The Silver Chalice (37 page)

“It is the signal,” she said. “Adam is returning. I must let him know that all is well.”

She placed the fingers of both hands on her neck and tightened them about the vocal cords. The call that issued from her throat was identical with the hail that had reached them from the dark, a high, strained note. Basil knew that the women of Israel used this method of attaining high notes in tribal singing and he watched her curiously. The call was sustained for many seconds and could have been heard for a long distance.

It became evident almost immediately that Adam was approaching the camp along the upper edge of the wadi. He was not returning alone, for in a very few minutes they could hear the steady tramp of several pairs of feet.

Basil, looking up at the stars, had forgotten everything but the wondrous story to which he had listened. He was thinking how the stars had guided the Three Wise Men to the manger at Bethlehem. It seemed to him that they were unusually bright again and that a particularly luminous group hovered over the cluster of tents. Was this to show that the most sacred reminder of the life on earth of the man, into whom the child had grown, was hidden here? A sense of expectation took possession of him. He was almost convinced that the footsteps approaching were those of people coming eagerly to gaze on the humble cup.

Deborra seemed to understand what was passing through his mind. She smiled up at him and laid a hand on his wrist. “Basil,” she whispered, “I think it is Adam returning, but we must be prepared in case I have been mistaken.”

He still remained under the spell. “Herodotus on the forum in Athens,” he declared fervently, “never told a story to equal what I have heard tonight.”

Three young men, wearing the rough sheepskin cloak of the shepherd, followed Adam into the circle of tents. They towered over him. They had wide shoulders and necks like marble columns and great, muscular arms. There was nothing arrogant about them in spite of their obvious might; instead they wore gentle smiles, as though they were abashed at being in such company. They were so much alike, moreover, that it was hard to believe that even their parents would be able to tell them apart.

“These are my good friends, the sons of Catorius,” said Adam by way of introduction. “Their father is a student of Roman history and an ardent admirer of the Gracchii, and so he named them Sempronius, Tiberius, and Gaius. I confess I cannot tell them apart, although I am almost sure that this one beside me is Tiberius.”

“No,” said the member of the trio thus indicated, speaking in a high and amiable voice. “I am Gaius. The youngest. This is Tiberius beside me. Sempronius is on his other side.”

“I shall try no more!” exclaimed Adam. “I have been miscalling them all the way down from the Plain. Of this only am I certain, that no one save Samson of immortal memory could prevail against these three mighty men.”

“I gave orders for a supper to be prepared,” said Deborra. “It is ready in my tent.”

Three pairs of eyes lighted up in approval as the sons of Catorius wheeled in unison and followed her. The appetites of the trio would, it was clear, be sharply applied to the supper that had been spread out for them. Adam walked behind, dropping an admiring hand on the rippling muscles of the back nearest him.

“It was on shoulders such as these that the gates of Gaza were carried, Sempronius!” he exclaimed.

The recipient of the compliment was pleased enough to smile modestly, although he disclaimed the power to equal the feat of the great Samson. “My brothers and I are strong. There is no denying it. But in the Jewish book it is said that no man had the strength of Samson.” After a moment he added, “And I am not Sempronius. I am Tiberius.”

Lights had been extinguished for an hour. Adam ben Asher sat inside his tent with the men of the camp squatting silently about him.
All were armed and in a state of nervous alertness. The moon had broken through the clouds and it was now possible to see the shapes of the tents and the tops of the trees that lined the wadi. Sitting on the edge of the group, Basil found the attentions of the night insects almost unbearable and kept up a continuous beating of his arms to drive them away. The three young shepherds seemingly were impervious to such attacks. They sat together in the open and never moved a muscle. The only sounds came from Adam himself. Fearful that Mijamin was not going to take advantage after all of the opportunity that had been provided for him, he emitted an occasional grumble of discontent.

Basil’s thoughts were still on the story of Jesus and His sojourn on earth. He no longer had any doubts that the gentle man of Nazareth was the Son of this one God to Whom the people of Israel prayed, and that someday He would return to the earth. This conviction was one of the mind rather than of the spirit, for it had not brought him any of the exaltation he had seen among the brave and humble people whose greeting to each other was, “Christ has risen.” That might come later. In the meantime he was happy to be able to accept the story without any reservations. The words of Luke had brought into his mind the picture of a slender figure moving among the people who came out in such multitudes to see Him. He had seen the ill rise from their beds and walk at a quiet word of command and the lame throw away their crutches. He had seen the form of the Great Teacher ride into Jerusalem for the last time; he had observed again that touching scene in the upper chamber of the house at the Wall of David. There had been one disappointment for him, however; the face of Jesus had always been turned away from him.

“Listen!” said Adam suddenly.

The group around him stiffened to attention. At first they could hear nothing, then slowly it became apparent to all of them that there were sounds on the night air that could only be man-made, the pressure of an indiscreet sandal on the pebbly earth, a stealthy breathing close at hand.

“Wait!” whispered Adam, sensing a tendency on the part of those about him to get hastily to their feet.

And then a voice came out of the darkness, a loud and commanding voice. “Adam ben Asher!”

When there was no response, the summons was repeated in a still louder tone. Once again: “Adam ben Asher!”

Adam rose then to his feet. He walked to the entrance of his tent. “Who is it?” he demanded. “And what do you want of me?”

“An attentive ear, first of all,” said a voice which was that of Mijamin. “Understand this, Adam, my friend. I have men surrounding your camp. I prefer to finish what I have come to do without trouble or bloodshed. But if any attempt is made to interfere, my men will not hesitate to kill. I give you warning now not to make a move of any kind. Stay where you are, Adam ben Asher. Your people must remain in their tents. Is that clear?”

“It is clear.”

“They must not obstruct my men in any way. They must make no commotion and they must not speak. Is that also clear?”

“That also is clear.”

“My men are coming in now. Remember, all of you, what I have said. I want you to realize that you will pay ten times over for any hurt that may come to them.”

Adam began to laugh at this point. “Yes, Mijamin,” he called. “Come in, you and your men. I have been expecting you.”

The men about him rose silently to their feet. Weapons were raised in readiness.

“Remember, my brothers,” said Sempronius. “I am the eldest and so I speak for our good father. The Lord has said, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ I lay this command on you, Tiberius, and on you, Gaius. Do not strike with all your strength. We must drive these intruders away, but also we must show them compassion.”

Basil followed one of the three brothers—he did not know which—into action, marveling at the size of the club the latter carried. He said to himself, “It is more dangerous than the jawbone of an ass.” It was light enough to see that the invaders on this side of the camp were numerous and well armed. Fortunately it was light enough for the followers of Mijamin to make a discovery themselves. A voice from their midst cried out, “It is one of the Giants of Slador!” The effect of this discovery was to discourage any effort to charge in for the easy success that had been promised them. They hung back and waited to be attacked. The son of Catorius obliged them by going into action at once. He called in his high voice, “Follow me!” and then proceeded to cut a wide
swath with his club. The invaders had so little stomach for this kind of fighting that his flailing blows fell, for the most part, on empty space. The Zealots fell back with such willingness, in fact, that in a matter of very few minutes the struggle had come to an end.

Basil had no opportunity to share in the exultant chase that followed. Someone sprang at him from a clump of underbrush and he found himself involved in a furious tussle. His opponent fought like a wildcat, and Basil would have been worsted quickly if he had not been lucky enough to drive a knee into the man’s groin. The Zealot sank to the ground with a gasp, and Basil took advantage of his momentary helplessness to plant himself squarely on his back and pinion his arms. Lacking the strength to force his prisoner into camp, he did the next best thing; he retained his position and waited until it would be possible to summon assistance.

The victory was as quick and complete in the other areas, an equal reluctance being shown on each flank to stand up to the furious onslaught of the Giants of Slador. Although the initial clash was accompanied by an uproar of clanging metal and an angry babel of voices, this soon subsided into sounds of retreating feet and the triumphant shouts of the defenders.

As soon as the outcome of the struggle was assured and the enemy had betaken themselves off down the course of the wadi with much more speed than they had shown in their approach, lights flared up in the camp. Strutting in high triumph, Adam went from tent to tent and saw to it that torches were lighted and placed on high poles. He said to everyone he met: “It is all my doing! I trapped them. I brought them here. I had the blow ready that turned their blood to water and their bones to flabbiness. I, Adam ben Asher.”

The illumination of the camp revealed a number of things. Deborra, dagger in hand, had seated herself on the broken chest, which had been placed in her tent, prepared quite apparently to defend to the last the precious object contained therein. Luke had improvised a platform for the care of the wounded by spreading blankets over a mound of tamarisk boughs. The Chinese prince had issued out from his pavilion with attendants on each side to support his forearms. He had been hastily muffled up in warm woolen garments and was demanding to know in a querulous squeak, “Are you engaged, honorable sirs, in one of your disputes over points of belief?”

Basil called urgently from the shadows, “I have a prisoner here and need help to bring him in.”

There was general jubilation when it was discovered that the prisoner was none other than the organizer of the attack.

“Heu-heu!”
said Adam, planting himself in front of the captive Mijamin with a gleam of delight in his eyes. “This is most fortunate. This makes my triumph complete. Now we shall be able to make sure, Brother Mijamin, that you cause us no more little inconveniences of this kind.” With obvious reluctance he added, “It seems we must give some credit also to our worthy bridegroom.”

When the three brothers came back into camp, wearing cheerful but modest smiles, Adam pointed to the figure of Mijamin seated in chagrin on the ground with his arms trussed behind him. “What are we to do with this fellow?” he asked.

One of the three scratched his head with a bloodstained finger. “I am Sempronius and so I speak for our father. This wicked man has earned death, but our father has taught us to look on violence as sinful. Our wish is that you do not slit his throat, as he deserves, but find some other way of preventing him from harming you further.”

“Then tell me, Sempronius, is there in the hills where you tend your flocks some place to keep this troublemaker until we have passed on and can be sure of reaching our destination safely?”

The oldest brother had a deep cut on his forehead and blood had been flowing freely over his face. This had robbed him of his habitual mildness of expression and had given him instead a villainous scowl. His voice, however, was as gentle as ever. “There is a place in the hills where we could hold him for as long as you desire. It is a cave and it is dry and more comfortable than this bad man deserves. I am sure our father would agree to keeping him there.”

“A week will be long enough,” declared Adam, savoring his victory with a hearty smacking of lips. “By that time we will be so far along that we cannot be overtaken. But I am compelled to mention another point. Is it right to drag you further into our quarrels? If the Zealots of the Plain know that you are holding this fellow a prisoner, will they not try to get him away from you?”

“No,” said Sempronius. He glanced at each of his brothers and received from them in turn a nod of the head and an answering “No.” “It is this way, O Adam ben Asher,” he went on. “We live quietly and we keep to ourselves. No one comes near us, and so they will not know that we hold this man of blood our prisoner.”

“But after he is released? Will they not then seek to revenge themselves on you?”

Sempronius gave his head another shake. “No,” he affirmed in his high, quiet voice. “We are very much feared. All they ask of us is to leave them alone. Oh no, Brother Adam. They will not make war on us of their own accord.”

“Then it is settled!” exclaimed Adam. “You will, if you please, take this adder, this devil in the guise of a man, and keep him in that fine dry cave of which you speak. You will, I am sure, treat him more kindly than he deserves. But if he attempts to run away, I trust you will break every bone in his troublemaking body.”

The oldest brother nodded. “Kindness should never be carried too far. The time comes when soft words must be replaced by the breaking of bones.”

“Are you listening, O Mijamin?” demanded Adam.

“I am doing more than listening,” said the Zealot leader. “I have been thinking deeply and I am still in a state of wonder as to what has happened this night. It is true that our immortal Samson killed a thousand men with the jawbone of an ass and that he slew a lion in the land of Timnath with his bare hands and then drew strength by eating of the honey he found in its carcass later. It is true that, after he had been shorn of his locks like an uncleansed Nazarite and then blinded, the strength came back slowly into his stunted muscles and he pulled down the pillars of the temple where the Philistines had gathered in their thousands to mock him. But Samson was a servant of God and was given his strength for a purpose. It was not by the power of his human arm alone that he slew the thousand men; the anger of Jehovah had chilled the hearts of the Philistines, and they were like lambs led to the sacrifice.”