The Silver Chalice (23 page)

“Yes!” cried Helena. “I cannot stand it longer.”

When the cords had been removed she sighed audibly in relief. Simon, released in his turn, stepped forward to the edge of the platform.

“You have seen what you have seen,” he called in a voice edged with malice.

The voice that had spoken in the first place was raised again. “You have shown us, Simon of Gitta, that it may be done. Now you must answer a question. How was it done? Had you divine aid? Or was it no more than a magic trick?”

If there had been a careful preparation of this act, as Luke believed, the magician now elected to deviate from the course decided upon. The answer he gave, it was clear, was not what the questioner expected to hear. “O friend, I have heard your question,” he said. He paused then and allowed his eyes to take in for a second time the packed sea of expectant faces below him. He savored the anxiety with which they awaited his reply. “To that question you must find your own answer. Go now to your homes and give thought to what Simon, called the Magician but who perhaps is more than that, has shown you this night.”

Luke, leaning on the shoulder of Basil, was silent as they made their way out to the street with the rest of the audience. Mindful of the
danger of being seen and recognized, they did not linger but moved away with brisk steps. It was not until they had outdistanced the other spectators, who showed a desire to loiter and exchange views on the strange things they had seen, that the physician allowed himself to speak.

“It was trickery,” he said. “A very clever piece of magic and nothing more. But how it could have been done passes my comprehension.” He gave his head a sad and puzzled shake. “What ideas will those people carry away to their homes? Whatever they think about it, we have been done a great deal of harm. They will either believe that Jesus was a magician like Simon or that he, Simon, shares His divine powers.”

Basil made no comment, but for the first time he was not in agreement with Luke. What he had witnessed had made a deep impression on him. When the scimitar in the hands of the magician had cut its way, seemingly, through the neck of Helena, he had been so stricken with horror that he could neither speak nor move. He could not understand how life had been taken away from her and then restored so easily unless it had been by the exercise of godlike powers.

Simon the Magician, it was only too clear, was a great as well as an evil man.

T
HERE WAS NOTHING
but bad blood between the Jews and the Samaritans, but trade relations had to be maintained in spite of this. The tiny country of Samaria, lying high in the hills below the Plain of Esdraelon, was extremely fertile and justly noted for its fine cattle and the richness of its fruit crops; and Jerusalem, where the community of the Temple lived in luxury and demanded the best of everything, was the finest market for these products. Practically all trade between the two countries flowed through one needle-eye, the House of Kaukben. He was a shrewd Samaritan who had taken a woman of Galilee as his wife and was willing to live in an unfriendly city because of the fat profits.

His house was large and so continuously busy that six helpers were needed. They were all Samaritans, young men with narrow foreheads, long jutting noses, and calculating eyes. The clerks, three in number, seldom ventured out on the streets, knowing from bitter experience that every Jew they encountered would spit at them and taunt them and that shrill urchins would follow and pelt them with offal. They were disposed on that account to keep to the shelter of the tall and narrow House of Kaukben, just off the Street of the Oil Merchants, their pens scratching busily all day long in a hot room behind the sign that Kaukben, who was inclined to make capital of all things, had raised beside the front entrance, with the word
Samaritan
boldly displayed. Boys of the right spirit made a practice of passing the establishment once a day and throwing a stone at the sign. The clerks, therefore, pursued their duties to the sound of a steady rattle of missiles on the painted board and of loud shouts: “Cutheans! Sons of pariah dogs, fathers of hyenas, brothers of pigs!” Occasionally the one who sat nearest the one window,
a post of danger because sometimes a stone would find this mark instead, would demonstrate that the spot possessed a compensating advantage. He would smirk and say, “Another of them just passed, a girl of rarely fine proportions, my friends, and such a fine swing to her!”

It was in the House of Kaukben that Simon the Magician was staying during his triumphant visit to Jerusalem, and it was on the rooftop that he rested from his labors that night.

He had thrown aside his conjurer’s cloak, and it lay on a couch in such a position that its secret mechanisms were clearly visible; the pockets containing the articles that had appeared as he needed them and then vanished again, the linen “pulls” that made it possible to transfer things from one sleeve to another and from pocket to pocket, even the large receptacles containing the paper replica of Helena’s head and the bloody scimitar used in the decapitation scene. Without the cloak Simon was dressed in a single garment, the
bracae
introduced into the East by Roman soldiers after campaigning in Gaul and Britain, which were cold countries. This consisted of a close-fitting set of drawers covering the body from waist to knees. Thus scantily attired, he looked old and thin and as brittle as a sun-dried bone.

The sorcerer was in a jubilant mood. He had been a great success and had astounded an audience of Jews. Now he had supped well on a slice of cold Samaritan beef and a rich dish made up of Samaritan dates, figs, and pomegranates mixed in wine. His bodily needs satisfied, he sprawled on a couch and watched Helena over the pewter drinking cup he was holding in his hands.

The girl had supped with him; lightly, for she was mindful of the danger to the feminine figure in rich food. She was equally disposed to relax after the strain of the evening. Having cast aside her sandals, she was taking great delight in wriggling the toes of her small and well-tended feet. Her dusky hair had fallen into some disorder, and her eyes, which were fixed on the lights of the city below, had a dreamy look. Her thoughts, clearly, were far away, so far away that she was completely unconscious of the presence of Simon.

“The High Priest was there tonight,” said the magician proudly. Samaritans, suffering under the superior attitude of the Jews, made an outward pretense of equal antagonism but suffered underneath from a sense of inferiority. There was a great satisfaction for Simon in having brought Ananias out to watch him perform. “No one knew it. He was on one of the housetops where he could see everything. Did I tell you
there were priests and Levites scattered throughout the audience to carry out his orders? They were all taking the greatest delight in what I, Simon of Gitta, was doing to break the Nazarene myth.”

If the girl heard this, she gave no sign. She sighed and ran her fingers testingly over her crisp black curls.

“Why did I wait so long to make an appearance in Jerusalem?” demanded Simon. Although the question was addressed to himself rather than to his companion, he spoke in a loud voice. “I could have done this long ago. I could have done it after talking in Samaria to Peter, that stubborn and quarrelsome man. Have I told you how he answered me when I offered to pay well for the gift of tongues and the power to perform miracles?”

“Yes,” answered Helena. “Many times. I am weary of the subject.”

“He said to me, ‘Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.’ He said I would have to give up everything and become a mere follower. I laughed him to scorn. I, Simon of Gitta, was not like the ignorant shepherds and fishermen who were flocking to join the ranks. I was a famous magician even then. I had thought of a way of producing the tongues of flame, but I had not made the properties. I was a man of wealth and influence. If they had taken me in, I would have become the leader. Well they knew it, Philip looking so coldly at me and Peter with his great round head and strong hands. They did not want me and they were glad I did not join.”

“Yes,” repeated the girl. “That is the way you have always told me the story.”

Simon raised himself to a sitting position and stared intently at her. Seen thus, he gave an impression of sinister strength and purpose. His deep-sunken eyes were filled with pride in himself.

“Perhaps it is well I waited after all,” he went on. “Today I am supreme. The Emperor Nero has heard of me and wants me to appear before him. But before I go to Rome I must make other appearances, performing the feat of the tongues of flame. In Caesarea, Antioch, Damascus, Troas, Philippi. It has been so arranged with Ananias. I am to show the world that I, Simon called the Magician, can do everything that Jesus of Nazareth did.”

Helena raised herself from the nest of cushions in which she had been relaxing. She looked at him accusingly. “You were too rough tonight in the decapitation trick,” she said.

“Trick? I have no liking for the word, my child. I have often told you so.”

“Much too often. But I go on using it because it is the only word I know.”

“I am not a trickster,” declared Simon proudly. “I am not a mere magician. As I stood on the platform tonight, with hundreds of Jewish eyes fixed on me admiringly, the eyes of all the great men from the Temple, I realized that as never before.”

“So,” said the girl, taking a grape from a platter of fruit beside her, “you are not a mere magician. What are you then?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then a change came over Simon. His mouth set in a new line and his eyes opened wider until a circle of white showed around them.

“When I appear before Nero,” he said, “I shall not wear my conjurer’s cloak.”

Helena sat up abruptly, allowing her feet to touch the floor. Her eyes, which could be so soft and seductive, had turned hard.

“Are you mad?” she asked. “Appear without your cloak? Tell me, pray tell me, what you could do without it.”

The magician leaned toward her. “Listen to me, my little Helena. Tonight I was aware of a strange power in my veins. I said to myself, ‘Why should I depend on strings under my cloak and trinkets hidden away in pockets? Why should I have this beautiful girl to attract attention when it is desirable for no eyes to be watching me?’ I knew that something had been given to me, the astral light that would enable me to perform miracles as Jesus of Nazareth did.”

Helena pushed the platter of fruit away from her with an impatient hand. “I have seen this insane notion growing in you,” she declared. “Listen to me, you dreamer of silly dreams! It will be a sad day for you if you ever rely on this new power and not on the trinkets in your cloak. You will go out on the platform and there will be no tricks you can do. And what will happen then, O Simon with the new power in your veins? I will tell you. Your audience will laugh at you. They will jeer and say among themselves, ‘This man is too old to do tricks any more.’ And once an audience has laughed at you, you will cease to be the greatest magician in the world. They will never again pay as much as a
lipta
to see you perform.”

“My child, my little
zadeeda!
” protested Simon.

“Try once to perform without your conjurer’s cloak,” declared the girl, “and I will no longer be your little
zadeeda!
”

Simon’s tone now carried a note of supplication. “What do you know of this change I feel in myself? Of the new magic in my fingertips? You know nothing of the visions I see. I tell you, something strange is stirring in my blood.”

Helena answered angrily. “You have the greatest chance of your life and you are ready to throw it away because there is a crack in your skull. You say I do not understand. I do—I understand you too well.” To herself she added, “You boastful old crow.” “All this attention from the men at the Temple has gone to your head. You strut and puff and preen yourself—you, a Samaritan, with the High Priest of Jerusalem talking to you and planning things with you. And let me tell you this also: you know in your heart that Jesus of Nazareth performed real miracles and that all you can do is imitate them with magic tricks.”

“I am as great as Jesus!” cried Simon. “Do you forget that people are beginning to say I am the Messiah? My following grows more numerous all the time. There are twenty thousand of them today. Well, ten, perhaps. There will be millions before I am through. They know that I, Simon of Gitta, have divine power also. I must go on, my Helena, I must follow my destiny.”

Helena yawned. “I am tired,” she said. “I have listened to a hot wind blowing from Samaria.” She added with a sudden fury, “And what of your promises to me?”

Simon got to his feet. He walked to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I shall keep all my promises to you, my child, my sweet
zadeeda
. Will you not in return be a little kinder to me?”

The girl shrugged his hand away from her. A manservant was coming up the stairs to the rooftop, looking apprehensively about him as though he expected to find a congregation of evil spirits there. Without daring to look in the direction of the magician, he addressed Helena.