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

great merchant over in Antioch. To the rabbis I will accuse you of impenitence; to her⁠—”

“Well, to her?”

“I will repeat what you have said to me under the lifted cup, with the gods for witnesses.”

He was still a moment, as if waiting for the Egyptian to go on. With quickened fancy he saw Esther at her father’s side listening to the despatches he had forwarded⁠—sometimes reading them. In her presence he had told Simonides the story of the affair in the Palace of Idernee. She and Iras were acquainted; this one was shrewd and worldly; the other was simple and affectionate, and therefore easily won. Simonides could not have broken faith⁠—nor Ilderim⁠—for if not held by honor, there was no one, unless it might be himself, to whom the consequences of exposure were more serious and certain. Could Esther have been the Egyptian’s informant? He did not accuse her; yet a suspicion was sown with the thought, and suspicions, as we all know, are weeds of the mind which grow of themselves, and most rapidly when least wanted. Before he could answer the allusion to the little Jewess, Balthasar came to the pool.

“We are greatly indebted to you, son of Hur,” he said, in his grave manner. “This vale is very beautiful; the grass, the trees, the shade, invite us to stay and rest, and the spring here has the sparkle of diamonds in motion, and sings to me of a loving God. It is not enough to thank you for the enjoyment we find; come sit with us, and taste our bread.”

“Suffer me first to serve you.”

With that Ben-Hur filled the goblet, and gave it to Balthasar, who lifted his eyes in thanksgiving.

Immediately the slave brought napkins; and after laving their hands and drying them, the three seated themselves in Eastern style under the tent which years before had served the Wise Men at the meeting in the Desert. And they ate heartily of the good things taken from the camel’s pack.

III

The tent was cosily pitched beneath a tree where the gurgle of the stream was constantly in ear. Overhead the broad leaves hung motionless on their stems; the delicate reed-stalks off in the pearly haze stood up arrowy-straight; occasionally a home-returning bee shot humming athwart the shade, and a partridge creeping from the sedge drank, whistled to his mate, and ran away. The restfulness of the vale, the freshness of the air, the garden beauty, the Sabbath stillness, seemed to have affected the spirits of the elder Egyptian; his voice, gestures, and whole manner were unusually gentle; and often as he bent his eyes upon Ben-Hur conversing with Iras, they softened with pity.

“When we overtook you, son of Hur,” he said, at the conclusion of the repast, “it seemed your face was also turned towards Jerusalem. May I ask, without offence, if you are going so far?”

“I am going to the Holy City.”

“For the great need I have to spare myself prolonged toil, I will further ask you, Is there a shorter road than that by Rabbath-Ammon?”

“A rougher route, but shorter, lies by Gerasa and Rabbath-Gilead. It is the one I design taking.”

“I am impatient,” said Balthasar. “Latterly my sleep has been visited by dreams⁠—or rather by the same dream in repetition. A voice⁠—it is nothing more⁠—comes and tells me, ‘Haste⁠—arise! He whom thou hast so long awaited is at hand.’ ”

“You mean he that is to be King of the Jews?” Ben-Hur asked, gazing at the Egyptian in wonder.

“Even so.”

“Then you have heard nothing of him?”

“Nothing, except the words of the voice in the dream.”

“Here, then, are tidings to make you glad as they made me.”

From his gown Ben-Hur drew the letter received from Malluch. The hand the Egyptian held out trembled violently. He read aloud, and as he read his feelings increased; the limp veins in his neck swelled and throbbed. At the conclusion he raised his suffused eyes in thanksgiving and prayer. He asked no questions, yet had no doubts.

“Thou hast been very good to me, O God,” he said. “Give me, I pray thee, to see the Saviour again, and worship him, and thy servant will be ready to go in peace.”

The words, the manner, the singular personality of the simple prayer, touched Ben-Hur with a sensation new and abiding. God never seemed so actual and so near by; it was as if he were there bending over them or sitting at their side⁠—a Friend whose favors were to be had by the most unceremonious asking⁠—a Father to whom all his children were alike in love⁠—Father, not more of the Jew than of the Gentile⁠—the Universal Father, who needed no intermediates, no rabbis, no priests, no teachers. The idea that such a God might send mankind a Saviour instead of a king appeared to Ben-Hur in a light not merely new, but so plain that he could almost discern both the greater want of such a gift and its greater consistency with the nature of such a Deity. So he could not resist asking,

“Now that he has come, O Balthasar, you still think he is to be a Saviour, and not a king?”

Balthasar gave him a look thoughtful as it was tender.

“How shall I understand you?” he asked, in return. “The Spirit, which was the Star that was my guide of old, has not appeared to me since I met you in the tent of the good sheik; that is to say, I have not seen or heard it as formerly. I believe the voice that spoke to me in my dreams was it; but other than that I have no revelation.”

“I will recall the difference between us,” said Ben-Hur, with deference. “You were of opinion that he would be a king, but not as Caesar is; you thought his sovereignty would be spiritual, not of the world.”

“Oh yes,” the Egyptian answered; “and I am of the same opinion now. I see the divergence in our faith. You are going to