Читать книгу The Silver Chalice - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 26

Basil tossed on his hot couch that night. One train of thought ran continuously through his mind. Had these earnest people the secret of peace and happiness on earth? Would his success in making the silver Chalice depend on the state of mind with which he approached the task? Must he believe in Jesus of Nazareth before he could hope to achieve a mental picture of Him and mold it into perpetual form?

It took some time to reach a conclusion, but it came to him finally as he stared out at the sky where the stars seemed to hang low enough for a hand to reach. The Chalice was the most important thing in his life. It must be made for the ages, and the faces of Jesus and His disciples must look out from the silver frame for all the world to see and know. Nothing else must be allowed to concern him. His personal affairs must be forgotten. He must strive hard to reach the state of mind where he might see the eyes of Jesus. He had become sure that happiness would come to him at the same time.

He felt an immediate sense of peace. A breeze blew across the room and cooled his hot brow. He saw the benevolent face of Luke smiling at him in approval and a sense of something even deeper in the wide-spaced eyes of Deborra. He fell into sleep.

He roused himself early. A sultry morning: a heavy, moist blanket seemed to stretch across the sky, obscuring the outline of the Temple. There was such a deadness in the air that the slightest movement was an effort.

By seven o’clock Benjie the Asker was at his door, full of energy and bubbling with news.

“The Zealots were all over the city last night,” he announced with zest. “They were looking for Paul. If they had found him, he would have had as many daggers in him as a porcupine has quills. It was felt to be unsafe for him to venture on the streets in daylight, so he went to the hall, where the presbyters will meet, before dawn. Yes, there he is now, pacing up and down with a challenge in his eyes. ‘Bring mine enemies to me,’ he is saying to himself, ‘and I will demolish them.’ ” The Asker beamed delightedly at Basil. “I am a lucky man today. I have been told to take you to the meeting and so I shall be there when the air is filled with the hailstones of invective. We must start as soon as you break your fast.”

Basil began to bathe himself gratefully before the silver laver. “I have no desire for food on a day like this,” he said, sloshing the water over his shoulders. “I have only one thought in my mind. To start work.”

“That is wrong,” declared Benjie emphatically. “The hotter the day, the bigger the meal. That is my rule. This morning I had a melon, a platter of grapes, the chop of a tender kid, and even a wedge of cheese. I feel as full of fight as David issuing forth to do battle with Goliath, whose spear was like a weaver’s beam. Eat well, young artist, and your fingers will find a fresh magic in them.”

In the hall they met Ebenezer, the servant of Aaron. He was walking with less stoop in his back and even a hint of animation on his usually expressionless face. Basil was surprised when this most silent of men stopped them and began to speak.

“What word does Benjie have for us?” he asked, his voice husky from lack of use. “Paul will not give in to them?”

“Have no fear, friend Ebenezer,” answered Benjie. “Paul has come to Jerusalem for no other purpose than to fight. He will not give in.”

The bent head nodded gravely. “It will be his last battle, O Asker. It is so written.”

When they reached the street, where the sun, having broken through the clouds, greeted them with a blasting fury of heat, Basil asked his companion, “Can it be that the servant of Aaron is a Christian?”

Benjie nodded his head. “Ebenezer is one of the most devout of us all. He is a Gentile from the far North, and so he is a firm believer in everything that Paul preaches.” He gave Basil a cautioning glance. “Aaron does not know that Ebenezer belongs to us.”

Basil’s mind was still filled with what Deborra and Luke had said to him. That this strange servingman, spending his days in obeying the instructions of his master’s fingers, was a Christian also, interested him deeply.

“And the other slaves?” he asked.

“All of them. Even Uzziel, the overseer.”

It proved to be a long walk. They did not go to the little room in the wall of David where the leaders of the church met, but turned their steps instead in the direction of the upper city. Basil found himself exhausted from the heat by the time Benjie stopped before the door of a warehouse in the Street of the Weavers. They were admitted to a dark cavern-like space which seemed cool after the furious onslaught of the sun. As their eyes were blinded by the sudden change, they remained by the door until a voice said, “This way, if you please, my masters.” They followed the white tunic of the speaker, and Basil’s eyes recovered their function sufficiently to see that the place was piled to the ceiling with bales of cloth. Passing through a door at the rear, they found themselves in an interior hall that was still darker. Their guide stopped abruptly and gave a rap with his knuckles on what seemed to be a blank wall. A panel slid back, and they became aware of light beyond and a murmur of voices.

“Who is it?” asked a custodian within.

“We come from Joseph of Arimathea,” said Benjie.

The custodian said, “Enter,” and swung back a narrow door. As they stepped into the room, which was lighted through the ceiling, Benjie whispered to his companion, “It is Paul speaking, and I can tell from his voice that he is wrapped in the toga of battle.”

Basil was led to a seat behind a screen. He had opened out on his knees the cloth containing wax and had spread his tools in convenient array before his eyes became sufficiently adjusted to take in any of his surroundings. He sat back then and looked about him.

He saw that the hall, which was not large, was fitted up in a state of solemn and rather dingy splendor, as though at some earlier stage an effort had been made to match in a small degree the austere grandeur of the Temple. The walls were covered with hangings that had once been handsome, and there was an imposing dais at one end where, behind a pulpit of yellowing ivory, sat a small group of men in a matching solemnity.

A larger group, less stern of mien and containing a few women, sat on benches in front of the dais. Paul was standing in the midst of this second group and was filling the hall with the ardor of his words.

Benjie had stationed himself behind Basil. He gave the shoulder of the artist a twitch and whispered: “Look well at those two men on each side of the pulpit. James, on the right, is a kinsman of Jesus. The one on the other side is Jude.”

Basil studied both men, noting particularly the face of Jude; the high forehead, the finely molded nose, the beard in which he took an obvious pride, for it was curled and oiled and quite handsome. Basil’s fingers went busily to work.

After a time he said: “A face such as that of Jude presents small difficulty. Have you noticed how his nose curls? There is a hint of arrogance in his eye. Such physical traits are easy to get.”

“You have him already,” whispered Benjie. “It has taken no more than fifteen minutes. Truly this is astonishing.”

Basil laid aside the head of Jude and took up another lump of wax. “That high pucker across the brow of James will make him an easy subject.”

The features of the kinsman of Jesus came to life as the sensitive fingers flew at their task. Benjie watched closely, shaking his head at intervals to express his amazement. He even gave vent to a low whistle when the skilled hands created the nose of the apostle with no more than a moment of pressure on the wax. A second motion gave it a blunted end, and this seemed to be the finishing touch. A perfect likeness had been achieved.

They were both so absorbed that they had been paying small attention to Paul. In this respect they were alone, for everyone else in the long dark chamber had fallen under his spell. Paul had gathered the meeting into his thin, ivory-colored hands. Every eye was fixed on his face. Except for the rise and fall of his voice, there was no sound. James and Jude had become no more than spectators.

The great apostle was telling of his stewardship. With graphic words he described his journeys through the Gentile world, the pagan cities of the Greeks, the materialistic dominions of Rome, the hostile desert lands. It was a story of conquest he was telling, a conquest that would prove more complete than what Rome had accomplished with the might of her legions, one that would last forever. He was demonstrating to this most critical of audiences that he had been right, that the teachings of Jesus belonged to the whole human race and not exclusively to the one nation into which He had been born.

Paul had ceased speaking, and for several moments there was silence in the long dark chamber. His words had carried conviction and there could no longer be doubt that the presbyters would approve what he had done. Jude had listened impassively, without even the flicker of an eyelash, but James had responded, in some degree at least, to the eloquent pleading of the man from Tarsus. It was James who broke the silence.

“Brother Saul,” he said, “it is clear to all of us that you have labored long and hard and that much has been accomplished. Those of us who have not seen eye to eye with you in the past still believe that it should be possible to extend the boundaries of the Lord’s influence without deviating one inch from the just laws by which we live. We would prefer to go to the Gentiles with two great gifts in our hands, the teachings of Jesus and the Law of Moses.

“But you, who have been carrying the Word to the Gentiles, say it can only be done your way. It is clear you are sincerely convinced. Reluctantly I am disposed to say: Have it, then, your way, go on teaching in the future as you have done in the past.”

The speaker stopped and glanced down at Jude but received no manner of response. His quick eye then skimmed the circle of presbyters, drawing a response in a general nodding of heads and a deep-toned chorus of “Yea!”

“Paul has won!” whispered Benjie, fairly bouncing on his seat in excitement. “He has talked them over. Okhe! What a victory it has been!”

The victory was not to be a complete one. James, it became clear, had more to say. He looked again with some evidence of uneasiness at the impassive form of Jude and then allowed his eyes to rest for a moment on the dark corner where troublesome counsel sat in the figure of the Mar.

“This must be said.” The slender James had straightened up in his chair and his voice became high and a little shrill. “We have heard ill reports of your personal conduct, Brother Saul. It has been told us again and again that you have ceased to live by the Law of Moses. This is a charge which sits heavily on our minds.”

“I declare it false!” cried Paul. “I declare to you, the elders of the church, that there is no truth in what my ill-wishers charge against me. I have not broken the Law.”

“But you have condoned laxity in others,” declared James. “This has been said of you on the testimony of many witnesses. Here in Jerusalem men are coming to fear you.”

“James, James!” exclaimed the apostle to the Gentiles. “You sit here in a circle as small as the cupping of a child’s hand. Can it be that you are more concerned with the trappings of truth than with truth itself?”

“We find joy in living as our fathers have lived before us,” said James.

“But your fathers knew nothing of the teachings of Jesus.” The voice of the apostle rose again to an oratorical pitch. “Can you not see that everything has been changed by the coming of the Master? The whole world must be taught, even as Jesus commanded. Can we obey that command if we still believe we must allow no deviation in the depth to which we dip our hands in water after eating meat? The salt of Sodom may cling to the date you eat on the desert—but if around you gather those who hunger for the Word, you must not delay in the telling of it until you have plunged your wrists in a tepid cleansing.”

James rose up behind the ivory pulpit. It could be seen that he was thin and wasted from much fasting and that a palsy afflicted the hand he pointed accusingly at the apostle to the Gentiles. “Out of your own mouth you have sustained the charge!” he cried. “I say to you, Paul, that you must acknowledge the error of your ways and cleanse yourself publicly.”

A deep chorus of “Yea!” rose from the circle of presbyters. One of them spoke up to say: “You have brought strangers with you who claim they should be allowed to enter the Temple beyond the Court of the Gentiles. There is profanation even in the wish!”

“I have been a Nazarite all my life,” declared James. This was apparent in the curl of his long white hair and the softness of a beard that had never known the touch of the shears. “You, Paul, who sat at the feet of Gamaliel, know that the Code of the Nazarites calls for purification of body and heart. This, then, is what we demand of you, that you stand in the Dock of Atonement, where all men may see you, for the full number of days set by the Code. That in the end you submit your head to the shears and that your hair be publicly burned so that you may start afresh thereafter, clean of body and of mind.”

Benjie could not keep his feelings under control. “No, no!” he cried aloud. It was so unexpected that his voice seemed to fill the hot chamber.

James was startled and glanced apprehensively toward the source of the interruption. “There must be order,” he said with an air of affronted dignity.

Basil suspended work and waited for the effect of the interruption to pass.

“I have never so forgotten myself before,” whispered Benjie, his face reflecting the shock he felt at his own presumption. “But this would be a fatal mistake. Paul to stand in the Dock of Atonement! The butt of every passer-by—spat upon, reviled, laughed at! What a mark his naked back would offer the daggers of the Zealots! There will be war on the streets of Jerusalem, and that is what Rub Samuel, the leader of the Zealots, wants.”

There was a quick flurry of discussion among the princes of the church. At the end there was a general nodding of heads in assent.

Paul sat with bowed head. He neither glanced up nor sought counsel with his followers as speaker after speaker urged the ceremony of atonement. There was humiliation in the arch of his back, bitterness in the line of his jaw.

“So be it,” he said when the last of the presbyters had spoken. “I have lived by the Law of Moses and I am not conscious of wrongdoing. But if this is necessary to keep peace in my Master’s House, I shall do as you bid. I shall stand in nakedness and shame for sins of which I have not been guilty!”