The Silver Chalice (19 page)

Deborra reached down and took the dog into her arms. “No barking now!” she commanded. “You must not give your mistress away.”

They found themselves on the flat roof of a small stone house, the topmost of a succession that climbed in humility up the steep slope. A trap door admitted them to its single room below. The woman reached under a pile of clothing and drew out a knotted rope.

“Quick!” she said, dropping one end out of the window. “God go with you.”

A man with a wasted face roused himself from a straw pallet on the roof of the house below. “Christ has risen,” whispered Deborra. He gave the customary answer and motioned to a rope dangling over the parapet. They climbed down in desperate haste, for they could now hear voices at the gate in the stone wall above. Basil had taken the dog under one arm, which made his climbing slow and laborious.

The same course was followed at each house in their downward climb. Deborra would say, “We are being followed and must get into the valley.” Help was given willingly and cheerfully in every case. No one hesitated; there was no tendency to count the cost, to consider what punishment might be their lot if they gave help. They ran instead to open trap doors for the fugitives and then to bar them against the oncoming officers, to get out the knotted ropes; always with earnest good will and a parting, “God go with you.”

When they reached the last of the houses and came out on the level into a poor little garden where lizards basked on the wall and a fig tree endeavored in disconsolate solitude to provide shelter for the door, Basil asked, “Are all the cheesemakers Christians?”

“Nearly all.”

“Is that the reason they are so poor?”

“Perhaps.” She spoke with sudden gravity. “Such things do not matter. A Christian thinks of the life after death, and so poverty in this life is
borne without complaining. They are all happy, even those who are so poor they have their homes on the slopes.”

“Do they know they may be punished for this?”

They ran as they talked. “Christians live always on the threshold of punishment. None of them fear it. There is danger at all times. Right now, because the Zealots hate us so much, it is worse than ever. They attack us in the streets and sometimes they go about the city looking for victims. One night not long ago they went to many Christian homes and destroyed everything in them. Then they took the men and bound their arms and put crowns of thorns on their heads, and led them about the city, scourging them as they went. Two of the men died.”

They could now hear their pursuers climbing down laboriously from above. Deborra plunged into a dark alley, running at top speed. The dog, as though sensing trouble, followed her silently. She was so fleet of foot that Basil found it hard to keep up with her.

“Now you are involved in this as deep as I am,” she said over her shoulder. “I am sorry, Basil. I acted without thinking. And there will be trouble for many people.” A moment later she turned her head again to ask, “Did you do this to protect Grandfather?”

“I did it for you,” he protested.

The pursuit had reached the floor of the valley and was spreading out in all directions. They sought escape in a maze of dark streets, in which Deborra seemed completely at home, and the sounds grew fainter. Basil, feeling like a heavy-footed mortal in the company of a wood nymph, had scarcely enough breath to ask, “Didn’t you realize that Paul was safest in the hands of the Romans?”

She made it clear that she did not understand. “They had taken him prisoner,” she said. “They were leading him away.”

“They were protecting him from the daggers of the Zealots.”

They were traversing a street so narrow that housewives could exchange articles across it from the rooftops. Deborra spoke without looking back. “Then I was helping the Zealots when I threw that stone.”

“Yes, I am afraid you were.”

She stopped and faced him. “You called me a fool, and I see now that you were right. This has been a great folly.”

Basil reached out and touched her hand. “A folly, Deborra, but a brave one. Now that you are safe, I find myself admiring you for what you did.”

Their safety seemed less assured a moment later, for the dog raised his head and barked loudly in his anxiety to see them start again.

“Habby, Habby!” said Deborra. “You will lead them to us!” She reached down and took him up in her arms, holding a hand over his muzzle.

Finally they came to a low stone arch behind which there seemed no light at all. She reached back her free hand to take his, saying, “We must not get separated here.” A man, naked to the waist and with eyes that seemed distended in the gloom, emerged from the depths, shaking a grimy fist at them and crying,
“Tooh! Tooh!”
Disregarding his demand that they betake themselves elsewhere, they plunged deeper into the shadows.

They floundered through families of pigs and goats, they felt their way carefully by wooden troughs filled with warm milk, they breathed an atmosphere acrid with rennet, they encountered more strange figures with shrill voices repeating
“Tooh!”
Finally they came out at another stone arch and ahead of them saw bright sunshine and the walls of the market place. They had reached the upper end of the valley.

All sounds of pursuit had died away. “We are quite safe now,” said Deborra. She became aware that they were still holding hands and withdrew hers hastily. She dropped the dog at her feet.

They climbed the slope on the other side and progressed along the crest, passing the great Yard of the Doves, where Benaiah, son of Bimbal, sold the gentle birds by the hundreds each week for sacrifice in the Temple. Finally they came to the entrance of the house of Joseph and here, without a word being spoken, they paused. The noon sun was causing a shimmer so that even the outlines of the buildings seemed to move. The row of palm trees under which they stood were wilting, giving them only the poorest kind of shelter. The wood of their sandals was hot under the soles of their feet. Even the white splendor of the Temple looked sultry against the burnished glow of the sky.

Their glances met and held. At first it was with a consciousness of pleasure in a shared adventure that had come to a safe ending. Then their awareness of each other’s thoughts took on a deeper meaning. It became clear to each of them that the baked soil on which they stood might prove to be the threshold of the land of enchantment. Each looked into the depths of the other’s eyes so long that they lost all track of time. Finally, with an undeclared assent, they smiled.

Deborra sighed. “It was very exciting,” she said.

“I shall always remember everything about it,” declared Basil. “Everything we did and said.”

Her mood became more serious. “But it has been a
very
great folly. Many people will suffer because of it. You, perhaps, and Grandfather. The people who followed my example and threw stones at the soldiers. The good Christians who helped us escape into the valley. Some of them may be punished. Why did I throw that stone!”

“You did it on an impulse.”

Her mood underwent another change. Her eyes began to flame with the same passion he had seen in them when she urged the crowd to attempt the rescue of Paul. Gone was the quiet lady of the house with a jingling ring of keys on her wrist, the patient companion of the aged merchant. Here was the Deborra for whom she had been named, the Deborra who roused the people of Israel against Sisera and the hosts of Canaan many centuries before in the days of Shamgar. “I would do it again! Did you see them come marching in, those lords of creation? They were saying to themselves, ‘We are Romans. Out of our way, Jewish scum!’ Did you see the arrogance of their eyes? And the brutal way they cut through the crowds with their swords? I could not stand it. Yes, I would do the same thing!”

“I think all Jews must be Zealots at heart,” said Basil.

“We are proud,” she said. “And we have always been so few. We have been surrounded by powerful neighbors who have made war on us. Because we have been so proud, they have tried to break us, to make us forget our ways and to worship their gods. They have led us away into captivity, and burned our temples, and tumbled down the walls of our cities. But we have never changed; and because of this, we
are
Zealots at heart, all of us.”

They turned back to the house then, but before they reached the door Basil came to an abrupt stop. He struck an angry hand to his forehead.

“I left everything behind!” he cried. “My tools. My materials. And—and the head of Paul! Now what am I to do?”

She became all contrition at once. “I am so sorry. It was my fault. My carelessness has done this to you.” Her eyes seemed on the point of filling with tears. “Was the head finished?”

He nodded. “Yes. And I was pretty well satisfied with it. I must go back at once and find it.”

Deborra gave her head a hasty shake. “That would not be safe. They may be on the watch for you to come back. No, Basil, we must wait and do nothing. I think it would be dangerous even to send anyone else to look.”

B
ASIL SET TO WORK
as soon as he reached his room and had made enough headway to arouse some confidence that a suitable copy of Paul’s head could be made when Benjie the Asker appeared in the doorway.

“A suspicious occupation,” said the visitor, entering the room and closing the door after him. “Would it surprise you to know that a head in clay, quite similar to what you are making there, has fallen into the hands of Ananias, the High Priest? They are searching high and low for the artist who ran away and left it.”

Basil hastily draped a cloth over his work. “Have they been here?” he asked.

Benjie shook his head. “The trail has not led this far. It is very fortunate that the little lady of the house, who does not seem to have been behaving herself today with her usual good sense, was not recognized. Of course, if they succeed in tracing the artist, they may also lay their hands on the more important figure in the case. How the worthy Ananias would enjoy the chance to attack our master through his granddaughter!”

Basil had been cleansing his hands hurriedly at the laver. “What do you want me to do? I presume I must leave.”

The little man shook his head. “You will be safer here than anywhere else. But you will have to go into hiding. I warn you that you must not expect comfort.”

“What about the—the other figure in the case?”

“The lady of the house,” answered Benjie, “is already on her way to a relative who lives some distance north of Jerusalem. She left—and most unhappy she seemed at the need—with a guard of servants and Adam
ben Asher himself in charge.” He went to the door and gave a quick glance up and down the corridor. “It will be safe to come now. Your belongings will be brought to you later. But bring the model with you. We want no other eyes to see
that
.”

The room in which Basil found himself ensconced within a few minutes was in the warehouse. It was reserved, clearly enough, for such use, as it could be reached only through a low opening behind a pile of meal sacks. It had no window and depended for light on a tongue of flame which Benjie set to burning in a pewter bowl filled with oil. The air was heavy but had a clean smell of grain about it.

Benjie looked around him and winked at Basil. “Everyone in the household will know you are here,” he said. “All except Aaron. There is a continuous conspiracy to keep things from Aaron. He does not even know this hidden room exists.”

“Can they be depended on to keep the secret now?” asked Basil anxiously.

The Asker interlocked his fingers and gripped his hands together tightly. “It will be kept as tight as that,” he said. “Have no fear. You have many friends among the slaves. Ebenezer says you are like a young David with a chisel in your hands instead of a harp. But
that
is going too far.” His errand was completed, but he delayed his departure to give some information about what had been happening. “Paul has been put under lock and key by the Romans. I am told that the High Priest and Rub Samuel are furious that he escaped the violent end they had planned for him. They are just as angry over the escape of a certain young lady and an artist who helped her get away.”

“What will the Romans do with Paul?”

“The High Priest will demand that he be released for trial before the Sanhedrin. He will be murdered in cold blood if they can cajole or browbeat Lysias into turning him over to them. But the story is going around that, when they were going to scourge Paul, he told Lysias he was a Roman citizen. The captain will not dare now to hand him over.”

It was impossible to keep track of the passing of the hours in the darkness of his sanctuary behind the meal sacks, but Basil had one means of guessing, the sounds that reached him faintly of warehouse activities. By this method of reckoning, the afternoon of the next day was well spent when the Asker paid him another call. The latter seemed in a satisfied frame of mind.

“Things have quieted down,” he said. “Ananias—the High Priest—continues to demand the custody of Paul, but I have learned that Lysias will not give way. As Paul is a Roman citizen, he must be judged in a Roman court. It is certain that Lysias will keep his own toga clear by sending his prisoner to Caesarea and let Ananias scream himself into an apoplectic fit if he so desires. I may tell you also that the lady of the house reached her destination safely.”