TO

GLADYS CHRISTIAN A DWELLER IN THE EAST THIS EASTERN TALE IS DEDICATED BY HER OWN AND HER FATHER'S FRIEND
THE AUTHOR

Ditchingham:
September 14, 1902.

PEARL-MAIDEN



CHAPTER I

THE PRISON AT CÆSAREA

It was but two hours after midnight, yet many were wakeful in Cæsarea
on the Syrian coast. Herod Agrippa, King of all Palestine--by grace of
the Romans--now at the very apex of his power, celebrated a festival
in honour of the Emperor Claudius, to which had flocked all the
mightiest in the land and tens of thousands of the people. The city
was full of them, their camps were set upon the sea-beach and for
miles around; there was no room at the inns or in the private houses,
where guests slept upon the roofs, the couches, the floors, and in the
gardens. The great town hummed like a hive of bees disturbed after
sunset, and though the louder sounds of revelling had died away,
parties of feasters, many of them still crowned with fading roses,
passed along the streets shouting and singing to their lodgings. As
they went, they discussed--those of them who were sufficiently sober--
the incidents of that day's games in the great circus, and offered or
accepted odds upon the more exciting events of the morrow.

The captives in the prison that was set upon a little hill, a frowning
building of brown stone, divided into courts and surrounded by a high
wall and a ditch, could hear the workmen at their labours in the
amphitheatre below. These sounds interested them, since many of those
who listened were doomed to take a leading part in the spectacle of
this new day. In the outer court, for instance, were a hundred men
called malefactors, for the most part Jews convicted of various
political offences. These were to fight against twice their number of
savage Arabs of the desert taken in a frontier raid, people whom
to-day we should know as Bedouins, mounted and armed with swords and
lances, but wearing no mail. The malefactor Jews, by way of
compensation, were to be protected with heavy armour and ample
shields. Their combat was to last for twenty minutes by the sand-
glass, when, unless they had shown cowardice, those who were left
alive of either party were to receive their freedom. Indeed, by a
kindly decree the King Agrippa, a man who did not seek unnecessary
bloodshed, contrary to custom, even the wounded were to be spared,
that is, if any would undertake the care of them. Under these
circumstances, since life is sweet, all had determined to fight their
best.

In another division of the great hall was collected a very different
company. There were not more than fifty or sixty of these, so the wide
arches of the surrounding cloisters gave them sufficient shelter and
even privacy. With the exception of eight or ten men, all of them old,
or well on in middle age, since the younger and more vigorous males
had been carefully drafted to serve as gladiators, this little band
was made of women and a few children. They belonged to the new sect
called Christians, the followers of one Jesus, who, according to
report, was crucified as a troublesome person by the governor, Pontius
Pilate, a Roman official, who in due course had been banished to Gaul,
where he was said to have committed suicide. In his day Pilate was
unpopular in Judæa, for he had taken the treasures of the Temple at
Jerusalem to build waterworks, causing a tumult in which many were
killed. Now he was almost forgotten, but very strangely, the fame of
this crucified demagogue, Jesus, seemed to grow, since there were many
who made a kind of god of him, preaching doctrines in his name that
were contrary to the law and offensive to every sect of the Jews.

Pharisees, Sadducees, Zealots, Levites, priests, all called out
against them. All besought Agrippa that he would be rid of them, these
apostates who profaned the land and proclaimed in the ears of a nation
awaiting its Messiah, that Heaven-born King who should break the Roman
yoke and make Jerusalem the capital of the world, that this Messiah
had come already in the guise of an itinerant preacher, and perished
with other malefactors by the death of shame.

Wearied with their importunities, the King listened. Like the
cultivated Romans with whom he associated, Agrippa had no real
religion. At Jerusalem he embellished the Temple and made offerings to
Jehovah; at Berytus he embellished the temple and made offerings there
to Jupiter. He was all things to all men and to himself--nothing but a
voluptuous time-server. As for these Christians, he never troubled
himself about them. Why should he? They were few and insignificant, no
single man of rank or wealth was to be found among them. To persecute
them was easy, and--it pleased the Jews. Therefore he persecuted them.
One James, a disciple of the crucified man called Christ, who had
wandered about the country with him, he seized and beheaded at
Jerusalem. Another, called Peter, a powerful preacher, he threw into
prison, and of their followers he slew many. A few of these were given
over to be stoned by the Jews, but the pick of the men were forced to
fight as gladiators at Berytus and elsewhere. The women, if young and
beautiful, were sold as slaves, but if matrons or aged, they were cast
to the wild beasts in the circus.

Such was the fate, indeed, that was reserved for these poor victims in
the prison on this very day of the opening of our history. After the
gladiators had fought and the other games had been celebrated, sixty
Christians, it was announced, old and useless men, married woman and
young children whom nobody would buy, were to be turned down in the
great amphitheatre. Then thirty fierce lions, with other savage
beasts, made ravenous by hunger and mad with the smell of blood, were
to be let loose among them. Even in this act of justice, however,
Agrippa suffered it to be seen that he was gentle-hearted, since of
his kindness he had decreed that any whom the lions refused to eat
were to be given clothes, a small sum of money, and released to settle
their differences with the Jews as they might please.

Such was the state of public feeling and morals in the Roman world of
that day, that this spectacle of the feeding of starved beasts with
live women and children, whose crime was that they worshipped a
crucified man and would offer sacrifice to no other god, either in the
Temple or elsewhere, was much looked forward to by the population of
Cæsarea. Indeed, great sums of money were ventured upon the event, by
means of what to-day would be called sweepstakes, under the
regulations of which he who drew the ticket marked with the exact
number of those whom the lions left alive, would take the first prize.
Already some far-seeing gamblers who had drawn low numbers, had bribed
the soldiers and wardens to sprinkle the hair and garments of the
Christians with valerian water, a decoction which was supposed to
attract and excite the appetite of these great cats. Others, whose
tickets were high, paid handsomely for the employment of artifices
which need not be detailed, calculated to induce in the lions aversion
to the subject that had been treated. The Christian woman or child, it
will be observed, who was to form the /corpus vile/ of these ingenious
experiments, was not considered, except, indeed, as the fisherman
considers the mussel or the sand-worm on his hook.

Under an arch by themselves, and not far from the great gateway where
the guards, their lances in hand, could be seen pacing up and down,
sat two women. The contrast in the appearance of this pair was very
striking. One, who could not have been much more than twenty years of
age, was a Jewess, too thin-faced for beauty, but with dark and lovely
eyes, and bearing in every limb and feature the stamp of noble blood.
She was Rachel, the widow of Demas, a Græco-Syrian, and only child of
the high-born Jew Benoni, one of the richest merchants in Tyre. The
other was a woman of remarkable aspect, apparently about forty years
of age. She was a native of the coasts of Libya, where she had been
kidnapped as a girl by Jewish traders, and by them passed on to
Phœnicians, who sold her upon the slave market of Tyre. In fact she
was a high-bred Arab without any admixture of negro blood, as was
shown by her copper-coloured skin, prominent cheek bones, her
straight, black, abundant hair, and untamed, flashing eyes. In frame
she was tall and spare, very agile, and full of grace in every
movement. Her face was fierce and hard; even in her present dreadful
plight she showed no fear, only when she looked at the lady by her
side it grew anxious and tender. She was called Nehushta, a name which
Benoni had given her when many years ago he bought her upon the
market-place. In Hebrew Nehushta means copper, and this new slave was
copper-coloured. In her native land, however, she had another name,
Nou, and by this name she was known to her dead mistress, the wife of
Benoni, and to his daughter Rachel, whom she had nursed from
childhood.

The moon shone very brightly in a clear sky, and by the light of it an
observer, had there been any to observe where all were so occupied
with their own urgent affairs, could have watched every movement and
expression of these women. Rachel, seated on the ground, was rocking
herself to and fro, her face hidden in her hands, and praying.
Nehushta knelt at her side, resting the weight of her body on her
heels as only an Eastern can, and stared sullenly at nothingness.

Presently Rachel, dropping her hands, looked at the tender sky and
sighed.

"Our last night on earth, Nou," she said sadly. "It is strange to
think that we shall never again see the moon floating above us."

"Why not, mistress? If all that we have been taught is true, we shall
see that moon, or others, for ever and ever, and if it is not true,
then neither light nor darkness will trouble us any more. However, for
my own part I don't mean that either of us should die to-morrow."

"How can you prevent it, Nou?" asked Rachel with a faint smile. "Lions
are no respecters of persons."

"Yet, mistress, I think that they will respect my person, and yours,
too, for my sake."

"What do you mean, Nou?"

"I mean that I do not fear the lions; they are country-folk of mine
and roared round my cradle. The chief, my father, was called Master of
Lions in our country because he could tame them. Why, when I was a
little child I have fed them and they fawned upon us like dogs."

"Those lions are long dead, Nou, and the others will not remember."

"I am not sure that they are dead; at least, blood will call to blood,
and their company will know the smell of the child of the Master of
Lions. Whoever is eaten, we shall escape."

"I have no such hope, Nou. To-morrow we must die horribly, that King
Agrippa may do honour to his master, Cæsar."

"If you think that, mistress, then let us die at once rather than be
rent limb from limb to give pleasure to a stinking mob. See, I have
poison hidden here in my hair. Let us drink of it and be done: it is
swift and painless."

"Nay, Nou, it would not be right. I may lift no hand against my own
life, or if perchance I may, I have to think of another life."

"If you die, the unborn child must die also. To-night or to-morrow,
what does it matter?"

"Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. Who knows? To-morrow
Agrippa may be dead, not us, and then the child might live. It is in
the hand of God. Let God decide."

"Lady," answered Nehushta, setting her teeth, "for your sake I have
become a Christian, yes, and I believe. But I tell you this--while I
live no lion's fangs shall tear that dear flesh of yours. First if
need be, I will stab you there in the arena, or if they take my knife
from me, then I will choke you, or dash out your brains against the
posts."

"It may be a sin, Nou; take no such risk upon your soul."

"My soul! What do I care about my soul? You are my soul. Your mother
was kind to me, the poor slave-girl, and when you were an infant, I
rocked you upon my breast. I spread your bride-bed, and if need be, to
save you from worse things, I will lay you dead before me and myself
dead across your body. Then let God or Satan--I care not which--deal
with my soul. At least, I shall have done my best and died faithful."

"You should not speak so," sighed Rachel. "But, dear, I know it is
because you love me, and I wish to die as easily as may be and to join
my husband. Only if the child could have lived, as I think, all three
of us would have dwelt together eternally. Nay, not all three, all
four, for you are well-nigh as dear to me, Nou, as husband or as
child."

"That cannot be, I do not wish that it should be, who am but a slave
woman, the dog beneath the table. Oh! if I could save you, then I
would be glad to show them how this daughter of my father can bear
their torments."

The Libyan ceased, grinding her teeth in impotent rage. Then suddenly
she leant towards her mistress, kissed her fiercely on the cheek and
began to sob, slow, heavy sobs.

"Listen," said Rachel. "The lions are roaring in their dens yonder."

Nehushta lifted her head and hearkened as a hunter hearkens in the
desert. True enough, from near the great tower that ended the southern
wall of the amphitheatre, echoed short, coughing notes and fierce
whimperings, to be followed presently by roar upon roar, as lion after
lion joined in that fearful music, till the whole air shook with the
volume of their voices.

"Aha!" cried a keeper at the gate--not the Roman soldier who marched
to and fro unconcernedly, but a jailor, named Rufus, who was clad in a
padded robe and armed with a great knife. "Aha! listen to them, the
pretty kittens. Don't be greedy, little ones--be patient. To-night you
will purr upon a full stomach."

"Nine of them," muttered Nehushta, who had counted the roars, "all
bearded and old, royal beasts. To hearken to them makes me young
again. Yes, yes, I smell the desert and see the smoke rising from my
father's tents. As a child I hunted them, now they will hunt me; it is
their hour."

"Give me air! I faint!" gasped Rachel, sinking against her.

With a guttural exclamation of pity Nehushta bent down. Placing her
strong arms beneath the slender form of her young mistress, and
lifting her as though she were a child, she carried her to the centre
of the court, where stood a fountain; for before it was turned to the
purposes of a jail once this place had been a palace. Here she set her
mistress on the ground with her back against the stonework, and dashed
water in her face till presently she was herself again.

While Rachel sat thus--for the place was cool and pleasant and she
could not sleep who must die that day--a wicket-gate was opened and
several persons, men, women, and children, were thrust through it into
the court.

"Newcomers from Tyre in a great hurry not to lose the lions' party,"
cried the facetious warden of the gate. "Pass in, my Christian
friends, pass in and eat your last supper according to your customs.
You will find it over there, bread and wine in plenty. Eat, my hungry
friends, eat before you are eaten and enter into Heaven or--the
stomach of the lions."

An old woman, the last of the party, for she could not walk fast,
turned round and pointed at the buffoon with her staff.

"Blaspheme not, you heathen dog!" she said, "or rather, blaspheme on
and go to your reward! I, Anna, who have the gift of prophecy, tell
you, renegade who were a Christian, and therefore are doubly guilty,
that /you/ have eaten your last meal--on earth."

The man, a half-bred Syrian who had abandoned his faith for profit and
now tormented those who were once his brethren, uttered a furious
curse and snatched a knife from his girdle.

"You draw the knife? So be it, perish by the knife!" said Anna. Then
without heeding him further the old woman hobbled on after her
companions, leaving the man to slink away white to the lips with
terror. He had been a Christian and knew something of Anna and of this
"gift of prophecy."

The path of these strangers led them past the fountain, where Rachel
and Nehushta rose to greet them as they came.

"Peace be with you," said Rachel.

"In the name of Christ, peace," they answered, and passed on towards
the arches where the other captives were gathered. Last of all, at
some distance behind the rest, came the white-haired woman, leaning on
her staff.

As she approached, Rachel turned to repeat her salutation, then
uttered a little cry and said:

"Mother Anna, do you not know me, Rachel, the daughter of Benoni?"

"Rachel!" she answered, starting. "Alas! child, how came you here?"

"By the paths that we Christians have to tread, mother," said Rachel,
sadly. "But sit; you are weary. Nou, help her."

Anna nodded, and slowly, for her limbs were stiff, sank down on to the
step of the fountain.

"Give me to drink, child," she said, "for I have been brought upon a
mule from Tyre, and am athirst."

Rachel made her hands into a cup, for she had no other, and held water
to Anna's lips, which she drank greedily, emptying them many times.

"For this refreshment, God be praised. What said you? The daughter of
Benoni a Christian! Well, even here and now, for that God be praised
also. Strange that I should not have heard of it; but I have been in
Jerusalem these two years, and was brought back to Tyre last Sabbath
as a prisoner."

"Yes, Mother, and since then I have become both wife and widow."

"Whom did you marry, child?"

"Demas, the merchant. They killed him in the amphitheatre yonder at
Berytus six months ago," and the poor woman began to sob.

"I heard of his end," replied Anna. "It was a good and noble one, and
his soul rests in Heaven. He would not fight with the gladiators, so
he was beheaded by order of Agrippa. But cease weeping, child, and
tell me your story. We have little time for tears, who, perhaps, soon
will have done with them."

Rachel dried her eyes.

"It is short and sad," she said. "Demas and I met often and learned to
love each other. My father was no friend to him, for they were rivals
in trade, but in those days knowing no better, Demas followed the
faith of the Jews; therefore, because he was rich my father consented
to our marriage, and they became partners in their business.
Afterwards, within a month indeed, the Apostles came to Tyre, and we
attended their preaching--at first, because we were curious to learn
the truth of this new faith against which my father railed, for, as
you know, he is of the strictest sect of the Jews; and then, because
our hearts were touched. So in the end we believed, and were baptised,
both on one night, by the very hand of the brother of the Lord. The
holy Apostles departed, blessing us before they went, and Demas, who
would play no double part, told my father of what we had done. Oh!
mother, it was awful to see. He raved, shouted and cursed us in his
rage, blaspheming Him we worship. More, woe is me that I should have
to tell it: When we refused to become apostates he denounced us to the
priests, and the priests denounced us to the Romans, and we were
seized and thrown into prison; but my husband's wealth, most of it
except that which the priests and Romans stole, stayed with my father.
For many months we were held in prison here in Cæsarea; then they took
my husband to Berytus, to be trained as a gladiator, and murdered him.
Here I have stayed since with this beloved servant, Nehushta, who also
became a Christian and shared our fate, and now, by the decree of
Agrippa, it is my turn and hers to die to-day."

"Child, you should not weep for that; nay, you should be glad who at
once will find your husband and your Saviour."

"Mother, I am glad; but, you see my state. It is for the child's sake
I weep, that now never will be born. Had it won life even for an hour
all of us would have dwelt together in bliss until eternity. But it
cannot be--it cannot be."

Anna looked at her with her piercing eyes.

"Have you, then, also the gift of prophecy, child, who are so young a
member of the Church, that you dare to say that this or that cannot
be? The future is in the hand of God. King Agrippa, your father, the
Romans, the cruel Jews, those lions that roar yonder, and we who are
doomed to feed them, are all in the hand of God, and that which He
wills shall befall, and no other thing. Therefore, let us praise Him
and rejoice, and take no thought for the morrow, unless it be to pray
that we may die and go hence to our Master, rather than live on in
doubts and terrors and tribulations."

"You are right, mother," answered Rachel, "and I will try to be brave,
whatever may befall; but my state makes me feeble. The spirit, truly,
is willing, but oh! the flesh is weak. Listen, they call us to partake
of the Sacrament of the Lord--our last on earth"; and rising, she
began to walk towards the arches.

Nehushta stayed to help Anna to her feet. When she judged her mistress
to be out of hearing she leaned down and whispered:

"Mother, you have the gift; it is known throughout the Church. Tell
me, will the child be born?"

The old woman fixed her eyes upon the heavens, then answered, slowly:

"The child will be born and live out its life, and I think that none
of us are doomed to die this day by the jaws of lions, though some of
us may die in another fashion. But I think also that your mistress
goes very shortly to join her husband. Therefore it was that I showed
her nothing of what came into my mind."

"Then it is best that I should die also, and die I will."

"Wherefore?"

"Because I go to wait upon my mistress?"

"Nay, Nehushta," answered Anna, sternly, "you stay to guard her child,
whereof when all these earthly things are done you must give account
to her."



CHAPTER II

THE VOICE OF A GOD

Of all the civilisations whose records lie open to the student, that
of Rome is surely one of the most wonderful. Nowhere, not even in old
Mexico, was high culture so completely wedded to the lowest barbarism.
Intellect Rome had in plenty; the noblest efforts of her genius are
scarcely to be surpassed; her law is the foundation of the best of our
codes of jurisprudence; art she borrowed but appreciated; her military
system is still the wonder of the world; her great men remain great
among a multitude of subsequent competitors. And yet how pitiless she
was! What a tigress! Amid all the ruins of her cities we find none of
a hospital, none, I believe, of an orphan school in an age that made
many orphans. The pious aspirations and efforts of individuals seem
never to have touched the conscience of the people. Rome incarnate had
no conscience; she was a lustful, devouring beast, made more bestial
by her intelligence and splendour.

King Agrippa in practice was a Roman. Rome was his model, her ideals
were his ideals. Therefore he built amphitheatres in which men were
butchered, to the exquisite delight of vast audiences. Therefore,
also, without the excuse of any conscientious motive, however
insufficient or unsatisfactory, he persecuted the weak because they
were weak and their sufferings would give pleasure to the strong or to
those who chanced to be the majority of the moment.

The season being hot it was arranged that the great games in honour of
the safety of Cæsar, should open each day at dawn and come to an end
an hour before noon. Therefore from midnight onwards crowds of
spectators poured into the amphitheatre, which, although it would seat
over twenty thousand, was not large enough to contain them all. An
hour before the dawn the place was full, and already late comers were
turned back from its gates. The only empty spaces were those reserved
for the king, his royal guests, the rulers of the city, with other
distinguished personages, and for the Christian company of old men,
women and children destined to the lions, who, it was arranged, were
to sit in full view of the audience until the time came for them to
take their share in the spectacle.

When Rachel joined the other captives she found that a long rough
table had been set beneath the arcades, and on it at intervals, pieces
of bread and cups and vases containing wine of the country that had
been purchased at a great price from the guards. Round this table the
elders or the infirm among the company were seated on a bench, while
the rest of the number, for whom there was not room, stood behind
them. At its head was an old man, a bishop among the Christians, one
of the five hundred who had seen the risen Lord and received baptism
from the hands of the Beloved Disciple. For some years he had been
spared by the persecutors of the infant Church on account of his age,
dignity, and good repute, but now at last fate seemed to have
overtaken him.

The service was held; the bread and wine, mixed with water, were
consecrated with the same texts by which they are blessed to-day, only
the prayers were extempore. When all had eaten from the platters and
drunk from the rude cups, the bishop gave his blessing to the
community. Then he addressed them. This, he told them, was an occasion
of peculiar joy, a love-feast indeed, since all they who partook of it
were about to lay down the burden of the flesh and, their labours and
sorrows ended, to depart into bliss eternal. He called to their memory
the supper of the Passover which had taken place within the lifetime
of many of them, when the Author and Finisher of their faith had
declared to the disciples that He would drink no more wine till He
drank it new with them in His kingdom. Such a feast it was that lay
spread before them this night. Let them be thankful for it. Let them
not quail in the hour of trial. The fangs of the savage beasts, the
shouts of the still more savage spectators, the agony of the quivering
flesh, the last terror of their departing, what were these? Soon, very
soon, they would be done; the spears of the soldiers would despatch
the injured, and those among them whom it was ordained should escape,
would be set free by the command of the representative of Cæsar, that
they might prosecute the work till the hour came for them to pass on
the torch of redemption to other hands. Let them rejoice, therefore,
and be very thankful, and walk to the sacrifice as to a wedding feast.
"Do you not rejoice, my brethren?" he asked. With one voice they
answered, "We rejoice!" Yes, even the children answered thus.

Then they prayed again, and again with uplifted hands the old man
blessed them in the holy Triune Name.

Scarcely had this service, as solemn as it was simple, been brought to
an end when the head jailer, whose blasphemous jocosity since his
reproof by Anna was replaced by a mien of sullen venom, came forward
and commanded the whole band to march to the amphitheatre.
Accordingly, two by two, the bishop leading the way with the sainted
woman Anna, they walked to the gates. Here a guard of soldiers was
waiting to receive them, and under their escort they threaded the
narrow, darkling streets till they came to that door of the
amphitheatre which was used by those who were to take part in the
games. Now, at a word from the bishop, they began to chant a solemn
hymn, and singing thus, were thrust along the passages to the place
prepared for them. This was not, as they expected, a prison at the
back of the amphitheatre, but, as has been said, a spot between the
enclosing wall and the podium, raised a little above the level of the
arena. Here, on the eastern side of the building, they were to sit
till their turn came to be driven by the guards through a little
wicket-gate into the arena, where the starving beasts of prey would be
loosed upon them.

It was now the hour before sunrise, and the moon having set, the vast
theatre was plunged in gloom, relieved only here and there by stray
torches and cressets of fire burning upon either side of the gorgeous,
but as yet unoccupied, throne of Agrippa. This gloom seemed to oppress
the audience with which the place was crowded; at any rate none of
them shouted or sang, or even spoke loudly. They addressed each other
in muffled tones, with the result that the air seemed to be full of
mysterious whisperings. Had this poor band of condemned Christians
entered the theatre in daylight, they would have been greeted with
ironical cries and tauntings of "Dogs' meat!" and with requests that
they should work a miracle and let the people see them rise again from
the bellies of the lions. But now, as their solemn song broke upon the
silence, it was answered only by one great murmur, which seemed to
shape itself to the words, "the Christians! The doomed Christians!"

By the light of a single torch the band took their places. Then once
more they sang, and in that chastening hour the audience listened with
attention, almost with respect. Their chant finished, the bishop stood
up, and, moved thereto by some inspiration, began to address the
mighty throng, whom he could not see, and who could not see him.
Strangely enough they hearkened to him, perhaps because his speech
served to while away the weary time of waiting.

"Men and brethren," he began, in his thin, piercing notes, "princes,
lords, peoples, Romans, Jews, Syrians, Greeks, citizens of Idumæa, of
Egypt, and of all nations here gathered, hearken to the words of an
old man destined and glad to die. Listen, if it be your pleasure, to
the story of One whom some of you saw crucified under Pontius Pilate,
since to know the truth of that matter can at least do you no hurt."

"Be silent!" cried a voice, that of the renegade jailer, "and cease
preaching your accursed faith!"

"Let him alone," answered other voices. "We will hear this story of
his. We say--let him alone."

Thus encouraged the old man spoke on with an eloquence so simple and
yet so touching, with a wisdom so deep, that for full fifteen minutes
none cared even to interrupt him. Then a far-away listener cried:

"Why must these people die who are better than we?"

"Friend," answered the bishop, in ringing tones, which in that heavy
silence seemed to search out even the recesses of the great and
crowded place, "we must die because it is the will of King Agrippa, to
whom God has given power to destroy us. Mourn not for us because we
perish cruelly, since this is the day of our true birth, but mourn for
King Agrippa, at whose hands our blood will be required, and mourn,
mourn for yourselves, O people. The death that is near to us perchance
is nearer still to some of you; and how will you awaken who perish in
your sins? What if the sword of God should empty yonder throne? What
if the voice of God should call on him who fills it to make answer of
his deeds? Soon or late, O people, it will call on him and you to pass
hence, some naturally in your age, others by the sharp and dreadful
roads of sword, pestilence or famine. Already those woes which He whom
you crucified foretold, knock at your door, and within a few short
years not one of you who crowd this place in thousands will draw the
breath of life. Nothing will remain of you on earth save the fruit of
those deeds which you have done--these and your bones, no more. Repent
you, therefore, repent while there is time; for I, whom you have
doomed, I am bidden to declare that judgment is at hand. Yes, even
now, although you see him not, the Angel of the Lord hangs over you
and writes your names within his book. Now while there is time I would
pray for you and for your king. Farewell."

As he spoke those words "the Angel of the Lord hangs over you," so
great was the preacher's power, and in that weary darkness so sharply
had he touched the imagination of his strange audience, that with a
sound like to the stir of rustling trees, thousands of faces were
turned upwards, as though in search of that dread messenger.

"Look, look!" screamed a hundred voices, while dim arms pointed to
some noiseless thing that floated high above them against the
background of the sky, which grew grey with the coming dawn. It
appeared and disappeared, appeared again, then seemed to pass downward
in the direction of Agrippa's throne, and vanished.

"It is that magician's angel," cried one, and the multitudes groaned.

"Fool," said another, "it was but a bird."

"Then for Agrippa's sake," shrilled a new voice, "the gods send that
it was not an owl."

Thereat some laughed, but the most were silent. They knew the story of
King Agrippa and the owl, and how it had been foretold that this
spirit in the form of a bird would appear to him again in the hour of
his death, as it had appeared to him in the hour of his triumph.[*]

[*] See Josephus, "Antiquities of the Jews," Book XVII., Chap. VI.,
Sec. 7; and Book XIX., Chap. VIII., Sec. 2.

Just then from the palace to the north arose a sound of the blare of
trumpets. Now a herald, speaking on the summit of the great eastern
tower, called out that it was dawn above the mountains, and that King
Agrippa came with all his company, whereon the preaching of the old
Christian and his tale of a watching Vengeance were instantly
forgotten. Presently the glad, fierce notes of the trumpets drew
nearer, and in the grey of the daybreak, through the great bronze
gates of the Triumphal Way that were thrown open to greet him,
advanced Agrippa, wonderfully attired and preceded by his legionaries.
At his right walked Vibius Marsus, the Roman President of Syria, and
on his left Antiochus, King of Commagena, while after him followed
other kings, princes, and great men of his own and foreign lands.


Agrippa mounted his golden throne while the multitude roared a
welcome, and his company were seated around and behind him according
to their degree.

Once more the trumpets sounded, and the gladiators of different arms,
headed by the equites who fought on horseback, numbering in all more
than five hundred men, were formed up in the arena for the preliminary
march past--the salutation of those about to die to their emperor and
lord. Now, that they also might take their part in the spectacle, the
band of Christian martyrs were thrust through the door in the podium,
and to make them seem as many as possible in number, marshalled two by
two.

Then the march past began. Troop by troop, arrayed in their shining
armour and armed, each of them, with his own familiar weapon, the
gladiators halted in front of Agrippa's throne, giving to him the
accustomed salutation of "Hail, King, we who are about to die, salute
thee," to be rewarded with a royal smile and the shouts of the
approving audience. Last of all came the Christians, a motley,
wretched-looking group, made up of old men, terrified children
clinging to their mothers, and ill-clad, dishevelled women. At the
pitiful sight, that very mob which a few short minutes before had hung
upon the words of the bishop, their leader, now, as they watched them
hobbling round the arena in the clear, low light of the dawning, burst
into peals of laughter and called out that each of them should be made
to lead his lion. Quite heedless of these scoffs and taunts, they
trudged on through the white sand that soon would be so red, until
they came opposite to the throne.

"Salute!" roared the audience.

The bishop held up his hand and all were silent. Then, in the thin
voice with which they had become familiar, he said:

"King, we who are about to die--forgive thee. May God do likewise."

Now the multitude ceased laughing, and with an impatient gesture,
Agrippa motioned to the martyrs to pass on. This they did humbly; but
Anna, being old, lame and weary, could not walk so fast as her
companions. Alone she reached the saluting-place after all had left
it, and halted there.

"Forward!" cried the officers. But she did not move nor did she speak.
Only leaning on her staff she looked steadily up at the face of the
king Agrippa. Some impulse seemed to draw his eyes to hers. They met,
and it was noted that he turned pale. Then straightening herself with
difficulty upon her tottering feet, Anna raised her staff and pointed
with it to the golden canopy above the head of Herod. All stared
upward, but saw nothing, for the canopy was still in the shadow of the
velarium which covered all the outer edge of the cavea, leaving the
centre open to the sky. It would appear, however, that Agrippa did see
something, for he who had risen to declare the games open, suddenly
sank back upon his throne, and remained thus lost in thought. Then
Anna limped forward to join her company, who once more were driven
through the little gate in the wall of the arena.

For a second time, with an effort, Agrippa lifted himself from his
throne. As he rose the first level rays of sunrise struck full upon
him. He was a tall and noble-looking man, and his dress was glorious.
To the thousands who gazed upon him from the shadow, set in that point
of burning light he seemed to be clothed in a garment of glittering
silver. Silver was his crown, silver his vest, silver the wide robe
that flowed from his shoulders to the ground.

"In the name of Cæsar, to the glory of Cæsar, I declare these games
open!" he cried.

Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, all the multitude rose
shouting: "The voice of a god! The voice of a god! The voice of the
god Agrippa!"

Nor did Agrippa say them nay; the glory of such worship thundered at
him from twenty thousand throats made him drunken. There for a while
he stood, the new-born sunlight playing upon his splendid form, while
the multitude roared his name, proclaiming it divine. His nostrils
spread to inhale this incense of adoration, his eyes flashed and
slowly he waved his arms, as though in benediction of his worshippers.
Perchance there rose before his mind a vision of the wondrous event
whereby he, the scorned and penniless outcast, had been lifted to this
giddy pinnacle of power. Perchance for a moment he believed that he
was indeed divine, that nothing less than the blood and right of
godhead could thus have exalted him. At least he stood there, denying
naught, while the people adored him as Jehovah is adored of the Jews
and Christ is adored of the Christians.

Then of a sudden smote the Angel of the Lord. Of a sudden intolerable
pain seized upon his vitals, and Herod remembered that he was but
mortal flesh, and knew that death was near.

"Alas!" he cried, "I am no god, but a man, and even now the common
fate of man is on me."

As he spoke a great white owl slid from the roof of the canopy above
him and vanished through the unroofed centre of the cavea.

"Look! look! my people!" he cried again, "the spirit that brought me
good fortune leaves me now, and I die, my people, I die!" Then,
sinking upon his throne, he who a moment gone had received the worship
of a god, writhed there in agony and wept. Yes, Herod wept.

Attendants ran to him and lifted him in their arms.

"Take me hence to die," he moaned. Now a herald cried:

"The king is smitten with a sore sickness, and the games are closed.
To your homes, O people."

For a while the multitude sat silent, for they were fear-stricken.
Then a murmur rose among them that spread and swelled till it became a
roar.

"The Christians! The Christians! They prophesied the evil. They have
bewitched the king. They are wizards. Kill them, kill them, kill
them!"

Instantly, like waves pouring in from every side, hundreds and
thousands of men began to flow towards that place where the martyrs
sat. The walls and palisades were high. Sweeping aside the guards,
they surged against them like water against a rock; but climb they
could not. Those in front began to scream, those behind pressed on.
Some fell and were trodden underfoot, others clambered upon their
bodies, in turn to fall and be trodden underfoot.

"Our death is upon us!" cried one of the Nazarenes.

"Nay, life remains to us," answered Nehushta. "Follow me, all of you,
for I know the road," and, seizing Rachel about the middle, she began
to drag her towards a little door. It was unlocked and guarded by one
man only, the apostate jailer Rufus.

"Stand back!" he cried, lifting his spear.

Nehushta made no answer, only drawing a dagger from her robe, she fell
upon the ground, then of a sudden rose again beneath his guard. The
knife flashed and went home to the hilt. Down fell the man screaming
for help and mercy, and there, in the narrow way, his spirit was
stamped out of him. Beyond lay the broad passage of the vomitorium.
They gained it, and in an instant were mixed with the thousands who
sought to escape the panic. Some perished, some were swept onwards,
among them Nehushta and Rachel. Thrice they nearly fell, but the
fierce strength of the Libyan saved her mistress, till at length they
found themselves on the broad terrace facing the seashore.

"Whither now?" gasped Rachel.

"Where shall I lead you?" answered Nehushta. "Do not stay. Be swift."

"But the others?" said Rachel, glancing back at the fighting,
trampling, yelling mob.

"God guard them! We cannot."

"Leave me," moaned her mistress. "Save yourself, Nou; I am spent," and
she sank down to her knees.

"But I am still strong," muttered Nehushta, and lifting the swooning
woman in her sinewy arms, she fled on towards the port, crying, "Way,
way for my lady, the noble Roman, who has swooned!"

And the multitude made way.



CHAPTER III

THE GRAIN STORE

Having passed the outer terraces of the amphitheatre in safety,
Nehushta turned down a side street, and paused in the shadow of the
wall to think what she should do. So far they were safe; but even if
her strength would stand the strain, it seemed impossible that she
should carry her mistress through the crowded city and avoid
recapture. For some months they had both of them been prisoners, and
as it was the custom of the inhabitants of Cæsarea, when they had
nothing else to do, to come to the gates of their jail, and, through
the bars, to study those within, or even, by permission of the guards,
to walk among them, their appearance was known to many. Doubtless, so
soon as the excitement caused by the illness of the king had subsided,
soldiers would be sent to hunt down the fugitives who had escaped from
the amphitheatre. More especially would they search for her, Nehushta,
and her mistress, since it would be known that one of them had stabbed
the warden of the gate, a crime for which they must expect to die by
torture. Also--where could they go who had no friends, since all
Christians had been expelled the city?

No, there was but one chance for them--to conceal themselves.

Nehushta looked round her for a hiding-place, and in this matter, as
in others on that day, fortune favoured them. This street in the old
days, when Cæsarea was called Strato's Tower, had been built upon an
inner wall of the city, now long dismantled. At a distance of a few
yards from where Nehushta had stopped stood an ancient gateway, unused
save at times by beggars who slept under it, which led nowhere, for
the outer arch of it was bricked up. Into this gateway Nehushta bore
her mistress unobserved, to find to her relief that it was quite
untenanted, though a still smouldering fire and a broken amphora
containing clean water showed her that folk had slept there who could
find no better lodging. So far so good; but here it would be scarcely
safe to hide, as the tenants or others might come back. Nehushta
looked around. In the thick wall was a little archway, beneath which
commenced a stair. Setting Rachel on the ground, she ran up it,
lightly as a cat. At the top of thirty steps, many of them broken, she
found an old and massive door. With a sigh of disappointment, the
Libyan turned to descend again; then, by an afterthought, pushed at
the door. To her surprise it stirred. Again she pushed, and it swung
open. Within was a large chamber, lighted by loopholes pierced in the
thickness of the wall, for the use of archers. Now, however, it served
no military purpose, but was used as a storehouse by a merchant of
grain, for there in a corner lay a heap of many measures of barley,
and strewn about the floor were sacks of skin and other articles.

Nehushta examined the room. No hiding-place could be better--unless
the merchant chanced to come to visit his store. Well, that must be
risked. Down she sped, and with much toil and difficulty carried her
still swooning mistress up the steps and into the chamber, where she
laid her on a heap of sacks.

Again, by an afterthought, she ventured to descend, this time to fetch
the broken jar of water. Then she closed the door, setting it fast
with a piece of wood, and began to chafe Rachel's hands and to
sprinkle her face from the jar. Presently the dark eyes opened and her
mistress sat up.

"Is it over, and is this Paradise?" she murmured.

"I should not call the place by that name, lady," answered Nehushta,
drily, "though perhaps, in contrast with the hell that we have left,
some might think it so. Drink!" and she held the water to her lips.

Rachel obeyed her eagerly. "Oh! it is good," she said. "But how came
we here out of that rushing crowd?"

Before she answered, muttering "After the mistress, the maid,"
Nehushta swallowed a deep draught of water in her turn, which, indeed,
she needed sorely. Then she told her all.

"Oh! Nou," said Rachel, "how strong and brave you are! But for you I
should be dead."

"But for God, you mean, mistress, for I hold that He sent that knife-
point home."

"Did you kill the man?" asked Rachel.

"I think that he died by a dagger-thrust as Anna foretold," she
answered evasively; "and that reminds me that I had better clean the
knife, since blood on the blade is evidence against its owner." Then
drawing the dagger from its hiding-place she rubbed it with dust,
which she took from a loop-hole, and polished it bright with a piece
of hide.

Scarcely was this task accomplished to Nehushta's satisfaction when
her quick ears caught a sound.

"For your life, be silent," she whispered, and laid her face sideways
to a crack in the cement floor and listened. Well might she listen,
for below were three soldiers searching for her and her mistress.

"The old fellow swore that he saw a Libyan woman carrying a lady down
this street," said one of them, the petty officer in charge, to his
companion, "and there was but a single brown-skin in the lot; so if
they aren't here I don't know where they can be."

"Well," grumbled one of the soldiers, "this place is as empty as a
drum, so we may as well be going. There'll be fun presently which I
don't want to miss."

"It was the black woman who knifed our friend Rufus, wasn't it--in the
theatre there?" asked the third soldier.

"They say so; but as he was trodden as flat as a roof-board, and they
had to take him up in pieces, it is difficult to know the truth of
that matter. Anyhow his mates are anxious to get the lady, and I
should be sorry to die as she will, when they do, or her mistress
either. They have leave to finish them in their own fashion."

"Hadn't we best be going?" said the first soldier, who evidently was
anxious to keep some appointment.

"Hullo!" exclaimed the second, a sharp-eyed fellow, "there's a stair;
we had better just look up it."

"Not much use," answered the officer. "That old thief Amram, the corn-
merchant, has a store there, and he isn't one of the sort to leave it
unlocked. Still, just go and see."

Then came the sound of footsteps on the stair, and presently a man
could be heard fumbling at the further side of the door. Rachel shut
her eyes and prayed; Nehushta, drawing the knife from her bosom, crept
towards the doorway like a tigress, and placed her left hand on the
stick that held it shut. Well it was that she did so, since presently
the soldier gave a savage push that might easily have caused the wood
to slip on the cemented floor. Now, satisfied that it was really
locked, he turned and went down the steps.

With a gasp of relief Nehushta once more set her ear to the crack.

"It's fast enough," reported the man, "but perhaps it might be as well
to get the key from Amram and have a look."

"Friend," said the officer, "I think that you must be in love with
this black lady; or is it her mistress whom you admire? I shall
recommend you for the post of Christian-catcher to the cohort. Now
we'll try that house at the corner, and if they are not there, I am
off to the palace to see how his godship is getting on with that
stomach-ache and whether it has moved him to order payment of our
arrears. If he hasn't, I tell you flatly that I mean to help myself to
something, and so do the rest of the lads, who are mad at the stopping
of the games."

"It would be much better to get that key from Amram and have a look
upstairs," put in number two soldier reflectively.

"Then go to Amram, or to Pluto, and ask for the key of Hades for aught
I care!" replied his superior with irritation. "He lives about a
league off at the other end of the town."

"I do not wish for the walk," said the conscientious soldier; "but as
we are searching for these escaped Christians, by your leave, I do
think it would have been much better to have got that key from Amram
and peeped into the chamber upstairs."

Thereon the temper of the officer, already ruffled by the events of
the morning and the long watch of the preceding night, gave way, and
he departed, consigning the Christians, escaped or recaptured, Amram
and the key, his subordinate, and even the royal Agrippa who did not
pay his debts, to every infernal god of every religion with which he
was acquainted.

Nehushta lifted her head from the floor.

"Thanks be to God! They are gone," she said.

"But, Nou, will they not come back? Oh! I fear lest they should come
back."

"I think not. That sharp-nosed rat has made the other angry, and I
believe that he will find him some harder task than the seeking of a
key from Amram. Still, there is danger that this Amram may appear
himself to visit his store, for in these days of festival he is sure
to be selling grain to the bakers."

Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when a key rattled, the door
was pushed sharply, and the piece of wood slipped and fell. Then the
hinges creaked, and Amram--none other--entered, and, closing the door
behind him, locked it, leaving the key in the lock.

Amram was a shrewd-faced, middle-aged Phœnician and, like most
Phœnicians of that day, a successful trader, this corn-store
representing only one branch of his business. For the rest he was clad
in a quiet-coloured robe and cap, and to all appearance unarmed.

Having locked the door, he walked to a little table, beneath which
stood a box containing his tablets whereon were entered the amounts of
corn bought and delivered, to come face to face with Nehushta.
Instantly she slid between him and the door.

"Who in the name of Moloch are you?" he asked, stepping back
astonished, to perceive as he did so, Rachel seated on the heap of
sacks; "and you," he added. "Are you spirits, thieves, ladies in
search of a lodging, or--perchance those two Christians whom the
soldiers are looking for in yonder house?"

"We are the two Christians," said Rachel desperately. "We fled from
the amphitheatre, and have taken refuge here, where they nearly found
us."

"This," said Amram solemnly, "comes of not locking one's office. Do
not misunderstand me; it was no fault of mine. A certain apprentice is
to blame, to whom I shall have a word to say. In fact, I think that I
will say it at once," and he stepped towards the door.

"Indeed you will not," interrupted Nehushta.

"And pray, my Libyan friend, how will you prevent me?"

"My putting a knife into your gizzard, as I did through that of the
renegade Rufus an hour or two ago! Ah! I see you have heard the
story."

Amram considered, then replied:

"And what if I also have a knife?"

"In that case," said Nehushta, "draw it, and we will see which is the
better, man or woman. Merchant, your weapon is your pen. You have not
a chance with me, an Arab of Libya, and you know it."

"Yes," answered Amram, "I think I do; you desert folk are so reckless
and athletic. Also, to be frank, as you may have guessed, I am
unarmed. Now, what do you propose?"

"I propose that you get us safely out of Cæsarea, or, if you prefer
it, that we shall all die here in this grain-store, for, by whatever
god you worship, Phœnician, before a hand is laid upon my mistress or
me, this knife goes through your heart. I owe no love to your people,
who bought me, a king's daughter, as a slave, and I shall be quite
happy to close my account with one of them. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, perfectly. Why show such temper? The affair is one of
business; let us discuss it in a business spirit. You wish to escape
from Cæsarea; I wish you to escape from my grain-store. Let me go out
and arrange the matter."

"On a plank; not otherwise unless we accompany you," answered
Nehushta. "Man, why do you waste words with us. Listen. This lady is
the only child of Benoni, the great merchant of Tyre. Doubtless you
know him?"

"To my cost," replied Amram, with a bow. "Three times has he
overreached me in various bargains."

"Very well; then you know also that he is rich and will pay him
liberally who rescues his daughter from great peril."

"He might do so, but I am not sure."

"I am sure," answered Nehushta, "and for this service my mistress here
will give you a bill for any reasonable sum drawn upon her father."

"Yes, but the question is--will he honour it? Benoni is a prejudiced
man, a very prejudiced man, a Jew of the Jew, who--does not like
Christians."

"I think that he will honour it, I believe that he will honour it; but
that risk is yours. See here, merchant, a doubtful draft is better
than a slit throat."

"Quite so. The argument is excellent. But you desire to escape. If you
keep me here, how can I arrange the matter?"

"That is for you to consider. You do not leave this place except in
our company, and then at the first sign of danger I drive this knife
home between your shoulders. Meanwhile my mistress is ready to sign
any moderate draft upon her father."

"It is not necessary. Under the circumstances I think that I will
trust to the generosity of my fellow trader Benoni. Meanwhile I assure
you that nothing will give me greater happiness than to fall in with
your views. Believe me, I have no prejudice against Christians, since
those of them whom I have met were always honest and paid their debts
in full. I do not wish to see you or your mistress eaten by lions or
tortured. I shall be very glad to think that you are following the
maxims of your peculiar faith to an extreme old age, anywhere, outside
the limits of my grain-store. The question is, how can I help you do
this? At present I see no way."

"The question is--how will you manage to keep your life in you over
the next twelve hours?" answered Nehushta grimly. "Therefore I advise
you to find a way"; and to emphasise her words she turned, and, having
made sure that the door was locked, slipped its key into the bosom of
her dress.

Amram stared at her in undisguised admiration. "I would that I were
unmarried," he said, "which is not the case," and he sighed; "for
then, upon my word, I should be inclined to make a certain proposal to
you----"

"Nehushta--that is my name----"

"Nehushta--exactly. Well, it is out of the question."

"Quite."

"Therefore I have a suggestion to make. To-night a ship of mine sails
for Tyre. Will you honour me by accepting a passage on her?"

"Certainly," answered Nehushta, "provided that you accompany us."

"It was not my intention to go to Tyre this voyage."

"Then your intention can be changed. Look you, we are desperate, and
our lives are at stake. Your life is also at stake, and I swear to
you, by the Holy One we worship, that before any harm comes to my
mistress you shall die. Then what will your wealth and your schemes
avail you in the grave? It is a little thing we ask of you--to help
two innocent people to escape from this accursed city. Will you grant
it? Or shall I put this dagger through your throat? Answer, and at
once, or I strike and bury you in your own corn."

Even in that light Amram turned visibly paler. "I accept your terms,"
he said. "At nightfall I will conduct you to the ship, which sails two
hours after sunset with the evening wind. I will accompany you to Tyre
and deliver the lady over to her father, trusting to his liberality
for my reward. Meanwhile, this place is hot. That ladder leads to the
roof, which is parapeted, so that those sitting or even standing
there, cannot be seen. Shall we ascend?"

"If you go first; and remember, should you attempt to call out, my
knife is always ready."

"Of that I am quite aware--you have said so several times. I have
passed my words, and I do not go back upon my bargains. The stars are
with you, and, come what may, I obey them."

Accordingly they ascended to the roof, Amram going first, Nehushta
following him, and Rachel bringing up the rear. On it, projecting
inward from the parapet, was a sloping shelter once made use of by the
look-out sentry in bad or hot weather. The change from the stifling
store below with its stench of ill-cured hides, to this lofty, shaded
spot, where the air moved freely, was so pleasant to Rachel, outworn
as she was with all she had gone through, that presently she fell
asleep, not to wake again till evening. Nehushta, however, who did not
go to sleep, and Amram, employed themselves in watching the events
that passed in the city below. From this height they could see the
great square surrounding the palace, and the strange scenes being
enacted therein. It was crowded by thousands of people, for the most
part seated on the ground, clad in garments of sack-cloth and throwing
dust upon the heads of themselves, their wives and children. From all
this multitude a voice of supplication rose to heaven, which, even at
that distance, reached the ears of Nehushta and her companion in a
murmur of sound, constant and confused.

"They pray that the king may live," said Amram.

"And I pray that he may die," answered Nehushta.

The merchant shrugged his shoulders. "I care nothing either way,
provided that the peace is not disturbed to the injury of trade. On
the whole, however, he is a good king who causes money to be spent,
which is what kings are for--in Judæa--where they are but feathers
puffed up by the breath of Cæsar, to fall if he cease to blow. But
look!"

As he spoke, a figure appeared upon the steps of the palace who made
some communication to the crowd, whereon a great wail went up to the
very skies.

"You have your wish," said Amram; "Herod is dead or dying, and now, I
suppose, as his son is but a child, that we shall be ruled by some
accursed thief of a Roman procurator with a pocket like a sack without
a bottom. Surely that old bishop of yours who preached in the
amphitheatre this morning, must have had a hint of what was coming,
from his familiar spirit; or perhaps he saw the owl and guessed its
errand. Moreover, I think that troubles are brewing for others besides
Herod, since the old man said as much.

"What became of him and the rest?" asked Nehushta.

"Oh! a few were trampled to death, and others the Jews stirred up the
mob to stone, saying that they had bewitched the king, which they, who
were disappointed of the games, did gladly. Some, however, are said to
have escaped, and, like yourselves, lie in hiding."

Nehushta glanced at her mistress, now fast asleep, her pale face
resting on her arm.

"The world is hard--for Christians," she said.

"Friend, it is hard for all, as, were I to tell you my own story, even
you would admit," and he sighed. "At least you Christians believe in
something beyond," he went on; "for you death is but a bridge leading
to a glorious city, and I trust that you may be right. Is not your
mistress delicate?"

Nehushta nodded.

"She was never very strong, and sorrow has done its work with her.
They killed her husband at Berytus yonder, and--her trouble is very
near."

"Yes, yes, I heard that story, also that his blood is on the hands of
her own father, Benoni. Ah! who is so cruel as a bigot Jew? Not we
Phœnicians even, of whom they say such evil. Once I had a daughter"--
here his hard face softened--"but let be, let be! Look you, the risk
is great, but what I can do I will do to save her, and you also,
friend, since, Libyan or no, you are a faithful woman. Nay, do not
doubt me. I have given my word, and if I break it willingly, then may
I perish and be devoured of dogs. My ship is small and undecked. In
that she shall not sail, but a big galley weighs for Alexandria
to-night, calling at Apollonia and Joppa, and in it I will take you
passages, saying that the lady is a relative of mine and that you are
her slave. This is my advice to you--that you go straight to Egypt,
where there are many Christians who will protect you for a while.
Thence your mistress can write to her father, and if he will receiver
her, return. If not, at least she will be safe, since no writ of Herod
runs in Alexandria, and there they do not love the Jews."

"Your counsel seems good," said Nehushta, "if she will consent to it."

"She must consent who, indeed, is in no case to make other plans. Now
let me go. Before nightfall I will return again with food and
clothing, and lead you to the ship."

Nehushta hesitated.

"I say to you, do not fear. Will you not trust me?"

"Yes," answered Nehushta, "because I must. Nay, the words are not
kind, but we are sadly placed, and it is strange to find a true friend
in one whom I have threatened with a knife."

"I understand," said Amram gravely. "Let the issue prove me. Now
descend that you may lock the door behind me. When I return I will
stand in the open space yonder with a slave, making pretence to re-
bind a burst bundle of merchandise. Then come down and admit me
without fear."

When the Phœnician had gone Nehushta sat by her sleeping mistress, and
waited with an anxious heart. Had she done wisely? Would Amram betray
them and send soldiers to conduct them, not to the ship, but to some
dreadful death? Well, if so, at least she would have time to kill her
mistress and herself, and thus escape the cruelties of men. Meanwhile
she could only pray; and pray she did in her fierce, half-savage
fashion, never for herself, but for her mistress whom she loved, and
for the child that, she remembered thankfully, Anna had foretold would
be born and live out its life. Then she remembered also that this same
holy woman had said that its mother's hours would be few, and at the
thought Nehushta wept.



CHAPTER IV

THE BIRTH OF MIRIAM

The time passed slowly, but none came to disturb them. Three hours
after noon Rachel awoke, refreshed but hungry, and Nehushta had no
food to give her except raw grain, from which she turned. Clearly and
in few words she told her mistress all that had passed, asking her
consent to the plan.

"It seems good as another," said Rachel with a little sigh, "and I
thank you for making it, Nou, and the Phœnician, if he is a true man.
Also I do not desire to meet my father--at least, for many years. How
can I, seeing the evil which he has brought upon me?"

"Do not speak of that," interrupted Nehushta hastily, and for a long
while they were silent.

It was an hour before sunset, or a little less, when at length
Nehushta saw two persons walk on to the patch of open ground which she
watched continually--Amram and a slave who bore a bundle on his head.
Just then the rope which bound this bundle seemed to come loose; at
least, at his master's command, the man set it down and they began to
retie it, then advanced slowly towards the archway. Now Nehushta
descended, unlocked the door and admitted Amram, who carried the
bundle.

"Where is the slave?" she asked.

"Have no fear, friend; he is trusty and watches without, not knowing
why. Come, you must both of you be hungry, and I have food. Help me
loose this cord."

Presently the package was undone, and within it appeared, first, two
flagons of old wine, then meats more tasty then Nehushta had seen for
months, then rich cloaks and other garments made in the Phœnician
fashion, and a robe of white with coloured edges, such as was worn by
the body-slaves of the wealthy among that people. Lastly--and this
Amram produced from his own person--there was a purse of gold, enough
to support them for many weeks. Nehushta thanked him with her eyes,
and was about to speak.

"There, say nothing," he interrupted. "I passed my word, and I have
kept it, that is all. Also on this money I shall charge interest, and
your mistress can repay it in happier days. Now listen: I have taken
the passages, and an hour after sunset we will go aboard. Only I warn
you, do not let it be known that you are escaped Christians, for the
seamen think that such folk bring them bad luck. Come, help me carry
the food and wine. After you have eaten you can both of you retire
here and robe yourselves."

Presently they were on the roof.

"Lady," said Nehushta, "we did well to put faith in this man. He has
come back, and see what he has brought us."

"The blessing of God be on you, sir, who help the helpless!" exclaimed
Rachel, looking hungrily at the tempting meats which she so sorely
needed.

"Drink," said Amram cheerfully, as he poured wine and water into a
cup; "it will hearten you, and your faith does not forbid the use of
the grape, for have I not heard you styled the society of drunkards?"

"That is only one bad name among many, sir," said Rachel, as she took
the cup.

Then they ate and were satisfied, and afterwards descended into the
corn-store to wash with the remainder of the water, and clothe
themselves from head to foot in the fragrant and beautiful garments
that might have been made for their wear, so well had Amram judged
their sizes and needs.

By the time that they were dressed the light was dying. Still, they
waited a while for the darkness; then, with a new hope shining through
their fears, crept silently into the street, where the slave, a
sturdy, well-armed fellow, watched for them.

"To the quay," said Amram, and they walked forward, choosing those
thoroughfares that were most quiet. It was well for them that they did
this, for now it was known that Agrippa's sickness was mortal, the
most of the soldiers were already in a state of mutiny, and, inflamed
with wine, paraded the market-places and larger streets, shouting and
singing obscene songs, and breaking into the liquor shops and private
houses, where they drank healths to Charon, who was about to bear away
their king in his evil bark. As yet, however, they had not begun
killing those against whom they had a grudge. This happened
afterwards, though it has nothing to do with our story.

Without trouble or molestation the party reached the quay, where a
small boat with two Phœnician rowers was waiting for them. In it they
embarked, except the slave, and were rowed out to the anchorage to
board a large galley which lay half a mile or more away. This they did
without difficulty, for the night was calm, although the air hung
thick and heavy, and jagged clouds, wind-breeders as they were called,
lay upon the horizon. On the lower deck of the galley stood its
captain, a sour-faced man, to whom Amram introduced his passengers,
who were, as he declared, relatives of his own proceeding to
Alexandria.

"Good," said the captain. "Show them to their cabin, for we sail as
soon as the wind rises."

To the cabin they went accordingly, a comfortable place stored with
all that they could need; but as they passed to it Nehushta heard a
sailor, who held a lantern in his hand, say to his companion:

"That woman is very like one whom I saw in the amphitheatre this
morning when they gave the salute to King Agrippa."

"The gods forbid it!" answered the other. "We want no Christians here
to bring evil fortune on us."

"Christians or no Christians, there is a tempest brewing, if I
understand the signs of the weather," muttered the first man.

In the cabin Amram bade his guests farewell.

"This is a strange adventure," he said, "and one that I did not look
for. May it prove to the advantage of us all. At the least I have done
my best for your safety, and now we part."

"You are a good man," replied Rachel, "and whatever may befall us, I
pray again that God may bless you for your kindness to His servants. I
pray also that He may lead you to a knowledge of the truth as it was
declared by the Lord and Master Whom we serve, that your soul may win
salvation and eternal life."

"Lady," said Amram, "I know nothing of these doctrines, but I promise
you this: that I will look into them and see whether or no they
commend themselves to my reason. I love wealth, like all my people,
but I am not altogether a time-server, or a money-seeker. Lady, I have
lost those whom I desire to find again."

"Seek and you will find."

"I will seek," he answered, "though, mayhap, I shall never find."

Thus they parted.

Presently the night breeze began to flow off the land, the great sail
was hoisted, and with the help of oars, worked by slaves, the ship
cleared the harbour and set her course for Joppa. Two hours later the
wind failed so that they could proceed only by rowing over a dead and
oily sea, beneath a sky that was full of heavy clouds. Lacking any
stars to steer by, the captain wished to cast anchor, but as the water
proved too deep they proceeded slowly, till about an hour before dawn
a sudden gust struck them which caused the galley to lean over.

"The north wind! The black north wind!" shouted the steersman, and the
sailors echoed his cry dismally, for they knew the terrors of that
wind upon the Syrian coast. Then the gale began to rage. By daylight
the waves were running high as mountains and the wind hissed through
the rigging, driving them forward beneath a small sail. Nehushta
crawled out of the cabin, and, in the light of an angry dawn, saw far
away the white walls of a city built near the shore.

"Is not that Appolonia?" she asked of the captain.

"Yes," he answered, "it is Appolonia sure enough, but we shall not
anchor there this voyage. Now it is Alexandria for us or nothing."

So they rushed past Appolonia and forward, climbing the slopes of the
rising seas.

Thus things went on. About mid-day the gale became a hurricane, and do
what they would they were driven forward, till at length they saw the
breakers forming on the coast. Rachel lay sick and prostrate, but
Nehushta went out of the cabin to watch.

"Are we in danger?" she asked of a sailor.

"Yes, accursed Christian," he replied, "and you have brought it on us
with your evil eye."

Then Nehushta returned to the cabin where her mistress lay almost
senseless with sea-sickness. On board the ship the terror and
confusion grew. For a while they were able to beat out to s