The Silver Chalice

by Thomas B. Costain

  “The point,” declared Adam angrily, “is worth raising, I think.”

  “It is worth raising.” Basil stared at the caravan owner with no attempt to conceal his feelings. “It is a point I wish to discuss with you alone after this council is over.”

  “I cannot conceive of anything you may say that will have any bearing on the decision that faces us.”

  “Perhaps,” declared Basil, “you will change your mind. In the meantime I have a plan to propose. It is not necessary to drive the whole fleet to the limit of their powers. Select instead the two strongest and fastest and give them no more than a rider to carry and a small supply of food. I am told that under these circumstances a good camel can do more than fifty miles and keep it up indefinitely.”

  “That is true,” said Chimham. It was clear that he had sensed what Basil had to propose and was in full agreement. “We have several in this fleet that could keep up that gait as far at least as Antioch.”

  “The riders,” went on Basil, “should set out at once and carry the word ahead to Antioch that nothing should be done about a certain matter until the full caravan arrives. I believe they could be counted upon to arrive three or four days ahead of the caravan and that they could get there ahead of the ship.”

  Chimham had been doing some intensive reckoning. “Give the riders a free hand and they might arrive five days ahead of the rest,” he declared.

  “May I speak?” asked Luke.

  There was a solemn bobbing of heads. Adam, rubbing his nose in concentrated thought, paid no attention to the request.

  “I think we have listened to words of good sense,” declared Luke. “We will have some advantage under this plan, and the possibilities of loss are reduced to the effect on two camels only.”

  Adam looked up to ask, “Who will volunteer to act if this plan is decided upon?”

  “I will go!” cried Chimham eagerly. “Let me have old Bildad. He is as stubborn and mean as the Bildad for whom he is named, the comforter who sat so sour on the stomach of Job. He knows my ways and he likes me; that is, if a camel has enough sense to like anyone or anything. Some say they don’t, but I think they do. I promise this much by the earth and my head: let me have Bildad and I will ride him down the four-columned Colonnade at Antioch before the sails of the ship can be sighted by the harbor lookouts.”

  “Fine words,” grumbled Adam. “You blow so hard that you could stir up a wind strong enough to bring that ship into port ahead of the best camels that ever trod the trail.” He looked unwillingly at the circle of camel men squatted about him. “Who else?”

  Basil did not wait for permission to speak. “Let me be the other to go. I know nothing of the handling of camels, but I am willing to learn. I am so concerned with the need to complete the journey in the shortest possible time that I am prepared to place myself under Chimham’s orders and to do everything that he may demand of me.”

  Deborra touched his shoulder with an anxious hand. “But, Basil, can you stand the fatigue?” she whispered. “Can you bear the exposure to the sun by riding without cover? Should this not be left to those who are accustomed to the life of the desert?”

  He answered in a low voice, placing his head in close proximity to hers but keeping his eyes on the ground. “It is my duty to go. I could not make this journey in comfort while others took the risks for us. If I did that, I should never be able to hold my head up again. Surely you agree with me.” Then, with some reluctance, he went on to give another reason. “By going I will, moreover, release you from the embarrassment of my presence. You will not be under the necessity of explaining why we do not share a tent. I confess that I also will be most happy to escape from my share in this embarrassment. The plan,” he added after a moment, “will be to start tonight after a few hours’ rest. We will be well ahead of the caravan by the time you set out in the morning, and so there will be no gossiping or whispering or rubbing of hands about us. It is a perfect way to escape the difficulties of our position.”

  While this went on Chimham had been addressing the council. He had expressed his willingness to have Basil as his companion and to undertake himself the care of both camels. He recommended that a younger camel than the morose veteran Bildad be selected. His choice, he said, would be Romamti-ezer. “Ezer,” he declared, “is a glutton and a complainer. He is a snarler and a howler by night and he would rather snap at the kneecap of a rider than an acacia bough. But he is strong and he will keep right up with Bildad. They will be the best combination.”

  Adam looked up with a scowl and made a silent appraisal of the circle of his men. “Then it is settled,” he said. “Chimham and the bridegroom. Bildad and Ezer. Youth and experience. Peace be with them.”

  3

  Adam had dipped a hand in the dish of stewed lamb and was gnawing a knucklebone with relish. He sloshed his hand in hot water and gave his chin a hasty rubbing when Basil approached him.

  “You expressed concern over the safety of your camels,” said the latter. “I come to propose that you allow me to purchase from you the pair we shall put to the test of this fast journey to Antioch.”

  Adam indulged in a grunt. “Bildad and old Ezer will come high. Have you any idea how high?”

  “I do not care.” The smolder of Basil’s resentment had now been fanned into an active blaze. “I have money. I have little knowledge of the value of camels—and little desire to know—but I think I have enough to pay for two. I want to make this clear. That I would rather be stripped of my last coin than be beholden further to you.”

  Adam studied him with a shrewd eye. “Speaking right up to me like a stout little man,” he said. “This is a new face you are showing.”

  “I have stood as much from you as I can. When I leave camp tonight it will be with the hope that I never set eyes on you again.”

  “And I have stood as much of you as I can stomach,” declared Adam. “The dangers you will encounter on this journey cannot be too great to satisfy me.” He was silent for a moment and then threw restraint aside. “If the balance were cast up between us, who would come out ahead? If you have any doubts, I will tell you. You! I have said many bitter things about you, both to your face and behind your back. A favorite pastime with me for the rest of my life will be to speak of you with scorn and bitterness; but all you will have to complain of will be the rasp of my tongue. On the other hand, do you realize what you have done to me?”

  Basil nodded his head. “Yes, I know.”

  “You have given me good reason to hate you.” Adam made an expressive gesture with his hands. “Oh, I will sell you the camels, and I will put the price high because of the intensity of my dislike for you. There will be satisfaction for me if I can succeed in making you pay most handsomely through the nose.”

  Although he had said that he had no knowledge of the value of camels, it seemed to Basil that the price Adam then proceeded to state was fantastically high. He was slow at calculating, having little gift for figures, and it took him some time to decide that he could meet the price set and still have enough left to pay his expenses on the trips ahead of him. He did not then hesitate a moment longer.

  “I accept,” he said.

  Adam snapped his fingers impatiently. “Will you not give me the satisfaction of bargaining with you, of overreaching you in the end?” he cried. “No, I see you have no such intention. You are too proud. It suits you better to look at me with a cold eye and say to yourself, ‘I will not bandy words with this higgling dog.’ Let us get it over then as quickly as we may. Count out the money and give it to me. You are not generous enough to let me be the winner in as small a matter as this. Hurry! I am anxious to see the last of you.”

  Basil took the purse from his belt and counted out the money. He tried to be quick about it as Adam had demanded, but his unfamiliarity with money made this impossible. Adam watched with no attempt to conceal his contempt and impatience.

  “A word of advice,” said the caravan owner as the counting went on. “
Learn something about the ways of the world. You are the little Deborra’s husband, and for her sake I do not want you to be cheated all your life as I am cheating you now. And another hint. Where did you get those clothes in which you were married?”

  “They were a gift from Joseph of Arimathea.”

  “That is strange. My master must have realized that they carried the device of the eagle and serpent, which is the insignia of Dan. You are not a member of the tribe of Dan and you have no right to wear the device. My advice to you would be to have all the embroidery and the embossing removed.”

  “I will never wear the clothes again if that will suit you better.”

  Adam scowled. “I would be best suited if there had never been an occasion for you to wear them.”

  The count came to an end and the money was handed to Adam. He checked the amount carefully before putting it away in his own belt.

  “I think it is even between us tonight,” he said with belated satisfaction. “You have scorned to bargain with me. I have cheated you outrageously. Yes, it is even.” He gave his head a slow nod. “And now for some more advice, which I give in full honesty. Sleep until midnight. You will need every minute of rest you can get. Chimham will see to it in the meantime that all necessary arrangements are made. This, I trust, is the last time I shall speak to you, but I am not a hypocrite and so I do not say, ‘Peace be with you.’ This much I do wish you, a fast and safe trip to Antioch. I wish it most earnestly for the sake of the little Deborra.”

  “Then,” said Basil, “we are, for once, in accord.”

  4

  When Basil sought out Luke in the small tent the latter occupied and said he would like the privilege of sleeping there until midnight, the physician regarded him with a questioning eye.

  “This is strange behavior, my son,” he said. “Can it be that you have quarreled with your wife?”

  Basil shook his head. “There has been no quarrel. All I am free to tell you is that I am here at Deborra’s wish.” He added after a moment’s pause, “If there is any fault in the matter, it is mine.”

  He stripped to his scanty linen tunic and stretched himself out on a blanket. There was an open space to admit air at the peak of the tent, and through it he could see a dense cluster of stars. He studied them for a moment and then closed his eyes.

  “I think,” said Luke, “that I shall have a talk with Deborra.”

  Basil opened his eyes at once and turned to look at him with an anxious frown. “You will not find her willing to talk. Would it not be kinder to spare her your questions?”

  Luke hesitated for a moment only. “No, my son. I think it is necessary to speak to her before you go away. All human troubles can be disposed of when approached in the right way. You will tell me nothing. Have I your permission to ask your wife a few questions?”

  Basil was unutterably weary. He had passed through three exacting days, physically and mentally, and he had not slept in that time. His eyes seemed incapable of turning in their sockets when he strove to raise them for a glance at his companion’s face. He allowed them to close again.

  “So be it,” he said. “Ask her your questions. I leave this in your hands—and in hers.” Having said this, he fell off soundly to sleep.

  Deborra’s maidservant was combing her mistress’s hair when Luke appeared at the entrance of the tent. His “May I enter?” brought an affirmative response before the bride realized that her face was coated with a thick white substance. He looked so startled that, in spite of the troubles that weighed so heavily on her mind, she indulged in a brief smile.

  “I should have told you to wait,” she said, “until I had removed all the evidence of my guilty secret. Now you have discovered me in one of my wicked habits; of which, I confess, I have a number. A woman’s skin becomes parched and dry when exposed to the sun of the desert. A cream like this helps it very much. This comes from the East—the very far East. Every caravan that comes in brings a small box for my use. It is delivered with the utmost secrecy.” The maid had succeeded by this time in removing all traces of it from her cheeks. “I know it is considered wrong to use salves and lotions even though Solomon’s Queen of Sheba brought them with her. I do not think it wrong. I think it sensible.”

  Luke’s manner made it clear that he desired to speak with her alone, so Deborra dismissed the maid. With her face free of the cream, her weariness and distress of mind were clearly apparent.

  “Your husband sleeps in my tent,” said Luke.

  Deborra flushed. “Did he make no explanation?”

  “None.”

  Deborra allowed her hands to fall limply to her lap. She sighed. “It is in accordance with an arrangement we have made.”

  “Will you allow me to ask some questions?”

  She hesitated and then said, “Yes.”

  “If it had not been necessary for Basil to ride ahead, would he have shared your tent?”

  “No,” she said with reluctance.

  “The arrangement of which you speak was made before the wedding?”

  She nodded. “Yes, before. We decided it would be a marriage of form only.”

  Luke frowned as though he could neither understand nor condone such an arrangement. “Does he love you?”

  “No, he does not love me.”

  “And what of you? Do you love him?” Before she could answer he went on: “You must forgive me for probing into your affairs in this way, but I am convinced this is wrong and that something should be done to alter it before it is too late.”

  She hesitated for a moment and then answered his question with simple dignity. “I love him truly and deeply, else I would not have married him.”

  “I am glad to hear you say that. But why was Basil willing to marry you if, as you say, he does not love you?”

  She explained with an air of weariness, “It had been settled, as you know, that I should go to Antioch with the status of a married woman. It had been in my mind that he loved me, but when I found that it was not so, I suggested the marriage of form.”

  “With the intention of seeking a divorce later?”

  “I do not believe in divorce. But if Basil desires to be free of me later, I will not stand in his way.” She shook her head with an air of hopelessness. “If you please, I would rather not talk about it any more. It is very hard for me to discuss this with anyone.”

  “But, my poor child,” said Luke, “I feel a responsibility for what has happened. It was I who pointed out to your grandfather the advisability of arranging a marriage for you before you went to claim your inheritance. I was convinced then that a genuine attraction had grown up between you and Basil. When you told me he was your choice, I was very happy about it. I was certain he was in love with you.”

  “So was I.” Her voice quavered. “I would not have spoken to him if I had not felt sure. And then—and then he did not answer me at once and I knew I had taken too much for granted. When he told me about the other woman——”

  Luke’s brows drew together in a troubled frown. “Is he in love with another woman?”

  “He says not. But he told me that she was—that she was much in his mind. He feels indebted to her because she sent him a warning when he was a slave in Antioch—a warning of the danger in which he stood. It was because of this that he began to offer up prayers and that you came to take him away.”

  “He told me of receiving a note. But he did not know at that time who sent it.”

  “She told him when he saw her in Jerusalem. It—it is the woman who assists Simon the Magician.”

  Luke had been running his hands through the soft strands of his beard, but at this point he stopped. He stared at Deborra with incredulous eyes. “That infamous woman!” he exclaimed. “It is hard to believe.”

  “I found it hard.”

  “I have never believed in love potions or spells, counting them no more than silly tricks of the magic trade. Now, for the first time in my life, I find myself inclined to think there are such things.
No other explanation seems possible in this case.”

  A stern frown had driven all trace of benevolence from Luke’s face. He remained for several moments in an absorbed consideration of the situation. Then, with apparent reluctance, he entered on an explanation. “The leaders of the church of our Master,” he said, “have to be more than evangelical preachers. They have the welfare of the church in their hands and so they require to have some political sense as well. It was recognized that Simon the Magician’s efforts to rob men of their belief in the divinity of Jesus would have to be met. Certain inquiries about him were made. As a result we have learned many things since Simon made his appearance in Jerusalem, things about him and about this woman Helena as well. After running away from her master in Antioch, she lived with a number of men before Simon. It may be that the need will never arise to use this—or any of the shoddy things that have been discovered in the record of Simon, that very bad Samaritan. I trust not. But”—the frown on the usually benign brow became still more pronounced—“something must be done to cure this foolish boy of his interest in the woman. Does he know you are in love with him?”

  “No, no! I—I have tried to maintain some reticence about my feelings.” Deborra’s eyes filled with tears of weariness. “He is no happier than I am. I don’t think he knows what we expect of him. We have told him he must not do things that had always seemed right and natural. We tried to make him change his way of thinking to ours. I am sure he is mixed up in his mind and that he made the confession to me because he thought it was the Christian way of acting.”

  After a moment’s thought Luke nodded in agreement. “You are right, my child. The poor fellow is befuddled by our preaching at him.” He laid a comforting hand on hers. “I came to suggest that you make an effort to bring him to his senses, even to the extent of letting him see the state of your feelings. Can it be done?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No, my kind friend. I can do nothing more until he comes to me and says—the things I must hear him say. To do anything else would be a sure way of losing him.”