CHAPTER VII
THE BONDMAN OF HATE
In a city like Ptolemais, where many pagans lived extravagantly and many Jews lived thriftily, there were, as naturally follows, many money-lenders among the sons of Abraham.
"Seek them all," was Agrippa's charge, "but Peter, the usurer. Him, thou hadst better avoid."
The young Essene laid aside the prince's dress, with its embroidery of precious metal, and, getting into a simpler garment affected by the stewards to men of rank, went out into the city to borrow twenty thousand drachmæ.
He did not get the twenty thousand drachmæ, but he found, instead, that Herod Agrippa was the most notorious bankrupt in the world. Being a Jew and by heritage thrifty, the discovery shook him in his respect for the prince, but at the same time a resolution shaped itself in him against the usurers. But, on a certain day, he returned to the little house in the suburbs of the city to report that he had been placidly refused by every money-lending Jew or Gentile, except Peter, in the seaport.
But he delivered his tidings unmoved.
"Be of hope," he said to Cypros, whose head drooped at the news; "there are many untried ways."
He went again into the city, and visited the khans. There might be new-comers who were money-lenders in other cities.
There were such as guests in Ptolemais, but from their lips he learned that Agrippa was black-listed from the Adriatic to the Euphrates; but Marsyas did not return to the house in the suburbs that night. The weight of his obligation was too heavy to endure the added burden which the sight of Agrippa's suspense had become.
He went to the rabbis of Ptolemais; they told him that they were not money-lenders. He applied to the prefect of the city, who laughed at him. Hoping that the name of Agrippa as a bankrupt had not penetrated into the fields he journeyed into the country-side of Syria and tried an oil-merchant, a rustic, rich and unlettered. But the oil-merchant came up to Ptolemais and made inquiry, shrugged his shoulders, glowered at Marsyas and went back to his groves.
An Egyptian seller of purple landed at Ptolemais from Alexandria. The name of the city of hope attracted Marsyas and he met the merchant at the wharves. But the seller of purple had been to Rome and the topmost name on his list of debtors was Herod Agrippa.
At the end of three days, Marsyas returned to the house in the suburbs to assure the prince that he had not deserted and went again on his search.
His invariable failures began to teach him a certain shrewdness. He discovered early that Essenic frankness would not serve his ends. He found that men were approachable through certain channels; that it was better to speak advisedly than frankly; to lay plans, rather than to wait on events; to use devices rather than persuasion. These things admitted, he discovered that he had unconsciously subordinated them to his use. Though momentarily alarmed, he did not hate himself as he should. On the other hand, it was pleasurable to lay siege to men and try them at their own scheming.
At night in a dutiful effort to cleanse himself of the day's accumulation of worldliness, he went to the open proseuchæ, where in the dark of the great out-of-doors, he was least likely to be noticed, to comfort himself with stolen worship, stolen profit from the Law. But the Law was not tender to those who lived as Stephen lived, and died as Stephen died. Not in all that great and holy scroll which the Reader read was there compassion for the blasphemer. Also, he heard of the great plague of persecution which Saul had loosed upon the Nazarenes in Jerusalem and how the Pharisee had become a mighty man before the Council, and an awe and a terror to the congregation. So he came away from the proseuchæ, not only unhelped but harmed, embittered, enraged, alienated from his faith, and hungering for vengeance.
By day, he walked through the commercial districts of Ptolemais and pushed his almost hopeless search with an energy that did not flag at continued failure. He knew that if he obtained the twenty thousand drachmæ, he bound Agrippa the surer to his oath of allegiance to the cause against Saul. Despair, therefore, was a banished and forbidden thing.
His plans, however, had been tried and proved fruitless. Typically a soldier of fortune, he was relying upon the exigencies of chance.
Ptolemais was a normal town, with large interest and pleasures, and the fair day was too fleeting for one to stop and take heed of another. Passers pushed and hurried him when he came upon those more busy than he. Sailors, bronzed as Tatars, were probably the sole loiterers besides the inevitable oriental feature, the sidewalk mendicant.
So it was that on a certain day when Marsyas overtook a lectica in the street, the old man within complained aloud and had no audience, except his plodding bearers, or the attention of a glance, or a slackened step now and again among the citizens.
"They rob me!" he was crying when Marsyas came up with him.
The young man turned quickly; the declaration was alarming. His eyes encountered the face of Peter, the usurer, a stout, gray old Jew, in the apparel of a Sadducee.
Seeing that he had won the young man's notice the old usurer seized the opportunity to enlarge.
"They ruin me!" he cried.
Marsyas bowed gravely. "Thy pardon, sir," he said. "May I be of service?"
"They sap my life!" the old man continued more violently, as if the young man's question had excited him. "They take, and demand more; they waste, and must be replenished! I drop into the grave and there will be nothing left to buy a tomb to receive me!"
The words were directed to Marsyas, and the young man having halted could not go on without awkwardness.
"I pray thee," he urged, "tell me who plagues thee thus."
"The tradesmen! Because I am wealthy, they augment their hire; because I must buy, they increase their price; they hold necessities out of my reach! It is a conspiracy between them because I am of lowly birth, and I go from one to another and find no relief! Behold!" He shook out a shawl which had been folded across his knees. "I must have it to protect me against the cold. It is inferior; it is scant; yet it cost me fifteen pieces of silver!"
Marsyas glanced at the mantle; even with his little knowledge of fabrics it appeared not worth its price.
"Thou hast servants, good sir, and camels," he said, drawn into suggestion in spite of himself. "Do I overstep my privilege to suggest that thou mayest send to Anthedon or to Cæsarea and buy in other cities?"
"But the hire—the hire! And how should I know that the knavery does not extend to Anthedon and Cæsarea?"
"Then," said Marsyas, "establish thine own booths here and undersell the robbers."
There was silence; the small eyes of the old man narrowed and ignited.
"A just punishment," he muttered. "A proper punishment!"
"Or this," Marsyas continued, interested in his own conspiracy. "Thou sayest they oppress thee because thou art a lowly man! They are foolish. Display them thy power and punish them. Thou art a great usurer; powerful families here are in thy debt. How strong a hand thou holdest over them! What canst thou not compel them to do! Nay, good sir; to me, it seemeth thou hast the whip-hand over these tradesmen!"
The old man rubbed his hands. "An engaging picture," he said. "But unless I haste, they will ruin me yet!"
Marsyas shook his head. "Not if the tales of thy famous wealth be true."
The lectica had moved along beside him and he waited now to be dismissed; but, contrary to custom of that rank which is privileged to command, the old man waited for Marsyas to take his leave.
"Methinks," he began, "I have seen thee—"
"Doubtless," Marsyas interrupted hastily. "I am a steward here in Ptolemais. But I have an errand here, good sir; by thy leave, I shall depart."
The old man made a motion of assent, but he followed the young Essene with a thoughtful eye.
"If I am to know the world's way," Marsyas said to himself, "I can use it, if need be."
He did not visit another usurer, but on the following day went to those places likely to be the haunts of Peter. When, presently, he discovered the old man near a fountain, Marsyas did not attempt to catch his eye. But one of Peter's servants touched him on the arm and told him that the master beckoned, and he hastened to the old man's side.
"Who is thy master?" Peter asked.
Marsyas winced, but restrained a declaration of his free-born state.
"A Roman citizen who is preparing to return to Italy."
"A Roman!" Peter repeated. "But thou art a Jew, or the blood of the race in thee lies."
"A Jew without taint of other blood in all the line."
"Art satisfied with thy service—serving a Roman?" was the demand.
"None has a better lord!" replied Marsyas quietly, but with an inward delight in leading the old man on.
"But it should be more lawful for thee to serve a Jew," Peter declared. "A Roman's slave, a slave for ever; a Jew's slave, a slave but six years—"
Marsyas could rest no longer under the intimation of bondage.
"Good sir, I am not a slave."
"Ho! a hireling."
"No; a free man, unattached and serving for love."
Peter scratched his head. "For love only? Then why not come and be my steward for wages?"
"Thou canst not pay my price," he said with meaning.
The old man lifted his withered chin.
"Thy price!" he repeated haughtily. "And pray, sirrah, what is thy price?"
A figurative answer to add to his first sententious remark was on Marsyas' lips, but he halted suddenly, and a little pallor came into his face.
"On another day, I shall tell thee," he said after a silence, and the old man impatiently dismissed him.
Marsyas turned away from the heart of the city and went straight to the house in the suburbs.
He found Agrippa stretched on a couch where the air entered through the west lattice, and the place otherwise solitary. The princess and the children with the servants had gone into the city.
Marsyas came uncalled to Agrippa's side, and the prince noted the change on the young man's face. He looked expectant.
"My lord," Marsyas said, "thou didst say to me several days ago that thou didst hate a vower of vows. Yet no man is chafed by a vow except him who finds it hard to keep. Wherefore, I pray thee, for the prospering of the cause and mine, assure me once more of thy good intent toward Judea."
The Herod raised his fine brows.
"How now, Marsyas? Has the knowledge that I am a Herod been slandering me to you?"
"Nay, my lord; thou hast won me; and I shall not stop at sacrifice for thy cause, which is mine."
"What canst thou do, my Marsyas?"
"Get thee money."
"I give thee my word, Marsyas. It has been sorely battered dodging debts, yet it is still intact enough to contain mine honor. I give thee my word."
Marsyas lingered with an averted face, which Agrippa tried in vain to understand. He added nothing to emphasize his avowal; perhaps he realized at that moment, more keenly than ever afterward, how much a man wants to be believed.
Presently the young man spoke in another tone.
"Who is this Peter, that I may not ask him for a loan?"
"I owe him a talent already," Agrippa answered with a lazy smile, "which he advanced to me while he was yet my mother's slave."
"Then thou knowest him! How—how is he favored in disposition?"
"How is Peter favored? Are slaves favored? Nay, they are tempered like asses, cattle and apes—like beasts. Wherefore, this Peter is voracious, balky, amiable enough if thou yieldest him provender—not bad, but, like any donkey, could be better."
Marsyas' eyes fell again; it seemed that he hesitated at his next question, as though upon its answer turned a matter of great moment.
"Art thou in all truth assured that this Alexandrian will lend thee money?" he asked presently, beset by the possibility of doubt.
Agrippa laughed outright. "Jove, but this questioning hath a familiar ring! Surely thou wast sired of a money-lender, Marsyas, else his inquiries would not arise so naturally to thy lips! Will the Alexandrian lend? Of a surety! And even if not, then will my mother's friend, the noble Antonia, Cæsar's sister-in-law. If Cæsar had not been so precipitate and hastened me out of Rome, I should have borrowed the sum of her ten years ago. I have not borrowed of the Alexandrian ere this because I had not the money to carry me thither."
After a pause, Agrippa anticipated a further question and continued.
"The Alexandrian is Alexander Lysimachus, the noblest Jew a generation hath produced. Even Rome, that hath such little use for our blood, waives its ancient judgment against Lysimachus. He is alabarch of the Jews in Alexandria, able as a Roman, just as a Jew, refined as a Greek, versatile as an Alexandrian. I saw him four years ago, here, in Jerusalem, when he brought his wife's remains to bury them on sacred soil. He had with him two sons, one a man, grown, with his father's genius, but without his father's soul; the other a handsome lad of undeveloped character, and a daughter, a veritable sprite for beauty, and a sibyl for wits. I was afraid of her; I, a Herod and a married man, turning forty, was afraid of her! But get me the twenty thousand drachmæ, Marsyas, and thou shall see her—Hercle—a thousand pardons! I forgot that thou art an Essene!"
Marsyas stood silent once more, and Agrippa waited.
"And yet one other thing, my lord," the Essene said finally. "I serve thee no less for love, because I serve thee also for a purpose. Thou wilt not forget to serve me, when thou comest to thine own?"
"I give thee again my much misused word, Marsyas. Believe me, thou hast forced more truths out of me than any ever achieved before. Cypros will make thee her inquisitor when next she suspects me of warmth toward a maiden!"
Marsyas lifted the prince's hand and pressed it to his lips. Without further word, he went out of the chamber and returned to the city.
He sought out the counting-room of Peter the usurer, and found within a commotion and a gathered crowd. The old man himself stood in a steward's place behind a grating of bronze, with lists and coffers about him. Without stood a brown woman, in a strange dress sufficiently rough to establish her state of servitude, and she bore in her hands a sheep-skin bag that seemed to be filled with coins.
About her was a group of men of nationalities so diverse and so evidently perplexed that Marsyas immediately surmised that they had been summoned as interpreters for a stranger whom they could not understand.
The brown woman was passive: the usurer behind his grating in such a state of great excitement and anxiety that moisture stood out on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes were on the sheep-skin bag; evidently the brown woman was bringing him money, and his fear that the treasure would escape made the old man desperate.
"Have ye forgotten your mother-tongues?" he fumed at the polyglot assembly, "or are ye base-born Syrians boasting a nationality that ye can not prove? Hold! Let her not go forth, good citizens; doubtless she hath come from a foreign debtor to repay me! Close the doors without!"
Marsyas pressed through the crowd to the grating, and the old man discovered him.
"Hither, hither, my friend," he exclaimed. "See if thou canst tell what manner of stranger we have here."
The young Essene had been examining the woman; with a quick glance, now, he inspected her face. Dark the complexion, the eyes olive-green as chrysolite, mysterious and hypnotic; the features regular as an Egyptian's, but stronger and more beautiful; the physique refined, yet hardy. The mystic air of the Ganges breathed from her scented shawl. The young man's training in languages was not overtaxed.
"What is thy will?" he asked in the tongue of the Brahmins.
"To exchange Hindu money for Roman coin," was the instant reply.
Marsyas turned to Peter.
"This is an Indian woman," he explained. "She wishes to exchange coin of her country for Roman money."
"Good!" the old man cried, rubbing his hands. "We shall oblige her. Foreign coins are so much bullion; yet, we pay only its face value, in Roman moneys! Good! I shall melt it, and deliver it to the Roman mint! Good! But—but how shall I know one of these outlandish coins from another?"
"I can tell you," Marsyas answered.
The assembled group drifted out of the counting-room and the usurer, sighing his delight, opened a gate and bade Marsyas and the Hindu woman come into the apartment behind the screen. There the exchange was made, and the old usurer, trusting to the Hindu's ignorance of the language, permitted no moment to pass without comment on his profit.
Presently, Marsyas turned to the woman.
"You lose money by this traffic," he said deliberately.
"Rest thee, brother," was the calm reply, "I know it. Yet I must have Roman coin to carry me to Egypt."
Marsyas glanced at her apparel. In spite of its humble appearance, it was the owner of this treasure, that dwelt within it.
The exchange was made, amounting to something over twenty thousand drachmæ. Marsyas, with wistful eyes, saw her put the treasure away in the sheepskin bag. He arose as she arose, and the two were conducted out by Peter.
Without, it had grown dark. The woman had made no effort to hide the nature of her burden. She made an almost haughty gesture of farewell to Marsyas.
"I shall serve thee, perchance, one day," she said and passed out.
Marsyas followed her. At the threshold, he wavered and stepping into the street stopped.
She made a small, frail, dusky apparition, under the black shadows of the bulky buildings of Ptolemais—a profitable victim for some light-footed highwayman, less sorely in need of money than he. But she evidently felt no fear.
Then, he turned and went back into the counting-room.
Peter was behind his grating.
"Who and what art thou?" the usurer demanded, with no little admiration in his tone.
"I am," Marsyas answered, "a doctor of Laws, a master of languages, a doctor of medicines, a scholar of the College at Jerusalem, a postulant Essene."
The reply was intentionally full.
"And a steward for love, only!"
"Only for a time. When I can repay thee a debt long standing, I shall cease to serve at all."
The usurer's eyes brightened. "A debt," he repeated softly. "Is this my fortunate day? Which of the bankrupts who owe me has been replenished?"
"Not yet, the one of whom I speak," Marsyas replied. "Hast thou heard of Herod Agrippa?"
"Herod Agrippa! Evil day that he borrowed a talent of me, never to return it!"
"Perchance, some day—"
"Never! Whosoever lends him money pitches it into the sea!"
"Yet the sea hath given up its treasure, at times. But let me trouble thee with a question. What price did the costliest slave in thy knowledge command?"
"What price? A slave? In Rome? Nay, then, let me think. A Georgian female captive of much beauty was sold to Sejanus once for six hundred thousand drachmæ—"
"I speak of serving-men," Marsyas interrupted.
"Nay, then: Cæsar owns a physician worth eighty thousand drachmæ."
"Hath he cured any in Cæsar's house of poisoning; can he speak many languages; is he also a doctor of Laws and a good Jew?"
The usurer shook his head.
"What price, then, should I he worth to Cæsar?" Marsyas demanded.
"Sell not thyself to Cæsar," Peter cried, flinging up his hands. "It is forbidden!"
"I shall not sell myself," Marsyas said. "I have come only to find how to value my services."
"Whom dost thou serve?" the old man demanded. Marsyas was not ready to disclose his identity.
"A Roman. Peace and the continuance of good fortune be thine."
He bowed and passed out of the counting-room.
The usurer stood a moment, then summoned his servants, and, getting himself into street dress, hastened to follow the young man. Marsyas turned his steps toward the house in the suburbs.
There were several torches about the painted gate in the wall and the light shone on a group alighting from a curricle. Cypros and her children had returned from the city, and Agrippa had come forth to receive them. Marsyas joined the group and Peter's lectica was borne up to the circle of radiance under the torches. The old man's eyes filled with wrath when he recognized Agrippa. He stood up and surveyed him with scorn.
"A Roman!" he scoffed. "A Roman, only to add the vices of the race to the meanness of a Herod! Back to my house, slaves! We have taken profitless pains!"
Agrippa's anger leaped into his face and Marsyas pursued and overtook the litter.
"Thy pardon, sir," he began.
"I have a right to attach thee for the talent thy master owes me," Peter stormed.
"Peace, good sir! I am not a slave."
Peter chewed his mustache impotently, but the young Essene dropped his Greek and spoke in Hebrew, the language of the synagogue, the true badge of Judaism.
"Perchance we may bargain together. Wouldst have me for hire?"
Peter smoldered in sulky silence.
"I can not serve longer without compensation," Marsyas pursued.
"What sum in hire?" Peter demanded.
"Twenty thousand drachmæ—"
Peter blazed, but Marsyas stopped his invective with a motion.
"Nay, peace! I have not finished. Twenty thousand drachmæ in loan to Agrippa, and I will serve thee gratis till he redeems me by paying the principal and the talent he owes."
The usurer, with a snort, abruptly ordered the slaves to proceed.
The next day, Marsyas, loitering on purpose near the usurer's, was approached by a servant and sent into the presence of Peter.
"Hath the bankrupt any hopes?" the money-lender demanded without preliminary.
"He goes to Alexandria, for money, and thence to imperial favor in Rome. There is Antonia who will aid him, as thou knowest. Unless thou helpest him to reach either of these two places, he is of a surety bankrupt; wherefore he can never pay thee the talent or even the interest."
Peter dismissed him moodily and Marsyas returned to the prince. But the next day Peter appeared at Agrippa's door and was conducted to the prince's presence, where Cypros sat with him and Marsyas waited. The old man made no greeting.
"Thou knowest me, Agrippa," he began at once. "For thy mother's sake, whose happy slave I was, I will take thine Essene at his terms, less the interest on the twenty thousand drachmæ."
"My Essene at his terms," Agrippa repeated in perplexity. But Marsyas, with a movement of command, broke in.
"The bargain is at first hand between thee and me, good sir," he said to Peter. "The second contract shall be between the prince and myself. Bring the money here at sunset and the writings shall be ready for thee."
"Twenty thousand drachmæ, less mine interest on the sum," Peter insisted.
"Less thine interest," Marsyas assented, and Peter went out.
Agrippa got upon his feet and gazed gravely at Marsyas.
"What is this?" he asked.
"I have bound thee to my cause," the young man answered.
"How? Nay, answer me, Marsyas. What hast thou done?" the prince urged, impelled by affection as well as wonder.
"I have bought my revenge, and have paid for it with a season of bondage."
"Hast thou given thyself in hostage for us?" Cypros cried, springing up.
Marsyas, without reply, moved to leave the room. But Agrippa planted himself in the young man's way, and Cypros in tears slipped down on her knees at his side, and, raising his hand, kissed it.
"We shall not forget," she whispered to him.
"I shall not know peace till I have redeemed thee," Agrippa declared with misted eyes.
Great haste to get away from the overwhelmed pair seized the Essene. Trembling he shook off their hold and hurried out into the air.
He had to quiet a great amazement in him at the thing he had planned for so many days to do. After a long agitated tramp in search of composure, he began to see more clearly the results of his extreme act. He had fixed himself within reach of Vitellius and the Sanhedrim: unless the ill fortune of the luckless prince improved, he had bound himself to servitude for a lifetime.
But he drew his hand across his troubled forehead and smiled grimly. He had made his first decisive step against Saul!