CHAPTER XI
THE ESSENES LOSE THEIR QUEEN
The Court of the Essenes was gathered in council debating the subject
of the departure of their ward, Miriam. She must go, that was evident,
since not even for her, whom they loved as though each of them had
been in truth her father or her uncle, could their ancient, sacred
rule be broken. But where was she to go and how should she be
supported as became her? These were the questions that troubled them
and that they debated earnestly. At length her great-uncle Ithiel
suggested that she should be summoned before them, that they might
hear her wishes. To this his brethren agreed, and he was sent to fetch
her.
A while later, attended by Nehushta, Miriam arrived, clad in a robe of
pure white, and wearing on her head a wimple of white, edged with
purple, and about her waist a purple scarf. So greatly did the Essenes
love and reverence this maid, that as she entered, all the hundred of
the Court rose and remaining standing until she herself was seated.
Then the President, who was sorrowful and even shamefaced, addressed
her, telling her their trouble, and praying her pardon because the
ordinance of their order forced them to arrange that she should depart
from among them. At the end of this speech he asked her what were her
wishes as regarded her own future, adding that for her maintenance she
need have no fear, since out of their revenues a modest sum would be
set aside annually which would suffice to keep her from poverty.
In answer Miriam, also speaking sadly, thanked them from her heart for
all their goodness, telling them she had long known this hour of
separation to be at hand. As to where she should dwell, since tumults
were so many in Jerusalem, she suggested that she might find a home in
one of the coast cities, where perhaps some friend or relative of the
brethren would shelter Nehushta and herself.
Instantly eight or ten of those present said that they knew such
trusty folk in one place or another, and the various offers were
submitted to the Court for discussion. While the talk was still going
on there came a knock upon the door. After the usual questions and
precautions, a brother was admitted who informed them that there had
arrived in the village, at the head of a considerable retinue, Benoni,
the Jewish merchant of Tyre. He stated that he desired speech with
them on the subject of his granddaughter Miriam, who, he learned, was,
or had been recently, in their charge.
"Here may be an answer to the riddle," said the President. "We know of
this Benoni, also that he purposed to demand his granddaughter of us,
though until he did so it was not for us to speak." Then he put it to
the Court that Benoni should be admitted.
To this they agreed, and presently the Jew came, splendidly attired,
his long white beard flowing down a robe that glittered with
embroideries of gold and silver. Entering the dim, cool hall, he
stared in amazement at the long half-circles of venerable, white-robed
men who were gathered there. Next his quick eyes fell upon the lovely
maiden who, attended by the dark-visaged Nehushta, sat before them on
a seat of honour; and looking, he guessed that she must be Miriam.
"Little wonder," reflected Benoni to himself, "that all men seem to
love this girl, since at the first sight of her my own heart softens."
Then he bowed to the President of the Court and the President bowed
back in answer. But not one of the rest so much as moved his head,
since already every man of them hated this stranger who was about to
carry away her whom they called their Queen.
"Sirs," said Benoni breaking the silence, "I come here upon a strange
errand--namely, to ask of you a maid whom I believe to be my
granddaughter, of whose existence I learned not long ago, and whom, as
it seems, you have sheltered from her birth. Is she among you here?"
and he looked at Miriam.
"The lady Miriam sits yonder," said the President. "You are right in
naming her your granddaughter, as we have known her to be from the
beginning."
"Then why," said Benoni, "did I not know it also?"
"Because," answered the President quietly, "we did not think it
fitting to deliver a child that was committed to our charge, to the
care of one who had brought her father, and tried to bring her mother,
his own seed, to the most horrible of deaths."
As he spoke he fixed his eyes indignantly upon Benoni; as did every
man of all that great company, till even the bold-faced Jew dropped
his head abashed.
"I am not here," he said, recovering himself, "to make defence of what
I have done, or have not done in the past. I am here to demand that my
grandchild, now as I perceive a woman grown, may be handed over to me,
her natural guardian."
"Before this can be considered," answered the President, "we who have
been her guardians for so many years, should require guarantees and
sureties."
"What guarantees, and what sureties?" asked Benoni.
"These among others--That money sufficient for her support after your
death should be settled upon her. That she shall be left reasonable
liberty in the matter of her daily life and her marriage, if it should
please her to marry. Lastly, that as we have undertaken not to meddle
with her faith, or to oppress her into changing it, so must you
undertake also."
"And if I refuse these things?" asked Benoni.
"Then you see the lady Miriam for the first and last time," answered
the President boldly, while the others nodded approval. "We are men of
peace, but, merchant, you must not, therefore, think us men without
power. We must part with the lady Miriam, who to every one of us is as
a daughter, because the unbreakable rule of our order ordains that
she, who is now a woman grown, can no longer remain among us. But
wherever she dwells, to the last day of her life our love shall go
with her and the whole strength of our Order shall protect her. If any
harm is attempted to her, we shall be swift to hear and swifter to
avenge. If you refuse our conditions, she will vanish from your sight,
and then, merchant, go, search the world, the coasts of Syria, the
banks of Egypt, and the cities of Italy--and find her if you can. We
have spoken."
Benoni stroked his white beard before he answered.
"You talk proudly," he said. "Did I shut my eyes I might fancy that
this voice was the voice of a Roman procurator speaking the decrees of
Cæsar. Still, I am ready to believe that what you promise you can
perform, since I for one am sure that you Essenes are not mere
harmless heretics who worship angels and demons, see visions, prophesy
things to come by the help of your familiars, and adore the sun in
huts upon the desert." He paused, but the President, without taking
the slightest notice of his insults or sarcasms, repeated merely:
"We have spoken," and as with one voice, like some great echo, the
whole hundred of them cried, "We have spoken!"
"Do you hear them, master?" said Nehushta in the silence that
followed. "Well, I know them. They mean what they say, and you are
right--what which they threaten they can perform."
"Let my grandchild speak," said Benoni. "Daughter, is it your wish
that such dishonouring bonds should be laid upon me?"
"Grandsire," replied Miriam, in a pure, clear voice, "I may not
quarrel with that which is done for my own good. For the wealth I care
little, but I would not become a slave in everything save the name,
nor do I desire to set my feet in that path my parents trod. What my
uncles say--all of these"--and she waved her hand--"speaking in the
name of the thousands that are without, that I do, for they love me
and I love them, and their mind is my mind and their words are my
words."
"Proud-spirited, and well spoken, like all her race," muttered Benoni.
Still he stroked his beard and hesitated.
"Be pleased to give your answer," said the President, "that we may
finish our discussion before the hour of evening prayer. To help you
to it, remember one thing--we ask no new conditions." Benoni glanced
up quickly and the President added: "Those of which we have received a
copy, that you swore to and signed in the presence of Marcus the
Roman, are enough for us."
Now it was Miriam's turn to look, first up and then down. As for her
grandfather, he turned white with anger, and broke into a bitter
laugh.
"Now I understand----"
"----that the arm of the Essenes is longer than you thought, since it
can reach from here to Rome," said the President.
"Ay! that you can plot with Romans. Well, be careful lest the sword of
these Romans prove longer than /you/ thought and reach even to your
hearts, O you peaceful dwellers in the desert!" Then, as though he
feared some answer, he added quickly, "I am minded to return and leave
this maiden with you to dispose of as you think fit. Yet I will not do
so, for she is very fair and gracious, and with the wealth that I can
give her, may fill some high place in the world. Also--and this is
more to me--I am old and draw near my end and she alone has my blood
in her veins. Therefore I will agree to all your terms, and take her
home with me to Tyre, trusting that she may learn to love me."
"Good," said the President. "To-morrow the papers shall be prepared
and signed. Meanwhile we pray you to be our guest."
Next evening signed they were accordingly, Benoni agreeing without
demur to all that the Essenes asked on behalf of her who had been
their ward, and even assigning to her a separate revenue during his
lifetime. Indeed, now that he had seen her, so loth was he to part
with this new-found daughter, that he would have done still more had
it been asked of him, lest she should be spirited from his sight, as,
did he refuse, might well happen.
Three days later Miriam bade farewell to her protectors, who
accompanied her by hundreds to the ridge above the village. Here they
stopped, and seeing that the moment of separation was at hand,
Miriam's tears began to flow.
"Weep not, beloved child," said Ithiel, "for though we part with you
in body, yet shall we always be with you in the spirit, now in this
life, and as we think, after this life. Moreover, by night and day, we
shall watch over you, and if any attempt to harm you--" here he
glanced at Benoni, that brother-in-law to whom he bore but little love
--"the very winds will bear us tidings, and in this way or that, help
will come."
"Have no fear, Ithiel," broke in Benoni, "my bond, which you hold, is
good and it will be backed by love."
"That I believe also," said Miriam; "and if it be so, grandsire, I
will repay love for love." Then she turned to the Essenes and thanked
them in broken words.
"Be not downhearted," said Ithiel in a thick voice, "for I hope that
even in this life we shall meet again."
"May it be so," answered Miriam, and they parted, the Essenes
returning sadly to their home, and Benoni taking the road through
Jericho to Jerusalem.
Travelling slowly, at the evening of the second day they set their
camp on open ground not far from the Damascus gate of the Holy City,
but within the new north wall that had been built by Agrippa. Into the
city itself Benoni would not enter, fearing lest the Roman soldiers
should plunder them. At moonrise Nehushta took Miriam by the hand and
led her through the resting camels to a spot a few yards from the
camp.
There, standing with her back to the second wall, she pointed out to
her a cliff, steep but of no great height, in which appeared little
caves and ridges of rock that, looked at from this distance, gave to
its face a rude resemblance to a human skull.
"See," she said solemnly. "Yonder the Lord was crucified."
Miriam heard and sank to her knees in prayer. As she knelt there the
grave voice of her grandfather spoke behind her, bidding her rise.
"Child," he said, "it is true. True is it also that signs and wonders
happened after the death of that false Messiah, and that for me and
mine He left a curse behind Him which it may well be is not done with
yet. I know your faith, and I have promised to let you follow it in
peace. Yet I beseech of you, do not make prayers to your God here in
public, where with malefactors He suffered as a malefactor, lest
others less tolerant should see you and drag you to your father's
death."
Miriam bowed her head and returned to the camp, nor at that time did
any further words pass between them on this matter of her religion.
Thenceforward, however, she was careful to do nothing which could
bring suspicion on her grandfather.
Four days later they came to the rich and beautiful city of Tyre, and
Miriam saw the sea upon which she had been born. Hitherto, she had
fancied that its waters were much like those of the Dead Lake, upon
whose shores she had dwelt so many years; but when she perceived the
billows rushing onwards, white-crested, to break in thunder against
the walls of island Tyre, she clapped her hands with joy. Indeed, from
that day to the end of her life she loved the sea in all its moods,
and for hours at a time would find it sufficient company. Perhaps this
was because the seethe of its waves was the first sound that her ears
had heard, while her first breath was salted with its spray.
From Jerusalem, Benoni had sent messengers mounted on swift horses
bidding his servants make ready to receive a guest. So it came about
that when she entered his palace in Tyre, Miriam found it decked as
though for a bride, and wandered in amazement--she who had known
nothing better than the mud-houses of the Essenes--from hall to hall
of the ancient building that in bygone generations had been the home
of kings and governors. Benoni followed her steps, watching her with
grave eyes, till at length all was visited save the gardens belonging
to him which were on the mainland.
"Are you pleased with your new home, daughter?" he asked presently.
"My grandfather, it is beautiful," she answered. "Never have I dreamed
of such a place as this. Say, may I work my art in one of these great
rooms?"
"Miriam," he answered, "of this house henceforth you are the mistress,
as in time to come you will be its owner. Believe me, child, it was
not needed that so many and such different men should demand from me
sureties for your comfort and your safety. All I have is yours, whilst
all you have, including your faith and your friends, of whom there
seem to be many, remains your own. Yet, should it please you to give
me in return some small share of your love, I who am childless and
friendless shall be grateful."
"That is my desire," answered Miriam hurriedly; "only, grandsire,
between you and me----"
"Speak it not," he said, with a gesture almost of despair, "or rather
I will speak it--between you and me runs the river of your parents'
blood. It is so, yet, Miriam, I will confess to you that I repent me
of that deed. Age makes us judge more kindly. To me your faith is
nothing and your God a sham, yet I know now that to worship Him is not
worthy of death--at least not for that cause would I bring any to
their death to-day, or even to stripes and bonds. I will go further; I
will stoop even to borrow from His creed. Do not His teachings bid you
to forgive those who have done you wrong?"
"They do, and that is why Christians love all mankind."
"Then bring that law into this home of ours, Miriam, and love me who
sorrow for what I did in the blind rage of my zeal, and who now in my
old age am haunted by its memory."
Then for the first time Miriam threw herself into the old man's arms
and kissed him on the brow.
So it came about that they made their peace and were happy together.
Indeed, day by day Benoni loved her more, till at length she was
everything to him, and he grew jealous of all who sought her company,
and especially of Nehushta.
