CHAPTER XIX.
An hour later the inn-yard was deserted, except by a single group of persons who, notwithstanding their exceedingly diverse appearances, were preparing to depart together. There was the party of Marduk, which, besides the merchant himself, consisted of Eliezar, a Damascene, a shrewd tradesman to whom were intrusted the details of the business; and there were half a score of others who filled the various offices of the travelling camp—cook, tent-maker, camel-drivers, muleteers, and the like. With their clattering tongues and jangling accoutrements, as they ranged their various beasts for the journey, they were in unique contrast with the company of Jews who had accepted their convoy.
Chief among the latter was Ezra the Scribe. He was slight in natural stature, which was further diminished by the bowing weight of years. Long gray forelocks hung down from his temples and mingled with his beard. His forehead was high and straight. His face showed the incipient emaciation of advancing years, being sunken beneath the cheek-bones. Restless gray eyes twinkled in their deep setting, and suggested his undiminished brightness of intelligence. His whole aspect betokened great amiability and kindliness of disposition, united, however, with rigid firmness of conviction and powers of patient endurance. One who was over-critical in reading the countenance might perhaps have pronounced it lacking in indications of that self-assertion and daring which fit a man for leadership in troublous times. Marduk said to himself: "That man would never make a soldier; though he might make a martyr."
The Scribe was accompanied by two young men. One was Malachi, whose face, though not beautiful, was strangely prepossessing. The deep weather-tinge did not take from it a sunny brightness, a sort of translucency due to habitual high and pure thinking. His head, however, seemed to overweight his body. His eyes were large, and wide open; and, while really fixed upon one's face, gave the impression of being focused upon something beyond or within one. His brows were heavy, and, at times, seemed to project until they dropped new shadows upon his face, whose lines contracted under the intensity of painful thoughts. As Marduk afterwards noticed, Malachi was often absent-minded; indeed, was never entirely otherwise. While engaging freely in conversation, he was never fully engaged by what was said; and, though he contributed more than most men to the elucidation of various subjects, one felt that he reserved more than he gave; that he was a critic rather than a participant in what was going on. He seemed to be two persons; the greater personality unexpressed, but observant and waiting.
Marduk was not surprised at the innkeeper's information that Malachi was the favorite pupil of Ezra, and that the Scribe did not hesitate to pronounce the young man's spiritual discernment as something akin to the prophetic gift. He even had said that, when he prayed for the renovation of Israel, he could not avoid associating his hopes in some way with the career of his young disciple.
Malachi's companion was in every respect diverse. Marduk noticed first of all this man's fine physique. He was robust and muscular; round-headed; red-haired; rollicking, yet quick-tempered; impudent at one moment, and apologetic the next. For instance, while Malachi reverently bowed his head, and waited until Ezra was first seated on his beast before mounting his own, his young comrade seemed to forget his obeisance, and, without ceremony, almost lifted the Scribe in his strong arms, and placed him in the high saddle upon the rump of the ass. Then, at a bound, he was astride his own restless charger.
Solomon Ben Eli whispered to Marduk that this young man was Manasseh, grandson of the High Priest Eliashib; who might one day come into that office himself—that is, if he could curb his restless disposition as effectively as he curbed his steed.
The good host also ventured the further information that Ezra loved Manasseh, and had said that he was "only like the Sea of Galilee, which often hides its transparent depth beneath a ruffled surface."
Solomon added to this his own criticism: "If Manasseh once settles down, he will make just the man to reform Israel. He has immense will and courage, and draws the best young blood of Jerusalem with him. But if he does not change, he will be only like a stout centre-pole of a tent that is not well set, tottering in the wind, and endangering the whole, however strong may be the cords and stakes. It is a pity that he and Malachi cannot be rolled into one, be thoroughly mixed, and then be evenly divided into two again, as the flour and the butter in the making of two cakes."
Solomon parted with his guests, as they passed from his gate, with that versatile courtesy which innkeepers and politicians alone acquire to perfection. He reverently kissed the hand of the Scribe. He bowed with great respect to Malachi. He gave Manasseh a whisper that provoked his merriest laugh. But he pressed his hand heartily with Marduk's—perhaps the sensation of the merchant's generous darics had not yet left his own palm.
The cavalcade once on the road, Ezra made his grateful acknowledgment to the Phœnician for the use of his beast.
"I would you had selected a nobler animal!" said Marduk, smiling at the picture of the greatest man of the Jewish nation sceptred with a donkey-punching stick, having declined the service of an attendant to propel the beast from behind.
"The little ass and I will be good friends," replied Ezra, facetiously. "His short steps will not jostle my thoughts. An attendant might make havoc in my meditations by punching him at an unfortunate moment."
Then he more seriously added: "Know, good Marduk, that the ass is a most honorable beast. There is a prediction among us Hebrews that, when our Great King shall come, he will make his triumphant entry into Jerusalem riding upon an ass. And, besides," resuming his pleasantry, "our Psalmist says, 'A horse is a vain thing for safety,' as you will be apt to find out before we get through the rocky ravine between this and Enshemesh, unless your steed's feet have been trained like those of the goats."
"I am told that the way before us is noted for the license taken by robbers," said Marduk. "My company will therefore be a safe escort."
"I accept your company heartily," replied Ezra, "but will need no protection. It is now many years since I came from Babylon. I then refused to ask of the Great King an escort of soldiers, for the hand of our God is upon all them for good that seek him. From that day I have never borne a weapon, nor had an armed attendant. I have gone safely throughout the land, and even among the Jews scattered abroad, and have found no evil; nor will I ever.
"But the route we are taking will be of interest to you, I think, without the hazard of carnal adventure. The deep gorge we are entering, and up which we must climb some three thousand cubits before we reach the high ground of Olivet, takes its name from the brook Cherith, and is famous as having been the hiding-place of our prophet Elijah, where he was fed by ravens during a terrible famine that came upon our land according to his prediction. It was during the reign of King Ahab and his Sidonian wife, Jezebel, a priestess of Astarte, who made Israel to sin in following Baal. But pardon this unkind allusion to the worship of your people. I would not wound another's convictions, however strongly I might hold my own."
"Do not apologize for it," replied Marduk. "One should speak of his faith freely in his own land; and I think also in all lands. Therefore, I venture to make an argument for the Phœnician faith, assuming the recent news from the coast to be true. Your land is famous for its miracles, but Tyre just now seems the special arena for divine exploits."
"You refer, doubtless, to the alleged translation of King Hiram?" replied Ezra. "I have not investigated the story; nor do I think one needs to do so in order to judge of it. It is, even in its own assumption, totally different from the miracles of Israel. Ours were openly wrought by God, with his high hand and outstretched arm. All people could judge them; as the dividing waters of the Red Sea and Jordan, the sun standing still in heaven, and the like. But the marvel of Tyre was wrought, I am told, within a cordon of priests who carefully surrounded the place. Now, a miracle wrought for priests is apt to be a priest-wrought miracle. But—"
The conversation was interrupted by Marduk's horse suddenly taking fright, losing his footing on the narrow path, and nearly precipitating its rider into the brook Cherith, which gleamed, a tiny thread of white water, far below. As by dexterous management he enabled the horse to recover himself, Marduk laughingly admitted that he was enough of a Jew now to believe the Psalmist's saying about the horse being a vain thing for safety, at least in such places as this.
"But what have we here?" he cried, leaping from his beast. "This earth did not give way itself. The path has been dug under, and only the surface shell left. It is a prepared avalanche; and, by the rays of Baal! there is an ambushment below. See! the villains are skulking back into the hills. They were to tumble us and our baggage down there, and then pluck us at their leisure."
Ezra raised his hands in prayer, and repeated: "We thank thee, O Lord, for the fulfilment of thy promise through thy servant Moses: 'Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler. He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.'"
The Phœnician was as much impressed with the beauty and tranquillity of the Scribe's faith as with the horrible catastrophe that had so nearly overwhelmed them; especially as he recalled Ezra's statement that so his God had always delivered him.