CHAPTER XXIX.
The fugitives from Apheca rode as rapidly as the sure-footed horses could pick their way in the moonlight up the side of the western range of Lebanon, and at dawn looked down upon the majestic valley of the Litany. The weariness of the journey, and the attendant excitement, could not altogether destroy the impressiveness of the marvellous scene.
Thousands of feet below them lay the green meadows. Far across to the east rose the other range of Lebanon, a mighty wall delaying the sunrise. Among its snow-covered peaks the rays of morning poured, as the white foam surges over the breakers and between the jagged rocks on the Syrian coast. Tongues of snow filled the high ravines, and, diminishing as they descended, carried the illusion of an overflowing reservoir of light. Below the lustral crest, the rocky sides of Lebanon were black in shadow; here gashed by the ceaseless plunging of cataracts, there beetling with crags, like castles which had borne the assaulting storms since chaos. High against the mountain's base the immense amount of detritus made a sloping mound of soil, rich and green like a bank of emerald.
The valley of the Litany which lay between the two Lebanon ranges had been for ages the gateway of Syria from the north. Down through it had poured the vast armies of Assyria and Babylon, devastating Syria and Palestine on their way to the great objective conquest, the land of Egypt. Now it was dotted with the caravansaries of traders, the camps of Persian soldiers, halting en route, and the black tent villages of the farmers who thus congregated for mutual protection in the midst of the fields and herds they were watching.
Midway across the valley was a little city, whose buildings clustered about a temple, each of whose enormous stones was clearly marked to the eye miles away, so immense were they. These stones had been consecrated by the blood of human sacrifices. This was Baal-bek, the city of Baal. Not far from it Marduk pointed out his tent, a white cone just distinguishable in the distance.
On the mountain brow they took their morning meal, with which Elnathan's well-filled hamper supplied them. For an hour Zillah must rest. The cloaks of the men made her couch. It would be well for her to sleep; but the over-excitement of the day and night could not be allayed at the call of expediency. She could only promise to lie still if Hiram were by her. Manasseh and Elnathan assumed the duty of picket guards, and wandered back over the road they had come, to give warning in case of pursuit. Of this, however, they had little fear, at least for that day, as they had chosen a path which would hardly be thought of by others; the way of flight being naturally down the river Adonis, where one could be lost in the crowds and easily take to the sea; for the escape of such a person as Zillah would be thought of in connection with some wide preparation looking to future abode in a distant Phœnician colony, or perhaps in Greece or Egypt.
Zillah's chief fear was not danger from men. The superstition of her religion still held a partial spell over her mind which no resolution could break at once. The habitual thoughts of a lifetime will linger and impress us in spite of our calling them unreasonable. Zillah felt that she had challenged Astarte. In her keen imagination, the indignant eyes of the goddess were turned upon her. They burned her. She could not rest. But there was a counter-spell in the kiss of her companion, which would have gone far to exorcise these demons of fear and religious anxiety, even had he never uttered his stout words of disbelief in the whole system of Baalism.
Zillah's spirit was strong and self-assertive to a degree seldom shown by women or men, else she had never proposed to herself, and followed so nearly to completion, the project of self-sacrifice rather than submit to the custom of Astarte. But when with Hiram, her whole soul, her opinions as well as her will, became plastic to the touch of his thoughts and purpose. His soul was the mold into which her nature, melted by the fire of her love, ran and reformed itself. That Baal had not received him to an estate of divinity lessened not a whit her real reverence for Hiram; it only destroyed the sense of awe with which she had come to think of him. His loving humanity was more to her now than even her ideal of his godhead had been. He was her Adonai, her lord indeed. If he had diminished in magnitude, he had come nearer, and so was greater to her. Her heart worshipped and adored, though she did not call it worship. Simple love had wrought all this. Surely love must be divine to perfect that relation between human creatures which formal religion only aims to accomplish between the soul and a god!
Zillah looked into the face of Hiram as he bent over her, and thought something like this: "Oh, if a god were like him! If I could feel towards the divinity as I feel towards him! Then I would be a priestess indeed!"
"Have no scruple nor dread concerning Astarte," said Hiram, divining her thoughts. "Have I not found out that our religion is all a lie? My absorption into Baal the priests knew to be no more a falsehood than are all their teachings. Hanno is less false to them than they are to the people. See yonder pile they call a temple. From here how small in comparison with the mighty height of the mountains back of it! That little cloud of white smoke and incense from the fire they keep always burning, how insignificant under the white glory of the morning that bursts over Lebanon and fills all the sky above us! How cruel the sacrifice of bird or beast or child seems in a world which the real God has made so beautiful and filled with the sweet air! And how good he must be to have ever thought of making such a creature as my Zillah, and giving me eyes to see her and a heart to love her!" He bent low, and worshipped her with a kiss. "If there be any god, he is one of kindness, who hates cruelty, whose deep abomination must be for such things as you and I have escaped. I would live alone with this thought, and be inspired by it to happiness, if all the world believed the contrary."
"Do any people believe as you—as we—do, dear Hiram?"
"Perhaps no people do; but I am sure that some persons do. I met a man in Jerusalem who helped me to my faith, vague as it is. The Jews have sacrifices and many forms of worship; but one Malachi, whom some day you shall know, sees through all forms. His God is only a spirit—a spirit of right and love. The forms of religion with him are only like our letters, the shape suggesting a meaning that we put into it. Who would think that this"—drawing a few marks on the rock—"meant my love for you? So little can express so much! But to whom does it express it? Only to you and me, who feel our love. So the forms of religion represent great thoughts. But for whom? Only for those who have first felt them. Malachi was looking one night at a lamp flame very intently, and I asked:
"'What part of the flame is the most beautiful?'
"Manasseh, who was with us, said, 'He sees only the smoke that wreathes itself above it, for he is always brooding of gloomy things.'
"'No,' replied Malachi, 'I like to look through the centre, where it has no color, before the flame has got red.'
"So he sees religious ceremonies: he looks through the transparent centre of them. He talks of Jehovah's goodness and pity as if he felt them. He loves his God, and so knows Him. But he follows all the foolish ceremonies of the Jews. For that matter, few break away from the customs in which they have been brought up, as we have broken away from ours. But see, the sun comes over the mountain!"
Instantly Zillah rose from her recumbent position, and, bending her body, so that the first rays might fall upon her brow, began a morning prayer to Baal.
Hiram interrupted her with louder voice. "O God of all the Baals—of Jove! of Jehovah! God of all the world! bless us, thy children, and guide us this day!"
It was deemed advisable that Marduk should not travel farther in company with Zillah, lest any suspicion that might have attached to either should lead to the identification of both. Marduk therefore proposed to go directly to his camp under the walls of Baalbek, where he should remain for a few days; while Zillah should accompany Manasseh and Elnathan southward to the home of Ben Yusef.
The sun glared fiercely upon this latter party as the day advanced. Towards noon they sought the shade of a terebinth grove; but, on coming near, they found it already occupied by various parties. Manasseh, going forward alone, discovered that one of the companies was the suite of a Persian officer whom he had met at Jerusalem, now going to the Jewish capital to collect the tax due the Great King. The young Jew was cordially invited to join them. He declined to leave his companions, whom he described as Elnathan, son of Ben Yusef, whose home he must visit, as he had been deputed to gather information regarding the names of the families that had returned from Babylon under the original firman of Cyrus. The young man, he said, was travelling with his sister. The genial disposition of Manasseh, together with the fact that he belonged to the highest rank at Jerusalem, as a member of the high priest's family, led the Persian to gain his companionship by extending the hospitality of his camp to Elnathan and Zillah. This was a sure protection from all pursuit, as such a company would not be suspected. At the same time, the stricter customs of the Persians regarding the presence of women forbade any curious inspection of Zillah's appearance. She remained veiled while upon the march, except as she conversed aloof from the company with Elnathan, and was served with the utmost hospitality in a tent that was pitched for her private use.
On the third day they reached the sea of Galilee, where the party halted, while Manasseh saw that his charge was safely under the tent of Ben Yusef, and presumably made all necessary inquiries into the genealogies of the house of that worthy. The record which he showed to the Persian was long enough to have carried the family back, not only to the days of the Captivity, but to the life of the great patriarch Yusef himself.