The travelers were encamped again under the sky, and it was now night. A shooting star sped through the constellation of Orion and fell down toward the Dead Sea.
“An omen, Jew.”
“Explain, brother knight.”
“Life; bright, short, ending in gloom.”
“Look at the fixed stars.”
“They preach fate.”
“Perhaps, but they have the majority. Few fall; I think, too, Someone holds them.”
“Thy hopefulness colors thy faith.”
“Thy murmurings run toward final madness, knight; the Rabbis, good men, so taught me.”
“If one star falls may not all? If Providence hold them, why does one escape?”
“Thou hast heard that the giant Orion having lost his eyes, afterward regained his sight by turning his sockets toward the rising sun; that meteor we saw shot through the constellation Orion. Look up.”
“A happy simile and pungent thrust, Jew.”
“He that sent the lightnings to show us our way out of dread Jericho, most likely now commissioned some angel to swing a meteor across the sky as a torch or beacon for our guidance. The trail of flame teaches me that God is writing His royal signature on some great message.”
“This world is too vast and too thronged with insignificants, such as we, for such especial carings on God’s part. There are too many kings, too many shepherds, too many follies for Him to constantly watch any one or two.”
“Backward, forward; now good, now bad. What a charging, changing knight! Pray God to get thee right and then fix thee.”
Their converse was interrupted by a prolonged trumpet blast, echoing from hill to hill. Sir Charleroy sprang to his feet and clasping his sword hilt, cried eagerly, “We’re ambuscaded!”
“No, by the glory of God, ’twas the temple call! How grand it sounds away in this wilderness!”
“No, no, Jew, I’ve heard that call; this one had six responses.”
“ ’Twas echo’s magic! Didst thou not notice how the sound spread as it traveled in a sort of sheet of melody? Then it rose and fell from low hill to high. One blast; seven responses. Nature proclaiming against fate and chance; the covenant number.”
“I’m not so confident that it’s a miracle; what if it were some Mamelukes or Druses, planning one of their pious immolations of heretics with us for the victims?”
“Nay, brother, It’s ‘Purim’; that feast is now due, and always begins at early starlight. I know it. Come, I’ll put it to the proof.”
“Hold; poets are more rash than knights in a charge, but not so skillful in retreat! Whither wouldst thou?”
“I’ll spy out the trumpeters and report.”
“Not alone. I’ll go, too. This camp will care for itself if they beyond be friends; if enemies, why then, without consulting us, they will care for all we have. But this,” said the knight, toying with his sword, “was blessed by a priest to preach to infidels.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE FEAST OF PURIM.
Stealthily Ichabod, followed by Sir Charleroy, approached the place from which the trumpet call had sounded. The foliage was dense, the necessary way somewhat winding, and these circumstances, together with the fact that it was expedient to move with great caution, made the progress of the explorers very slow. The last ray of day had faded, sung away by the evening bird and insect chorusers, whose concert strains, like the vanishing notes of æolian harps swept by dying breezes, were now blending, without a line to mark the place of transition, into the lull of the night. Nature’s lullaby to tired, drowsy life. It was a witching hour in the woods, and the scene that lay just beyond the pilgrims in an opening by Jabbock was an enchantment. The river, reflecting the moon rays and the lights of torches borne by many intermingling feasters, flowed silently along like a stream of mingled silver and fire, while tree and shrub along its sides, as green as green could be, bore as fruits lights of many colors. In the opening, surrounded by beacons, banners and the lamp-bearing trees, the beauty as well as the center of all was a magnificent patriarchal tent, made of costly materials. About the pavilion were mounds of earth, elevated upon high tripods, seven in all, in symbols of the seven temple candle-sticks. On each mound there blazed a fire fed by resinous faggots, and the lights of the fires falling upon the folds of the tent, caught up here and there by bands of blue and gold, made the whole glisten like jeweled silk.
“Hallelujah,” with suppressed joy, exclaimed Ichabod, “the tabernacle of God with men!”
“Hush, rash man, and watch!” rebukingly replied Sir Charleroy.
“Watch? Why, my soul is in my eyes. I’m as one famished for years smelling a feast!”
As they looked on the beautiful scene, they perceived that the front of the pavilion was lifted up and stretched forward as a canopy over an altar, richly decorated with twined olive branches and blood-red blossoms. A little way off, and yet partly encircling the altar, were little walnut trees, each tree having on its branches glistening lamps, half hidden by wreaths of hollyhocks and asters.
The moon sank behind the hills; the night darkened, but the fires and lamps burned still more brightly.
“It’s like fairy-land, Jew,” after little, spake Sir Charleroy.
“More beautiful, knight. Wait and see.”
There was a burst of music, instantly followed by the entrance of youths and old men; some singing, others vigorously playing ugabs, reed-flutes, and tambourines. Somewhere near, though unseen by the watchers, were happy women; they recognized their voices in refrains, choruses, and merry peals of laughter.
“Well, this is not warlike, but what is it, Jew?” queried Sir Charleroy.
“Wait a little.”
There came a commanding trumpet blast. Its tones died away in the melody-waves of a score of viols, managed by unperceived musicians. Then silence; presently the huge blue curtain that hung across the tent, just back of the outstretching front canopy, parted, and there emerged an aged man of stately form, wearing an Aaronic mitre and priestly robes; rich as well as ample. He paused before the altar a moment, as if in prayer, and then suddenly the air far and wide quivered with a sound like a cyclone hail. There were also cornet blasts mingling therewith.
“Heavens, Jew, explain!”
“Selah! These the drums and waking clappers; the signal to be given. Now for ‘Purim’ in earnest.”
The groves about seemed to be alive and moving, for from every direction toward the center gathered men and boys, bearing palm branches and torches; these, as they advanced, moved with speeded pace, presently they were in a perfect maze, the music of every kind growing louder and louder, then seeming to die away.
“They’re carrying the edicts of Ahasuerus to the Jews to defend themselves, master.”
“A fine play, Jew!”
Now