CHAPTER XXII.
Scarcely had the Phœnician inspected his own camp, and eaten his breakfast, when Manasseh approached. His coming was heralded by a commotion among the people, who everywhere recognized the aristocratic descendant of the high priest, his well-known freedom of life and liberalism in opinion rendering him at once the most popular and unpopular of the young men of Jerusalem. He insisted upon acting the part of host to Marduk, or at least of guide for the day.
"Our Jewish customs will interest you; and, in turn, I would learn from you the ideas of the many peoples you have come to know in your travels, so that our obligations will be mutual and equal, to say nothing of your courtesy yesterday," was the argument by which Manasseh overcame the Phœnician's scruples. Together the young men mingled in the crowds, each carrying the lulabh, a bunch of myrtle and palm entwined with a willow spray.
At the temple they saw the two processions, one headed by a priest bearing in a golden pitcher water from the pool of Siloam, the other by a priest carrying a pitcher of wine, which they poured together at the base of the altar. Manasseh explained this beautiful ceremonial as an oblation of gratitude for the rain that fertilized the fields and for the yield of the vineyards.
They afterwards joined with a multitude in front of a raised platform, from which was an almost continuous reading of the ancient laws of Israel by different persons. The readings were only interspersed with brief interpretations by rabbis of repute.
The deepest interest was manifested when the venerable Scribe, Ezra, mounted the platform, accompanied by Malachi. The former began to speak, but his voice was not heard beyond the group immediately about him. It was evident, however, that he had said little beyond commending to the people his disciple Malachi.
Marduk was surprised at the awe with which the young interpreter was received. But this surprise did not remain as Malachi spoke. Such simplicity combined with elevation of thought, such reasonableness with rapt fervor, such practicality with deep spirituality, the Phœnician had never heard before. He felt the spell of the speaker's eloquence, and was about to join the crowd as they murmured their Amen to a special appeal to conscience and faith, when his thoughts were interrupted by Manasseh's hand upon his arm:
"Come, good Marduk, this can hardly interest you. You are to break bread with me."