Ben Hur (60 page)

He stirred, and tossed his hand. They moved back, but heard him
mutter in his dream,

"Mother! Amrah! Where is—"

He fell off into the deep sleep.

Tirzah stared wistfully. The mother put her face in the dust,
struggling to suppress a sob so deep and strong it seemed her
heart was bursting. Almost she wished he might waken.

He had asked for her; she was not forgotten; in his sleep he was
thinking of her. Was it not enough?

Presently mother beckoned to Tirzah, and they arose, and taking
one more look, as if to print his image past fading, hand in
hand they recrossed the street. Back in the shade of the wall
there, they retired and knelt, looking at him, waiting for him
to wake—waiting some revelation, they knew not what. Nobody has
yet given us a measure for the patience of a love like theirs.

By-and-by, the sleep being yet upon him, another woman appeared at
the corner of the palace. The two in the shade saw her plainly in
the light; a small figure, much bent, dark-skinned, gray-haired,
dressed neatly in servant's garb, and carrying a basket full of
vegetables.

At sight of the man upon the step the new-comer stopped; then,
as if decided, she walked on—very lightly as she drew near the
sleeper. Passing round him, she went to the gate, slid the wicket
latch easily to one side, and put her hand in the opening. One of
the broad boards in the left valve swung ajar without noise.
She put the basket through, and was about to follow, when,
yielding to curiosity, she lingered to have one look at the
stranger whose face was below her in open view.

The spectators across the street heard a low exclamation, and saw
the woman rub her eyes as if to renew their power, bend closer down,
clasp her hands, gaze wildly around, look at the sleeper, stoop and
raise the outlying hand, and kiss it fondly—that which they wished
so mightily to do, but dared not.

Awakened by the action, Ben-Hur instinctively withdrew the hand;
as he did so, his eyes met the woman's.

"Amrah! O Amrah, is it thou?" he said.

The good heart made no answer in words, but fell upon his neck,
crying for joy.

Gently he put her arms away, and lifting the dark face wet with
tears, kissed it, his joy only a little less than hers. Then those
across the way heard him say,

"Mother—Tirzah—O Amrah, tell me of them! Speak, speak, I pray
thee!"

Amrah only cried afresh.

"Thou has seen them, Amrah. Thou knowest where they are; tell me
they are at home."

Tirzah moved, but her mother, divining her purpose, caught her
and whispered, "Do not go—not for life. Unclean, unclean!"

Her love was in tyrannical mood. Though both their hearts broke, he
should not become what they were; and she conquered.

Meantime, Amrah, so entreated, only wept the more.

"Wert thou going in?" he asked, presently, seeing the board swung
back. "Come, then. I will go with thee." He arose as he spoke.
"The Romans—be the curse of the Lord upon them!—the Romans lied.
The house is mine. Rise, Amrah, and let us go in." A moment and
they were gone, leaving the two in the shade to behold the gate
staring blankly at them—the gate which they might not ever enter
more. They nestled together in the dust.

They had done their duty.

Their love was proven.

Next morning they were found, and driven out the city with stones.

"Begone! Ye are of the dead; go to the dead!"

With the doom ringing in their ears, they went forth.

Nowadays travellers in the Holy Land looking for the famous place with
the beautiful name, the King's Garden, descend the bed of the Cedron or
the curve of Gihon and Hinnom as far as the old well En-rogel, take a
drink of the sweet living water, and stop, having reached the limit
of the interesting in that direction. They look at the great stones
with which the well is curbed, ask its depth, smile at the primitive
mode of drawing the purling treasure, and waste some pity on the
ragged wretch who presides over it; then, facing about, they are
enraptured with the mounts Moriah and Zion, both of which slope
towards them from the north, one terminating in Ophel, the other
in what used to be the site of the city of David. In the background,
up far in the sky, the garniture of the sacred places is visible:
here the Haram, with its graceful dome; yonder the stalward remains
of Hippicus, defiant even in ruins. When that view has been enjoyed,
and is sufficiently impressed upon the memory, the travellers
glance at the Mount of Offence standing in rugged stateliness
at their right hand, and then at the Hill of Evil Counsel over on
the left, in which, if they be well up in Scriptural history and
in the traditions rabbinical and monkish, they will find a certain
interest not to be overcome by superstitious horror.

It were long to tell all the points of interest grouped around
that hill; for the present purpose, enough that its feet are
planted in the veritable orthodox Hell of the moderns—the Hell
of brimstone and fire—in the old nomenclature Gehenna; and that
now, as in the days of Christ, its bluff face opposite the city
on the south and southeast is seamed and pitted with tombs which
have been immemorially the dwelling-places of lepers, not singly,
but collectively. There they set up their government and established
their society; there they founded a city and dwelt by themselves,
avoided as the accursed of God.

The second morning after the incidents of the preceding chapter,
Amrah drew near the well En-rogel, and seated herself upon a stone.
One familiar with Jerusalem, looking at her, would have said she was
the favorite servant of some well-to-do family. She brought with
her a water-jar and a basket, the contents of the latter covered
with a snow-white napkin. Placing them on the ground at her side,
she loosened the shawl which fell from her head, knit her fingers
together in her lap, and gazed demurely up to where the hill drops
steeply down into Aceldama and the Potter's Field.

It was very early, and she was the first to arrive at the well.
Soon, however, a man came bringing a rope and a leathern bucket.
Saluting the little dark-faced woman, he undid the rope, fixed it
to the bucket, and waited customers. Others who chose to do so might
draw water for themselves, he was a professional in the business,
and would fill the largest jar the stoutest woman could carry for
a gerah.

Amrah sat still, and had nothing to say. Seeing the jar, the man
asked after a while if she wished it filled; she answered him civilly,
"Not now;" whereupon he gave her no more attention. When the dawn was
fairly defined over Olivet, his patrons began to arrive, and he had
all he could do to attend to them. All the time she kept her seat,
looking intently up at the hill.

The sun made its appearance, yet she sat watching and waiting; and
while she thus waits, let us see what her purpose is.

Her custom had been to go to market after nightfall. Stealing out
unobserved, she would seek the shops in the Tyropoeon, or those
over by the Fish Gate in the east, make her purchases of meat
and vegetables, and return and shut herself up again.

The pleasure she derived from the presence of Ben-Hur in the old
house once more may be imagined. She had nothing to tell him of
her mistress or Tirzah—nothing. He would have had her move to a
place not so lonesome; she refused. She would have had him take his
own room again, which was just as he had left it; but the danger of
discovery was too great, and he wished above all things to avoid
inquiry. He would come and see her often as possible. Coming in
the night, he would also go away in the night. She was compelled
to be satisfied, and at once occupied herself contriving ways to
make him happy. That he was a man now did not occur to her; nor did
it enter her mind that he might have put by or lost his boyish tastes;
to please him, she thought to go on her old round of services. He used
to be fond of confections; she remembered the things in that line
which delighted him most, and resolved to make them, and have a
supply always ready when he came. Could anything be happier? So
next night, earlier than usual, she stole out with her basket,
and went over to the Fish Gate Market. Wandering about, seeking the
best honey, she chanced to hear a man telling a story.

What the story was the reader can arrive at with sufficient certainty
when told that the narrator was one of the men who had held torches
for the commandant of the Tower of Antonia when, down in cell VI.,
the Hurs were found. The particulars of the finding were all told,
and she heard them, with the names of the prisoners, and the widow's
account of herself.

The feelings with which Amrah listened to the recital were such
as became the devoted creature she was. She made her purchases,
and returned home in a dream. What a happiness she had in store
for her boy! She had found his mother!

She put the basket away, now laughing, now crying. Suddenly she
stopped and thought. It would kill him to be told that his mother
and Tirzah were lepers. He would go through the awful city over
on the Hill of Evil Counsel—into each infected tomb he would go
without rest, asking for them, and the disease would catch him,
and their fate would be his. She wrung her hands. What should she
do?

Like many a one before her, and many a one since, she derived
inspiration, if not wisdom, from her affection, and came to a
singular conclusion.

The lepers, she knew, were accustomed of mornings to come down
from their sepulchral abodes in the hill, and take a supply of
water for the day from the well En-rogel. Bringing their jars,
they would set them on the ground and wait, standing afar until
they were filled. To that the mistress and Tirzah must come;
for the law was inexorable, and admitted no distinction. A rich
leper was no better than a poor one.

So Amrah decided not to speak to Ben-Hur of the story she had heard,
but go alone to the well and wait. Hunger and thirst would drive
the unfortunates thither, and she believed she could recognize
them at sight; if not, they might recognize her.

Meantime Ben-Hur came, and they talked much. To-morrow Malluch
would arrive; then the search should be immediately begun. He was
impatient to be about it. To amuse himself he would visit the sacred
places in the vicinity. The secret, we may be sure, weighed heavily
on the woman, but she held her peace.

When he was gone she busied herself in the preparation of things
good to eat, applying her utmost skill to the work. At the approach
of day, as signalled by the stars, she filled the basket, selected a
jar, and took the road to En-rogel, going out by the Fish Gate which
was earliest open, and arriving as we have seen.

Shortly after sunrise, when business at the well was most pressing,
and the drawer of water most hurried; when, in fact, half a dozen
buckets were in use at the same time, everybody making haste to get
away before the cool of the morning melted into the heat of the day,
the tenantry of the hill began to appear and move about the doors
of their tombs. Somewhat later they were discernible in groups,
of which not a few were children so young that they suggested the
holiest relation. Numbers came momentarily around the turn of the
bluff—women with jars upon their shoulders, old and very feeble
men hobbling along on staffs and crutches. Some leaned upon the
shoulders of others; a few—the utterly helpless—lay, like heaps
of rags, upon litters. Even that community of superlative sorrow had
its love-light to make life endurable and attractive. Distance softened
without entirely veiling the misery of the outcasts.

From her seat by the well Amrah kept watch upon the spectral
groups. She scarcely moved. More than once she imagined she saw
those she sought. That they were there upon the hill she had no
doubt; that they must come down and near she knew; when the people
at the well were all served they would come.

Now, quite at the base of the bluff there was a tomb which had
more than once attracted Amrah by its wide gaping. A stone of
large dimensions stood near its mouth. The sun looked into it
through the hottest hours of the day, and altogether it seemed
uninhabitable by anything living, unless, perchance, by some
wild dogs returning from scavenger duty down in Gehenna. Thence,
however, and greatly to her surprise, the patient Egyptian beheld
two women come, one half supporting, half leading, the other.
They were both white-haired; both looked old; but their garments
were not rent, and they gazed about them as if the locality were
new. The witness below thought she even saw them shrink terrified
at the spectacle offered by the hideous assemblage of which they
found themselves part. Slight reasons, certainly, to make her
heart beat faster, and draw her attention to them exclusively;
but so they did.

The two remained by the stone awhile; then they moved slowly,
painfully, and with much fear towards the well, whereat several
voices were raised to stop them; yet they kept on. The drawer of
water picked up some pebbles, and made ready to drive them back.
The company cursed them. The greater company on the hill shouted
shrilly, "Unclean, unclean!"

"Surely," thought Amrah of the two, as they kept coming—"surely,
they are strangers to the usage of lepers."

She arose, and went to meet them, taking the basket and jar.
The alarm at the well immediately subsided.

"What a fool," said one, laughing, "what a fool to give good bread
to the dead in that way!"

"And to think of her coming so far!" said another. "I would at
least make them meet me at the gate."

Amrah, with better impulse, proceeded. If she should be mistaken!
Her heart arose into her throat. And the farther she went the more
doubtful and confused she became. Four or five yards from where
they stood waiting for her she stopped.