On the morrow of the great day of the Triumph the merchant Demetriusof Alexandria, whom for many years we have known as Caleb, sat in theoffice of the store-house which he had hired for the bestowal of hisgoods in one of the busiest thoroughfares of Rome. Handsome, indeed,noble-looking as he was, and must always be, his countenance presenteda sorry sight. From hour to hour during the previous day he had fought apath through the dense crowds that lined the streets of Rome, to keep asnear as might be to Miriam while she trudged her long route of splendidshame.
Then came the evening, when, with the other women slaves, she was putup to auction in the Forum. To prepare for this sale Caleb had turnedalmost all his merchandise into money, for he knew that Domitian was apurchaser, and guessed that the price of the beautiful Pearl-Maiden, ofwhom all the city was talking, would rule high. The climax we know. Hebid to the last coin that he possessed or could raise, only to find thatothers with still greater resources were in the market. Even the agentof the prince had been left behind, and Miriam was at last knocked downto some mysterious stranger woman dressed like a peasant. The woman wasveiled and disguised; she spoke with a feigned voice and in a strangetongue, but from the beginning Caleb knew her. Incredible as it mightseem, that she should be here in Rome, he was certain that she wasNehushta, and no other.
That Nehushta should buy Miriam was well, but how came she by so vast asum of money, here in a far-off land? In short, for whom was she buying?Indeed, for whom would she buy? He could think of one only--Marcus. Buthe had made inquiries and Marcus was not in Rome. Indeed he had everyreason to believe that his rival was long dead, that his bones werescattered among the tens of thousands which whitened the tumbled ruinsof the Holy City in Judaea. How could it be otherwise? He had last seenhim wounded, as he thought to death--and he should know, for the strokefell from his own hand--lying senseless in the Old Tower in Jerusalem.Then he vanished away, and where Marcus had been Miriam was found.Whither did he vanish, and if it was true that she succeeded in hidinghim in some secret hole, what chance was there that he could havelived on without food and unsuccoured? Also if he lived, why had henot appeared long before? Why was not so wealthy a Patrician anddistinguished a soldier riding in the triumphant train of Titus?
With black despair raging in his breast, he, Caleb, had seen Miriamknocked down to the mysterious basket-laden stranger whom none couldrecognise. He had seen her depart together with the auctioneer anda servant, also basket-laden, to the office of the receiving house,whither he had attempted to follow upon some pretext, only to be stoppedby the watchman. After this he hung about the door until he saw theauctioneer appear alone, when it occurred to him that the purchaser andthe purchased must have departed by some other exit, perhaps in orderto avoid further observation. He ran round the building to find himselfconfronted only by the empty, star-lit spaces of the Forum. Searchingthem with his eyes, for one instant it seemed to him that far away hecaught sight of a little knot of figures climbing a black marble stairin the dark shadow of some temple. He sped across the open space, heran up the great stair, to find at the head of it a young man in whom herecognised the auctioneer's clerk, gazing along a wide street as emptyas was the stair.
The rest is known to us. He followed, and twice perceived the littlegroup of dark-robed figures hurrying round distant corners. Once helost them altogether, but a passer-by on his road to some feast told himcourteously enough which way they had gone. On he ran almost at hazard,to be rewarded in the end by the sight of them vanishing through anarrow doorway in the wall. He came to the door and saw that it was verymassive. He tried it even, it was locked. Then he thought of knocking,only to remember that to state his business would probably be to meethis death. At such a place and hour those who purchased beautiful slavesmight have a sword waiting for the heart of an unsuccessful rival whodared to follow them to their haunts.
Caleb walked round the house, to find that it was a palace which seemedto be deserted, although he thought that he saw light shining throughone of the shuttered windows. Now he knew the place again. It was herethat the procession had halted and one of the Roman soldiers who hadcommitted the crime of being taken captive escaped the taunts of thecrowd by hurling himself beneath the wheel of a great pageant car. Yes,there was no doubt of it, for his blood still stained the dusty stonesand by it lay a piece of the broken distaff with which, in theirmockery, they had girded the poor man. They were gentle folk, theseRomans! Why, measured by this standard, some such doom would have fallenupon his rival, Marcus, for Marcus also was taken prisoner--by himself.The thought made Caleb smile, since well he knew that no braver soldierlived. Then came other thoughts that pressed him closer. Somewhere inthat great dead-looking house was Miriam, as far off from him as thoughshe were still in Judaea. There was Miriam--and who was with her? Thenew-found lord who had spent two thousand sestertia on her purchase? Thethought of it almost turned his brain.
Heretofore, the life of Caleb had been ruled by two passions--ambitionand the love of Miriam. He had aspired to be ruler of the Jews, perhapstheir king, and to this end had plotted and fought for the expulsion ofthe Romans from Judaea. He had taken part in a hundred desperate battles.Again and again he had risked his life; again and again he had escaped.For one so young he had reached high rank, till he was numbered amongthe first of their captains.
Then came the end, the last hideous struggle and the downfall. Once morehis life was left in him. Where men perished by the hundred thousand heescaped, winning safety, not through the desire of it, but because ofthe love of Miriam which drove him on to follow her. Happily for himselfhe had hidden money, which, after the gift of his race, he was able toturn to good account, so that now he, who had been a leader in warand council, walked the world as a merchant in Eastern goods. All thatglittering past had gone from him; he might become wealthy, but, Jew ashe was, he could never be great nor fill his soul with the glory thatit craved. There remained to him, then, nothing but this passion forone woman among the millions who dwelt beneath the sun, the girl who hadbeen his playmate, whom he loved from the beginning, although she hadnever loved him, and whom he would love until the end.
Why had she not loved him? Because of his rival, that accursed Roman,Marcus, the man whom time upon time he had tried to kill, but who hadalways slipped like water from his hands. Well, if she was lost to himshe was lost to Marcus also, and from that thought he would take suchcomfort as he might. Indeed he had no other, for during those dreadfulhours the fires of all Gehenna raged in his soul. He had lost--but whohad found her?
Throughout the long night Caleb tramped round the cold, empty-lookingpalace, suffering perhaps as he had never suffered before, a thing tobe pitied of gods and men. At length the dawn broke and the light creptdown the splendid street, showing here and there groups of weary andhalf-drunken revellers staggering homewards from the feast, flushedmen and dishevelled women. Others appeared also, humble and industriouscitizens going to their daily toil. Among them were people whosebusiness it was to clean the roads, abroad early this morning, for afterthe great procession they thought that they might find articles of valuelet fall by those who walked in it, or by the spectators. Two ofthese scavengers began sweeping near the place where Caleb stood, andlightened their toil by laughing at him, asking him if he had spent hisnight in the gutter and whether he knew his way home. He replied that hewaited for the doors of the house to be opened.
"Which house?" they asked. "The 'Fortunate House?'" and they pointed tothe marble palace of Marcus, which, as Caleb now saw for the first time,had these words blazoned in gold letters on its portico.
He nodded.
"Well," said one of them, "you will wait for some time, for that houseis no longer fortunate. Its owner is dead, killed in the wars, and noone knows who his heir may be."
"What was his name?" he asked.
"Marcus, the favourite of Nero, also called the Fortunate."
Then, with a bitter curse upon his lips Caleb turned and walked away.
Pearl-Maiden: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem Page 39
