The Silver Chalice

by Thomas B. Costain

  A puzzled look came over Selech’s face, so Basil saw that further explanation was necessary. “There were circumstances that sealed my lips,” he said. “And I did not realize how truly and deeply I love her until I came to Rome. Now I am filled with my devotion and I do not want to die before I can tell her how blind I was and how wide my eyes have been opened.”

  “I am sure,” said Selech, “that the Lord will lead you back to her. I wish I could be as sure that all the Christians who live under Nero’s roof have as good a chance of escaping his wrath.” He turned to his assistant. “You must start, Demetrius. Go out through the vaults. Take the shaded paths where the light of the moon does not reach. And do not forget my instructions when you come to the house of Elishama ben Sheshbazzar.”

  2

  After crawling through the hole under the wall and discovering that it was filled with living things that slithered away from them, Basil and Demetrius came down to the house of Elishama ben Sheshbazzar, which hugged the base of the Palatine Hill. The grade was so steep at this point that they seemed to stand directly above the tall home of the gem merchant. With one false step they would land directly on its flat rooftop. They were much disturbed by the lights that gleamed from every window, for this meant that the establishment was astir and more than normally active for the hour.

  When they reached the level of the street below, Demetrius stopped and shook his head. “It must be filled with people,” he muttered. “Elishama will not be able to take you in. Still, I shall go in as Selech ordered. Stay until I return and stand back in the shadows. Make no noise. We may be preparing a place in the Mamertine for ourselves, you and I.”

  He was gone so long that Basil became convinced he did not intend to come back. This visit to the house of the gem merchant was no more than an easy way of taking leave. Perhaps Selech had wanted to get him off his hands as quickly and easily as possible and so had sent him out with Demetrius with instructions that he was to be left to his own resources. Well, he was free of the palace, at any rate, and that was a first stride to freedom.

  But how could he now proceed? What method was open to him for making his escape from the city? The harbor would be closely watched, and he dared not show himself there. It would be equally impossible to get away by land when he had no knowledge of the country, of the people or the language. It became clear to him as he stood in the shadow of a clump of eucalyptus trees that his position was a hopeless one. He could not turn back. The inn of Old Hannibal would be closely watched. He would not dare show himself in the anteroom of Kester of Zanthus. Instead of waiting to be captured, would it not be better to return to the palace and yield himself up to the wrath of Nero?

  He was still debating the point when the lights of the house began to go out, one at a time, until the place was in darkness. A few moments later he heard a step approaching.

  “Where are you?” whispered Demetrius.

  “I am here.”

  The food buyer came up beside him and said in a relieved tone that they were to go in. “Elishama agreed at once,” he said, “but it took some time to get everyone out of the way. The road is clear now. I will take you in and then I shall have to leave. I still have work to do before I go to visit the markets.”

  “You have risked a great deal for me,” said Basil gratefully. “Everyone has been most unselfish, you and Selech and those four carriers who got me out of the banqueting hall.”

  “Repay us by not letting them catch you,” whispered Demetrius. “I will be frank with you. We want nothing so much as to have you vanish. After all, we have our own skins to think of.”

  They entered the house by a rear door. Basil could not see anything and he followed his companion with arms outstretched in the dark. From the sound they made, he concluded they were in a large hall, and this was confirmed when a light burst suddenly out of the darkness some distance from them. A lamp had been lighted, and back of it Basil saw the head and shoulders of a man; a magnificent old man with flowing white hair and beard, a noble brow, and a pair of eyes filled with kindness and resolution. The lamp cast so small a light that it was as though a window had been opened and the head of the old man was on the outside looking in at them. Basil felt an immediate relief, for it was plain to be seen that this face, which seemed divorced from its body, was filled with compassion as well as courage.

  “I am Elishama ben Sheshbazzar,” said the owner of the house when they had come close to him. His voice was as warm and friendly as his eyes. He looked straight at Basil then and said, “Christ has risen.”

  The young sculptor felt a wave of pride as his lips formed the customary response. He had a right to use it now, for he believed in Jesus and had declared himself openly. By so doing he had thrown away all chance for reward at court and had placed his life in jeopardy. At last he belonged.

  “He sits at the right hand of God,” he said.

  The words brought a sympathetic smile into the eyes back of the lamp, and Basil felt that a bond had been established. He said to himself, “Wherever I go, I find myself needing the help of unselfish men like this; but I have done nothing to deserve it.”

  “Follow me,” whispered the gem merchant. “It will be wise, young stranger, to step lightly, for I do not want the sound of a new foot to be heard in the house. My people are not yet settled down for the night.”

  “I can do nothing more,” said Demetrius at this point. There was an unmistakable note of relief in his voice. “And so I shall bid you good night and farewell.”

  Before any response could be made he turned from them and they could hear him stepping with great care to the door at the rear. Basil heard him go with regret. Another friend had come briefly into his life, had helped him, and now had departed.

  The owner of the house led the way then into a room off the hall and closed the door after them. The lamp gave enough light for Basil to conclude that it was here the gem merchant conducted his affairs, although no stock was in sight; a spare room of no particular size, with cabinets on all sides, a table that served as a desk, and two chairs. His eyes fastened at once on a replica of the Temple that stood on the table. It was probably two feet high and made solidly of gold and burnished to such a degree that it shone richly in the small light cast upon it.

  “Sit down,” said the merchant.

  He placed the lamp he was carrying on the table and from it drew a light, which he applied to the wick of a much larger one. The room sprang into new life then, and Basil could see that his host was tall and with the stoop of advanced years in his back. He was gentle, but it was clear he was also proud. There was compassion in his face, but an alert intelligence as well. A robe of immaculate white linen formed the base of his costume, and over it he wore an outer tunic of an amethyst shade that was magnificently embroidered and embellished. He wore a black skullcap, and around his neck there was a gold chain that was long enough to stretch from one end of the room to the other. A large carbuncle glittered on one of his fingers.

  “I offer my regrets for the circumstances under which it is necessary to welcome you into my house,” said Elishama ben Sheshbazzar. “My helpers were all at work when Demetrius came to me. The house servants had not finished their labors for the day. My wife, who is in delicate health and must not be subjected to any disturbance or alarm, had not retired for the night. All my people are Christians and, I believe, completely dependable, but it must be as clear to you as it is to me that the fewer who know of your presence in the house, the less chance there will be of mistakes or slips; and so a better chance of helping you out of your difficulties. I shall endeavor to confine all knowledge of you to one servant and myself. Not even my wife is to know, or my fine sons, of whom I have three.”

  He had seated himself at the table, and his arms in their ample amethyst sleeves rested on its top. Although he was watching his guest, the model of the Temple was always in his line of vision.

  “The report I have had from my good friend Demetrius is very disturb
ing,” he said gravely. “There will be much suffering because of the wild charges this woman has made. But it is clear that you behaved with great courage. Men do this when the fire of conviction burns warmly in their hearts, but I never get over my wonder when I encounter evidences of it. Ah well, ah well, there is in each of us a little of our Lord in heaven. More in some than in others.” His eyes had been glowing warmly, but at this point they lost their fine content and became apprehensive. “Yes, my young friend, trouble and fear hang over the palace of Nero tonight like a black cloud. Everything she said, this wicked siren who parades herself on the public platforms with Simon, is false. There has been no conspiring. But because of her evil inventions there is danger that all of our people will be driven from their posts. The Emperor may treat them far worse than that.”

  “Let us pray that no great harm will come to Juli-Juli,” said Basil fervently. “I did no more than follow her brave example tonight, but she was not as lucky as I. It weighs bitterly on me that I made my escape in the cage in which she had been carried into the hall and in which she was to have left.”

  “It is asking much, I am afraid.” A look of the deepest gravity took possession of the noble countenance of Elishama ben Sheshbazzar. “The wrath of Nero will not spend itself at once. There will be some victims. She may be the first.”

  “Is there no way of getting her free?”

  “Nothing short of a palace revolution would do it.” The old merchant sighed deeply and glanced down at his hands, which were lying on the table in front of him. They were remarkable hands, delicately shaped, the fingers long and tapered and sensitive. After indulging in a moment of concentrated thought he looked up again. “The Jews who live in the Diaspora have much to contend with. We must endure the envy that our successes bring us, and a dislike because we are the chosen of the one living God. These feelings seem to have grown deeper since the coming of Jesus, Who was of the seed of David and Whose gentle teachings are too new and strange for them. And”—he reached out to touch a reverent finger briefly to the golden replica—“we live with a longing that burns in our hearts for the sight so dear to all the children of Israel, the sun glistening on that great roof of gold under which—under which the spirit of God comes to commune with His people.” He looked up then. “I say this because so many of the servants at the palace, on whom the wrath of Nero may fall, are Jews who have seen the light and believe in the teachings of God’s only begotten Son.”

  There was silence for a moment before Elishama reached out one of his beautiful hands to touch a circular object that lay on the table in front of him. “We must give my young men a chance to fall asleep before we venture into any other part of the house. In the meantime, to take your mind from the troubles that hang over us, I will explain to you about this.”

  He lifted the object so that Basil could see it was a clay model of a tiara and then replaced it on the desk.

  “Being a sculptor and a worker in silver, you will be interested in this model. Do you think it good?”

  “Yes, it is beautiful indeed. I have been admiring the design.”

  “I appreciate such praise from you because I designed it myself and I am doing the most intricate part of the work. The telling will serve a double purpose because it will be at the same time an explanation of why my young men were working so late tonight. I am not a hard taskmaster. I ask of them no more than seven hours of labor each day although in Jerusalem we worked much longer. It is becoming the custom in Rome to so arrange the working hours that they have most of the afternoon free. At the moment we are engaged in a race against time. This is the model of a tiara we are making for the Empress. A few days ago the Emperor became most insistent that it be finished in a much shorter time than he had stipulated at first. He is a man of small patience, and nothing will satisfy him short of a miracle on our part. He can hardly wait to place this remarkable gift on the head of his wife, who—ah well, ah well, we must concede that she is beautiful—who will wear it to great advantage. Because of this my young men and I have been working day and night.”

  Basil had been studying the model as its originator spoke, admiring its proportions and the delicacy of the design. Certainly it would be beautiful on the amber locks of Poppaea.

  “As you perhaps know, there is in Rome at the moment a great liking for the opal,” went on the gem merchant. “It is placed above all other hyaline stones. It is not a first favorite with me. I place the ruby and the sapphire above it, and someday, when we learn how to cut it, the diamond will be the greatest stone of all. But the men who buy the jewels and the women who wear them will be content with nothing but the opal. I bend to this popular demand, and so there will be many fine black ones from Egypt used in the design, set off with one truly magnificent specimen of the fire opal. The black ones are remarkably good.” He hesitated and then drew from a drawer under the table a stone of considerable size, which he held up for his visitor’s inspection. “Yes, there is much to be said for it. The opal has such warmth and variety of color.”

  The stone was dark and luminous with green lights against a background as black as a thundercloud. It was, Basil said to himself, like a glimpse of the green flames of the nether regions, a little terrifying and yet with a fascination that could not be denied.

  “There will be rubies as well,” explained the gem merchant. “I decided against the use of turquoise, but I am using many sapphires.” His eyes began to glow with enthusiasm. This was natural, for all Jews had a deep love for the sapphire. They believed that it restored failing sight and could even check the flow of blood from a wound. “Yes, I am setting some magnificent sapphires into the design. There will be a few olivines and, of course, some amethysts.”

  “It will be costly.”

  “Add the value of Pompey’s chessboard, which was made of gold, and that of the men, which were cut from precious stones, to the cost of the golden vine of Aristobulus and the fabulous necklace of Lollia Paulina, and you will still not equal the cost of this tiara that is to rest on the head of our new Empress.” The merchant looked earnestly across the table at his guest. “Were you long enough at court to learn that Nero is unhappy about the city of Rome? He finds it crowded and ugly and with too many offensive smells. He dreams of a cleaner and finer capital. Young stranger, he could sweep the Subura out of existence with the money he is putting into this tiara, and build wide streets and clean houses instead. Ah well, ah well, there will be a handsome profit in it. Much of the profit will go to some more commendable use than the adornment of the body of the fair Poppaea.”

  The black opal was replaced in the drawer and the model was moved to one side. The merchant rose, walked to the door, and opened it with great caution. The house had fallen into slumber; no sounds, at any rate, reached their ears. After a moment he returned and began speaking in a low voice. “I have been talking to fill in time. Now it seems safe to take you to the room where you will spend the night. I think all my young men are asleep, but it will be wise to remove your sandals. Permit me to make suggestions for our mutual good. Bolt your door on the inside and do not open it unless you hear someone rap twice slowly and then twice rapidly. That will be the servant I have selected to share the secret. When you open the door, stand well behind it, and under no circumstances go near a window. The name of the servant is Joseph. He was born in the Valley of the Cheesemakers. He is very deaf and very faithful.”

  “I will take every precaution,” promised Basil. “That is the least I can do when you are risking so much.”

  The gem merchant pressed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You stood up before Nero and proclaimed yourself a Christian. I, who must conceal my beliefs, can surely do this much. I do it gladly.” He placed a brass cover over the lamp so it would not give a wide reflection in passing through the halls. “I will visit you in the morning and we will discuss plans for your escape from Rome.”

  3

  The bedroom was large and airy and furnished with a degree of luxury th
at came as a surprise after the Spartan quality of the room below. There was a large bed and a sunken bath in one corner. A detailed map of Jerusalem had been sketched in colors on one wall. He caught glimpses of such aids to comfort as a laver, a wine container, and an assortment of bottles and drinking cups. The air was delicately perfumed, and a cool breeze blew in through the windows.

  He found it impossible at first to sleep. The events of the evening kept running through his mind. He paced up and down the room on bare feet, his hands clenched, his whole body taut. The vision of Juli-Juli chained to a wall would not leave him. There must be something they could do to help her. But what, what? His thoughts kept running into this mental cul-de-sac.

  He spent some time in front of the map, lamp in hand. With the forefinger of the other hand he traced the course he and Deborra had followed when they fled from the Court of the Gentiles and led pursuit through the domain of the poor cheesemakers. He lowered himself with great care into the water that filled his bath and lay there without moving, hoping that slumber could be induced in that way. It did him no good. He was as wakeful as before when he emerged from the tepid water. As he dried himself he kept asking the same question. What could be done to help the little dancer?

  It was strange that he could not get to sleep, for physically he seemed very tired. His legs balked when he started back at his pacing. He seated himself with a deep sigh in a chair facing the windows.

  Immediately, as though he had come to witness a play, the wall seemed to recede and dissolve, and he found himself looking at a familiar scene. It was familiar because he had seen it before, the gathering of twelve men about a long table in the Wall of David. He knew it was not a dream this time. He could not have fallen off in the winking of an eye, and the scene was much too vivid, too clear. Every detail was as clear as though he himself sat in this room in the Wall of David. It was the same as before in the matter that concerned him most: the space in the center was still vacant.