Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “Truly thou dost chafe thy spirit needlessly, Caiaphas” — observed that sleek personage sedately—” Seeing that I am here to act for thee and carry out thy duties of the Temple ministration. Moreover thou art singularly unwise and obstinate in withholding from us all description of thy would-be murderer. He must be tracked and punished as thou knowest, — this weapon that was found beside thee, and with which thou wert well-nigh slain, will aid us in discovery.”

  Caiaphas flung aside his coverings and made an attempt to sit up. The attendant physician remonstrated, but he paid no heed.

  “What weapon dost thou speak of?” he muttered hoarsely—” Give it to me! Let me look upon it!”

  Annas, alarmed at the fierce expression of his face, at once gave it to him. He clutched it, — then glared angrily round the room.

  “Leave me, all of y e!” he said—” All, save my wife. I would speak with her alone.”

  His irritability was such that they dared not provoke him further by contradiction, — his command was therefore obeyed. He waited in silence till the door closed behind the retiring figures of Annas, the physician, and two servants who had been in waiting, — then he sank back on his pillows exhausted, still holding fast the jewelled dagger with which Judith Iscariot had in her frenzy so nearly made an end of his life.

  “Rachel, come to me!” he called faintly yet imperatively.

  His wife approached him. She was a slight dark pensive-looking woman with pale composed features and cold calm eyes.

  “Thou hast seen this toy before,” — he said, showing her the dagger, “Thou knowest it?”

  She glanced at it indifferently.

  “Full well!” she answered—”’Tis Judith’s jewelled plaything — a gift to her from the dead Gabrias!”

  Caiaphas turned himself restlessly.

  “Ay! ’tis Judith’s. The girl is frenzied for her brother’s death, — she came to me last night, — she knew not what she said or did. ’Twas she who stabbed me, — but none must know of it. Take thou the weapon therefore, and cast it in the well below the garden, — thou wilt do this and say nothing, — passionless as thou art I feel that I can trust thee!”

  She took the dagger, and a curious smile flitted across her features.

  “Alas, poor Judith!” she said.

  Caiaphas gave her a quick surprised look.

  “Thou dost pity her?”

  “With all my soul!”

  A feverish rush of blood crimsoned the high-priest’s features.

  “I loved her!” he cried hoarsely, in a sudden reckless access of pain and passion—” Hearest thou, Rachel? I loved her!”

  Rachel’s cold eyes rested scornfully upon him.

  “I hear, Caiaphas! And I know!”

  “Learn then yet another thing!” he continued wildly—” For her sake I have been faithless unto thee!”

  “That also do I know!” responded Rachel with chill equanimity.

  “And sayest thou nothing? — carest thou nothing?” — he demanded, amazed and exasperated.

  Over the face of the pale daughter of Annas came the warm flush of a righteous disdain.

  “I say nothing because I feel nothing, Caiaphas!” she replied— “To know thee as I have known thee, ever since the day when my father Annas gave my life into thy cruel keeping, would make the softest woman’s heart as hard as steel or adamant. I care nothing, — for who could care for the loss or the retaining of a love so valueless as thine! Speak we no more of this, for I have schooled myself to silence; — I am thy wife, — only thy wife, who according to thy measure is little more than dog or slave! And I will do thy bidding as dog and slave till death releases me, for out of mine own selfrespect and pride I will not let thee boast that I have failed in aught. And of thy sensual passions I heed nothing, — thou art free to follow them, seeing thou dost walk in the holy ways of Abraham, to whom most surely all women born were of less account than the cattle of the field! — yet he was the favourite of the selfsame God thou servest, and so, perchance, art thou! But for me, henceforth, there shall be other gods than one who doth reward with favour the lies and infidelities of man!”

  Such passion vibrated in her voice, such wrath flashed within her eyes that for the moment her husband was stupefied with astonishment; — but as she turned to leave the room, he called her back angrily.

  “Rachel!”

  “What now?”

  “How darest thou”... he panted huskily— “How darest thou assault me with thy shrewish tongue thus furiously” —

  She smiled coldly.

  “I dare all things, being wronged!” she answered—” And for Judith Iscariot I have naught but love! — love and gratitude that she did seek to rid the world of thee. ’Twas bravely done! I would she had succeeded!”

  And with haughty step and slow she passed out of the apartment, just as Annas, white and trembling with alarm entered it again, accompanied by the physician.

  “Caiaphas!... Caiaphas!”... he stammered.

  “Sir, be calm!” interposed the physician anxiously, hastening to the bedside of his patient, “ I sought to keep intruders from thee, — but now this business seemeth strange and urgent” —

  He broke off, and Caiaphas, still agitated by the unexpected conduct of his wife towards him, stared wonderingly from one to the other.

  “What ails ye both?” he asked feebly—” How! dost thou tremble, Annas? — thou who art moved by nothing save a lack of delicate food? Speak, man! What news is on thy lips?”

  “Pilate hath sent his men to thee” — faltered Annas, “The watch hath been broken, — the sepulchre is empty” —

  With a frightful cry Caiaphas almost leaped from his bed.

  “Cowards! Thieves! Let them not dare to say the Man of Nazareth hath risen from the dead, for if His body be no longer in the tomb, it hath been stolen! Where are these laggards? — these worthless Romans? Pilate hath sent them? — then bid them enter!”

  Annas glanced at the physician, who shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands, implying by these gestures his resignation of all responsibility in a matter so entirely beyond his control.

  “Bid them enter!” shouted Caiaphas again, his face convulsed with impatience and fury. And in another moment, Maximus, with the speechless Galbus and the rest of his men keeping behind him, appeared.

  “Sir,” said he, looking full at the high-priest, who glared at him in return with an expression of implacable and vengeful ferocity—” Methinks I am come at an ill time, seeing thou art wounded and suffering; nevertheless I am bound to fulfil the received command of the governor. Pilate hath sent me hither to tell thee that our watch hath been in vain, — the Heavens have interposed and a miracle hath been enacted; the ‘ Nazarenel’ hath risen!”

  “Liar!” and Caiaphas well-nigh foaming at the mouth clutched at the purple coverings of his couch and leaned forward as though he were about to hurl some deadly weapon at the speaker—” Liar! Who art thou, dastard Roman, that darest presume upon my patience by the bringing of a false report? Thou wert not placed in charge! Galbus did head thy band of scoundrels, — let him speak!”

  Maximus, pale with rage at the insult thus offered to himself and his comrades, had much ado to control his rising temper.

  “Sir priest,” he said, breathless with suppressed anger— “Thou goest too far in the manner of thy speech, seeing Judæa is the slave of Rome, and thou thyself a payer of tribute unto Cæsar. I have not brought thee any false report, — I scorn to lie, — and I am here to tell the truth of what I saw. That these men about me slept I deny not, — but I was wakeful, — and with mine own eyes I did behold, at the first quarter after midnight, the heavens opened and two god-like Shapes descending towards the tomb. Galbus looked on the marvellous sight with me, — and with the lightning of the glory we were smitten to the ground even as dead men. At morning when we woke we found the great stone rolled away from the sepulchre, and the tomb itself empty of all save the linen cerements wherein
the body of the ‘Nazarene’ was swathed. And as for Galbus, I would that any bidding of thine or mine could make him speak, — for since the fearful fires did fall upon us both at midnight, he hath been smitten feeble as thou seest him now, and dumb.”

  While Maximus thus spoke the countenance of Caiaphas had grown livid and hideous with the restrained passion and bitter malice of his soul.

  “Would I had had my way!” he muttered thickly between the slow gasps of his labouring breath—” I would have hewn the body of the crucified blasphemer asunder limb from limb, and flung each portion to the dogs that roam the city!” He paused, choking back the terrible oath that rose to his lips, and then went on slowly, addressing himself again to Maximus—” So! — this is the story of the thieves’ trick played upon ye by the Galilean rogues who, like their Master, practise devils’ magic! Think not I am deceived; no dead man rises from the grave, and I will sift this matter! Galbus hath lost the power of speech thou sayest, — nevertheless he is not deaf methinks, — he is capable of signs. Let him stand forth and face me! I will question him, and by the God of Israel he shall answer me if only in dumb show!”

  His irate order was obeyed, — the two soldiers who supported the tottering, half-paralysed Galbus, led him forward. Caiaphas, leaning out of bed, grasped him by the arm roughly.

  “Galbus!”’

  Slowly the wandering lack-lustre eyes of the centurion lifted themselves and rested vaguely on the high-priest’s pale and resentful visage. At first there was no expression whatever in their fixed regard — but gradually the light of returning intelligence and memory brightened and dilated them, and a sudden change began to manifest itself in the whole demeanour of the stricken man. Drawing a deep breath he straightened his drooping figure, and shook himself free of his two supporters who stared upon him in amazement, — with one hand he felt for his sword, and as he touched the familiar hilt, he smiled, and raised his head with his former proud and martial bearing. Caiaphas watched him in astonishment and suspicion — the man’s former crushed and helpless demeanour seemed now an elaborate pretence, — his very dumbness might be assumed! — and believing this to be the case, a black frown wrinkled the high-priest’s brows as he fiercely demanded —

  “How now, Galbus! What report hast thou to offer of thy duty? — what knowest thou of last night’s vigil? If thou art dumb, make signs; if thou hast any utterance, speak! Who made thy watch of no avail, and turned thy Roman valour into trembling?”

  With sudden and startling vehemence the unexpected answer came:

  “Jesus of Nazareth, Son of the living God!”

  It was Galbus who spoke, — the spell of silence was all at once lifted from him, — and his voice, resonant, clear, and convincing, rang like a trumpet-note through the room. Wonder and dismay fell upon all who heard him, — but he, expanding and glorying as it were in the utterance of truth, exclaimed again loudly and fearlessly —

  “Jesus of Nazareth, Son of the living God!”

  Maddened with rage, Caiaphas made a frantic attempt to strike him on the mouth, but was prevented by the politic Annas.

  “Away with him, away with him!” he cried furiously, impotently beating the air with his clenched fists — Bind him, — gag him! — slay him! I will be answerable for his death to Cæsar! Gag him, I say! — silence him in earnest! — he is a liar, a liar! — he shall be branded as such to his nation! — bear him hence quickly, — let him not shout his blasphemies through the town! Gag him! — ye villains, ye will not obey me! — ye will let the people think the crucified malefactor a god divine, — curse him, I say! — curse ye all for a band of liars, ye foul brutes, ye cowards of Rome, — ye base panderers to the scum of Galilee” —

  His voice broke in a sharp cry, — his wound began to bleed afresh and the crimson stain welled rapidly through the linen wrappings; the physician seriously alarmed, declared to Annas that he could not be answerable for his patient’s life if this scene were allowed to continue. Annas therefore took it upon himself to put an end to the inquiry.

  “Get ye all hence!” he said, addressing himself to Maximus angrily— “And take this raving Galbus out of hearing! His dumbness was better than his speech. But think not we shall let this matter rest thus, — what reasoning man would of sane will accept a fool’s report such as thou bringest! We are not to be duped either by Galileans or Romans!”

  Maximus gave him no reply save a look of supreme scorn, — Galbus meanwhile had been coldly watching the pallid and convulsed face of Caiaphas.

  “Lo, how the devils in this Jewish priest do torture him!” he said meditatively—” Hell itself cries out upon Christ’s murderer!”

  “Silence, thou knave!” cried Annas.

  “Silence thyself, thou Jew!” retorted Galbus, “ thou canst not so command a soldier of Tiberius.”

  Annas grew livid with rage. The physician who was engaged in stanching the blood that flowed from Caiaphas’s wound, again interposed, entreating that the room might be cleared and his patient left tranquil. Annas therefore, with difficulty restraining the torrent of invective that rose to his lips, assumed an air of dignified rebuke.

  “Centurion, ’tis beneath me and my sacred calling to argue with the base and the unworthy. Hence! — with thy men, — through Pilate we shall yet communicate with thee, and report thy conduct to the Emperor. Doubt not that justice will be done! — both unto thee and unto us, — and whosoever broke the seals of the Sanhedrim affixed upon the tomb ye all were set to guard, shall be tracked and punished with the extremest penalty of the law.”

  Galbus smiled grimly.

  “Track ye the angels then, and find the path to Heaven!” he said—” To false priests the task will not be easy!”

  And turning abruptly on his heel he placed himself at the head of his company as if he had never left command of it. In the momentary pause before the little troop departed, one soldier hung back and made a secret sign to Annas.

  “What wouldst thou?” said Annas impatiently— “Seest thou not the high-priest almost swoons? — he can stand no more of this rude clamour.”

  “I would but say one thing to him” — said the man, who was a dark-browed, evil-looking fellow from Sicily— “Haply it might give him a clue.”

  Annas looked at him scrutinisingly, then quickly approached Caiaphas who had sunk back on his pillows in a sort of lethargy.

  “This soldier hath a private word for thee, my son,” — he said.

  Caiaphas opened his languid bloodshot eyes.

  “Vex me no more he muttered feebly—” I suffer! — let me rest!” —

  “Sir” — said the soldier quickly—” ’tis but a hint to thee which may serve to some good purpose. ’Tis true we slept upon our watch last night, lulled into slumber by a wondrous singing as of nightingales, — and of ourselves we saw no marvels, despite what Maximus hath told thee. But on this morning as we came away from the sepulchre, a stranger met us on the road who did inquire most particularly as to the nature of our vigil. He had a foreign aspect, and to our wonder, wore the Emperor’s signet. And with him was Barabbas.”

  Caiaphas started, and heedless of his wound, sat up.

  “Barabbas?”

  “Yea, sir. Barabbas. He that was a robber.”

  A sudden gleam of malicious joy sparkled in the high-priest’s eyes.

  “Soldier, I thank thee! Thou hast done well in telling me of this. Come back hither later on, and thou shalt have gold from the treasury as thy reward. And mark me, friend! — to all thy comrades who did sleep, seeing no miracle, but only seeing Barabbas on the road next morning, gold shall be meted out full lavishly, provided they will tell this thing throughout the town. Barabbas did defend the ‘ Nazarene,’ and therefore may be ranked among His followers and disciples. Thou sayest truly, — Barabbas was a robber!”

  And when the soldier had rejoined his companions, and the sound of the retreating footsteps of all the men had died away in the outer corridor, Caiaphas lay back again upon his
couch with a sigh of deep relief and contentment. Smiling an evil smile, he murmured to himself softly —

  “Barabbas? — Barabbas was a robber.”

  And in an hour’s time, despite his recent rage and excitement, he slept tranquilly, — while on his thin, closely-compressed lips, even in deep slumber, still lingered the shadow of that wicked smile.

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  EMERGING at last with difficulty from the turbulent throng that had accompanied the Roman soldiers to the high-priest’s palace and that now waited in a dense mass outside the gates for their return, Barabbas managed finally to reach Iscariot’s dwelling. The house was shut up and in mourning; and none of the servants could truly tell where their master had gone after his son’s melancholy funeral. Uncertain what to do, and shrinking from the idea of confiding to paid menials the news that their mistress was wandering about distraught, with no other companion or friend than the evilly-reputed Magdalen, Barabbas could see no other course open to him than to return at once to Gethsemane and consult with Mary as to what next could be done to restore the unhappy girl to her no less unhappy father. He therefore made the best of his way back to the garden by certain by-streets where the crowd had not penetrated, and as he came out upon the open road leading to the Mount of Olives, within sight of the trees of Gethsemane, he perceived a group of persons standing together in earnest conversation. Drawing nearer he recognised one of them as Simon Peter; the others he did not know, but judged from their appearance and dress that they were Galileans, and followers of Him that was called the “Nazarene.” He would have passed them by, in his haste to reach his destination, but that Peter saw him and called to him. He approached reluctantly.