Ben Hur (48 page)

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 Malluch in the Grove
of Daphne; afterwards more distinctly while Balthasar was giving
his conception of what the kingdom was to be; still later, in the
walk through the old Orchard, it had risen 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 theretofore 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 the 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 and 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 Messala's
despatch as he spoke—"this letter is the signal for action.
The alliance proposed between Messala and Gratus 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.

"O 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 hands shook; he answered, quickly, "Revenge is a
Jew's of right; it is the law."

"A camel, even a dog, will remember a wrong," cried Ilderim.

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 Herods 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.
Some one, 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."

Simonides sipped the wine Esther brought him, and replied,

"The sheik, and thou, my master, shall be principals, each with a
part. I will remain here, carrying on as now, and watchful that the
spring go not dry. Thou shalt betake 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 Perea, thou shalt go then to
Galilee, whence it is but a step to Jerusalem. In Perea, the desert
will be at thy back, and Ilderim 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. Until the ripening time no one shall know
what is here contracted. Mine is but a servant's part. I have spoken
to Ilderim. What sayest thou?"

Ben-Hur looked at the sheik.

"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, Ilderim, Esther—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 sheik!—I see whither the proposal tends. If I accept,
and enter upon the course, farewell peace, and the hopes which
cluster around 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 Esther, who hid her
face upon her father's shoulder.

"I did not think of you, Esther," 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 to the work at once."

"Shall we have writings?" asked Simonides, moved by his habit of
business.

"I rest upon your word," said Ben-Hur.

"And I," Ilderim answered.

Thus simply was effected 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 Messala will set peril on foot for me until he has given
the procurator time to answer him; and that cannot be in less than
seven days from the despatch of his letter. The meeting him in the
Circus is a pleasure I would buy at whatever risk."

Ilderim, 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 Arrius. Is it in property?"

"A villa near Misenum, 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 despatch 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.

Ilderim combed his beard complacently, saying, "And well done."

"The bread and wine again, Esther. Sheik Ilderim 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 Ilderim—"the four will be glad to see me."

As the day dawned, he and Malluch 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 boxes,
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 seaport of Rome, and, after landing
a passenger there, continue more leisurely to Valentia, on the
coast of Spain.

The passenger is the agent going to dispose of the estate derived
from Arrius the duumvir. 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 Ilderim, a little
time is 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 onerous 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 Tirzah, and a sudden tenderness fell upon
him—just so the lost sister stood with him on the house-top
the calamitous morning of the accident to Gratus. Poor Tirzah!
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-Hur, 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 his 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; statuary in 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. Caesar has a country-seat near-by,
but in Rome they say the old Arrian 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 and fall, and new ones bud and 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—"