Ben Hur by Lew Wallace (best romance ebooks TXT) 📕

“You are positive?”

“Very positive.”

“He appears to have told you but little of his life.”

“He has somewhere learned to be prudent. I might call him distrustful. He baffled all my attempts upon his confidence until we started from the Castalian fount going to the village of Daphne.”

“A place of abomination! Why went he there?”

“I would say from curiosity, the first motive of the many who go; but, very strangely, he took no interest in the things he saw. Of the Temple, he merely asked if it were Grecian. Good master, the young man has a trouble of mind from which he would hide, and he went to the Grove, I think, as we go to sepulchres with our dead⁠—he went to bury it.”

“That were well, if so,” Simonides said, in a low voice; then louder, “Malluch, the curse of the time is prodigality. The poor make themselves poorer as apes of the rich, and the merely rich carry themselves like princes. Saw you signs of the weakness in the youth? Did he display moneys⁠—coin of Rome or Israel?”

“None, none, good master.”

“Surely, Malluch, where there are so many inducements to folly⁠—so much, I mean, to eat and drink⁠—surely he made you generous offer of some sort. His age, if nothing more, would warrant that much.”

“He neither ate nor drank in my company.”

“In what he said or did, Malluch, could you in anywise detect his master-idea? You know they peep through cracks close enough to stop the wind.”

“Give me to understand you,” said Malluch, in doubt.

“Well, you know we nor speak nor act, much less decide grave questions concerning ourselves, except as we be driven by a motive. In that respect, what made you of him?”

“As to that, Master Simonides, I can answer with much assurance. He is devoted to finding his mother and sister⁠—that first. Then he has a grievance against Rome; and as the Messala of whom I told you had something to do with the wrong, the great present object is to humiliate him. The meeting at the fountain furnished an opportunity, but it was put aside as not sufficiently public.”

“The Messala is influential,” said Simonides, thoughtfully.

“Yes; but the next meeting will be in the Circus.”

“Well⁠—and then?”

“The son of Arrius will win.”

“How know you?”

Malluch smiled.

“I am judging by what he says.”

“Is that all?”

“No; there is a much better sign⁠—his spirit.”

“Ay; but, Malluch, his idea of vengeance⁠—what is its scope? Does he limit it to the few who did him the wrong, or does he take in the many? And more⁠—is his feeling but the vagary of a sensitive boy, or has it the seasoning of suffering manhood to give it endurance? You know, Malluch, the vengeful thought that has root merely in the mind is but a dream of idlest sort which one clear day will dissipate; while revenge the passion is a disease of the heart which climbs up, up to the brain, and feeds itself on both alike.”

In this question, Simonides for the first time showed signs of feeling; he spoke with rapid utterance, and with clenched hands and the eagerness of a man illustrating the disease he described.

“Good my master,” Malluch replied, “one of my reasons for believing the young man a Jew is the intensity of his hate. It was plain to me he had himself under watch, as was natural, seeing how long he has lived in an atmosphere of Roman jealousy; yet I saw it blaze⁠—once when he wanted to know Ilderim’s feeling towards Rome, and again when I told him the story of the sheik and the wise man, and spoke of the question, ‘Where is he that is born King of the Jews?’ ”

Simonides leaned forward quickly.

“Ah, Malluch, his words⁠—give me his words; let me judge the impression the mystery made upon him.”

“He wanted to know the exact words. Were they to be or born to be? It appeared he was struck by a seeming difference in the effect of the two phrases.”

Simonides settled back into his pose of listening judge.

“Then,” said Malluch, “I told him Ilderim’s view of the mystery⁠—that the king would come with the doom of Rome. The young man’s blood rose over his cheeks and forehead, and he said earnestly, ‘Who but a Herod can be king while Rome endures?’ ”

“Meaning what?”

“That the empire must be destroyed before there could be another rule.”

Simonides gazed for a time at the ships and their shadows slowly swinging together in the river; when he looked up, it was to end the interview.

“Enough, Malluch,” he said. “Get you to eat, and make ready to return to the Orchard of Palms; you must help the young man in his coming trial. Come to me in the morning. I will send a letter to Ilderim.” Then in an undertone, as if to himself, he added, “I may attend the Circus myself.”

When Malluch after the customary benediction given and received was gone, Simonides took a deep draught of milk, and seemed refreshed and easy of mind.

“Put the meal down, Esther,” he said; “it is over.”

She obeyed.

“Here now.”

She resumed her place upon the arm of the chair close to him.

“God is good to me, very good,” he said, fervently. “His habit is to move in mystery, yet sometimes he permits us to think we see and understand him. I am old, dear, and must go; but now, in this eleventh hour, when my hope was beginning to die, he sends me this one with a promise, and I am lifted up. I see the way to a great part in a circumstance itself so great that it shall be as a new birth to the whole world. And I see a reason for the gift of my great riches, and the end for which they were designed. Verily, my child, I take hold on life anew.”

Esther nestled closer to him, as if to bring his thoughts from their far-flying.

“The king has been born” he continued, imagining he was still speaking to her, “and he