“But,” protested one of the listeners, “should he be allowed to fly out from his tower for all Rome to see and marvel at?”
“I do not believe, my good friends,” answered Peter in a voice of sudden finality, “that we should question the will of God in advance. Our faith should be equal to believing this, that He will be watching when Simon Magus steps out on his new Tower of Babel. We should be ready to believe that, whatever happens, it will come about because He willed it.”
Basil, watching and listening eagerly, felt a glow of satisfaction. This was the answer he had expected to hear. It would make no difference if Peter knew that Simon relied on tangible aids and that it would be easy to expose him before the world. The answer would still be the same: The Lord will be watching.
The voice of Elishama ben Sheshbazzar made itself heard. “Peter is right, my friends. Should the lion turn his head to the channering of the hyena?”
Basil began to move along the dark and cramped passage in which he stood, feeling his way from one slit of light to another, and so getting a complete view of the gathering below. He saw the ascetic face of Selech, the nervous and unhappy visage of Demetrius, the beautifully modeled head of Elishama. Beside the latter sat a delicate lady with a face of great sweetness who undoubtedly was his wife. He saw also the round head and uneven shoulders of Mark, who looked a little out of place in a gathering of such gentility and whose frown testified that he was aware of it. On all of the many faces he studied there was the same look of reverence, the same willingness to abide finally by the decisions of the ancient fisherman.
Basil was not aware when the topic of discussion was changed below because at this point he found himself thinking of the tragedy that had occurred. He clenched his hands angrily and said to himself: “Why do I not return and wheedle myself back into the good graces of Nero? Someday, perhaps, I would find myself alone with him and I would say, ‘Caesar, do you remember the girl Juli-Juli, who used your sandals in a dance, and whom you had killed?’ And then I would cut his base, thick throat from one side to the other, and the voice he thinks so golden would be as still as her light feet.” As soon as this thought went through his mind he was conscious of a feeling of guilt. “My conversion cannot yet be complete,” he said to himself in a panic, “since I can still have violence in my heart.” It was not until he reached the slit at the far end of the room and could look down across the assembled company to where Peter sat in his fine white linen that he felt any comfort. “It was Peter,” he said to himself, then, “who drew a sword on the Mount of Olives and smote off the ear of Malchus. It cannot be the will of the Lord that His people should always abstain from anger.”
These thoughts distracted his attention until he heard a voice below him asking, “Is nothing to be done for the slaves of Quintus Clarius who are to die in the morning?”
The silence in this room, where the princes of the church in Rome sat with backs pressed against the cabinets in which Elishama kept his stores of precious stones, was so complete that Basil could hear the faintest rustle of a tunic on the wooden benches.
“This is in all of your minds,” said Peter in a voice to which compassion and sorrow had given an edge of intensity. “You are asking, ‘Is it the will of God that these hundred men and women, all of whom believe in Jesus and strive to walk in His steps, shall be put to death for a crime of which they are innocent?’ You are thinking, ‘Surely the Hand of the Lord will be stretched out to save them.’ ”
“Yes, Peter,” said Elishama, “these thoughts are in all of our minds.”
“My brethren,” said Peter earnestly, “I can give you no answer save the one you have already heard. The Lord has not said, ‘Arise, Peter, and save them.’ And truly, brothers and sisters in the faith, should we expect Him to speak? Listen, listen in patience and understanding. It is always known on the eve of a great battle that on the day following thousands of fine young men will be cut down ruthlessly. Does the Lord feel it incumbent on Him to interfere in these tragic butcheries? When the forces of nature gather for the flooding of a mighty river or there is an agitation in the bowels of the earth and it is known in heaven that an earthquake will follow, the Lord does not reach down to remove the people who stand in the path of destruction. When a pestilence begins in the slums of a city, the Lord does not intervene to save the thousands who will die miserably of the plague. Life on this earth is made cruel by the barbarities of nature and the wickedness of men, and thus it has been from the beginning.
“Hearken to me still,” he went on after a pause. “The words I am going to say to you have been in my mind for a very long time. I give utterance to my thoughts now because I am sure the Lord is putting the words in my mouth so that ye may know His will. There must be a testing of the faith of man if the teachings of Jesus are to prevail. It becomes ever clearer that the test will be here, in Rome, on which the eyes of the world rest and where a strange and cruel man sits on a temporal throne. The fate of these poor slaves who now lie in prison will be no more than a beginning. Rome will know such persecution as the world has never seen before. Many of us who sit here tonight will be among those who perish. Verily, it is the will of God that many shall die so that a great faith will rise triumphant out of martyrdom.”
Peter rested for a moment and then spoke in a voice that had risen to an exultant pitch. “It is my hope that I, who denied Jesus on that blackest of nights, will be among those chosen to suffer, so that I may see the glory of the new dawn. And this I say to you, that the Christians of Rome will display such an unshakable faith in the face of the sufferings to come that all will wonder and say, What of this man Jesus, what is His secret that men and women will die at His beck?’ And all over the world the true faith will spread and all men will bow down before the living God.”
Basil watched the face of the inspired fisherman and he knew that everything Peter was saying would come to pass. Luke had prepared him to believe that a greater miracle than the delivery of slaves from a jail was the creation of such faith in the frail hearts of men.
“This I shall do tonight,” concluded Peter. “When we have ended our deliberations, I shall go to the Mamertine, where these sad men and women are held. It may be that the Lord will not permit the walls of that cruel prison to remain a barrier and that I shall be able to enter into the cells where they wait. And I shall strive to bring to them such assurance of the peace and happiness into which they will be released by the cruel hand of Nero that they will face the morrow with the courage we must all summon to support us when the testing comes. Tomorrow,” he cried, “is the beginning! Let us turn our faces ahead with belief that out of our sufferings will come a spreading of the gospel over all the world.”
6
It was late when Peter entered Basil’s room. He joined the young sculptor on a carved bench against the wall.
“The eyes of God have been upon you, my son,” he said. “He has plucked you out of the clutches of the wicked Emperor as our friends below desired to see Him pluck the condemned people from the walls of the Mamertine.”
“I escaped in the cage that brought the little dancer into the hall,” said Basil with self-bitterness. “Knowing that she died, I find it hard to rejoice in my good fortune.”
“Grieve not for those who go to a sure reward.”
There was a moment’s silence and then Peter said, “It is certain that you are destined for special labors in the vineyard.” The merest hint of a twinkle developed in the deep-set eyes. “Were you much surprised when you saw me below and knew that old Cephas of the little inn was Simon called Peter from Galilee?”
Basil shook his head. “No, Father Peter. I was prepared. I had been shown you in a dream.”
He proceeded then to tell of the scene he had witnessed in his sleep. Peter listened with the most intense concentration and, when the point was reached where the face of Jesus grew out of the blackness, he reached out both hands and grasped those of his young companion. His eyes were glowing wit
h fervor.
“My son, you have seen Jesus!” he exclaimed. “How few are those living today who have gazed on His face! Even though you stood up boldly before Nero and pledged your faith, as I knew you would when the time came, it was not to be expected that this reward would be given you. Most clearly,” he added, “it is the will of the Lord that this Chalice should be finished.”
Basil got up from the bench and trimmed the wick of the oil lamp so that it gave out a better light. He carried it then to the table where the last of his efforts stood under the covering of a damp cloth. He raised the cover and stepped back.
Peter gazed on the head that had been revealed; and then his hands drew together, his mouth quivered with overwhelming emotion, and he sank down before the table on his knees.
“It is the face of Jesus,” he whispered. “Truly, my son, you have been inspired. Thus have I seen Him look often; His eyes so clear, so penetrating, so full of pity and understanding; His mouth so gentle and tender. It was thus He looked on that night when we broke bread in the Wall of David. It was thus He looked when He came to us for the last time.” He began to say a prayer in a low and passionate tone. “O Jesus, my Master, may I look upon Your face soon as this young man has looked upon it for a moment in his dreams? As You have deigned to come to him, come Thou to me so that I may have Your guidance in the dark days that stretch ahead. I am old and tired and I need Your comfort and aid, O Jesus, my Master, my Saviour!”
A moment later he rose from his knees. “Replace the cloth, my son,” he said. “Until you have made it into permanent form and the chalice is completed, you must guard this as the High Priest guards the secrets of the Holy of Holies. This is a gift for the generations of believers who will follow us.” His voice became more normal as the necessities of the situation intruded themselves on his mind. “A ship sails from Rome for the East in a few days whose captain is a Christian and will take you with him. I have spoken to Elishama, and he agrees that you should take advantage of such a good chance to get away.” He inclined his head again to look at the face of Christ. “Guard it well, my son, guard it with your life if necessary.”
CHAPTER XXXI
1
Helena would have been seriously concerned if she had known that Simon rose at dawn on the day of the test. The first streamers of light in the eastern sky saw him on the rooftop, watching the marble parapets come into view along the crest of the Palatine as the sun picked them out one by one. As usual, his eyes came to rest on the house where Cicero had lived.
“O most eloquent of men,” he intoned, stretching out his arms. “If only you were alive today to recount with your silver tongue the astonishment I shall cause the world!”
His gaze turned then toward a mere glimmer of white where the walls of the Palatium showed through the trees. “Verily, Nero,” he cried, “I shall gratify today your hatred of these sanctimonious people. In a few hours we will both be able to sit back and pat our bellies with pride and say, ‘Come up, Peter, come up, Paul, what have you to say for your puny miracles now?’ ”
As soon as it became light enough, he immersed himself in an Eastern manuscript on magic and the occult. He had purchased it many years before at a very considerable price but had never been able to reach an understanding of what it contained. Now he seemed to be reading with great absorption, as though the power had suddenly been given him to assimilate its strange knowledge. As he turned the parchment with eager fingers, he muttered to himself: “Yes, this is the truth. I have always known that these forces existed and could be summoned to the aid of anyone with the audacity to try. No one has more audacity than I.”
He was still poring over the manuscript when one of his helpers put his head through the trap door that gave access to the roof. It was an impudent head, with a slack mouth and a leering eye, and there was a complete lack of respect in the greeting he gave with a jaunty wave of his hand: “Blackbirds roosting in a philosopher’s hat!”
“Balchis!” cried Simon. “What do you mean by disturbing my studies? Betake yourself and your stupid expressions of the magic trade out of my sight and hearing.”
The assistant’s grin changed from an expression of impudent amusement to one of contempt. “What I came to tell you is this, O man of mighty learning! One hour ago we finished our task of installing the little device under the top of the tower. There was not a prying eye to see what we were doing. There it is, as snug as a louse in a beggar’s shirt. And it works, O wise Simon. Set your great mind at rest. You will be able to fly out and back as easy and safe as a twittering little lovebird.”
“Yes, I shall fly,” declared the great magician. “But I shall have no need for this device that you have set up in the tower. A great force has been infused into my veins, and I shall ascend into the sky without any other aid.”
“The belch of an Apulian mule driver for that, O bold Simon!” said Balchis. He proceeded to let the trap door down after him as he descended the stairs, and so vanished from sight.
Within a very short time Helena raised the door and stepped up to the stone roof with an impatient tap of sandals. She carried a robe of yellow and black over one arm.
“Here it is,” she said. “The seamstress finished it late last night. You will recall—if you recall anything I say or do, which I sometimes doubt—that we made tests and decided that this combination of colors would show most conspicuously against the blue of the sky. See! It will be a becoming costume for you.”
Simon looked up from his manuscript with little interest. “It is excellent.”
Helena spread the robe out on the table beside him. She seated herself on the stone ledge that ran around beneath the lip of the parapet and looked with rising indignation at the partly empty leather bottle at his elbow. “You have been drinking!” she charged. “And on the day of the test.”
“Yes, my zadeeda,” he answered. “I was so fully aware of its being the day of the test that I was up at the break of dawn.”
“And you have kept yourself busy drinking ever since!” she cried. “Simon, you have been behaving like a fool. Do you not realize that it will take all your strength to perform this feat?”
Simon was very proud of his physical strength. He stretched out an arm and flexed his muscles. “Look at that! I am as strong as a gladiator.”
“Your arm is thin. You have not been eating enough and you have been drinking too much.” She turned on him in a sudden fury. “Has it entered your head that you dare not fail? The Emperor wants the Christians humiliated. He expects this of you, and so you must succeed. You think you stand high in the favor of this young Emperor, but make no mistake about what will happen if you fail!”
The magician raised his head proudly, as though he felt the eyes of Cicero on him from the heights above. “I shall not fail,” he declared. He picked up the manuscript and began to read, keeping the corner of one eye on his companion to discover what effect this had on her. “This is an amazing document, my Helena.”
“You could not understand a sentence in it whenever you tried it before.”
“The power to understand it has been granted to me.” He looked at her with a burning eye. “The gift of tongues, my Helena. It has descended upon me.”
“The gift of one tongue will descend upon you if you do any more drinking today. A sharp tongue, my Simon.” Helena whisked the bottle up from the table. “I ought to remain and keep an eye on you, my little man. But I must visit the tower and make sure that—that it has been set up properly. They tell me everything is right, but I do not trust any of them. I must see with my own eyes.” She cast some final remarks back over her shoulder as she descended the stairs. “The midday meal will be served in the tower, and the test comes immediately after. Can I be sure that you will arrive in good time and in good condition? I will not have a chance to return for you. Promise that you will do no more drinking. You must have a cool head today.”
“You may count on me,” declared Simon with a sudden accession of dignity.
“Have you any conception of the great powers that accompany the gift of tongues?”
2
The lower floor of the wooden tower had been solidly walled so that the men in charge of the operations could use it as their headquarters. There were a long trestle table, on which the plans had been kept spread out for their convenience, and several camp chairs of the kind used by soldiers in the field. Against one wall there was a narrow flight of wooden steps leading to a trap door in the ceiling. Shavings were piled in heaps in all the corners, and the place was filled with the pleasant smell of new timber.
When Simon arrived, the trestle table had been cleared off and a repast spread out. He was carrying his head high, and the ancient manuscript was tucked under one arm. His robe was white and came only to his knees, revealing the fact that his legs were as crooked as a horn trumpet and covered with coarse reddish hair.
“Nero has made a gesture to the public in my honor,” announced the magician with an air of pride. “He has thrown open the gates and allowed them into the grounds to see me fly. All Rome will soon be on the Palatine Hill. They will cluster around the walls like flies on a greasy skillet, and every tree will carry a heavy crop of them. It is going to be a day that men will remember.”
Helena looked at him with dismay. “Simon!” she exclaimed. “Where is the black-and-yellow robe you are to use?”
“I decided against it.” He swayed a little and had to balance himself by resting a hand on the table. “I shall fly just as I am. It is more fitting, my zadeeda. It is right for me to be robed in white when I am to fly like the angels.” He looked at her with a flaring of nostrils. “The gift of tongues, remember, has descended upon me.”
“Sit down and eat!” Helena’s voice was grim. “There will be no time to send back for the robe. There are only twenty minutes left, and it will not do to keep such a large crowd waiting, to say nothing of the Emperor. You have been drinking after all, you perverse fool, and I am sorry I went to such pains to have your favorite dishes. There is mutton and a fine fillet of turbot, and fresh fruit from the markets.”
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