Then the vague desire to help men grew into a burning passion, and I went from the spot and strove to help them. And now it seemed that I was changed in spirit, for I comprehended their griefs and how to help them.
So I comforted the heavy-hearted in the dark watches of the night. And I guided the erring ones into the safe road. I strove with the wayward and warned the foolish, until my work was accomplished. I have learned to suffer, yet have I never learned to die, and I think that none can become perfect till that experience has been endured.
All the time that he was telling the story the King's right hand had rested upon Storm's head, or gently stroked the wavy, sun-gold hair. "Why do you tremble so?" he asked—"you that are learning to die, that shalt become what I may never be, perfected in endurance by the rite of death. Why are you frightened?"
"I'm not frightened, sir. We gets a training on our earth so as not to show funk when we're scared."
We all know how dream-scenes change, how dream-people are transformed. By the King's magic the throne room had vanished. They seemed to be in a paved courtyard, and in front of him there rose a Roman colonnade. It was the Prætorium in old Jerusalem. "Why, that's the orderly room," said Storm; "it's lucky I'm off duty."
His clothes had changed themselves into Roman infantry uniform, parade kit, a burnished and plumed steel helmet, a shining steel cuirass, a kilt, strapped sandals.
That was the King's magic, which awakened slumbering memories, making far-past events to live as though they happened within the hour.
"You are not frightened," said the King; "what then, lad, makes you as the leaves when they are dry, when their voice is harsh, ere the death wind carries them away?"
Storm glanced sideways angrily at Rain. "It was all along of her," he answered. "When she blamed it on to me that she was to have a baby. Wanted me to make an honest woman of her, as if I'd stoop to the likes—a native—a Jew drab.
"She slobbered," cried Storm, "all over my breast-plate and shoulder straps, which I'd been burnishing for inspection. I never noticed that anything was wrong until the morning parade. And there was my steel all rusted. The old centurion told our ten-man, Vivianus his name was, that if he couldn't keep his men clean he'd better chuck his stripes. The ten-man was proper sick at that and when we got back to the barrack room he took it out of me, yes, good and plenty. He had to furnish the day's execution detail, and I was senior soldier of the section. Said he couldn't trust a dirty man in charge. He'd have to take the detail himself. Besides he insulted me, and we Northmen take no lip from them little black Italians. Tell you, what with that, and the woman, and the disgrace—by Mithras! I was just about crazy by the time he marched us round here to this Prætorium Courtyard."