The Silver Chalice

by Thomas B. Costain

  “Did they have the Chalice with them?” asked Basil.

  “I did not see it. But one of them must have had it.” Irijah’s eyes were burning with self-denunciation. “It was given us to guard and we failed. The Lord will punish us.”

  “Tell me how it happened.”

  “I did not see the first of it because I was upstairs at my usual post, but this is what they tell me. A woman came to the front and said she wanted to see the Cup. She gave a familiar name. The elder at the door was shortsighted and perhaps too old to be quick of mind. He thought he recognized her and he stepped out to have a closer look. It was not a woman at all. It was Mijamin, who is very short of stature and had made himself up in this disguise. He clamped a hand over the mouth of the elder, and two others came out of the woods and took possession of the gate. Then the rest of the party came in.”

  Irijah could not face Basil as he went on with the story. “We could have held the stairs, Elidad and I, if Mijamin had not made a noose at the end of a long rope and succeeded in throwing it over my friend’s head. He pulled the rope tight and dragged Elidad down the steps, so that he landed on his head and was knocked unconscious by his fall.”

  “How many were there of them?”

  “I think nine or ten. They seemed to be swarming wherever I looked.” Irijah took a quick and shamefaced glance at his questioner and then dropped his eyes. “I did the best I could. I kept on fighting, and some will carry my mark on them as long as they live. But I could not hold the stair alone against so many.” He made a despairing gesture. “They got into the room and two of them took the Chalice and jumped out of the window. This again is what I am told. I could not see what was happening behind me. There were two visitors in the room and they have told what happened. All I am sure of, Jehovah forgive me, is that no one will see the Chalice again.”

  Basil motioned to one of the menservants, who was standing open-mouthed on the edge of the group. “Harness two horses to the chariot,” he said. “Have it at the front entrance as quickly as possible.”

  He returned to the inner garden and spoke to Luke. “I am going to the police. They must be told what has happened. They got their hands on Mijamin once and perhaps they will be able to do it again. The gates of the city must be watched and all ships leaving the port searched.”

  Luke looked up from his labors. His face was white and drawn, and it was clear that he was badly shaken by what had happened. “If it is the will of the Lord that the Cup be taken from us, we must abide by His decision and not question it,” he said. “But we must not sit down and repine. We must make every effort to repair the disaster that has befallen us. Do what you can, my son. I will send word also to Jabez, who may be able to stir the police to greater efforts on our behalf.” He straightened his back with a suggestion of physical weariness. “Harhas will say the Lord is punishing us for opposing force with force. He will raise his voice against us in bitterness and triumph.”

  “I don’t think we need to be concerned over his wrongheadedness,” said Basil. “Tell Deborra that it will be late when I return. I cannot delay to speak with her.”

  2

  It was several hours later when Basil returned. The horses were weary from the efforts that had been demanded of them, and Basil himself had been finding it hard to maintain his equilibrium as the chariot wove its way through the approaches to the Grove. He threw the reins to the servant who met him at the front entrance and stumped stiffly into the court. Luke came out from the house to meet him.

  Basil began at once on a report of what he had done. “It seems that the police ordered Mijamin to leave Antioch when he was given his release. They are angry over his disregard of this and can be depended on to make every effort to track him down. A watch has been set on all the gates. But I am afraid it is too late to accomplish anything.” He dropped stiffly into a chair and stretched out his legs. “Mijamin is a careful planner. We have had many proofs of that. He had his escape provided for in advance. I expect they got to the nearest gate and are well away from the city already.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed in sheer weariness. “I drove to the port with the officer who carried the orders. We went to every ship in harbor and gave instructions to the captains to keep an eye out for them. We can be sure of one thing: they will not get away by sea.”

  “You are very tired, my son,” said Luke. He hesitated. “And now I must tell you about Deborra.”

  Basil sprang up from the chair. “Deborra!” he cried. “What about her? Has she been hurt?”

  “She was found after you left. It seems she suspected what the Zealots would do and stationed herself under the window of the room where the Chalice was kept. She attacked them when they jumped from the window. She was using your sword. I have questioned her, but she cannot tell much about what happened. As the point of the sword is reddened with blood, it is apparent that she used it to some purpose. When she was found, she was still unconscious from a blow on the back of the head.”

  “What will she think of me!” cried Basil. “She knows that I returned and left again without making any effort to see her.”

  “You have been engaged on a task that had to be done. Deborra knows and understands.” Luke gave his head an admiring shake. “She is indeed well named, that brave little Deborra. I had been ill all day and was lying asleep in a back room when the trouble started. I did not see these things with my own eyes, but I have been gathering the story. How splendidly she behaved! While the Zealots were fighting to carry the stairs, she led the servants against them from the rear. It might have succeeded if they had been well enough armed; but shovels and brooms cannot prevail against weapons in the hands of desperate men. They were beaten off roughly and some of the servants were hurt. After that she could not get them to make another effort and she took her place under the window alone.”

  “And while this happened I was on my way back from a day spent in looking after my own interests!” cried Basil. “I shall never forgive myself.”

  “She wants to see you, my son. You had better go up to her now.”

  Deborra was propped up on pillows, her head swathed in a large bandage. It was clear that she was still suffering from the wound in her head. Her face was a chalky white. She turned her eyes with the greatest difficulty in his direction. “I am glad you are back,” she whispered.

  Basil took her in his arms and pressed his cheek against hers. “My sweet wife!” he said. “Will you ever forgive me?”

  “Forgive!” she protested. “None of this is your fault.”

  “I left you when you needed me.”

  “Basil,” she said, giving her head a rather feeble shake, “you could not have done anything to prevent this from happening.”

  “I should have been here. I shall always charge myself with negligence.”

  “But you had to be in court.” He felt her stiffen suddenly in his arms. “Basil, what has happened? What was the verdict?” Before he could answer, she went on in a tone of self-accusation. “You have been blaming yourself because you were not here, but I have more reason to do that. I have been so upset that for hours I haven’t given a thought to the case. How thoughtless of me when it means so much to you!”

  “There are things that mean more. The loss of the Chalice—and you, my dearest one, fighting here alone in my absence.”

  She began to sob. “You do not tell me and so I know that you—that you lost the case.”

  He shook his head. “No, I won. I have been declared the legal heir. But also I lost.” He went on to tell the story of what had happened when he reached the house on the Colonnade. “So you see,” he concluded, “while I am the winner, the victory will not put a single copper coin in my purse.”

  Deborra had listened with conflicting emotions. “I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have been declared the rightful heir,” she said at the finish. After a moment’s reflection she gave her head a nod. “You were right in giving the slaves their freedom. No matter at what cost,
it had to be done. And I am very proud of you. How well you must have talked to the creditors to make them agree!” Then she had a change of mood and shook her head angrily. “It makes me furious to think that a stupid and dishonest man could take such a flourishing business and ruin it so quickly. Ah, my Basil, what a disappointment this has been for you! What a great misfortune!”

  “I confess that I felt very much downcast at first. I had been making such plans in my mind. But”—he tightened his arms about her—“I am more disturbed over this wound in your head than I am over the loss of my estates.”

  She struggled up to a sitting position. “This makes me so angry,” she said, pressing both hands to her temples, “that my head has started to throb worse than ever. Oh, Basil, this is dreadful! Our world is falling in ruins about us and I cannot think! Surely, surely, there must be things we should be doing. We should not be talking about our misfortunes; we should be planning ways of meeting them. But I cannot get anything clear in my mind. Oh, if I could only think!”

  Basil seated himself on the side of the bed. “My dearest child,” he said, “there is nothing more we can do. Do you remember the story of Job? How the Sabeans came forth and slew all his servants, and then there came the fire of God and the great winds, and his children were killed and all his property destroyed? This may be a test of our faith.” He shook his head slowly. “The estates are gone. I have signed them away and nothing can be done about it. I believe I am becoming reconciled to that. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. As for the Chalice, do you suppose that the old man, Harhas, was right? That we should have been ready to leave it in God’s hands? One thing is certain, there is nothing left for us to do about it now.” He took her in his arms again. “My sweet one, do not torture yourself in this way. Things might have been worse. You might have been killed. As it is, you will soon be better, and I ask for nothing more.”

  Luke entered the room at this point, carrying a cup filled with a medical preparation. He held a hand against a vein in her throat for several moments and then shook his head. “You have been talking too much,” he admonished. “Here, drink this. It will ease the pain and allow you to get some sleep.” He turned to Basil and nodded. “All she needs now is rest. A long and dreamless sleep. I think you had better go and get some rest yourself.”

  Deborra reached out an imploring hand. “Not yet,” she said. “Stay with me a little longer. Until I get to sleep.”

  Basil rose and went to the window to allow more air in the room by drawing the curtains. As he looked out into the dark the sky suddenly became so light that the world seemed on fire. He could see each stone in the wall about the house, and beyond that the trees in the Grove of Daphne and somewhere, very far off, the roof of a temple. There had never been such a light before, he was sure, for it lasted no more than a fraction of a second and yet he had felt as though he needed no more than an added iota of time to see far beyond the stars. It left as abruptly as it had come, and the murk and stillness of night closed in again.

  The strangest part of it was this, that the coming of this sudden blaze in the sky had brought him a complete sense of peace. The troubles which had filled his mind had taken prompt wings. He could see stretching ahead all the beautiful things he was going to make, chalices and drinking cups and fine platters and imposing lavers, made of gold and silver and rich with precious stones, and back of them figures in bronze and marble, some of them of heroic size; all of this with such extraordinary clearness that he lacked only time to identify each piece and study its artistry of design. Excitement gripped him. He was being allowed, he knew, a glimpse of the future. He knew that in the course of time he would bring all these lovely objects into existence. He raised his hands and stared at them.

  “I must set you to work,” he said aloud. Then he was ashamed, for the words had sounded plain and bald and, in the exultation of spirit that had gripped him, he wanted to speak in high-sounding voice and flowing phrase.

  He realized then that Deborra was sitting up and that her eyes were shining. “Basil, something very strange has happened!” she exclaimed. “The pain has left my head.”

  “Has it gone completely?” he asked. It was an unnecessary question; he was certain of the answer in advance.

  “Completely. And suddenly. I feel happy and content. I know that we must not complain or try to change what is happening. Everything is in the Lord’s hands. I feel very humble because of what I said to you, but also I feel very happy.” She reached out and put her hands in his. “But there are things we can do, my husband. I can see that most clearly. We can, in our own way, make up for the loss of your estates. I know it is our duty to do so. I am able to think again and my mind is filled with plans.”

  “I am sure,” said Basil solemnly, “that we have witnessed a miracle.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. What else could it be? That strange light was sent to make us see the truth. It was sent to guide our feet.”

  “I am sure that angels have been flying about the house. We were not allowed to see them or to hear the rustle of their wings. But they were here.”

  Luke had said nothing. His eyes had turned to the window and he had not moved since the light had come and then so quickly subsided. It was clear that his thoughts had gone with it and were fixed on horizons of which they could not conceive.

  He turned now, and they could see that a mood of the greatest exultation possessed him.

  “I have said many times, and meant it in all humility, that a prophetic tongue has not been given me; and yet when that light was in the sky I was able to see for a brief moment into the future, so brief a moment that there could not be in any language a word to define it. And what I saw brought great happiness to me. I know that all will be well. The Chalice will not be destroyed. The man who has it is torn already with doubts. He feels the sacredness of it and he does not know what to do. He will find himself so troubled in mind that he will desert the cause for which he has been fighting and bring the Chalice back to us. There will come to him a full resolution of all his doubts.”

  The voice of the old physician had been kept low, but now it blazed up with passionate conviction.

  “Yes, my children, the Chalice will be restored. Tomorrow? In a month? In a year? I do not know. All I could see was that it would be returned to us and that we would be able to keep it in peace. Perhaps, with Jerusalem torn apart and swept with fire, the hands of our enemies will no longer be able to reach us.

  “But,” he cried, “that is not all! With that one look which was vouchsafed me I saw far on into the future. The Chalice will be taken away a second time. This will not be due to the machinations of evil men. There will be a flood, an earthquake, a convulsion of nature of some kind; and it will be buried deep down and lie in darkness for a very long time, perhaps for centuries. When it is brought out into the light again, it will be into a far different world. The earth will be peopled with new races, tall men, beardless for the most part, with strange talk on their tongues. There will be great cities and mighty bridges and towers higher than the Tower of Babel. But evil will be loosed and they will fight long and bitter wars with frightening new forces of destruction.

  “In such a world as this the little Chalice will look strange and lost and very lonely. But it may be that in this age, when man holds lightning in his hand and rides the sky as Simon the Magician strove to do, it will be needed more than it is needed now.”