Part 43 (1/2)
”Why so, lord? Your money is as good as his, and perhaps you will pay more.”
”I will pay to my last piece, but will that free me from the rage and hate of Domitian?”
”Why need he knew that you were the rival bidder?”
”Why? Oh! in Rome everything is known--even the truth sometimes.”
”Time enough to trouble when trouble comes. First let us wait and see whether this maid be Miriam.”
”Aye,” he answered, ”let us wait--since we must.”
So they waited and with anxious eyes watched the great show roll by them. They saw the cars painted with scenes of the taking of Jerusalem and the statues of the G.o.ds fas.h.i.+oned in ivory and gold. They saw the purple hangings of the Babylonian broidered pictures, the wild beasts, and the s.h.i.+ps mounted upon wheels. They saw the treasures of the temple and the images of victory, and many other things, for that pageant seemed to be endless, and still the captives and the Emperors did not come.
One sight there was also that caused Marcus to shrink as though fire had burned him, for yonder, set in the midst of a company of jugglers and buffoons that gibed and mocked at them, were the two unhappy men who had been taken prisoners by the Jews. On they tramped, their hands bound behind them, clad in full armour, but wearing a woman's distaff where the sword should have been, and round their necks the placards which proclaimed their shame. The brutal Roman mob hooted them also, that mob which ever loved spectacles of cruelty and degradation, calling them cowards. One of the men, a bull-necked, black-haired fellow, suffered it patiently, remembering that at even he must be set free to vanish where he would. The other, who was blue-eyed and finer-featured, having gentle blood in his veins, seemed to be maddened by their talk, for he glared about him, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth like a wild beast in a cage. Opposite to the house of Marcus came the climax.
”Cur,” yelled a woman in the mob, casting a pebble that struck him on the cheek. ”Cur! Coward!”
The blue-eyed man stopped, and, wheeling round, shouted in answer:
”I am no coward, I who have slain ten men with my own hand, five of them in single combat. You are the cowards who taunt me. I was overwhelmed, that is all, and afterwards in the prison I thought of my wife and children and lived on. Now I die and my blood be on you.”
Behind him, drawn by eight white oxen, was the model of a s.h.i.+p with the crew standing on its deck. Avoiding his guard, the man ran down the line of oxen and suddenly cast himself upon the ground before the wooden-wheeled car, which pa.s.sed over his neck, crus.h.i.+ng the life out of him.
”Well done! Well done!” shouted the crowd, rejoicing at this unexpected sight. ”Well done! He was brave after all.”
Then the body was carried away and the procession moved forward. But Marcus, who watched, hid his face in his hands, and Nehushta, lifting hers, uttered a prayer for the pa.s.sing soul of the victim.
Now the prisoners began to go past, marching eight by eight, hundreds upon hundreds of them, and once more the mob shouted and rejoiced over these unfortunates, whose crime was that they had fought for their country to the end. The last files pa.s.sed, then at a little distance from them, tramping forward wearily, appeared the slight figure of a girl dressed in a robe of white silk blazoned at its breast with gold.
Her bowed head, from which the curling tresses fell almost to her waist, was bared to the fierce rays of the sun, and on her naked bosom lay a necklace of great pearls.
”Pearl-Maiden, Pearl-Maiden!” shouted the crowd.
”Look!” said Nehushta, gripping the shoulder of Marcus with her hand.
He looked, and after long years once more beheld Miriam, for though he had heard her voice in the Old Tower at Jerusalem, then her face was hidden from him by the darkness. There was the maid from whom he had parted in the desert village by Jordan, the same, and yet changed.
Then she had been a lovely girl, now she was a woman on whom sorrow and suffering had left their stamp. The features were finer, the deep, patient eyes were frightened and reproachful; her beauty was such as we see in dreams, not altogether that of earth.
”Oh! my darling, my darling,” murmured Nehushta, stretching out her arms towards her. ”Christ be thanked, that I have found you, my darling.”
Then she turned to Marcus, who was devouring Miriam with his eyes, and said in a fierce voice:
”Roman, now that you see her again, do you still love her as much as of old time?”
He took no note and she repeated the question. Then he answered:
”Why do you trouble me with such idle words. Once she was a woman to be won, now she is a spirit to be wors.h.i.+pped.”
”Woman or spirit, or woman and spirit, beware how you deal with her, Roman,” snarled Nehushta still more fiercely, ”or----” and she left her hand fall upon the knife that was hidden in her robe.