The Coming of the King
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Bernie Babcock >> The Coming of the King
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"Thy heart hath a burden?" Lazarus asked, coming from the house.
The patriarch lifted his face to the young man. For a moment there was
no answer. The voice of Joseph was grave when he said, "Yea, more than
a burden doth lie on my heart. Fear hath clutched it and while my lips
made merry at the feast I did suffer, knowing the young man's life is
in danger--aye, the life of Jesus. Doth not thy heart feel it? And
the heart of thy sister Mary, doth not her heart suffer the torture of
fear?"
"Perchance it is weariness that Mary suffereth. The feast maketh much
labor."
"As we did sing the Pascal hymn, lo, did the lips of Mary shape a
prayer. Twice did tears, which she did try to hide, drop from her
cheek, and thrice did she choke in the throat. Is this weariness?"
"She was disappointed. The heart of Mary did want the Master by her
side, but it had seemed good to him to eat the Passover with his
disciples in the city."
"Disappointment? Would to God it were no more. But, Lazarus, when the
alabaster vase of thy sister was broken, then was her heart broken also
and as the rich perfume was spilled, so was hope spilled from her heart
because of the saying of the Master that she had anointed him for
burial. Aye, Lazarus, the signs are full of portent."
"Where is thy sister Mary?" Lazarus asked of Martha who had joined them
by the pool.
"She is in the house bending over the Scriptures. Yet her heart doth
not go out to the songs of David. A burden she would hide."
"Knoweth she aught of Jesus?" Joseph asked.
"I know not. Until the cock crew she was in the garden with him yester
evening. And in the night as she lay beside me in her bed, methought I
heard a moan that traveled not far from the heart where it was born.
Mary lay awake and I did question her. 'It is but the tamarask leaves
against the casement,' she said. Again I heard a sob quickly
smothered. When I did speak, and bid Mary listen, she declared it
naught but the night wind lifting the pomegranate branches. When
morning cometh, from her carved chest she took her alabaster box of
very precious ointment which she did cherish to make sweet her wedding
veil. Her face was glad as if she had been a bride and joyous her
words as she said, 'Lo, the darkness is gone! In the night, fear of
shadows and losses trouble me, but with the morning cometh light. Look
thou! Was ever a sun so golden? I go to Simon's to the feast. One
there is among the guests who is a King. Yea, Martha, by the words of
his own mouth he is my King--_mine_, my sister. Thus, after the manner
of the feast, the guest of honor I will anoint with my oil of roses and
iris, because so soon he goeth on a long journey.'"
"Ever will my heart be glad to think on the joy of her face," Lazarus
said, "as she did break the seal and scatter the first drops of her
perfume on his hair."
"Did ever such fragrance make thy breathing glad?" Martha asked with
smiling face. "Like the balm of Gilead, like forests of frankincense,
it filled the room. Was it not even so, Father Joseph?"
"Great was the fragrance and precious the joy on thy sister's face.
But straightway my pleasure was turned away by the words of Judas."
"Yea, great concern doth he show for the poor!" And there was
indignation in the voice of Lazarus. "'Here is great waste,' said he.
'Are not two hundred dinars sufficient to buy bread for a thousand?'"
"And, Lazarus," Joseph said, "with the words of Judas did the first
shadow fall across thy sister's face. Faint it was, yet not too faint
for his eye who loveth her. And he said, 'Why trouble you the woman?
She hath wrought a good work. The poor ye have always with you. But
me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my
body, she doeth it for my burial.' Aye, Lazarus, aye, Martha, that I
might forget thy sister's face as these words did pass his lips. It
turned white as the alabaster in her hand. Stillness fell on the
company about the table like that of the tomb. And then the sob!
Lazarus, that sob did wound my heart. Then did thy sister drop at the
feet of Jesus and there spill out her fragrant oil. And on the oil her
tears fell, even like rain fell they, and bending low her cheek did
press his foot. And then she dried away the tears with the tresses of
her hair--sobbing--sobbing--sobbing! Sobs are a part of life, the sobs
of women and children. But this woman--aye, greater love hath never
woman known than this which Mary beareth the brave young Rabbi."
"And hath man e'er given back to woman greater love than he beareth
her? Saw thou his face as she did sob at his feet? Did thou catch the
message he did speak to comfort the heart of Mary? In a voice that did
mean more than words, both to the woman and him who had condemned her
spoke he saying, 'Truly, truly say I unto you, wheresoever this message
that I bring shall be preached, there also what this woman hath done
shall be told for a memorial of her.' Joseph--friend Joseph, meaneth
it not much to her heart, meaneth it not much to this household, that
wherever the name of Jesus shall be spoken there also shall be known
the name of Mary?"
"And if he is King," Martha exclaimed, "King of the Jews, then shall
her name be exalted above that of all women."
"And if he is condemned on some false charge and given to the cross,
Martha? But no, that can never be," and Lazarus ceased speaking
abruptly.
"Neither can a throne give nor a cross take away a woman's crown when
he who is her king doth crown her with his love. So it is that the
alabaster vase which hath poured out fragrance from its fragments,
shall shed its perfume down the ages so long as love is of life a
part." It was Joseph who spoke.
"Lazarus doth utter strange, yea, evil words about a cross and a
malefactor. What meaneth it?" Martha asked him.
"Knowest thou not, woman, how the plot doth thicken that would make way
with Jesus? Passed is that day when the Sanhedrin did sneer and
condemn and mutter and hatch plans. Now doth it openly seek his death."
"Yet," said Lazarus, "he hath been threatened before and hath escaped,
even though they took up stones against him. Plans have we made for a
long journey, yea, even to Rome will he journey and under the throne of
Caesar will he preach the Kingdom greater than that of Tiberius."
Joseph stroked his beard slowly. "There doth come a time," and his
voice was low, "when fire, long smoldering, doth burst into a devouring
flame. Was I not in the Sanhedrin? Did I not hear? Such fire, to the
eternal undoing of Israel, doth burn in the hearts of the Sanhedrin."
"They dare not take him by day," Lazarus protested, "and by night he
abideth not in Jerusalem and none knoweth his dwelling place save those
his heart trusts."
"In hiding and flight lieth now his safety. Would that I might know he
is secure this night."
"Mary hath said he will return to-night to Bethany," Martha told Joseph.
He raised his face to the sky saying, "The moon doth climb the heavens."
"Yet ofttimes do guests tarry over the Pascal cup until the hour grow
late. Methinks he will yet come, Joseph," said Lazarus.
"So hopeth my heart. But from the silence I get no answer to my
question, 'Will Israel cast off her Lord's anointed?'"
"Nay, nay. All will be well. But let us to rest, the hour is growing
late," and Lazarus turned to the house.
"And Mary?" The question was asked by Joseph.
"Mary doth yet sit with her writings," Martha answered, looking in the
door, "though her ear is to the roadway. When I shall enter and say,
'Mary, wilt thou go to rest?' she will answer, 'Shortly.' And lo, when
I have gone, she will come into the garden and from her place at the
wall watch down the hillside."
CHAPTER XXIX
SWIFT MESSENGERS
As Martha had expected, Mary refused to go to rest and when all about
was quiet she went into the garden. For a moment she paused before the
stone bench, then with lingering step she sought the fountain. Under
the light of the moon the garden seemed to lie in a silver aura. Where
the lilies grew thick and white the aura seemed to be a cloud-like halo
lying close to earth and on the pool the light was caught in tiny
shining bars.
"How still the garden!" Mary said, speaking to herself. "Scarce
breathing is the summer night--waiting it doth seem for something to
give it life. The leaves wait--wait for the evening breeze to touch
them into morion. The valley waiteth--waiteth for the song of the
pilgrim to break its hush with gladness. So waiteth my soul for sight
of a face that shall drive back the shadows of fear. So waiteth my
heart for the sound of a voice that shall stir the silence of the
waiting into wild glad music. Will he come? Or will--but no, no--it
can not, can not be that he will come no more. The God that fashioned
me of dust formed likewise the mystery of life, my love for him and his
for me. . . . And lo, then did the hand of Jehovah make the feet of
him I love to enter in upon the path my feet do tread. So hath my soul
been bound to his soul and there are no more two souls, but one soul.
And having wrought thus blessedly, will God play with the love he hath
put in a woman's heart and bring to her soul such agony as doth wring
drops of blood from her? Nay, nay! It can not be! He must come! He
will come! Hasten, my beloved; I am waiting!"
Mary walked around the circular pool slowly. As she did so, the
crowing of a cock, its sharpness muffled by some distance, sounded on
the stillness. "The cock croweth the midnight hour," she said as the
last faint vibration died. "Until the crowing of the cock did he bid
me wait to see his face. Yea, until the breaking of the day will I
wait. Until the sunset of my life will I wait. Yea, even until the
Resurrection of the dead will I wait to see his face!"
She crossed the garden and back, paused, and raised her face to the
vault above where the moon was casting floods of silver over the
billowing clouds. She sighed and the words she spoke were breathed out
softly as if they too were a part of the passing night. "The hours
move on and naught there is but silence! What a silence it is! Like a
pall hangeth it over the Judean hills! Like a shroud falleth it over
Olivet! Like grave wrappings huggeth it the valley! God! The silence
of this night! Hath there been before such silence? It doth make of
itself feet that tread upon my soul and, treading, leave wounds with
living tongues which call in agony, 'I am waiting! I am waiting in the
garden!' No sound cometh to break this that oppresseth? The silence
deepens and its mystery doth affright my soul!"
For a moment she stood under the flood-light from above like a white
veiled statue, yet softer than marble, locked in the pervading and low
brooding hush. Then, suddenly, she turned her ear in the direction of
the highway. "A sound breaketh the stillness!" she exclaimed in an
excited undertone. "Faint and far it is--but a _sound_!" With light
steps she ran to her watching place by the stone wall. "Yea, a sound!"
and she leaned over the wall. "It groweth on the air. What cometh? A
speck it is against the gray! It moveth! It groweth larger! Aye, it
cometh! It cometh! It taketh on the shape of flying garments--yea,
flying garments! What meaneth this? He cometh as if pursued! Aye, if
danger threaten, may Israel's God lend speed to his feet!"
The first faint sounds had rapidly grown more distinct. Mary leaned as
far across the wall as safety permitted and peered into the roadway.
"What is it I see? There are two running as doth the hind run to
escape the pursuing dogs! On, on they come! Close--they draw nigh!
They are here! They pass!" With the last words she dropped from the
wall just as the runners dashed by.
"Ho! Stop!" cried one of them. "This is the place."
"The home of Lazarus?" the other panted.
"Yea! Hast thou voice left to shout?"
"Yea, while thou dost beat the door!"
Before Mary could reach the house she heard the runners pounding on the
door and shouting, "Open! Open!" and when she entered at the back her
brother was unbarring the front door. "What news?" he demanded as the
two rushed in.
"Be not loud of mouth. We bear news of Jesus," one of them answered.
Lazarus cast his eyes over them. One was a Galilean fisherman, the
other was naked save a fragment of garment about his loins. "Who art
thou, and what is thy message?"
"Disciples of Jesus are we both. Lo, was my coat torn from me in
resisting those who took him and I fled leaving it in the hands of a
soldier."
"Who hath taken Jesus?" It was Mary who asked, and her voice was
charged with apprehension.
"Yea, who hath taken Jesus?" Joseph asked as he appeared hastily
fastening his vestment.
"By the midnight Temple guard and soldiers from the Tower of Antonio
hath he been taken!"
"Lazarus--Joseph!" Mary cried. "Let us hasten to him--let us _fly_ to
him!"
"Soldiers have taken him who is to be King of the Jews?" Martha
exclaimed. "Not so!"
"Peace, women," Joseph said, lifting his hands. "Wisdom demandeth
there be no loss of time. Let the stranger make speech."
"The Passover feast we ate in an upper chamber," he said. "Before the
singing of the last hymn and the washing of hands Judas left, and it
doth seem that from his word or act, the Master did suspect him of
disloyalty. Soon we went into the streets which lay quiet save for the
sound of singing from those who tarried late at the feast. Leaving the
city by a side gate we followed a dim path to an old stone mill hard by
an olive orchard. A secluded and hidden place it is. At the entrance
to the grove the Master bade us tarry, save three, and watch with all
our eyes, for threats had been breathed against him. And the three
which went with him did he also bid watch while he went yet farther
under the trees to commune with Jehovah as oft he doeth. Secure would
he have been had not our eyes been heavy with sleep for then would we
have seen the crowd approaching that with clubs and torches and spears,
wormed its way across Kedron and up the hillside. And had we seen,
then would we have passed word to the inner watchers, and to the Master
would they have called. Then, lo! him whom Judas would betray, could
have escaped far down the hillside, and have safely hidden in some cave
or tomb. So hath he escaped aforetimes. But _woe_! _Woe_! Woe unto
him whose words thou hearest! The spirit was willing, but the flesh
was weak and around the old stone mill did we fall asleep. And, alas
for the misery that hath come upon us; those of the inner watch did
also fall asleep, and while we slept came the soldiers of Rome, the
Temple guards and the rabble. Scarce had we opened our eyes when they
were upon us, yet did not the inner watch awaken until Jesus, hearing
the uproar, came from the shadows and said, as he stood above the
sleeping forms of his disciples, 'What, could ye not watch with me one
hour?' And as he did stand, Judas hurried to him, kissing his cheek
and crying, 'Hail, Master!' At this the soldiers fell upon him, yet
fear did not move him, and at his command they fell back. Without the
twitching of a hair or the shadow of a fear he stood out before them
while he said, 'Why have ye come out against me as a robber? Daily
have I taught in the Temple. Why take me not there?' And because they
could make no answer they smote him on the mouth."
"Those he loved slept while his life was in peril! Those he trusted
have betrayed him? Those to whom he hath done no evil have smitten
him? It can not be so! Say it is not so!" and Mary's voice broke in
sobs.
"Smite the Master," angrily exclaimed Martha. "Him to be King of the
Jews?"
"Yea, they did smite him," the fisherman answered. "They did curse him
and as they turned away they spat upon him. Some of his disciples bore
arms and in the struggle the servant of the High Priest lost an ear.
Would God it had been the High Priest's head the sword severed! And as
they rudely pushed him on, he whispered a word in the ear of a disciple
asking that swift news of his arrest be brought to Lazarus of Bethany.
Then took they him."
"Where have they taken him?" Joseph asked.
"To Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin; to the Judgment Hall of Pilate; to the
scourger and the cross if they have power."
"To the Roman judgment seat--to the scourgers--to the cross--the cruel,
cruel cross? Nay, not the _cross_! Save him!
Lazarus--Joseph--Strangers--Men of Israel, save him whom we love! Let
not the hand of Rome hang his body on a cross!" Mary plead hysterically.
"Calm thyself, Mary," Joseph said. "The Jew hath not power to take the
life of Jesus, and Pilate doth hate the Sanhedrin with such fierce
hatred that for nothing short of Temple gold or fear of Caesar would he
sign a death-warrant that would please a Jew."
"Trust not to Pilate," plead the fisherman. "Pilate is but Rome in
Palestine and doth not Rome love the cross? Aye, in our own Galilee
were not two thousand of our sons and fathers crucified, and left for
dogs to gnaw because they followed the Gaulonite and refused Rome the
tax? The cross is fearful and bloody. Jesus of Nazareth must be saved
from the cross!"
"Yea, by the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob must he be saved!" Lazarus
shouted. "Let us away and arouse the hills and awake the valleys where
thousands of armed Galileans are sleeping. Other thousands there are
of Zealots whose hands are ever near a blade. And will not the
Nationalists strike for the honor of the nation? And the Essenes?
Aye, all these will we waken, and more, and by morning when the city
gates swing open such a populace will enter as proclaimed him King.
The time hath come for Israel to strike--aye, to strike with the sword!"
"A mob is not an army, Lazarus. Though the populace shout hosannahs or
breathe curses it is all one to the sword of Rome."
"Aye, Joseph, but the wrath of Israel will make of scythes and reaping
hooks, blades to strike off the shackles of Rome, and from the fastness
of Judean mountains will those who know not fear, engage Rome in such
warfare as she hath never known."
"The love of thy heart doth upset thy reason," Joseph answered, shaking
his head. "What to Rome is the fastness of Judean hills? Hath not
Rome crossed mountains and jungles and deserts in search of her prey?
Like sheep in a pen wouldst thou be made to stay in thy hiding-places
until thy bleached bones would tell that Rome findeth starvation oft
cheaper than the sword. From Dan to Beersheba doth the heathen purple
fly over tower and wall, and under the dark shadow of her mighty eagle
do the nations of the earth cower. Whence then could come thy succor?
To lift the sword is but to bring it down on thine own neck. If he
whom our hearts love escape, by the wit of man's mind must the thing be
accomplished. Go thou, Lazarus, with these disciples and rouse the
sleeping people that they be ready to swarm the city at the opening of
the gates. And I--I will hasten to Jerusalem and until daybreak keep
my eye where the Sanhedrin might hold meeting."
"It is not lawful for the Great Sanhedrin to meet until the sun is well
risen," said Lazarus eagerly.
"And what care murderers for the law of Moses when the fires of hatred
gnaw their souls? To their meeting place I will hasten, and if quietly
they seek to do evil before the break of day, I will, with innocent
words, seek an entanglement among them concerning the Law. And with
the daybreak will come the followers of Jesus and safety for another
day. Haste! Let us haste!"
CHAPTER XXX
CLAUDIA'S DREAM
After Pilate had left for the Judgment Hall and the soldiers and servants
had returned to their accustomed places, Claudia walked the length of the
room and back several times speaking to herself as she did so. "Before
the tribunal of the Jew hath the greatest one of them all been judged
guilty of sedition against their Law. Aye, but the gods be thanked those
cunning workers of darkness have not power to take his life. And
Pilate--ah, have I not Pilate's promise that of the Jew will he judge the
Jew? Glad I am that Pilate is to hear his voice and look upon his face.
One glance from those eyes--one word from those lips and Pilate will know
that all evil accusation be accusation only."
Then Claudia threw herself across the bed, but sleep did not come, so
after a time she arose, threw open the window and stood looking into the
indigo sky, spangled with stars, that hung over Jerusalem. From the
street beneath, the near call of a trumpet sounded which seemed to be
echoed by farther and fainter trumpet-calls, each telling the hour of the
passing night. When she lay down again she slept. Through the window at
the side of the bed the rich blue of the sky faded into gray and as this
was shot across with a thin streak of rosy pink the cry "_Staurosate_!
_Staurosate_!" came across the stillness of the yet unawakened morning.
With a start Claudia sprang up crying--"Whence cometh that cry, thin like
the howl of a lone wolf, and sharp like its fangs: 'Crucify him! Crucify
him?' Like the cry of a beast calling the pack, it soundeth. Pilate!"
She pressed her hands to her head and looked toward Pilate's empty couch.
"Ah--it cometh to me! At the third watch was Pilate called to the
Praetorium and hath not returned. A dream it hath been! Aye! It doth
come to me!" She drew back a pace and an expression of horror marked her
face as she cried, "It doth come to me! I see troops--swords--trembling
of the earth--thunder answered by earthquake--black clouds, like great
bats of death settling low--the rush of fire, like a cataclysm--and then
darkness! And then--and _then_--what see I?"
Claudia shaded her eyes with her hands and peered into the darkness of
the dream, the horror on her face deepening, and her breath coming swift
and hard. "What see I? In the darkness--the thick impenetrable darkness
dead to all light, I see the hands of Pilate--_and they drip with blood_!
And over against those crimson hands I see the pale face of the Jew. Ye
gods! It is a warning!"
For a moment she stood dazed with terror. Then she shouted to her maids,
"Margara! Zenobe! Hasten! Summon my eunuch. I must have speech with
Pilate!"
When the eunuch appeared, Claudia cried: "Ah, my scarred eunuch! Warning
hath been given me in a dream that all is not well at the Judgment Hall.
Ah, a dream--such a dream--a dream in which earth and air and sky and
water war and are not satisfied! A dream of fire and death and open
graves and darkness--and Pilate and the Jew," and Claudia shivered and
wrung her hands.
"If thou wouldst calm thyself, most noble mistress, and make known thy
great fear, thy servant might bring thee help," the eunuch said.
"Aye, my eunuch. Ere the midnight trumpet sounded was Pilate awakened by
request for soldiers from Antonio to arrest one seditious. Again before
dawn summoned they him to judge the Jew. And, oh, my eunuch--my
eunuch--that Jew is him whom thy soul loveth--him whose disciple thou art
to be!"
"Jesus of Nazareth?" the eunuch cried sharply.
"Yea, yea--the Jew!"
The eunuch raised his face toward heaven and lifting high his hands said
in the voice of one imploring, "God of the Jew, God of the Jew, hear and
deliver him from the hand of Rome."
"Hear thou the dream," said Claudia, stepping close to him. "At the
turning of the dawn came it to me. The shout of battle! The screams of
those pierced by spears! The groans of those trodden under the hoofs of
mad chargers! The curses of those tortured! And above the din did I
hear children's voices calling, 'Help--help!' and the voices of women
calling, 'Help! Help! In God's name, 'help!' and the voices of men
shouting, 'Help! Help! 'Cometh no help!' And no help came save the
Angel of Desolation with sweeping black wings! And, oh, my eunuch! Out
of the darkness and the desolation, I saw the hands of Pilate rising
scarlet with wet blood and over against them the pale face of the Jew!"
Before she had finished speaking with the eunuch, Claudia's cries for
help had drawn the household, and soldiers and servants crowded into the
room and filled the passageway as she brought fear and trembling to them
by her dramatic recital of her tragic dream.
"It is a dream--a dream! But in that dream, between my vision and the
darkness, passeth a purple robe, a crown of thorns, a lonely cross on a
far hillside, a white face drawn in agony and parched lips moving as to
moan! Then again the tumult and the carnage! Ah, see! Canst thou not
see? There are soldiers upon the city walls! There are balls of fire
flying in the gloom! There are stones crashing through the air--yea,
even the marble of the Temple of the Jews! Canst thou not see?
Aye--look! The Temple falleth! It is scattered until not one stone is
left upon another! And ever above the thunder-din cometh the cry, 'Help!
Help!' Famine do I see until mothers eat the tender flesh that hugs
their bosoms! And pestilence do I see until death hath devoured all
life! The Roman plow is driven over the Holy Place of the Jew and
scavengers of the desert revel in naked tombs! And here from this place
of abominations arise the hands of Pilate! Crimson like dye they are.
And there gathers from the gray and awful stillness, the pale face of the
Jew! Again--and yet again I see them!"
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