Ben Hur (65 page)

"A practical question presents itself—How shall we know him at
sight? If you continue in your belief as to his character—that
he is to be a king as Herod was—of course you will keep on until
you meet a man clothed in purple and with a sceptre. On the other
hand, he I look for will be one poor, humble, undistinguished—a man
in appearance as other men; and the sign by which I will know him
will be never so simple. He will offer to show me and all mankind
the way to the eternal life; the beautiful pure Life of the Soul."

The company sat a moment in silence which was broken by Balthasar.

"Let us arise now," he said—"let us arise and set forward again.
What I have said has caused a return of impatience to see him
who is ever in my thought; and if I seem to hurry you, O son of
Hur—and you, my daughter—be that my excuse."

At his signal the slave brought them wine in a skin bottle;
and they poured and drank, and shaking the lap-cloths out arose.

While the slave restored the tent and wares to the box under the
houdah, and the Arab brought up the horses, the three principals
laved themselves in the pool.

In a little while they were retracing their steps back through
the wady, intending to overtake the caravan if it had passed
them by.

The caravan, stretched out upon the Desert, was very picturesque;
in motion, however, it was like a lazy serpent. By-and-by its
stubborn dragging became intolerably irksome to Balthasar,
patient as he was; so, at his suggestion, the party determined
to go on by themselves.

If the reader be young, or if he has yet a sympathetic recollection
of the romanticisms of his youth, he will relish the pleasure with
which Ben-Hur, riding near the camel of the Egyptians, gave a last
look at the head of the straggling column almost out of sight on
the shimmering plain.

To be definite as may be, and perfectly confidential, Ben-Hur found
a certain charm in Iras's presence. If she looked down upon him from
her high place, he made haste to get near her; if she spoke to him,
his heart beat out of its usual time. The desire to be agreeable
to her was a constant impulse. Objects on the way, though ever
so common, became interesting the moment she called attention to
them; a black swallow in the air pursued by her pointing finger
went off in a halo; if a bit of quartz or a flake of mica was
seen to sparkle in the drab sand under kissing of the sun, at a
word he turned aside and brought it to her; and if she threw it
away in disappointment, far from thinking of the trouble he had
been put to, he was sorry it proved so worthless, and kept a
lookout for something better—a ruby, perchance a diamond. So the
purple of the far mountains became intensely deep and rich if she
distinguished it with an exclamation of praise; and when, now and
then, the curtain of the houdah fell down, it seemed a sudden
dulness had dropped from the sky bedraggling all the landscape.
Thus disposed, yielding to the sweet influence, what shall save
him from the dangers there are in days of the close companionship
with the fair Egyptian incident to the solitary journey they were
entered upon?

For that there is no logic in love, nor the least mathematical
element, it is simply natural that she shall fashion the result
who has the wielding of the influence.

To quicken the conclusion, there were signs, too, that she well
knew the influence she was exercising over him. From some place
under hand she had since morning drawn a caul of golden coins,
and adjusted it so the gleaming strings fell over her forehead
and upon her cheeks, blending lustrously with the flowing of
her blue-black hair. From the same safe deposit she had also
produced articles of jewelry—rings for finger and ear, bracelets,
a necklace of pearls—also, a shawl embroidered with threads of
fine gold—the effect of all which she softened with a scarf of
Indian lace skillfully folded about her throat and shoulders.
And so arrayed, she plied Ben-Hur with countless coquetries
of speech and manner; showering him with smiles; laughing in
flute-like tremolo—and all the while following him with glances,
now melting-tender, now sparkling-bright. By such play Antony was
weaned from his glory; yet she who wrought his ruin was really not
half so beautiful as this her countrywoman.

And so to them the nooning came, and the evening.

The sun at its going down behind a spur of the old Bashan, left the
party halted by a pool of clear water of the rains out in the
Abilene Desert. There the tent was pitched, the supper eaten,
and preparations made for the night.

The second watch was Ben-Hur's; and he was standing, spear in hand,
within arm-reach of the dozing camel, looking awhile at the stars,
then over the veiled land. The stillness was intense; only after
long spells a warm breath of wind would sough past, but without
disturbing him, for yet in thought he entertained the Egyptian,
recounting her charms, and sometimes debating how she came by
his secrets, the uses she might make of them, and the course he
should pursue with her. And through all the debate Love stood off
but a little way—a strong temptation, the stronger of a gleam of
policy behind. At the very moment he was most inclined to yield to
the allurement, a hand very fair even in the moonless gloaming was
laid softly upon his shoulder. The touch thrilled him; he started,
turned—and she was there.

"I thought you asleep," he said, presently.

"Sleep is for old people and little children, and I came out to
look at my friends, the stars in the south—those now holding the
curtains of midnight over the Nile. But confess yourself surprised!"

He took the hand which had fallen from his shoulder, and said,
"Well, was it by an enemy?"

"Oh no! To be an enemy is to hate, and hating is a sickness which
Isis will not suffer to come near me. She kissed me, you should
know, on the heart when I was a child."

"Your speech does not sound in the least like your father's.
Are you not of his faith?"

"I might have been"—and she laughed low—"I might have been had
I seen what he has. I may be when I get old like him. There should
be no religion for youth, only poetry and philosophy; and no poetry
except such as is the inspiration of wine and mirth and love, and no
philosophy that does not nod excuse for follies which cannot outlive
a season. My father's God is too awful for me. I failed to find
him in the Grove of Daphne. He was never heard of as present in
the atria of Rome. But, son of Hur, I have a wish."

"A wish! Where is he who could say it no?"

"I will try you."

"Tell it then."

"It is very simple. I wish to help you."

She drew closer as she spoke.

He laughed, and replied, lightly, "O Egypt!—I came near saying dear
Egypt!—does not the sphinx abide in your country?"

"Well?"

"You are one of its riddles. Be merciful, and give me a little
clew to help me understand you. In what do I need help? And how
can you help me?"

She took her hand from him, and, turning to the camel, spoke to
it endearingly, and patted its monstrous head as it were a thing
of beauty.

"O thou last and swiftest and stateliest of the herds of Job!
Sometimes thou, too, goest stumbling, because the way is rough
and stony and the burden grievous. How is it thou knowest the
kind intent by a word; and always makest answer gratefully,
though the help offered is from a woman? I will kiss thee,
thou royal brute!"—she stooped and touched its broad forehead
with her lips, saying immediately, "because in thy intelligence
there is no suspicion!"

And Ben-Hur, restraining himself, said calmly, "The reproach has
not failed its mark, O Egypt! I seem to say thee no; may it not
be because I am under seal of honor, and by my silence cover the
lives and fortunes of others?"

"May be!" she said, quickly. "It is so."

He shrank a step, and asked, his voice sharp with amazement,
"What all knowest thou?"

She answered, after a laugh,

"Why do men deny that the senses of women are sharper than theirs?
Your face has been under my eyes all day. I had but to look at it to
see you bore some weight in mind; and to find the weight, what had I
to do more than recall your debates with my father? Son of Hur!"—she
lowered her voice with singular dexterity, and, going nearer, spoke so
her breath was warm upon his cheek—"son of Hur! he thou art going to
find is to be King of the Jews, is he not?"

His heart beat fast and hard.

"A King of the Jews like Herod, only greater," she continued.

He looked away—into the night, up to the stars; then his eyes
met hers, and lingered there; and her breath was on his lips,
so near was she.

"Since morning," she said, further, "we have been having visions.
Now if I tell you mine, will you serve me as well? What! silent
still?"

She pushed his hand away, and turned as if to go; but he caught
her, and said, eagerly, "Stay—stay and speak!"

She went back, and with her hand upon his shoulder, leaned against
him; and he put his arm around her, and drew her close, very close;
and in the caress was the promise she asked.

"Speak, and tell me thy visions, O Egypt, dear Egypt! A prophet—nay,
not the Tishbite, not even the Lawgiver—could have refused an
asking of thine. I am at thy will. Be merciful—merciful, I pray."

The entreaty passed apparently unheard, for looking up and nestling
in his embrace, she said, slowly, "The vision which followed me was
of magnificent war—war on land and sea—with clashing of arms
and rush of armies, as if Caesar and Pompey were come again,
and Octavius and Antony. A cloud of dust and ashes arose and
covered the world, and Rome was not any more; all dominion
returned to the East; out of the cloud issued another race
of heroes; and there were vaster satrapies and brighter crowns
for giving away than were ever known. And, son of Hur, while the
vision was passing, and after it was gone, I kept asking myself,
'What shall he not have who served the King earliest and best?'"

Again Ben-Hur recoiled. The question was the very question which
had been with him all day. Presently he fancied he had the clew
he wanted.

"So," he said, "I have you now. The satrapies and crowns are
the things to which you would help me. I see, I see! And there
never was such queen as you would be, so shrewd, so beautiful,
so royal—never! But, alas, dear Egypt! by the vision as you show it
me the prizes are all of war, and you are but a woman, though Isis
did kiss you on the heart. And crowns are starry gifts beyond your
power of help, unless, indeed, you have a way to them more certain
than that of the sword. If so, O Egypt, Egypt, show it me, and I
will walk in it, if only for your sake."

She removed his arm, and said, "Spread your cloak upon the sand—here,
so I can rest against the camel. I will sit, and tell you a story which
came down the Nile to Alexandria, where I had it."

He did as she said, first planting the spear in the ground near by.

"And what shall I do?" he said, ruefully, when she was seated.
"In Alexandria is it customary for the listeners to sit or stand?"

From the comfortable place against the old domestic she answered,
laughing, "The audiences of story-tellers are wilful, and sometimes
they do as they please."

Without more ado he stretched himself upon the sand, and put her
arm about his neck.

"I am ready," he said.

And directly she began:

"You must know, in the first place, that Isis was—and, for that
matter, she may yet be—the most beautiful of deities; and Osiris,
her husband, though wise and powerful, was sometimes stung with
jealousy of her, for only in their loves are the gods like mortals.

"The palace of the Divine Wife was of silver, crowning the tallest
mountain in the moon, and thence she passed often to the sun, in the
heart of which, a source of eternal light, Osiris kept his palace of
gold too shining for men to look at.

"One time—there are no days with the gods—while she was full
pleasantly with him on the roof of the golden palace, she chanced
to look, and afar, just on the line of the universe, saw Indra
passing with an army of simians, all borne upon the backs of
flying eagles. He, the Friend of Living Things—so with much
love is Indra called—was returning from his final war with the
hideous Rakshakas—returning victorious; and in his suite were
Rama, the hero, and Sita, his bride, who, next to Isis herself,
was the very most beautiful. And Isis arose, and took off her girdle
of stars, and waved it to Sita—to Sita, mind you—waved it in glad
salute. And instantly, between the marching host and the two on the
golden roof, a something as of night fell, and shut out the view;
but it was not night—only the frown of Osiris.

"It happened the subject of his speech that moment was such as none
else than they could think of; and he arose, and said, majestically,
'Get thee home. I will do the work myself. To make a perfectly happy
being I do not need thy help. Get thee gone.'

"Now Isis had eyes large as those of the white cow which in the
temple eats sweet grasses from the hands of the faithful even
while they say their prayers; and her eyes were the color of the
cows, and quite as tender. And she too arose and said, smiling as
she spoke, so her look was little more than the glow of the moon
in the hazy harvest-month, 'Farewell, good my lord. You will call
me presently, I know; for without me you cannot make the perfectly
happy creature of which you were thinking, any more'—and she stopped
to laugh, knowing well the truth of the saying—'any more, my lord,
than you yourself can be perfectly happy without me.'

"'We will see,' he said.

"And she went her way, and took her needles and her chair, and on the
roof of the silver palace sat watching and knitting.