A murmur of voices filled the courtroom, and it was apparent that some approval of what the doctor of laws had said was helping to swell the volume of sound.
“Less than an hour ago,” said the magistrate, “another court passed on an application by the man who stands in the relationship of husband to the heiress in this case. The application was for reinstatement as a citizen of Rome. It has been affirmed.”
For a moment the people in the room were too surprised by this announcement to make a sound. Deborra found herself on her feet, with no consciousness of having changed her position, an exultation in her veins that she had never before experienced. It was hard to keep from shouting out aloud. All about her people had risen also, and she saw that on most of the faces there was excited approval. Then the silence was broken by a loud outburst of enthusiasm, in which she joined.
The judge made no effort at first to still the uproar. He seemed willing to have the fact of public assent established before making an effort a second time to command silence. The response when he did raise his arm was not as immediate; it was many seconds before his order was obeyed.
Ohad remained standing throughout the demonstration. His eyes, which encroached closely on his long expanse of nose, darted about the room with quite apparent surprise. When silence had been restored, he began to speak in a voice that lacked some of the ease of delivery he had displayed before.
“The action of the court comes,” he declared, “as a complete surprise. And, I may add, it gives much cause for amazement. In view of this it becomes necessary for me to make a statement on behalf of my principal, Aaron, son of Joseph. As soon as he returns to Jerusalem, it is his intention to move to have the marriage set aside. His daughter did not have his consent. In fact, he knew nothing of her intentions until after the wedding had taken place. The ceremony occurred, moreover, after the death of Joseph of Arimathea. It is established in our laws that a marriage may not take place within the thirty days of mourning prescribed.”
The man at the magistrate’s shoulder spread out seven fingers on the table. Fabius grasped what he meant at once and raised his head to speak. “Is not the term of mourning seven days instead of thirty?”
“It is seven days after the death of a woman,” declared Ohad, “but thirty in the case of a man.”
“A distinction,” cried the old magistrate, “with which I am in disagreement. There is at least equal reason for mourning the passing of a good woman as for any man who strutted in the toga of high office. And my enemies and detractors, of whom there are many, may make the most of what I have said.” He paused then as the man behind him thrust a document into his hand. After making a pretense of reading it, he nodded his head and handed it back. “A statement has been placed in evidence to the effect that the wedding took place half an hour before the death of Joseph of Arimathea. More than fifty persons who were in the house at the time have either signed it or affixed their marks to the document.”
The doctor of law continued his argument in a spate of glib words, and other voices joined in. It became a jumble of sound finally, with the opinions of the participants becoming more heated each moment. The magistrate allowed the discussion to continue for some considerable time. Finally he employed a sharp twiddle of his fingers to signify that the end of his patience had been reached.
“But we deal with an accomplished fact,” he declared. “The young woman is married. No matter what the circumstances of his past, her husband is today a Roman citizen. The law places her under his tutelage. Can I disregard this in the mere expectation that a court in a foreign land may declare the marriage void? In a suit, moreover, which has not yet been entered for hearing?”
The eyes of Deborra and Luke met, hers wide open with delight. “We are going to win!” she said in an exultant whisper. “My good friend, I can feel it. I can see it in the eyes of that strange old man. We are going to win!”
Luke’s eyes indulged themselves in a pleased twinkle. “I feel the same way,” he said. “Jabez has done nothing to assist us, but the magistrate is not allowing anything to stand in the way of an honest view of the facts. Yes, my child, we have every reason to be satisfied so far.”
Adam did not share their optimistic mood. He stared across the room at his old enemy and the man of the law who had turned to consult with him. “They will have something more to say,” he muttered. “Ohad is as cunning as a fox. He is not beaten yet. Don’t let yourself get too certain until the verdict has been given.”
Aaron and Ohad became involved in an argument, and it was apparent that the great doctor of laws was finding his client stubborn and intractable. At first Aaron gave his head a frigid shake at everything the other man said. Once he exclaimed in an audible voice: “No, no! I do not agree. I do not, I tell you.” The lawyer continued to press him, and after a time Aaron began to weaken. His protests became petulant rather than violent. He still shook his head, but the earlier heat had left his denials. Finally he threw both hands in the air, and so gave in.
Ohad turned and addressed the magistrate. “O Learned Judge,” he said, “it is my purpose to propose a compromise. It is a measure in which I lack the full approval of my client, who feels he has rights and privileges which should be recognized. In the interests of a quicker settlement, however, he has agreed to let me make the suggestion I have urged upon him. It is this, Learned Judge.” The lawyer placed a judicial finger on the tip of his nose and squinted down at it in deep concentration. “Delay the making of any decision until after the legality of this marriage has been tested. In the meantime let the funds remain in the hands of Jabez. He has handled them for many years with a skill and foresight that we all recognize. It will not be a hardship for the ultimate winner to have him continue his stewardship for such longer time as is necessary to allow the court in Jerusalem to reach a decision.”
“I knew it,” muttered Adam. “I was sure Ohad would have something of the kind to propose. This is a shrewd move. If they win before the Sanhedrin and get the marriage set aside—and they may, if only because Aaron’s consent was not obtained or even on influence alone—then the court here will not continue to regard Deborra as a married woman. They have nothing to lose by this and a great deal to gain. Yes, Ohad is as sharp as a new pick.”
Deborra had lost her exultant mood. She glanced with apprehension at Luke and found that he was listening to Adam with a disturbed pucker between his eyes.
“Look at the judge,” said Adam. “He sees this as a means to escape responsibility. Do you recall that Pontius Pilate tried every way to avoid making a decision in the case of Jesus? This magistrate has a mind of his own, but he is not averse to shuffling off the load.” He gave his head a discouraged shake. “I do not like it. Any delay is in their favor. If the court postpones a decision as he is suggesting, they will have many months in which to work. In that time the sun of influence might climb high enough into the sky to scorch and destroy all the green shoots of justice. I tell you, I do not like it at all. We have everything to lose by this proposal.”
At this moment a disturbance was heard at the entrance to the courtroom. In spite of a negative order from an official at the door, Linus came striding in, his eyes glistening in full consciousness of his importance. One hand held his toga in place; in the other he carried a chariot whip. He walked with a loud clomp of leather to the front of the room and stationed himself before the magistrate.
“It has been brought to my attention,” he asserted loudly, “that a case is being tried here that concerns a former slave of mine.”
Adam twisted excitedly on the bench. “Look at Jabez!” he said in a whisper. “I swear he was expecting something of this kind to happen. His eyes are like sparks from a wood fire.”
At this stage the face of Jabez, which had been as expressionless as a marble wall, was turned toward the bench where Deborra and her allies sat. He smiled at them. Then, to their amazement, he allowed his left eyelid to droop. It was no more than a momentary flicker, but
none of them had any doubts as to what had happened. The great banker had winked at them.
“He arranged this,” whispered Adam. “He saw there would be some advantage for us in having this man stalk in like a conquering general.”
The old magistrate was looking down from his high perch at Linus, his eyes reflecting a sudden frostiness.
“You have not been summoned to appear.”
“I have not been summoned to appear.” Linus indulged in a laugh that said such details did not concern him. “It happens, O Fabius, that I have information to give you. And so I am here.”
“This information concerns the character of one of the parties in this hearing?”
“It concerns the character of one Basil, son of Theron, seller of pens. It concerns also the rights of slaves and ex-slaves.”
“And you consider your views on these points to be worth the attention of the court?”
Linus began to scowl. “I do. It is your duty to hear what I have to say.”
The magistrate continued to speak in fully controlled tones. “The courts nevertheless are not open to any citizen who desires to express his opinions. Your ideas on the subject of slavery are well known, and in many circles they are not highly regarded. It is well known also”—his manner became suddenly glacial—“that Linus has small regard for the workings of the law. He believes, perhaps, that all judges are open to corrupt persuasion. Certainly he makes it clear that he considers himself above the rules that apply to lesser men.” He leaned out across the bench and scowled at the spluttering Linus. “If you had information that you considered pertinent, why did you not advise the court in advance?”
“I am here,” declared Linus.
Fabius snuffled angrily and let himself sink back into his chair. He continued to glare at the unbidden witness.
“Your information can have no bearing on the issues before this court. A decision given out in another court has settled all questions with reference to the status of the man Basil.” He pointed a finger suddenly at the figure in front of him. “Stand down! You will not be heard!”
Then the magistrate proceeded to make it clear that the incident had jolted him out of the indecision with which he had listened to the persuasive arguments of Ohad. He brought his fist down sharply on the surface of the bench.
“I now declare that no evidence has been introduced into these proceedings to justify me in disregarding the clear and precise instructions that the deceased Joseph of Arimathea drew up for the disposal of these funds. What he desired done with the moneys was made evident, in full accord with the spirit and letter of the Twelve Tables. The will of the testator, if in any degree reasonable, must always be the main consideration. I shall draw up an addictio at once, authorizing Jabez to distribute the funds as set forth in the instructions.”
The old prince, his parchment-like face wreathed in smiles, sought out Deborra as soon as the signal to rise was given.
“It was not possible to hear what was said because of inadequate knowledge,” he stated. “But it must be, from the sunshine of your faces, that this judge, whose wisdom is greater than his appearance hints, has been fair and judicious in his decision. This humble witness of your triumph is very happy indeed.”
Deborra looked about the court for Adam but failed to see him. He had already bidden Luke farewell and left the court. In the door he had turned for a final look at the radiant young woman who had served so long as the Rachel on whom his fancy had been fixed. “Farewell!” he muttered. “For over twenty years I have flouted the law that says a man must marry by the time he is eighteen. I must continue to disregard it because I can see now that I shall carry your image in my heart always, little Deborra. But I shall never see you again.”
2
A minor official of the court bowed before Deborra as she prepared to leave. “Your presence,” he said, “is desired in the Chamber of the Petitioners.”
She looked at Luke for guidance. “I think you will find it is your father,” he said. “I will go with you as far as the door to make sure.”
It was Aaron who had sent for her. He was alone in the Chamber of the Petitioners, and it was clear from the spots of color visible in the region of his eyes and cheekbones that he had taken the decision in a bitter spirit. Without glancing up he continued to turn over the documents spread out in front of him.
“It is you?”
“Yes, Father.”
“You are satisfied, no doubt, with what you have done. You have subjected me to suffering and humiliation. I have had to stand in a foreign court before a hostile judge and see my only child range herself with my enemies. I must now return to Jerusalem, leaving you with the ex-slave you married without seeking my consent.”
“Father, I am filled with regrets.” Deborra was feeling so much compassion for him that she found it hard not to break into tears. “If there had been any other course open to me, I would have taken it. But there was no way.”
“You were acting, I am sure, on advice that came from my father. I have been aware for many years that he held me in small regard. All his affection was given to you. I had none of it.”
Deborra said in a low tone: “No, no, Father, you are wrong. It was always very clear to me that Grandfather yearned for a closer understanding with you and would have done anything to bring it about.”
Aaron raised his voice in angry denial. “He built a wall between us that could not be crossed. It was all because I refused to share his religious beliefs. He stole your affections from me and then turned you into a Christian.”
He was attired in plain white robes, which accentuated the slope of his narrow shoulders. This made him look so thin and insignificant that his daughter felt her heart fill with pity for him.
Aaron raised his head and stared into her eyes for the first time. He spoke in a furious haste. “I do not hold the memory of my father in honor or respect. He forfeited his right to any filial feeling on my part. I never want to hear his name spoken again.” He picked up one of the documents in front of him and shook it at her. “Here! If you will sign this, we may still avoid the consequences of what you have done today.”
Deborra looked at the document with trepidation. “What is it?”
“Your acquiescence to certain conditions. If you sign this, you will be agreeing to return with me to Jerusalem and to become a party to the action I shall bring to have your marriage set aside. You will be consenting also to have me assume control of this inheritance until such time as you marry with my consent. Sign this document, my erring and misguided child, and I will restore you to all your rights. You and your children after you will inherit everything I possess. You shall be in the meantime the mistress of my home, the sole object of my love and solicitude.”
Deborra began to sob. “You know full well, Father, that I cannot do this.”
“And why not?”
“Because”—the flow of her tears made it difficult for her to speak—“it would be throwing aside everything that Grandfather desired. And it would mean leaving the husband I love with all my heart. Surely you must see that what you ask is impossible.”
Aaron tossed the document down in front of him. “Think well, child. Your chance for serenity and happiness, for a secure future, depends on the decision you make.”
“I cannot do what you demand.”
“Is this your final word?”
“Yes, Father.”
Aaron rose to his feet. The color had ebbed from his cheeks and left them white. He stripped the linen tunic from his shoulders and tore it into two pieces.
“Then hear what I have to say, stubborn and unfeeling child. Even as I cast this garment from me, I cast you out of my life. You cease to be my daughter from this moment. Your name will never be spoken in my hearing. This is my decision, and I shall never change.”
When Deborra told Luke what had occurred, he nodded to her gravely. “It is what could be expected. Your father is a bitterly disappointed man. He has taken the
only form of retaliation open to him.”
“Surely his heart will soften. Do you not think he will change his mind in time?”
“It is always best to be honest, my child. No, I think there is little chance that he will relent. Once he has chosen a path, it is impossible to divert him.”
Deborra’s tears began to flow again. After several moments of unrestrained weeping she began to laugh hysterically. “He will never mend the breach between us, but I am sure the first thing he will do is to take the pieces of his tunic and have them mended,” she said.
CHAPTER XXI
1
JABEZ SAT at a long table in a huge room when they were ushered in to see him the next day. Nowhere in this quiet establishment was there any hint of the turmoil and chaffering of the court of the money-changers where denarii were changed into didrachmas and half shekels and men haggled over the lepton, which was usually called a mite. A silence as complete as could be found on a high hill during a windless day filled the pillared room. Jabez looked up from the small pile of documents in front of him and invited them to be seated.
“Everything is settled,” said the banker, tapping the marble top with his small white knuckles. “Here are the documents to be signed. May I say I am happy to have this matter concluded so satisfactorily—and in accordance with the wishes of my very dear old friend?” He looked inquiringly at Deborra. “Your husband is not with you?”
Luke took it on himself to explain. “I am in agreement with his physician, who considered it unwise for him to come out yet. He will be able to come tomorrow.”
“Then the signing must be delayed another day.” Jabez lifted one of the documents on the table. “This contains the terms of the settlement. You are to receive on signing one half of the moneys due you. There is some inconvenience in this for me, as the amount is large, very large indeed. But I can manage to pay. You are to receive, in addition, the ownership of the house in which you are now living and which seems to please you. There are other purchases to be made for you—of jewelry, of household appointments, of horses, an Assyrian dog, an Egyptian cat. There are appointments of gold for a religious shrine, the location and nature of which are not indicated. Whatever is left after these matters are attended to is to be held here and to be subject to your demands later. I may tell you there will be a substantial balance.”
The Silver Chalice Page 37
