Missala, put up his tablets and lost the shekel. A white, a white! Let him come in. This way, this way! Those and like exclamations filled the saloon to the stoppage of other speech. The dice-players quit their games. The sleepers awoke, rubbed their eyes, drew their tablets, and hurried to the common center. I offer you—and I—I! The person so warmly recede was the respectable Jew, Ben Hur's fellow-voyager from Cyprus. He entered grave, quiet, observant. His robe was spotlessly white, so was the cloth of his turban. Bowing and smiling at the welcome, he moved slowly towards the central table. Arrived there, he drew his robe about him in a stately manner, took seat, and waved his hand. The gleam of a jewel on a finger helped him not a little to the silence which ensued. Romans! Most noble Romans, I salute you! he said. Easy! Easy by Jupiter! Who is he? Dog of Israel! San Balat by name, purveyor for the army! Residents roam, vastly rich, grown so as a contractor of furnishments which he never furnishes. He spends mischiefs, nevertheless finer than spiders spin their webs. Come, by the curtain of Venus, let us catch him. Masala arose as he spoke, and with Drusus joined the mass crowded about the purveyor. It came to me on the street, said that person, producing his tablets, and opening them on the table with an impressive air of business, that there was great discomfort in the palace because offers on Masala were going without takers. The gods you know must have sacrifices, and here am I. You see my color, let us to the matter. Odds first, amounts next. What will you give me? The audacity seemed to stun his hearers. Haste, he said, I have an engagement with the consul. The spur was effective. Two to one cried half a dozen in a voice. What! exclaimed the purveyor, astonished. Only two to one and yours a Roman? Take three, then. Three say you, only three, and mine but a dog of a Jew. Give me four. Four it is, said a boy, stung by the taunt. Five. Give me five! cried the purveyor instantly. A profound stillness fell upon the assemblage. The consul, your master and mine, is waiting for me. The inaction became awkward to the many. Give me five, for the honour of Rome. Five. Five let it be, said one in answer. There was a sharp cheer, a commotion, and Masala himself appeared. Five let it be, he said. And Sambalette smiled and made ready to write. If Caesar died to-morrow, he said, Rome will not be all bereft. There is at least one other with spirit to take his place. Give me six. Six be it, answered Masala. There was another shout, louder than the first. Six be it, repeated Masala. Six to one. The difference between a Roman and a Jew. And having found it now, O redemptor of the flesh of swine, let us on. The amount, and quickly, the consul may send for thee, and I will then be bereft. Sambalette took the laugh against him coolly, and wrote, and offered the writing to Masala. Read, read, everybody demanded. And Masala read. Memorandum, chariot-race. Masala of Rome, in wager with Sambalette. Also of Rome, says he will beat Ben Hur, the Jew. Amount of wager, twenty talettes. Odds to Sambalette, six to one. Witnesses, Sambalette. There was no noise, no motion. Each person seemed held in the pose the reading found him. Masala stared at the memorandum, while the eyes which had him in view opened wide, and stared at him. He felt the gaze, and thought rapidly. So lately he stood in the same place, and in the same way hectered the countrymen around him. They would remember it. If he refused to sign, his hero ship was lost. And sign he could not. He was not worth one hundred talents, nor the fifth part of the sum. Suddenly his mind became a blank. He stood, speechless, the color fled his face. An idea at last came to his relief. Thou, Jew, he said. Where hast thou twenty talents? Show me. Sambalette's provoking smile deepened. Dare, he replied, offering Masala a paper. Read, read! arose all round. Again Masala read. At Antioch, Tammuz, sixteenth day, the bearer, Sambalette of Rome, hath now to his order with me fifty talents, coin of Caesar. Signed Simonides. Fifty talents! Fifty talents! Echoed the throng in amazement. Then Drusus came to the rescue. By Hercules, he shouted, the paper lies, and the Jew is a liar. Who but Caesar hath fifty talents at order, down with the insolent white? The cry was angry, and it was angrily repeated, yet Sambalette kept his seat, and his smile grew more exasperating the longer he waited. At length Masala spoke. Hush! One to one, my countrymen, one to one, for love of our ancient Roman name. The timely action recovered him his ascendancy. Oh, thou circumcised dog! He continued to Sambalette. I gave thee six to one, did I not? Yes, said the Jew quietly. Well, give me now the fixing of the amount. With reserve, if the amount be trifling, have thy will, answered Sambalette. Right then, five in place of twenty. Hast thou so much? By the mother of the gods I will show you receipts. Nay, the word of so brave a Roman must pass. Only make the sum even. Six make it, and I will write. Write it so. And forthwith they exchanged writings. Sambalette immediately arose and looked around him, a sneer in place of his smile. No man better than he knew those with whom he was dealing. Romans, he said, another wager if you dare. Five talents against five talents that the white will win. I challenge you collectively. There was again surprise. What! he cried louder. Shall it be said in the circus tomorrow that a dog of Israel went into the saloon of the palace full of Roman nobles, among them the scion of a Caesar, and laid five talents before them in challenge, and they had not the courage to take it up. The sting was unendurable. Have done, O insolent! said Drusus. Write the challenge, and leave it on the table. And tomorrow, if we find thou hast indeed so much money to put at such hopeless hazard, I, Drusus, promise it shall be taken. Sambalette wrote again, and rising said, unmoved as ever. Say, Drusus, I leave the offer with you. When it is signed, send it to me any time before the race begins. I will be found with the consul in a seat over the Porta Pompeii. Peace to you, peace to all! He bowed and departed, careless of the shout of derision with which they pursued him out of the door. In the night the story of the prodigious wager flew along the streets and over the city, and Ben Hur, lying with his fore, was told of it, and also the Masala's whole fortune was on the hazard. And he slept, never so soundly. End of chapter. Book 5, Chapter 12 of Ben Hur. This Lieberbach's recording is in the public domain, and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Ben Hur, A Tale of the Christ, by Lou Wallace. Book 5, Chapter 12. The circus at Antioch stood on the south bank of the river, nearly opposite the island, differing in no respect from the plan of such buildings in general. In the purest sense the games were a gift to the public. Consequently everybody was free to attend, and, vast as the holding capacity of the structure was, so fearful were the people on this occasion, lest there should not be room for them, that, early the day before the opening of the exhibition, they took up all the vacant spaces in the vicinity, where their temporary shelter suggested an army in waiting. At midnight the entrances were thrown wide, and the rabble, surging in, occupied the quarters assigned to them, from which nothing less than an earthquake or an army with spears could have dislodged them. They dozed the night away on the benches, and breakfasted there, and there the clothes of the exercises found them, patient and sight-hungry as in the beginning. The better people, their seats secured, began moving towards the circus about the first hour of the morning, the noble and very rich among them distinguished by litters and retinues of liveryed servants. By the second hour the efflux from the city was a stream unbroken and innumerable. Exactly as the nomen of the official dial up in the citadel pointed the second hour half gone, the legion in full panoply and with all its standards on exhibit, descended from Mount Sulpius, and when the rear of the last cohort disappeared in the bridge, Antioch was literally abandoned. Not that the circus could hold the multitude, but that the multitude was gone out to it, nevertheless. A great concourse on the river shore witnessed the consul come over from the island in a barge of state, as the great man landed, and was received by the legion. The marshals' show for one brief moment transcended the attraction of the circus. At the third hour the audience, if such it may be termed, was assembled. At last a flourish of trumpets called for silence, and instantly the gaze of over a hundred thousand persons was directed towards a pile forming the eastern section of the building. There was a basement first, broken in the middle by a broad arched passage called the Porta Pompeii, over which, on an elevated tribunal, magnificently decorated with insignia and legionary standards, the consul sat in the place of honour. On both sides of the passage the basement was divided into Stahl's term Carceres, each protected in front by massive gates swung to statuesque belasters. Over the Stahl's next was a cornice crowned by a low balustrade, back of which these seats arose in theatre arrangement all occupied by a throng of dignitaries superbly attired. The pile extended the width of the circus and was flanked on both sides by towers which, besides helping the architects give grace to their work, served the Valeria or purple awnings stretched between them so as to throw the whole quarter in a shade that became exceedingly grateful as the day advanced. This structure, it is now thought, can be made useful in helping the reader to a sufficient understanding of the arrangement of the rest of the interior of the circus. He has only to fancy himself seated on the tribunal with the consul, facing to the west where everything is under his eye. On the right and left, if he will look, he will see the main entrances, very ample, and guarded by gates hinged to the towers. Directly below him is the arena, a level plain of considerable extent, covered with fine white sand. There all the trials will take place, except the running. Looking across this sanded arena, westwardly still, there is a pedestal of marble supporting three low conical pillars of grey stone, much carven. Many an eye will hunt for those pillars before the day is done, for they are the first goal and mark the beginning and end of the race course. Behind the pedestal, leaving a passageway and space for an altar, commences a wall ten or twelve feet in breadth and five or six in height, extending thence exactly two hundred yards or one Olympic stadium. At the farther or westward extremity of the wall there is another pedestal, surmounted with pillars which mark the second goal. The races will enter the course on the right of the first goal, and keep the wall all the time to their left. The beginning and ending points of the contests lie consequently, directly in front of the console across the arena, and for that reason his seat was admittedly the most desirable in the circus. Now if the reader, who is still supposed to be seated on the consular tribunal over the Porta Pompeii, will look up from the ground arrangement of the interior, the first point to attract his notice will be the marking of the outer boundary line of the course, that is, a plain-faced solid wall, fifteen or twenty feet in height, with a balustrade on its cope, like that over the carceries or stalls in the east. This balcony, if followed round the course, will be found broken in three places to allow passages of exit and entrance, two in the north and one in the west, the latter very ornate and called the Gate of Triumph, because when all is over the victors will pass out that way, crowned, and with triumphal escort and ceremonies. At the west end the balcony encloses the course in the form of a half-circle, and is made to uphold two great galleries. Directly behind the balustrade on the coping of the balcony is the first seat, from which ascend the succeeding benches, each higher than the one in front of it, giving to view a spectacle of surpassing interest, the spectacle of a vast space, ruddy and glistening with human faces, and rich with vericolored costumes. The commonality occupy quarters over in the west, beginning at the point of termination of an awning, stretched it would seem for the accommodation of the better classes exclusively. Having thus the whole interior of the circus under view at the moment of the sounding of the trumpets, let the reader next imagine the multitude seated and sunk to sudden silence, and motionless in its intensity of interest. Out of the Port-au-Pompay, over in the east, rises a sound mixed of voices and instruments harmonized. Presently, fourth issues the chorus of the procession with which the celebration begins. The editor and civic authorities of the city, givers of the games, follow in robes and garlands. Then the gods, some on platforms borne by men, others in great four-wheel carriages, gorgeously decorated. Next them again, the contestants of the day, each in costume exactly as he will run, wrestle, leap, box, or drive. Slowly crossing the arena, the procession proceeds to make circuit of the course. The display is beautiful and imposing. Approval runs before it in a shout as the water rises and swells in front of a boat in motion. If the dumb, figured gods make no sign of appreciation of the welcome, the editor and his associates are not so backward. The reception of the athletes is even more demonstrative, for there is not a man in the assemblage who has not something in wager upon them, though but a mite or farthing. And it is noticeable, as the classes move by, that the favorites among them are speedily singled out. Either their names are loudest in the uproar, or they are more profusely showered with wreaths and garlands tossed to them from the balcony. If there is a question as to the popularity with the public of the several games, it is now put to rest. To the splendor of the chariots and the super excellent beauty of the horses, the charioteers add the personality necessary to perfect the charm of their display. Their tunics, short, sleeveless, and of the finest woolen texture, are of the assigned colors. A horseman accompanies each one of them except Ben Hur, who for some reason, possibly distrust, has chosen to go alone. So too they are all helmeted but him. As they approach, the spectators stand upon the benches, and there is a sensible deepening of the clamor, in which a sharp listener may detect the shrill piping of women and children. At the same time, the things rosiate flying from the balcony thicken into a storm, and striking the men, drop into the chariot beds, which are threatened to filling to the tops. Even the horses have a share in the ovation, nor may it be said they are less conscious than their masters of the honors they receive. Very soon, as with the other contestants, it is made apparent that some of the drivers are more in favor than others, and then the discovery follows that nearly every individual on the benches, women and children as well as men, wears a color, most frequently a ribbon upon the breast or in the hair. Now it is green, now yellow, now blue, but, searching the great body carefully, it is manifest that there is a preponderance of white and scarlet and gold. In a modern assemblage called together as this one is, particularly where there are sums at hazard upon the race, a preference would be decided by the qualities or performance of the horses. Here, however, nationality was the rule. If the Byzantine and Sedonian found small support, it was because their cities were scarcely represented on the benches. On their side, the Greeks, though very numerous, were divided between the Corinthian and the Athenian, leaving but a scant showing of green and yellow. Masala's scarlet and gold would have been but little better had not the citizens of Antioch, proverbially a race of courtiers, joined the Romans by adopting the color of their favorite. There were left then the country people, or Syrians, the Jews and the Arabs, and they, from faith in the blood of the Shakespeare, blent largely with hate of the Romans, whom they desired above all things to see beaten and humbled, mounted the white, making the most noisy and probably the most numerous faction of all. As the charioteers move on in the circuit, the excitement increases. At the second goal, where, especially in the galleries, the white is the ruling color, the people exhaust their flowers and rive the air with screams. Masala! Masala! Benher! Benher! Such are the cries. Upon the passage of the procession, the factionists take their seats and resume conversation. Ah, by Bacchus was he not handsome, exclaimed a woman whose Romanism is betrayed by the colors flying in her hair. At house blended his chariot. Replies a neighbor of the same proclivities. It is all ivory and gold. Jupiter grant he wins. The notes on the bench behind them were entirely different. A hundred shekels on the Jew. The voice is shrill and high. Nay, be thou not rash! whispers a moderating friend to the speaker. The children of Jacob are not much given to Gentile sports, which are too often accursed in the sight of the Lord. True, but saw you ever one more cool and assured, and what an army has. And what horses! says the Third. And for that, a fourth one adds, they say he is all the tricks of the Robins. A woman completes the eologium. Yes, and he is even hensamer than the Roman. Thus encourage the enthusiast shrieks again. A hundred shekels on the Jew. Thou fool! answers an Antiochan from a bench well forward on the balcony. Knowest thou not there are fifty talents laid against him six to one on Masala? Put up thy shekels, lest Abraham rise and smite thee. Ha-ha-ha! Thou as of Antioch, cease thy bray! Knowest thou not it was Masala betting on himself? Such the reply. And so ran the controversy, not always good-natured. When at length the march was ended and the port of Pompeii received back the procession, Benher knew he had his prayer. The eyes of the East were upon his contest with Masala. End of chapter. Book 5 Chapter 13 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 13 About three o'clock, speaking in modern style, the program was concluded except the chariot race. The editor, wisely considerate of the comfort of the people, chose that time for a recess. At once the vomitoria were thrown open, and all who could hasten to the portico outside where the restauranteurs had their quarters. Those who remained yawned, talked, gossiped, consulted their tablets, and all distinctions else forgotten merged into but two classes, the winners, who were happy, and the losers, who were grumb and capsious. Now, however, a third class of spectators, composed of citizens who desired only to witness the chariot race, availed themselves of the recess to come in and take their reserved seats. By so doing they thought to attract the least attention and give the least offence. Among these were Simonides and his party, whose places were in the vicinity of the main entrance on the north side, opposite the consul. As the four stout servants carried the merchant in his chair up the aisle, curiosity was much excited. Presently someone called his name. Those about caught it and pasted on along the benches to the west, and there was hurried climbing on seats to get sight of the man about whom common report had coined and put in circulation a romance so mixed of good fortune and bad that the like had never been known or heard of before. Ilderum was also recognized and warmly greeted, but nobody knew Balthazar or the two women who followed him closely veiled. The people made way for the party respectfully, and the ushers seated them in easy speaking distance of each other down by the balustrade overlooking the arena. In providence of comfort they sat upon cushions and had stools for foot rests. The women were Eros and Esther. Upon being seated the latter cast a frightened look over the circus and drew the veil closer about her face, while the Egyptian letting her veil fall upon her shoulders gave herself to view and gazed at the scene with the seeming unconsciousness of being stared at, which, in a woman, is usually the result of long social habitude. The newcomers generally were yet making their first examination of the great spectacle, beginning with the consul and his attendance, when some workmen ran in and commenced to stretch a chalked rope across the arena from balcony to balcony in front of the pillars of the first goal. About the same time also, six men came in through the Porta Pompeii and took post, one in front of each occupied stall, whereat there was a prolonged hum of voices in every quarter. See, see, the green goes to number four on the right, the Athenian is there. And Missala, yes, he is in number two. The Corinthian, watch the white! See, he crosses over. He stops. Number one it is, number one on the left. No, the black stops there, and the white at number two. So it is. These gatekeepers, it should be understood, were dressed in tunics colored like those of the competing charioteers. So when they took their stations, everybody knew the particular stall in which his favorite was that moment waiting. Did you ever see Missala? The Egyptian asked Esther. The Jewish shuddered as she answered no. If not her father's enemy, the Roman was Ben-Hers. He is beautiful as Apollo. As Ira spoke, her large eyes brightened and she shook her jeweled fan. Esther looked at her with a thought, is he then so much hamsomer than Ben-Hers? Next moment she heard Ildrum say to her father, yes, his stall is number two on the left of the Port of Pompeii. And thinking it was of Ben-Hers he spoke, her eyes turned that way. Taking but the briefest glance at the waddled face of the gate, she drew the veil close and muttered a little prayer. Presently some ballot came to the party. I am just from the stall, so shake. He said, bowing gravely to Ildrum, who began combing his beard while his eyes glittered with eager inquiry. Though horses are in perfect condition. Ildrum replied simply, If they are beaten, I pray it be by some other than Missala. Turning then to Simonides, some ballot drew out a tablet, saying, I bring you also something of interest. I reported, you will remember, the wager concluded with Missala last night, and stated that I left another which, if taken, was to be delivered to me in writing to-day before the race began. Here it is. Simonides took the tablet and read the memorandum carefully. Yes, he said, their emissary came to ask me if you had so much money with me. Keep the tablet close. If you lose, you know where to come. If you win, his face knit hard. If you win, a friend, see to it. See, the signers escaped not. Hold them to the last shekel. That is what they would with us. Yes. Trust me, replied the purveyor. Will you not sit with us? asked Simonides. You are very good, the other returned. But if I leave the consul, young Rome yonder, we'll boil over. Peace to you, peace to all. At length the recess came to an end. The trumpeters blew a call at which the absentees rushed back to their places. At the same time some attendants appeared in the arena, and, climbing upon the division wall, went to an entablature near the second goal at the west end, and placed upon it seven wooden balls. Then returning to the first goal, upon an entablature there they set up seven other pieces of wood hewn to represent dolphins. What shall they do with the balls and fishes, O shake? asked Balthazar. Has thou never attended a race? Never before, and hardly know I why I am here. Well, they are to keep the count. At the end of each round run thou shalt see one ball and one fish taken down. The preparations were now complete, and presently a trumpeter in gaudy uniform arose by the editor, ready to blow the signal of commencement promptly at his order. Straightway the stir of the people and the hum of their conversation died away. Every face nearby, and every face in the lessening perspective, turned to the east, as all eyes settled upon the gates of the six stalls which shut in the competitors. The unusual flush upon his face gave proof that even Simonides had caught the universal excitement. Ilderum pulled his beard fast and furious. Look now for the Roman, said the fair Egyptian to Esther, who did not hear her for, with close drawn veil and beating heart, she sat watching for Ben Hur. The structure containing the stalls it should be observed was in form of the segment of a circle, retired on the right, so that its central point was projected forward, and midway the course on the starting side of the first goal. Every stall consequently was equally distant from the starting line or chalked rope above mentioned. The trumpet sounded short and sharp, whereupon the starters, one for each chariot, leaped down from behind the pillars of the goal, ready to give assistance to the fours proved unmanageable. Again the trumpet blew, and simultaneously the gatekeepers threw the stalls open. First appeared the mounted attendants of the charioteers, five in all, Ben Hur having rejected the service. The chalked line was lowered to let them pass, then raised again. They were beautifully mounted, yet scarcely observed as they rode forward, for all the time the trampling of eager horses and the voices of drivers scarcely less eager, were heard behind in the stalls so that one might not look away an instant from the gaping doors. The chalked line, up again, the gatekeepers called their men. Instantly the ushers on the balcony waved their hands and shouted with all their strength, down, down. As well have whistled to stay a storm. Fourth from each stall, like missiles in a volley from so many great guns, rushed the six fours, and up the vast assemblage arose electrified and irrepressible, and, leaping upon the benches, filled the circus and the air above it with yells and screams. This was the moment for which they had so patiently waited. This, the moment of supreme interest, treasured up in talk and dreams since the proclamation of the games. He has come! There! Look! cried Eras, pointing to Massala. I see him! answered Esther, looking at Ben Hur. The veil was withdrawn, for an instant the little Jewish was brave. An idea of the joy there is in doing an heroic deed under the eyes of a multitude came to her, and she understood ever after how, at such times, the souls of men, in the frenzy of performance, laugh at death or forget it utterly. The competitors were now under view from nearly every part of the circus, yet the race was not begun. They had first to be seen in the circus. The line was stretched for the purpose of equalizing the start. If it were dashed upon, discomfort sure of man and horses might be apprehended. On the other hand, to approach it timidly was to incur the hazard of being thrown behind in the beginning of the race, and that was certain forfeit of the great advantage always striven for, the position next to the division wall on the inner line of the course. This trial, its perils and consequences, the spectators knew thoroughly, and if the opinion of old Nestor uttered that time he handed the reins to his son were true, it is not strength but art obtain the prize, and to be swift is less than to be wise. All on the benches might look for warning of the winter to be now given, justifying the interest with which they breathlessly watched for the result. The arena swam in a dazzle of light, yet each driver looked first thing for the rope, then for the coveted inner line. So, all six aiming at the same point and speeding furiously, a collision seemed inevitable. Nor that merely, what if the editor at the last moment dissatisfied would the start, should win? Should withhold the signal to drop the rope? Or if he should not give it in time? The crossing was about two hundred and fifty feet in width. Quick the eye, steady the hand, unerring the judgment required, if now one look away, or his mind wander, or a reins slip, and what attraction in the ensemble of the thousands over the spreading balcony, calculating upon the natural impulse to give one glance just one, in sooth of curiosity or vanity, malice might be there with an artifice, while friendship and love, did they serve the same result, might be as deadly as malice. The divine last touch in perfecting the beautiful is animation. Can we accept the saying, then these latter days, so tame in pastime and dull in sports, have scarcely anything to compare to the spectacle offered by the six contestants. Let the reader try to fancy it. Let him first look down upon the arena, and see it glistening in its frame of dull white granite walls. Let him then, in this perfect field, see the chariots, light of wheel, very graceful, and ornate as paint and burnishing can reflect them. Missala's rich with ivory and gold. Let him see the drivers, erect and statuesque, undisturbed by the motion of the cars, their limbs naked and fresh and ruddy with the healthful polish of the baths. In their right hands, goads, suggestive of torture dreadful to the thought. In their left hands, held in careful separation and high, that they may not interfere with view of the steeds, the rains passing taut from the fore ends of the carriage poles. Let him see the fours, chosen for beauty as well as speed. Let him see them in magnificent action, their masters not more conscious of the situation and all that is asked and hoped from them. Their heads tossing, nostrils in play, now distant, now contracted, limbs too dainty for the sand which they touch but to spurn, limbs slender yet with impact crushing as hammers, every muscle of the rounded body's instinct with glorious life, swelling, diminishing, justifying the world in taking from them its ultimate measure of force. Finally, along with chariots, drivers, horses, let the readers see the accompanying shadows fly, and with such distinctness as the picture comes, he may share the satisfaction and deeper pleasure of those to whom it was a thrilling fact, not a feeble fancy. Every age has its plenty of sorrows, heaven help where there are no pleasures. The competitors, having started each on the shortest line for the position next the wall, yielding would be like giving up the race, and who dared yield? It is not in common nature to change a purpose in the mid-career, and the cries of encouragement from the balcony were indistinguishable and indescribable, a roar which had the same effect upon all the drivers. The fours neared the rope together. Then the trumpeter by the editor's side blew a signal vigorously. Twenty feet away it was not heard. Seeing the action, however, the judges dropped the rope, and not an instant too soon, for the hoof of one of Masala's struck it as it fell. Nothing daunted, the Roman shook out his long lash, loosed the reins, leaned forward, and with a triumphant shout, took the wall. Jove with us! Jove with us! yelled all the Roman faction in a frenzy of delight. As Masala turned in, the bronze lion's head at the end of his axle caught the foreleg of the Athenian's right-hand tracemate, clinging the brute over against its yoke-fellow. Both staggered, struggled, and lost their headway. The ushers had their will at least in part. The thousands held their breath with horror, only up where the consul sat was their shouting. Jove with us! screamed Drusus frantically. He wins! Jove with us! answered his associates, seeing Masala speed on. Tablet in hand, Sembelet turned to them. A crash from the course below stopped his speech, and he could not but look that way. Masala having passed, the Corinthian was the only contestant on the Athenian's right, and to that side the latter tried to turn his broken fore, and then, as ill fortune would have it, the wheel of the Byzantine, who was next on the left, struck the tailpiece of his chariot, knocking his feet from under him. There was a crash, a scream of rage and fear, and the unfortunate Cleantheys fell under the hoofs of his own steeds, a terrible sight, against which Esther covered her eyes. On swept the Corinthian, on the Byzantine, on the Sedonian. Sembelet looked for Ben Hur, and turned again to Drusus and his coterie. A hundred Cistertei on the Jew, he cried. Taken! answered Jusus. Another hundred on the Jew, shouted Sembelet. Nobody appeared to hear him. He called again. The situation below was too absorbing, and they were too busy shouting, Masala! Masala! Jove with us! When the Jewess ventured to look again, a party of workmen were bringing the horses in broken car. Another party were taking off the man himself, and every bench upon which there was a Greek was vocal with execrations and prayers for vengeance. Suddenly she dropped her hands. Ben Hur, unhurt, was to the front, coursing freely forward, along with the Roman. Behind them, in a group, followed the Sedonian, the Corinthian, and the Byzantine. The race was on, the souls of racers were in it. Over them bent the myriads. CHAPTER XIV Ben Hur, a tale of the Christ, by Lou Wallace. CHAPTER XIV When the dash for position began, Ben Hur, as we have seen, was on him left of the six. For a moment, like the others, he was half blinded by the light in the arena, yet he managed to catch sight of his antagonists and divine their purpose. At Masala, who was more than an antagonist to him, he gave one searching look. The air of passionless hauteur characteristic of the fine patrician face was there as of old, and so was the Italian beauty, which the helmet rather increased. But more, it may have been a jealous fancy, or the effect of the brassy shadow in which the features were at the moment cast, still the Israelite thought he saw the soul of the man as through a glass, darkly, cruel, cunning, desperate, not so excited as determined, a soul in attention of watchfulness and fierce resolve. In a time not longer than was required to turn to his fore again, Ben Hur felt his own resolution hardened to a like temper. At whatever cost, at all hazards, he would humble this enemy. Prize, friends, wagers, honor, everything that can be thought of as a possible interest in the race was lost in the one deliberate purpose. Regard for life even should not hold him back. Yet there was no passion on his part, no blinding rush of heated blood from heart to brain and back again, no impulse to fling himself upon fortune. He did not believe in fortune, far otherwise. He had his plan, and confiding in himself, he settled to the task never more observant, never more capable. The air about him seemed to glow with the renewed imperfect transparency. When not halfway across the arena he saw that Masala's rush would, if there was no collision and the rope fell, give him the wall, that the rope would fall he ceased as soon to doubt. And further it came to him a sudden flash-like insight that Masala knew it was to be let drop at the last moment. Prearrangement with the editor could safely reach that point in the contest. And it suggested what more Roman-like than for the official to lend himself to a countryman who, besides being so popular, had also so much at stake. There could be no other accounting for the confidence with which Masala pushed his fore-forward the instant his competitors were prudentially checking their fores in front of the obstruction. No other except madness. It is one thing to see a necessity and another to act upon it. Ben Hur yielded the wall for the time. The rope fell, and all the fores but his sprang into the course after urgency of voice and lash. He drew head to the right, and with all the speed of his Arabs darted across the trails of his opponents, the angle of movement being such as to lose the least time and gain the greatest possible advance. So while the spectators were shivering at the Athenians mishap, and the Sedonian, Byzantine, and Corinthian were striving, with such skill as they possessed, to avoid involvement in the ruin. Ben Hur swept around and took the course neck and neck with Masala, though on the outside. The marvellous skill shown in making the change thus from the extreme left across to the right, without appreciable loss, did not fail the sharp eyes upon the benches. The circus seemed to rock and rock again with prolonged applause. Then Esther clapsed her hands in glad surprise. Then Sambalet, smiling, offered his hundred cisterti a second time without a taker. And then the Romans began to doubt, thinking Masala might have found an equal, if not a master, and that in an Israelite. And now, racing together side by side, a narrow interval between them, the two neared the second goal. The pedestal of the three pillars there, viewed from the west, was a stone wall in the form of a half-circle, around which the course and opposite balcony were bent in exact parallelism. Making this turn was considered, in all respects, the most telling test of a charioteer. It was, in fact, the very feet in which Orastes failed. As an involuntary admission of interest on the part of the spectators, a hush fell over all the circus, so that for the first time in the race the rattling clang of the cars plunging after the tugging steeds were distinctly heard. Then it would seem Masala observed Ben Hur, and recognized him, and at once the audacity of the man flamed out in an astonishing manner. Down Eros, up Mars! he shouted, whirling his lash with practised hand. Down Eros, up Mars! he repeated, and caught the well-doing Arabs of Ben Hur a cut the like of which they had never known. The blow was seen in every quarter, the amazement was universal, the silence deepened. Up on the benches behind the console the boldest held his breath, waiting for the outcome. Only a moment thus, then involuntarily, down from the balcony, as thunder falls, burst the indignant cry of the people. The four sprang forward affrighted. No hand had ever been laid upon them except in love. They had been nurtured ever so tenderly, and as they grew their confidence in man became a lesson to men beautiful to see. What should such dainty natures do under such indignity but leap as from death? Forward this sprang is with one impulse, and forward leap the car. Question every experience is serviceable to us. Where got Ben Hur the large hand in mighty grip which helped him now so well? Where but from the oar with which so long he fought the sea? And what was this spring of the floor under his feet to the dizzy eccentric lurch with which in the old time the trembling ship yielded to the beat of staggering billows drunk with their power? So he kept his place, and gave the four free reign, and called to them in soothing voice, trying merely to guide them round the dangerous turn. And before the fever of the people began to abate, he had back the mastery. Nor that only. On approaching the first goal he was again side by side with Masala, bearing with him the sympathy and admiration of everyone not a Roman. So clearly was the feeling shown so vigorous its manifestation that Masala with all his boldness felt it unsafe to trifle further. As the cars whirled round the goal, Esther caught sight of Ben Hur's face, a little pale, a little higher raised, otherwise calm, even placid. Immediately a man climbed on the atablature at the west end of the division wall, and took down one of the conical wooden balls. A dolphin on the eastern tablature was taken down at the same time. In like manner the second ball and second dolphin disappeared. And then the third ball, and third dolphin. Three rounds concluded. Still Masala held the inside position. Still Ben Hur moved with him side by side. Still the other competitors followed as before. The contest began to have the appearance of one of the double races, which became so popular in Rome during the later Caesarean period. Masala and Ben Hur in the first, the Corinthian, Sedonian and Byzantine in the second. Meantime the Usher succeeded in returning the multitude to their seats, though the clamor continued to run the rounds, keeping as it were even pace with the rivals in the course below. In the fifth round the Sedonian succeeded in getting a place outside Ben Hur, but lost it directly. The sixth round was entered upon without change of relative position. Gradually the speed had been quickened. Gradually the blood of the competitors warmed with the work. Men and beasts seemed to know alike that the final crisis was near, bringing the time for the winner to assert himself. The interest which from the beginning had centered chiefly in the struggle between the Roman and the Jew, with an intense and general sympathy for the latter, was fast changing to anxiety on his account. On all the benches the spectators bent forward motionless, except as their faces turned following the contestants. Ildrum quitted combing his beard, and Esther forgot her fears. A hundred sets dirty eye on the Jew! cried some ballot to the Romans under the consuls' awning. There was no reply. A talent, or five talents, or ten, choosy! He shook his tablets at them defiantly. I will take thy, says Sterty I, answered the Roman youth preparing to write. Do not so! interposed a friend. Why? Miss Salahath reached his utmost speed. See him lean over his chariot rim? The reins loose his flying ribbons. Look then at the Jew! The first one looked. By Hercules! he replied, his countenance falling. The dog throws all his weight on the bits. I see! I see! If the gods help not our friend, he will be run away with by the Israelite. No? Not yet. Look! Jove with us! Jove with us! The cry, swelled by every Latin tongue, shook the Valeria over the consul's head. If it were true that Miss Salahath attained his utmost speed, the effort was with effect. Slowly but certainly he was beginning to forge ahead. His horses were running with their heads low down. From the balcony their bodies appeared actually to skim the earth. Their nostrils showed blood red in expansion. Their eyes seemed straining in their sockets. Certainly the good steeds were doing their best. How long could they keep the pace? It was but the commencement of the sixth round. On they dashed. As they neared the second goal, Ben Hur turned in behind the Roman's car. The joy of the Miss Salah faction reached its bound, they screamed and howled and tossed their colours, and some ballot filled his tablets with wagers of their tendering. Malik in the lower gallery, over the Gate of Triumph, found it hard to keep his cheer. He had cherished the vague hint dropped to him by Ben Hur of something to happen in the turning of the Western Pillars. It was the fifth round, yet the something had not come. And he had said to himself, the sixth will bring it. But low, Ben Hur was hardly holding a place at the tail of his enemy's car. Over in the east end Simonite's party held their peace. The merchant's head was bent low. Ilderum tugged at his beard and dropped his brows till there was nothing of his eyes but an occasional sparkle of light. Esther scarcely breathed. Iros alone appeared glad. Along the home stretch, sixth round, Miss Salah leading, next him Ben Hur, and so close it was the old story. First flew Umilus on Ferasian Steeds, with those of Trost's bold diamond succeeds. Close on Umilus's back they puffed the wind and seemed just looking on his car behind. Full on his neck he feels the sultry breeze, and, hovering over, their stretching shadows seize. Thus to the first goal and round it, Miss Salah, fearful of losing his place, hugged the stony wall with perilous clasp. A foot to the left and he would have been dashed to pieces. Yet when the turn was finished no man, looking at the wheel-tracks of the two cars, could have said, here went Miss Salah, there the Jew. There left but one trace behind them. As they whirled by, Esther saw Ben Hur's face again, and it was whiter than before. Simonides, shrewder than Esther, said to Ilderum the moment the rivals turned into the course. I am no judge-good shake if Ben Hur be not about to execute some design, his faith hath that look. To which Ilderum answered, Saw you how clean they were and fresh! By the splendour of God-friend they have not been running! But now watch! One ball and one dolphin remained on the entablatures, and all the people drew a long breath, for the beginning of the end was at hand. First the Sidonian gave the scourge to his fore, and smarting with fear and pain they dashed desperately forward, promising for a brief time to go to the front. The effort ended in promise. Next the Byzantine and the Corinthian each made the trial with like result, after which they were practically out of the race. Thereupon, with a readiness perfectly inexplicable, all the factions except the Romans joined hope in Ben Hur and openly indulged their feeling. Ben Hur! Ben Hur! they shouted, and the blunt voices of the many rolled overwhelmingly against the consular stand. From the benches above him as he passed the favour descended in fierce injunctions. Speed thee, Jew! Take the wall now! On! Loose thee, Arabs! Give them rain and scourge! Let him not have the turn on thee again, now or never! Over the balustrade they stooped low, stretching their hands imploringly to him. Either he did not hear, or could not do better, for half way round the course and he was still following, at the second goal even still no change. And now to make the turn Massala began to draw in his left hand's steeds, an act which necessarily slackened their speed. His spirit was high, more than one altar was richer of his vows, the Roman genius was still president. On the three pillars only six hundred feet away were fame, increase of fortune, promotions, and a triumph ineffably sweetened by hate, all in store for him. That moment Malik, in the gallery, saw Ben Hur lean forward over his Arabs and give them the reins. Out flew the many folded lash in his hand, over the backs of the startled steeds it writhed and hissed, and hissed and writhed again and again, and though it fell not, there was both sting and menace in its quick report, and as the man passed thus from quiet to resistless action his face suffused, his eyes gleaming, along the reins he seemed to flash his will. And instantly not one but the four as one, answered with a leap that landed them alongside the Roman's car. Massala, on the perilous edge of the goal, heard, but dared not look to see what the awakening portended. From the people he received no sign. Above the noises of the race there was but one voice, and that was Ben Hur's. And the old Aramaic, as the shake himself, he called to the Arabs. On, Altair! On, Rigel! What enteries dost thou linger now? Good horse! Oh-ho, Aldebaran! I hear them singing in the tents. I hear the children singing in the women, singing of the stars, of Altair, Antares, Rigel, Aldebaran. Victory! And the song will never end. Well done, home to-morrow, under the black tent, home, on, on, teres. The tribe is waiting for us, the master is waiting. Tis done, tis done, ha-ha, we have overthrown the proud, the hand that smote us is in the dust, ours the glory, ha-ha, steady, the work is done, so ho, rest! There had never been anything of the kind more simple, seldom anything so instantaneous. At the moment chosen for the dash, Missala was moving in a circle round the goal. To pass him, Ben Hur had to cross the track, and good strategy required the movement to be in a forward direction. That is, on a like circle limited to the least possible increase. The thousands on the benches understood it all. They saw the signal given, the magnificent response, the four close outside Missala's outer wheel, Ben Hur's inner wheel behind the other's car, all this they saw. Then they heard a crash loud enough to send a thrill through the circus, and quicker than thought, out over the course a spray of shining white and yellow flinders flew. Down on its right side toppled the bed of the Romans' chariot. There was a rebound as of the axle hitting the hard earth, another and another, then the car went to pieces, and Missala, entangled in the reins, pitched forward headlong. To increase the horror of the sight by making death certain, the Sedonian, who had the wall next behind, could not stop or turn out. Into the wreck full speed he drove, then over the Roman, and into the ladders four all mad with fear. Presently out of the turmoil, the fighting of horses, the resound of blows, the murky cloud of dust and sand he crawled, in time to see the Corinthian and Byzantine go on down the course after Ben Hur, who had not been an instant delayed. The people arose and leaped upon the benches and shouted and screamed, those who looked that way caught glimpses of Missala, now under the trampling of the fours, now under the abandoned cars. He was still, they thought him dead. But far the greater number followed Ben Hur in his career. They had not seen the cunning touch of the reins by which, turning a little to the left, he caught Missala's wheel with the iron-shod point of his axle, and crushed it. But they had seen the transformation of the man, and themselves felt the heat and glow of his spirit, the heroic resolution, the maddening energy of action with which, by look, word, and gesture, he so suddenly inspired his Arabs. And such running! it was rather the long leaping of lions and harness, but for the lumbering chariot it seemed the four were flying. When the Byzantine and Corinthian were halfway down the course, Ben Hur turned the last goal, and the race was won. The consul arose. The people shouted themselves, horse. The editor came down from his seat and crowned the victors. The fortunate man among the boxers was a low-browed, yellow-haired Saxon of such brutalized face as to attract a second look from Ben Hur, who recognized a teacher with whom he himself had been a favorite at Rome. From him the young Jew looked up and beheld Simonides and his party on the balcony. They waved their hands to him. Esther kept her seat. But Iris arose and gave him a smile and a wave of her fan, favors not the less intoxicating to him because we know, O reader, they would have fallen to Massala had he been the victor. The procession was then formed amidst the shouting of the multitude which had had its will passed out of the gate of triumph, and the day was over. CHAPTER XV Ben Hur tarried across the river with Ildrum, for at midnight, as previously determined, they would take the road which the caravan, then thirty hours out, had pursued. The shake was happy. His offers of gifts have been royal, but Ben Hur had refused everything, insisting that he was satisfied with the humiliation of his enemy. The generous dispute was long continued. THANK The shake would say, What thou hast done for me? In every black tent down to the Acaba and to the ocean and across to the Euphrates and beyond to the Sea of the Scythians, the renown of my Myra and her children will go, and they who sing of them will magnify me and forget that I am in the wane of life. And all the spears now masterless will come to me, and my sword-hands multiply past counting. Thou dost not know what it is to have sway of the desert such as will now be mine. I tell thee it will bring tribute incalculable from commerce and immunity from kings. I, by the sword of Solomon, doth my messenger seek favour for me of Caesar that will he get. Yet nothing, nothing? And Ben Hur would answer, Nay, shake, have I not thy hand and heart? Let thy increase of power and influence in your to the king who comes, who shall say it was not allowed thee for him? In the work I am going to I may have great need, saying no now will leave me to ask of thee with better grace hereafter. In the midst of a controversy of the kind two messengers arrived, Malak and one unknown, the former was admitted first. The good fellow did not attempt to hide his joy over the event of the day. But, coming to that with which I am charged, he said, the master Simonides sends me to say that, upon the adjournment of the games, some of the Roman faction made haste to protest against payment of the money prize. Ilderim started up crying in his shrillest tones, By the splendor of God, the east shall decide whether the race was fairly won. Nay, good shake, said Malak, the editor has paid the money. Tis well. When they said Ben Hur struck Masala's wheel, the editor laughed and reminded them of the blow the Arabs had at the turn of the goal. And what of the Athenian? He is dead. Dead! cried Ben Hur. Dead! echoed Ilderim. What fortune these Roman monsters have! Masala escaped? Escaped, yes, oh, shake with life, but it shall be a burden to him. The physicians say he will live, but will never walk again. Ben Hur looked silently up to heaven. He had a vision of Masala, chair-bound like Simonides, and like him going abroad on the shoulders of servants. The good man had abode well, but what would this one with his pride and ambition? Simonides bade me say, further. Malak continued, Sambalit is having trouble. Drusus, and those who signed with him, referred the question of paying the five talents they lost to the consul Maxentius, and he has referred it to Caesar. Masala also refused his losses, and Sambalit, in imitation of Drusus, went to the consul, where the matter is still in advisement. The better Romans say the Protestants shall not be excused, and all the adverse factions join with them. The city rings with a scandal. What says Simonides? asked Ben Hur. The master laughs in his will, pleased. If the Roman pays, he is ruined. If he refuses to pay, he is dishonored. The imperial policy will decide the matter. To offend the east would be a bad beginning with the Parthians. To offend Sheikh Ilderum would be to antagonize the desert, over which lie all Maxentius's lines of operation. Wherefore Simonides bade me tell you to have no disquiet. Masala will pay. Ilderum was at once restored to his good humour. Let us be off now," he said, rubbing his hands. The business will do well with Simonides. Glory is ours. I will order the horses. Stay, said Malik. I left a messenger outside. Will you see him? By the splendour of God I forgot him. Malik retired, and was succeeded by a lad of gentle manners and delicate appearance, who knelt upon one knee and said, winningly, Iris, the daughter of Balthazar, well known to good Sheikh Ilderum, hath entrusted me with a message to the Sheikh. Who, she saith, will do her great favour so he receive her congratulations on account of the victory of his four. The daughter of my friend is kind, said Ilderum with sparkling eyes. Do thou give her this jewel, in sign of the pleasure I have from her message. He took a ring from his finger as he spoke. I willest thou sayest, O Sheikh, the lad replied, and continued, The daughter of the Egyptian charged me further. She praised the good Sheikh Ilderum to send word to the youth, Benher, that her father hath taken residence for a time in the palace of Ilderne, where she will receive the youth after the fourth hour to-morrow. And if with her congratulations Sheikh Ilderum would accept her gratitude for this other favour done, she will be ever so pleased. The Sheikh looked at Benher, whose face was suffused with pleasure. What will you? he asked. By your lave, O Sheikh, I will see the fair Egyptian. Ilderum laughed and said, Shall not a man enjoy his youth? Then Benher answered the messenger. Say to her who sent you that I, Benher, will see her at the palace of Ilderne, wherever that may be, to-morrow at noon. The lad arose and with silent salute departed. At midnight Ilderum took the road, having arranged to leave a horse and a guide for Benher, who was to follow him. CHAPTER XVI Going next day to fill his appointment with Iras, Benher turned from the palace, which was in the heart of the city, into the colonnade of Herod, and came shortly to the palace of Ilderne. From the street he passed first into a vestibule, on the sides of which were stairways under cover, leading up to a portico. Winged lions sat by the stairs. In the middle there was a gigantic ibis spouting water over the floor. The lions, ibis, walls and floors were reminders of the Egyptians. Everything, even the ballastrating of the stairs, was of massive grey stone. Above the vestibule, and covering the landing of the steps, arose the portico, a pillared grace so light, so exquisitely proportioned, it was at that period hardly possible of conception except by a Greek. Of marble, snowy white, its effect was that of a lily dropped carelessly upon a great bare rock. He paused in the shade of the portico to admire its tracery and finish, and the purity of its marble. Then he passed on into the palace. Ample folding doors stood open to receive him. The passage into which he first entered was high, but somewhat narrow. Red tiling formed the floor, and the walls were tinted to correspond. Yet this plainness was a warning of something beautiful to come. He moved on slowly, all his faculties in repose. Presently he would be in the presence of Eris. She was waiting for him. Waiting with song and story and badinage, sparkling, fanciful, capricious, with smiles which glorified her glance, and glances which lent voluptuous suggestion to her whisper. She had sent for him the evening of the boat ride on the lake in the orchard of palms. She had sent for him now, and he was going to her in the beautiful palace of Iterni. He was happy and dreamful rather than thoughtless. The passage brought him to a closed door, in front of which he paused, and, as he did so, the broad leaves began to open of themselves without creak or sound of lock or latch, or touch of foot or finger. The singularity was lost in the view that broke upon him. Standing in the shade of the dull passage and looking through the doorway, he beheld the atrium of a Roman house, roomy and rich to a fabulous degree of magnificence. How large the chamber was cannot be stated because of the deceit there is in exact proportions. Its depth was vista-like, something never to be said of an equal interior. When he stopped to make survey, and looked down upon the floor, he was standing upon the breast of a lada, represented as caressing a swan. And looking farther he saw the whole floor was similarly laid in mosaic pictures of mythological subjects. And there were stools and chairs, each a separate design, and a work of art exquisitely composed, and tables much carbon, and here and there couches which were invitations of themselves. The articles of furniture, which stood out from the walls, were duplicated on the floor distinctly as if they floated unrippled water. Even the panelling of the walls, the figures upon them in painting and bow relief, and the fresco of the ceiling were reflected on the floor. The ceiling curved up towards the centre, where there was an opening through which the sunlight poured without hindrance, and the sky ever so blue seemed in hand-reach. The impluvium under the opening was guarded by bronzed rails. The gilded pillars supporting the roof at the edges of the opening, shone like flame where the sun struck them, and their reflections beneath seemed to stretch to infinite depth. And there were candelabra, quaint and curious, and statuary and vases, the hole making an interior that would have befitted well the house of the Palatine Hill which Cicero bought of Crassus, or that other, yet more famous for extravagance, the Tusculin villa of Scaris. Still in his dreamful mood Benhur sauntered about, charmed by all he beheld, and waiting. He did not mind a little delay. When Eris was ready she would come, or send a servant. In every well-regulated Roman house the atrium was the reception chamber for visitors. Twice, thrice, he made the round. As often he stood under the opening in the roof and pondered the sky in its azure depth. Then, leaning against a pillar, he studied the distribution of light and shade and its effects. Here availed diminishing objects, there a brilliance exaggerating others. Yet nobody came. Time, or rather the passage of time, began at length to impress itself upon him, and he wondered why Eris stayed so long. Again he traced out the figures upon the floor, but not with the satisfaction the first inspection gave him. He paused often to listen. Directly impatience blew a little fevered breath upon his spirit. Next time it blew stronger and hotter. And at last he woke to a consciousness of the silence which held the house in thrall, and the thought of it made him uneasy and distrustful. Still he put the feeling off with a smile and a promise. Oh, she is giving the last touch to her eyelids, or she is arranging a chaplet for me. She will come presently, more beautiful of the delay. He sat down then to admire a candelabrum, a bronze plinth on rollers, filigree on the sides and edges, the post at one end, and on the end opposite it an altar and a female celebrant. The lamp rests, swinging by delicate chains from the extremities of drooping palm branches, altogether a wonder in its way. But the silence would, obtrude itself. He listened even as he looked at the pretty object. He listened, but there was not a sound. The palace was still as a tomb. There might be a mistake. No, the messenger had come from the Egyptian, and this was the palace of Iterny. Then he remembered how mysteriously the door had opened so soundlessly, so of itself. He would see. He went to the same door. Though he walked ever so lightly, the sound of his stepping was loud and harsh, and he shrank from it. He was getting nervous. The cumbersome Roman lock resisted his first effort to raise it. And the second, the blood chilled in his cheeks. He wrenched with all his might. In vain, the door was not even shaken. A sense of danger seized him, and for a moment he stood irresolute. Who in Antioch had the motive to do him harm? Masala. And this palace of Iterny. He had seen Egypt and the vestibule, Athens in the snowy portico. But here in the atrium was Rome. Everything about him betrayed Roman ownership. True, the site was on the great thoroughfare of the city, a very public place in which to do him violence, but for that reason it was more accordant with the audacious genius of his enemy. The atrium underwent a change. With all its elegance and beauty it was no more than a trap. Apprehension always paints him black. The idea irritated Ben Hur. There were many doors on the right and left of the atrium, leading doubtless to sleeping chambers. He tried them, but they were all firmly fastened. Knocking might bring response. A shame to make outcry, he betook himself to a couch, and lying down tried to reflect. All too plainly he was a prisoner. But for what purpose, and by whom? If the work was Masalis. He sat up, looked about, and smiled defiantly. There were weapons in every table. But birds had been starved in golden cages. Not so would he. The couches would serve him as battering-rams. And he was strong. And there was such increase of might in rage and despair. Masala himself could not come. He would never walk again. He was a cripple like Simonides. Still he could move others. And where were there not others to be moved by him? Ben Hur arose and tried the doors again. Once he called out. The room echoed so that he was startled. With such calmness as he could assume he made up his mind to wait a time before attempting to break a way out. In such a situation the mind has its ebb and flow of disquiet, with intervals of peace between. At length, how long though he could not have said, he came to the conclusion that the affair was an accident or mistake. The palace certainly belonged to somebody, it must have caring keeping, and the keeper would come, the evening or the night would bring him. Patience. So concluding he waited. Half an hour passed. A much longer period to Ben Hur, when the door which had admitted him opened and closed noiselessly as before and without attracting his attention. The moment of the occurrence he was sitting at the farther end of the room, a footstep startled him. At last she has come, he thought with a throb of relief and pleasure and arose. The step was heavy, and accompanied with a grind and clang of coarse sandals, the gilded pillars were between him and the door. He advanced quietly and leaned against one of them. Presently he heard voices, the voices of men, one of them rough and guttural. What was said he could not understand as the language was not of the east or south of Europe. After a general survey of the room, the strangest crossed to their left and were brought into Ben Hur's view. Two men, one very stout, both tall, and both in short tunics. They had not the air of masters of the house or domestics. Everything they saw appeared wonderful to them. Everything they stopped to examine they touched. They were vulgarians. The atrium seemed profaned by their presence. At the same time their leisurely manner and the assurance with which they proceeded pointed to some right or business. If business, with whom? If much jargon they sauntered this way and that, all the time gradually approaching the pillar by which Ben Hur was standing. Off a little way, where a slanted gleam of the sun fell with a glare upon the mosaic of the floor there was a statue which attracted their notice. In examining it they stopped in the light. The mystery surrounding his own presence in the palace tended, as we have seen, to make Ben Hur nervous. So now, when in the tall stout stranger he recognized the Northman whom he had known in Rome, and seen crowned only the day before in the circus as the winning pugilist, when he saw the man's face scarred with the wounds of many battles and embruted by ferocious passions, when he surveyed the fellow's naked limbs, very marvels of exercise and training, and his shoulders of herculean breadth, a thought of personal danger started to chill along every vein. A sure instinct warned him that the opportunity for murder was too perfect to have come by chance, and here now were the myrmidons, and their business was with him. He turned an anxious eye upon the Northman's comrade, young, black-eyed, black-haired, and altogether Jewish in appearance. He observed also that both the men were in costume exactly such as professionals of their class were in the habit of wearing in the arena. Putting the several circumstances together, Ben Hur could not be longer in doubt. He had been lured into the palace with design. Out of reach of aid, in this splendid privacy, he was to die. At a loss what to do? He gazed from man to man, while there was enacted within him that miracle of mind by which life is passed before us an awful detail. To be looked at by ourselves, as if it were another's, and from the evolvement from a hidden depth, cast up as it were by a hidden hand, he was given to see that he had entered upon a new life, different from the old one in this. Whereas in that he had been the victim of violence done to him, henceforth he was to be the aggressor. Only yesterday he had found his first victim. To the purely Christian nature the presentation would have brought the weakness of remorse. Not so with Ben Hur. His spirit had its emotions from the teachings of the first law-giver, not the last and greatest one. He had dealt punishment, not wrong, to Masala. By permission of the Lord he had triumphed, and he derived faith from the circumstance, faith the source of all rational strength, especially strength and peril. Nor did the influence stop there. The new life was made to appear to him a mission just begun, and holy as the King to come was holy, and certain as the coming of the King was certain, a mission in which force was lawful if only because it was unavoidable. Should he, on the very threshold of such an errand, be afraid? He undid the sash around his waist, and, bearing his head and casting off his white Jewish gown, stood forth in an undertunic not unlike those of the enemy, and was ready body and mind. Folding his arms he placed his back against the pillar, and calmly waited. The examination of the statue was brief. Directly the Northman turned, and said something in the unknown tongue. Then both looked at Ben Hur. A few more words, and they advanced towards him. Who are you? he asked, in Latin. The Northman fetched a smile which did not relieve his face of its brutalism, and answered, Barbarians. This is the Palace of Iterny. Whom seek you? stand and answer. The words were spoken with earnestness. The stranger stopped, and in his turn the Northman asked, Who are you? A Roman. The giant laid his head back upon his shoulders. Ha! I have heard how a god once came from a cow licking a salted stone. But not even a god can make a Roman of a Jew. The laugh over. He spoke to his companion again, and they moved nearer. Hold! said Ben Hur, quitting the pillar. One word. They stopped again. A word. Replied the Saxon, folding his immense arms across his breast, and relaxing the menace beginning to blacken his face. A word. Speak. You are Thord the Northman. The giant opened his blue eyes. You were Lannister in Rome. Thord nodded. I was your scholar. No, said Thord, shaking his head. By the beard of German, I had never a Jew to make a fighting man of. But I will prove my saying. How? You came here to kill me. That is true. Then let this man fight me singly, and I will make the proof on his body. A gleam of humor shown in the Northman's face, he spoke to his companion, who made answer. Then he replied with the naivete of a diverted child. Wait till I say begin. By repeated touches of his foot he pushed a couch out on the floor and proceeded leisurely to stretch his burly form upon it. When perfectly at ease he said simply, Now begin. Without a do Ben Hur walked to his antagonist. Defend thyself, he said. The man, nothing loath, put up his hands. As the two thus confronted each other in approved position, there was no discernible inequality between them. On the contrary, they were as like his brothers. To the stranger's confident smile, Ben Hur opposed an earnestness which, had his skill been known, would have been accepted fair warning of danger. Both knew the combat was to be mortal. Ben Hur fainted with his right arm. The stranger warded, slightly advancing his left arm. Air he could return to guard, Ben Hur caught him by the wrist in a grip which years at the or have made terrible as a vise. The surprise was complete, and no time given. To throw himself forward, to push the arm across the man's throat and over his right shoulder, and turn him left side front, to strike surely with the ready left hand, to strike the bare neck under the ear, were but petty divisions of the same act. No need of a second blow. The myrmidon fell heavily and without a cry, and lay still. Ben Hur turned to thord. Ha! What! by the beard of ermine! The latter cried in astonishment, rising to a sitting posture. Then he laughed. Ha! I could not have done it better myself. He viewed Ben Hur coolly from head to foot, and rising faced him with undisguised admiration. It was my trick, the trick I have practised for ten years in the schools of Rome. You are not a Jew. Who are you? You knew Arius the de Umvir. Quintus Arius? Yes, he was my patron. He had a son. Yes, said thord, his battered features, lighting dully. I knew the boy. He would have made a king gladiator. Caesar offered him his patronage. I taught him the very trick you played on this one here. A trick impossible except to a hand and arm like mine. It has won me many a crown. I am that son of Arius. Thord drew nearer, and viewed him carefully. Then his eyes brightened with genuine pleasure, and laughing he held out his hand. Ha! Ha! Ha! He told me I would find a Jew here. A Jew! A dog of a Jew, killing whom was serving the gods. Who told you so? asked Ben Hur, taking the hand. He, Masala. Ha! Ha! When, thord? Last night. I thought he was hurt. He will never walk again. On his bed he told me between groans. A very vivid portrayal of hate in a few words, and Ben Hur saw that the Roman, if he lived, would still be capable and dangerous, and follow him unrelentingly. Revenge remained to sweeten the ruined life, therefore the clinging to fortune lost in the wager with some ballot. Ben Hur ran the ground over with a distinct foresight of the many ways in which it would be possible for his enemy to interfere with him in the work he had undertaken for the king who was coming. Why not he resort to the Romans' methods? The man hired to kill him could be hired to strike back. It was in his power to offer higher wages. The temptation was strong, and half-yielding he chanced to look down at his late antagonist lying still, with white upturned face, so like himself. A light came to him, and he asked, Thord, what was Masala to give you for killing me? A thousand says Sturtey. You shall have them yet, and so you do now what I tell you I will add three thousand more to the sum. The giant reflected aloud. I won five thousand yesterday, from the Roman one, six. Give me four good areas, four more, and I will stand firm for you, though old Thor, my namesake, strike me with his hammer. Make it four, and I will kill the lying patrician if you say so. I have only to cover his mouth with my hand, thus. He illustrated the process by clapping his hand over his own mouth. I see, said Ben Hur, ten thousand says Sturtey is a fortune. It will enable you to return to Rome and open a wine-shop near the Great Circus, and live as becomes the first of the Lannister. The very scars on the giant's face glowed afresh with the pleasure the picture gave him. I will make it four thousand, Ben Hur continued, and in what you shall do for the money there will be no blood on your hands, Thord. Hear me now. Did not your friend here look like me? I would have said he was an apple from the same tree. 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 Sturtey from Masala all the same? You have only to make him believe it is me that is dead. Thord laughed till the tears ran into his mouth. Ten thousand Sturtey were never won so easily, and a wine-shop by the Great Circus, all for a lie without blood in it. Give me thy hand, O son of Arius. Get on now, and ha-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 Caesar." They shook hands again, after which the exchange of clothes was affected. 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 mid-joining where the latter completed his attire from the coarse garments of the dead Pugilist. They separated directly in the Umphalus. Fail not, O son of Arius, fail not the wine-shop near the Great Circus! Ha-ha-ha! By the beard of Irmin there was never fortune gain 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 for ever. At night, in the house of Simonides, Ben Hur told the good man all that had taken place in the palace of Iterny, 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 Arius. Eventually the matter was to be carried boldly to Max Encius. Then, if the mystery came not out, it was concluded that Masala and Kratus would be at rest and happy, and Ben Hur free to partake himself to Jerusalem, and 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 Terza.' And with the words he kissed her. Was it only a kiss of peace?' He crossed the river next to the lake-quarters of Ildrum, 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 Myra, and, next to Sirius, the beloved of the Shake, and he knew the old man's heart came to him along with the gift. The corpse and the atrium was taken up and buried by night, and as part of Masala's plan, a courier was sent off to Gratis to make him at rest by the announcement of Ben Hur's death, this time past question. Erlong a wine-shop was opened near the Circus Maximus, with inscription over the door, Thord, the Northman.