Ben Hur - Lew Wallace (sci fi books to read .TXT) 📗

news of the proposed desecration. When, at length, they reached the gate of the Praetorium, the procession of elders and rabbis had passed in with a great following, leaving a greater crowd clamoring outside.

A centurion kept the entrance with a guard drawn up full armed under the beautiful marble battlements. The sun struck the soldiers fervidly on helm and shield; but they kept their ranks indifferent alike to its dazzle and to the mouthings of the rabble. Through the open bronze gates a current of citizens poured in, while a much lesser one poured out.

“What is going on?” one of the Galileans asked an outcomer.

“Nothing,” was the reply. “The rabbis are before the door of the palace asking to see Pilate. He has refused to come out. They have sent one to tell him they will not go away till he has heard them. They are waiting.”

“Let us go in,” said Ben-Hur, in his quiet way, seeing what his companions probably did not, that there was not only a disagreement between the suitors and the governor, but an issue joined, and a serious question as to who should have his will.

Inside the gate there was a row of trees in leaf, with seats under them. The people, whether going or coming, carefully avoided the shade cast gratefully upon the white, clean-swept pavement; for, strange as it may seem, a rabbinical ordinance, alleged to have been derived from the law, permitted no green thing to be grown within the walls of Jerusalem. Even the wise king, it was said, wanting a garden for his Egyptian bride, was constrained to found it down in the meeting-place of the valleys above En-rogel.

Through the treetops shone the outer fronts of the palace. Turning to the right, the party proceeded a short distance to a spacious square, on the west side of which stood the residence of the governor. An excited multitude filled the square. Every face was directed towards a portico built over a broad doorway which was closed. Under the portico there was another array of legionaries.

The throng was so close the friends could not well have advanced if such had been their desire; they remained therefore in the rear, observers of what was going on. About the portico they could see the high turbans of the rabbis, whose impatience communicated at times to the mass behind them; a cry was frequent to the effect “Pilate, if thou be a governor, come forth, come forth!”

Once a man coming out pushed through the crowd, his face red with anger.

“Israel is of no account here,” he said, in a loud voice. “On this holy ground we are no better than dogs of Rome.”

“Will he not come out, think you?”

“Come? Has he not thrice refused?”

“What will the rabbis do?”

“As at Caesarea⁠—camp here till he gives them ear.”

“He will not dare touch the treasure, will he?” asked one of the Galileans.

“Who can say? Did not a Roman profane the Holy of Holies? Is there anything sacred from Romans?”

An hour passed, and though Pilate deigned them no answer, the rabbis and crowd remained. Noon came, bringing a shower from the west, but no change in the situation, except that the multitude was larger and much noisier, and the feeling more decidedly angry. The shouting was almost continuous, Come forth, come forth! The cry was sometimes with disrespectful variations. Meanwhile Ben-Hur held his Galilean friends together. He judged the pride of the Roman would eventually get the better of his discretion, and that the end could not be far off. Pilate was but waiting for the people to furnish him an excuse for resort to violence.

And at last the end came. In the midst of the assemblage there was heard the sound of blows, succeeded instantly by yells of pain and rage, and a most furious commotion. The venerable men in front of the portico faced about aghast. The common people in the rear at first pushed forward; in the centre, the effort was to get out; and for a short time the pressure of opposing forces was terrible. A thousand voices made inquiry, raised all at once; as no one had time to answer, the surprise speedily became a panic.

Ben-Hur kept his senses.

“You cannot see?” he said to one of the Galileans.

“No.”

“I will raise you up.”

He caught the man about the middle, and lifted him bodily.

“What is it?”

“I see now,” said the man. “There are some armed with clubs, and they are beating the people. They are dressed like Jews.”

“Who are they?”

“Romans, as the Lord liveth! Romans in disguise. Their clubs fly like flails! There, I saw a rabbi struck down⁠—an old man! They spare nobody!”

Ben-Hur let the man down.

“Men of Galilee,” he said, “it is a trick of Pilate’s. Now, will you do what I say, we will get even with the club-men.”

The Galilean spirit arose.

“Yes, yes!” they answered.

“Let us go back to the trees by the gate, and we may find the planting of Herod, though unlawful, has some good in it after all. Come!”

They ran back all of them fast as they could; and, by throwing their united weight upon the limbs, tore them from the trunks. In a brief time they, too, were armed. Returning, at the corner of the square they met the crowd rushing madly for the gate. Behind, the clamor continued⁠—a medley of shrieks, groans, and execrations.

“To the wall!” Ben-Hur shouted. “To the wall!⁠—and let the herd go by!”

So, clinging to the masonry at their right hand, they escaped the might of the rush, and little by little made headway until, at last, the square was reached.

“Keep together now, and follow me!”

By this time Ben-Hur’s leadership was perfect; and as he pushed into the seething mob his party closed after him in a body. And when the Romans, clubbing the people and making merry as they struck them down, came hand to hand with the Galileans, lithe of limb, eager for the fray, and equally armed, they were in turn surprised.