“I am their guest,” she said.
“Their guest? Why, this is stranger still. If these spiritual outlaws—the word is that old high priest’s, not mine—share their bread and water with such guests, my sojourn among them will be happier than I thought.”
“They brought me up, I am their ward,” Miriam explained again.
“In truth, my opinion of the Essenes rises, and I am convinced that those priests slandered them. If they can shape so sweet a lady, surely they must themselves be good and gentle”; and he bowed gravely, perhaps to mark the compliment.
“Sir, they are both good and gentle,” answered Miriam; “but of this you will be able to judge for yourself very shortly, seeing that they live near at hand. If you will follow us over yonder rise we will show you their village, whither we go.”
“By your leave, I will accompany you,” he said, dismounting before she could answer; then added, “Pardon me for one moment—I must give some orders,” and he called to a soldier, who, with his companions, had halted at a little distance.
The man advanced saluting, and, turning aside, his captain began to talk with him, so that now, for the first time, Miriam could study his face. He was young—not more than five or six and twenty years of age—of middle height, and somewhat slender, but active in movement and athletic in build. Upon his head, which was round and not large, in place of the helmet that hung at his saddle-bow, he wore a little cap, steel lined and padded as a protection against the sun, and beneath it she could see that his short, dark brown hair curled closely. Under the tan caused by exposure to the heat, his skin was fair, and his grey eyes, set rather wide apart, were quick and observant. For the rest, his mouth was well-shaped, though somewhat large, and the chin clean-shaved, prominent and determined. His air was that of a soldier accustomed to command, but very genial, and, when he smiled, showing his regular white teeth, even merry—the air of one with a kind and generous heart.
Miriam looked at him, and in an instant was aware that she liked him better than any man—that is any young man—she had ever seen. This, however, was no great or exclusive compliment to the Roman, since of such acquaintances she had but few, if, indeed, Caleb was not the only one. However, of this she was sure, she liked him better than Caleb, because, even then and there, comparing them in her thoughts, this truth came home to her; with it, too, a certain sense of shame that the newcomer should be preferred to the friend of her childhood, although of late that friend had displeased her by showing too warm a friendship.
Having given his instructions, the captain dismissed the orderly, commanding him to follow at a distance with the men. Then saying, “Lady, I am ready,” he began to walk forward, leading his horse by the bridle.
“You will forgive me,” he added, “if I introduce myself more formally. I am called Marcus, the son of Emilius—a name which was known in its day,” and he sighed, “as I hope before I have done with it, mine will be. At present I cannot boast that this is so, who, unless it should please my uncle Caius to decease and leave me the great fortune he squeezes out of the Spaniards—neither of which things he shows any present intention of doing—am but a soldier of fortune: an officer under the command of the excellent and most noble procurator Albinus,” he added sarcastically. “For the rest,” he went on, “I have spent a year in this interesting and turbulent but somewhat arid land of yours, coming here from Egypt, and am now honoured with a commission to investigate and make report on a charge laid at the door of your virtuous guardians, the Essenes, of having murdered, or been privy to the murder of, a certain rascally Jew, who, as I understand, was sent with others to steal their goods. That, lady, is my style and history. By way of exchange, will you be pleased to tell me yours?”
Miriam hesitated, not being sure whether she should enter on such confidences at so short a notice. Thereon, Nehushta, who was untroubled by doubts, and thought it politic to be quite open with this Roman, a man in authority, answered for her.
“Lord, this maiden, whose servant I am, as I was that of her grandmother and mother before her——”
“Surely you cannot be so old,” interrupted Marcus. He made it a rule to be polite to all women, whatever their colour, having noticed that life went more easily with those who were courteous to the sex.
Nehushta smiled a little as she answered—for at what age does a woman learn to despise a compliment?—“Lord, they both died young”; then repeated, “This maiden is the only child of the high-born Græco-Syrian of Tyre, Demas, and his noble wife, Rachel——”
“I know Tyre,” he interrupted. “I was quartered there till two months ago”; adding in a different tone, “I understand that this pair no longer live.”
“They died,” said Nehushta sadly, “the father in the amphitheatre at Berytus by command of the first Agrippa, and the mother when her child was born.”
“In the amphitheatre at Berytus? Was he then a malefactor?”
“No, sir,” broke in Miriam proudly; “he was a Christian.”
“Oh! I understand. Well, they are ill-spoken of as enemies of the human race, but for my part I have had to do with several Christians and found them very good people, though visionary in their views.” Here a doubt struck him and he said, “But, lady, I understand that you are an Essene.”
“Nay, sir,” she replied in the same steady voice, “I also am a Christian, who have been protected by the Essenes.”
He looked at her with pity and replied, “It is a dangerous profession for one so young and fair.”
“Dangerous let it be,” she said; “at least it is mine from the beginning to the end.”
Marcus bowed, perceiving that the subject was not to be pursued, and said to Nehushta, “Continue the story, my friend.”
“Lord, the father of my lady’s mother is a very wealthy Jewish merchant of Tyre, named Benoni.”
“Benoni,” he said, “I know him well, too well for a poor man!—a Jew of the Jews, a Zealot, they say. At least he hates us Romans enough to be one, although many is the dinner that I have eaten at his palace. He is the most successful trader in all Tyre, unless it be his rival Amram, the Phoenician, but a hard man, and as able as he is hard. Now I think of it, he has no living children, so why does not your lady, his grandchild, dwell with him rather than in this desert?”
“Lord, you have answered your own question. Benoni is a Jew of the Jews; his granddaughter is a Christian, as I am also. Therefore when her mother died, I brought her here to be taken care of by her uncle Ithiel the Essene, and I do not think Benoni knows even that she lives. Lord, perhaps I have said too much; but you must soon have heard the story from the Essenes, and we trust to you, who chance to be Benoni’s friend, to keep our secret from him.”
“You do not trust in vain; yet it seems sad that all the wealth and station which are hers by right should thus be wasted.”
“Lord, rank and station are not everything; freedom of faith and person are more than these. My lady lacks for nothing, and—this is all her story.”
“Not quite, friend; you have not told me her name.”
“Lord, it is Miriam.”
“Miriam, Miriam,” he repeated, his slightly foreign accent dwelling softly on the syllables. “It is a very pretty name, befitting such a——” and he checked himself.
By now they were on the crest of the rise, and, stopping between two clumps of thorn trees, Miriam broke in hastily:
“See, sir, there below lies the village of the Essenes; those green trees to the left mark the banks of Jordan, whence we irrigate our fields, while that grey stretch of water to the right, surrounded by a wall of mountain, is the Dead Sea.”