CHAPTER II
THE VOICE OF A GOD
Of all the civilisations whose records lie open to the student, thatof Rome is surely one of the most wonderful. Nowhere, not even in oldMexico, was high culture so completely wedded to the lowest barbarism.Intellect Rome had in plenty; the noblest efforts of her genius arescarcely to be surpassed; her law is the foundation of the best of ourcodes of jurisprudence; art she borrowed but appreciated; her militarysystem is still the wonder of the world; her great men remain greatamong a multitude of subsequent competitors. And yet how pitiless shewas! What a tigress! Amid all the ruins of her cities we find none of ahospital, none, I believe, of an orphan school in an age that made manyorphans. The pious aspirations and efforts of individuals seem neverto have touched the conscience of the people. Rome incarnate had noconscience; she was a lustful, devouring beast, made more bestial by herintelligence and splendour.
King Agrippa in practice was a Roman. Rome was his model, her idealswere his ideals. Therefore he built amphitheatres in which men werebutchered, to the exquisite delight of vast audiences. Therefore, also,without the excuse of any conscientious motive, however insufficient orunsatisfactory, he persecuted the weak because they were weak and theirsufferings would give pleasure to the strong or to those who chanced tobe the majority of the moment.
The season being hot it was arranged that the great games in honour ofthe safety of Caesar, should open each day at dawn and come to an end anhour before noon. Therefore from midnight onwards crowds of spectatorspoured into the amphitheatre, which, although it would seat over twentythousand, was not large enough to contain them all. An hour before thedawn the place was full, and already late comers were turned back fromits gates. The only empty spaces were those reserved for the king,his royal guests, the rulers of the city, with other distinguishedpersonages, and for the Christian company of old men, women and childrendestined to the lions, who, it was arranged, were to sit in full viewof the audience until the time came for them to take their share in thespectacle.
When Rachel joined the other captives she found that a long rough tablehad been set beneath the arcades, and on it at intervals, pieces ofbread and cups and vases containing wine of the country that had beenpurchased at a great price from the guards. Round this table the eldersor the infirm among the company were seated on a bench, while the restof the number, for whom there was not room, stood behind them. At itshead was an old man, a bishop among the Christians, one of the fivehundred who had seen the risen Lord and received baptism from thehands of the Beloved Disciple. For some years he had been spared by thepersecutors of the infant Church on account of his age, dignity, andgood repute, but now at last fate seemed to have overtaken him.
The service was held; the bread and wine, mixed with water, wereconsecrated with the same texts by which they are blessed to-day, onlythe prayers were extempore. When all had eaten from the platters anddrunk from the rude cups, the bishop gave his blessing to the community.Then he addressed them. This, he told them, was an occasion of peculiarjoy, a love-feast indeed, since all they who partook of it were about tolay down the burden of the flesh and, their labours and sorrows ended,to depart into bliss eternal. He called to their memory the supper ofthe Passover which had taken place within the lifetime of many ofthem, when the Author and Finisher of their faith had declared to thedisciples that He would drink no more wine till He drank it new withthem in His kingdom. Such a feast it was that lay spread before themthis night. Let them be thankful for it. Let them not quail in the hourof trial. The fangs of the savage beasts, the shouts of the still moresavage spectators, the agony of the quivering flesh, the last terror oftheir departing, what were these? Soon, very soon, they would be done;the spears of the soldiers would despatch the injured, and those amongthem whom it was ordained should escape, would be set free by thecommand of the representative of Caesar, that they might prosecute thework till the hour came for them to pass on the torch of redemption toother hands. Let them rejoice, therefore, and be very thankful, andwalk to the sacrifice as to a wedding feast. "Do you not rejoice, mybrethren?" he asked. With one voice they answered, "We rejoice!" Yes,even the children answered thus.
Then they prayed again, and again with uplifted hands the old manblessed them in the holy Triune Name.
Scarcely had this service, as solemn as it was simple, been broughtto an end when the head jailer, whose blasphemous jocosity since hisreproof by Anna was replaced by a mien of sullen venom, came forward andcommanded the whole band to march to the amphitheatre. Accordingly, twoby two, the bishop leading the way with the sainted woman Anna, theywalked to the gates. Here a guard of soldiers was waiting to receivethem, and under their escort they threaded the narrow, darkling streetstill they came to that door of the amphitheatre which was used by thosewho were to take part in the games. Now, at a word from the bishop, theybegan to chant a solemn hymn, and singing thus, were thrust along thepassages to the place prepared for them. This was not, as they expected,a prison at the back of the amphitheatre, but, as has been said, a spotbetween the enclosing wall and the podium, raised a little above thelevel of the arena. Here, on the eastern side of the building, they wereto sit till their turn came to be driven by the guards through a littlewicket-gate into the arena, where the starving beasts of prey would beloosed upon them.
It was now the hour before sunrise, and the moon having set, the vasttheatre was plunged in gloom, relieved only here and there by straytorches and cressets of fire burning upon either side of the gorgeous,but as yet unoccupied, throne of Agrippa. This gloom seemed to oppressthe audience with which the place was crowded; at any rate none of themshouted or sang, or even spoke loudly. They addressed each otherin muffled tones, with the result that the air seemed to be full ofmysterious whisperings. Had this poor band of condemned Christiansentered the theatre in daylight, they would have been greeted withironical cries and tauntings of "Dogs' meat!" and with requests thatthey should work a miracle and let the people see them rise again fromthe bellies of the lions. But now, as their solemn song broke upon thesilence, it was answered only by one great murmur, which seemed to shapeitself to the words, "the Christians! The doomed Christians!"
By the light of a single torch the band took their places. Then oncemore they sang, and in that chastening hour the audience listened withattention, almost with respect. Their chant finished, the bishop stoodup, and, moved thereto by some inspiration, began to address the mightythrong, whom he could not see, and who could not see him. Strangelyenough they hearkened to him, perhaps because his speech served to whileaway the weary time of waiting.
"Men and brethren," he began, in his thin, piercing notes, "princes,lords, peoples, Romans, Jews, Syrians, Greeks, citizens of Idumaea, ofEgypt, and of all nations here gathered, hearken to the words of an oldman destined and glad to die. Listen, if it be your pleasure, to thestory of One whom some of you saw crucified under Pontius Pilate, sinceto know the truth of that matter can at least do you no hurt."
"Be silent!" cried a voice, that of the renegade jailer, "and ceasepreaching your accursed faith!"
"Let him alone," answered other voices. "We will hear this story of his.We say--let him alone."
Thus encouraged the old man spoke on with an eloquence so simple and yetso touching, with a wisdom so deep, that for full fifteen minutes nonecared even to interrupt him. Then a far-away listener cried:
"Why must these people die who are better than we?"
"Friend," answered the bishop, in ringing tones, which in that heavysilence seemed to search out even the recesses of the great and crowdedplace, "we must die because it is the will of King Agrippa, to whomGod has given power to destroy us. Mourn not for us because we perishcruelly, since this is the day of our true birth, but mourn for KingAgrippa, at whose hands our blood will be required, and mourn, mourn foryourselves, O people. The death that is near to us perchance is nearerstill to some of you; and how will you awaken who perish in your sins?What if the sword of God should empty yonder throne? What i
f the voiceof God should call on him who fills it to make answer of his deeds?Soon or late, O people, it will call on him and you to pass hence, somenaturally in your age, others by the sharp and dreadful roads of sword,pestilence or famine. Already those woes which He whom you crucifiedforetold, knock at your door, and within a few short years not one ofyou who crowd this place in thousands will draw the breath of life.Nothing will remain of you on earth save the fruit of those deeds whichyou have done--these and your bones, no more. Repent you, therefore,repent while there is time; for I, whom you have doomed, I am bidden todeclare that judgment is at hand. Yes, even now, although you see himnot, the Angel of the Lord hangs over you and writes your names withinhis book. Now while there is time I would pray for you and for yourking. Farewell."
As he spoke those words "the Angel of the Lord hangs over you," so greatwas the preacher's power, and in that weary darkness so sharply had hetouched the imagination of his strange audience, that with a sound liketo the stir of rustling trees, thousands of faces were turned upwards,as though in search of that dread messenger.
"Look, look!" screamed a hundred voices, while dim arms pointed to somenoiseless thing that floated high above them against the backgroundof the sky, which grew grey with the coming dawn. It appeared anddisappeared, appeared again, then seemed to pass downward in thedirection of Agrippa's throne, and vanished.
"It is that magician's angel," cried one, and the multitudes groaned.
"Fool," said another, "it was but a bird."
"Then for Agrippa's sake," shrilled a new voice, "the gods send that itwas not an owl."
Thereat some laughed, but the most were silent. They knew the story ofKing Agrippa and the owl, and how it had been foretold that this spiritin the form of a bird would appear to him again in the hour of hisdeath, as it had appeared to him in the hour of his triumph.[*]
[*] See Josephus, "Antiquities of the Jews," Book XVII., Chap. VI., Sec. 7; and Book XIX., Chap. VIII., Sec. 2.
Just then from the palace to the north arose a sound of the blare oftrumpets. Now a herald, speaking on the summit of the great easterntower, called out that it was dawn above the mountains, and that KingAgrippa came with all his company, whereon the preaching of the oldChristian and his tale of a watching Vengeance were instantly forgotten.Presently the glad, fierce notes of the trumpets drew nearer, and in thegrey of the daybreak, through the great bronze gates of the TriumphalWay that were thrown open to greet him, advanced Agrippa, wonderfullyattired and preceded by his legionaries. At his right walked VibiusMarsus, the Roman President of Syria, and on his left Antiochus, King ofCommagena, while after him followed other kings, princes, and great menof his own and foreign lands.
Agrippa mounted his golden throne while the multitude roared a welcome,and his company were seated around and behind him according to theirdegree.
Once more the trumpets sounded, and the gladiators of different arms,headed by the equites who fought on horseback, numbering in all morethan five hundred men, were formed up in the arena for the preliminarymarch past--the salutation of those about to die to their emperor andlord. Now, that they also might take their part in the spectacle, theband of Christian martyrs were thrust through the door in the podium,and to make them seem as many as possible in number, marshalled two bytwo.
Then the march past began. Troop by troop, arrayed in their shiningarmour and armed, each of them, with his own familiar weapon, thegladiators halted in front of Agrippa's throne, giving to him theaccustomed salutation of "Hail, King, we who are about to die, salutethee," to be rewarded with a royal smile and the shouts of the approvingaudience. Last of all came the Christians, a motley, wretched-lookinggroup, made up of old men, terrified children clinging to their mothers,and ill-clad, dishevelled women. At the pitiful sight, that very mobwhich a few short minutes before had hung upon the words of the bishop,their leader, now, as they watched them hobbling round the arena in theclear, low light of the dawning, burst into peals of laughter and calledout that each of them should be made to lead his lion. Quite heedlessof these scoffs and taunts, they trudged on through the white sand thatsoon would be so red, until they came opposite to the throne.
"Salute!" roared the audience.
The bishop held up his hand and all were silent. Then, in the thin voicewith which they had become familiar, he said:
"King, we who are about to die--forgive thee. May God do likewise."
Now the multitude ceased laughing, and with an impatient gesture,Agrippa motioned to the martyrs to pass on. This they did humbly;but Anna, being old, lame and weary, could not walk so fast as hercompanions. Alone she reached the saluting-place after all had left it,and halted there.
"Forward!" cried the officers. But she did not move nor did she speak.Only leaning on her staff she looked steadily up at the face of the kingAgrippa. Some impulse seemed to draw his eyes to hers. They met, andit was noted that he turned pale. Then straightening herself withdifficulty upon her tottering feet, Anna raised her staff and pointedwith it to the golden canopy above the head of Herod. All stared upward,but saw nothing, for the canopy was still in the shadow of the velariumwhich covered all the outer edge of the cavea, leaving the centre opento the sky. It would appear, however, that Agrippa did see something,for he who had risen to declare the games open, suddenly sank back uponhis throne, and remained thus lost in thought. Then Anna limped forwardto join her company, who once more were driven through the little gatein the wall of the arena.
For a second time, with an effort, Agrippa lifted himself from histhrone. As he rose the first level rays of sunrise struck full upon him.He was a tall and noble-looking man, and his dress was glorious. Tothe thousands who gazed upon him from the shadow, set in that point ofburning light he seemed to be clothed in a garment of glittering silver.Silver was his crown, silver his vest, silver the wide robe that flowedfrom his shoulders to the ground.
"In the name of Caesar, to the glory of Caesar, I declare these gamesopen!" he cried.
Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, all the multitude roseshouting: "The voice of a god! The voice of a god! The voice of the godAgrippa!"
Nor did Agrippa say them nay; the glory of such worship thundered athim from twenty thousand throats made him drunken. There for a while hestood, the new-born sunlight playing upon his splendid form, while themultitude roared his name, proclaiming it divine. His nostrils spread toinhale this incense of adoration, his eyes flashed and slowly he wavedhis arms, as though in benediction of his worshippers. Perchance thererose before his mind a vision of the wondrous event whereby he, thescorned and penniless outcast, had been lifted to this giddy pinnacleof power. Perchance for a moment he believed that he was indeed divine,that nothing less than the blood and right of godhead could thus haveexalted him. At least he stood there, denying naught, while the peopleadored him as Jehovah is adored of the Jews and Christ is adored of theChristians.
Then of a sudden smote the Angel of the Lord. Of a sudden intolerablepain seized upon his vitals, and Herod remembered that he was but mortalflesh, and knew that death was near.
"Alas!" he cried, "I am no god, but a man, and even now the common fateof man is on me."
As he spoke a great white owl slid from the roof of the canopy above himand vanished through the unroofed centre of the cavea.
"Look! look! my people!" he cried again, "the spirit that brought megood fortune leaves me now, and I die, my people, I die!" Then, sinkingupon his throne, he who a moment gone had received the worship of a god,writhed there in agony and wept. Yes, Herod wept.
Attendants ran to him and lifted him in their arms.
"Take me hence to die," he moaned. Now a herald cried:
"The king is smitten with a sore sickness, and the games are closed. Toyour homes, O people."
For a while the multitude sat silent, for they were fear-stricken. Thena murmur rose among them that spread and swelled till it became a roar.
"The Christians! The Christians! They prophesied the evil. They have
bewitched the king. They are wizards. Kill them, kill them, kill them!"
Instantly, like waves pouring in from every side, hundreds and thousandsof men began to flow towards that place where the martyrs sat. The wallsand palisades were high. Sweeping aside the guards, they surged againstthem like water against a rock; but climb they could not. Those in frontbegan to scream, those behind pressed on. Some fell and were troddenunderfoot, others clambered upon their bodies, in turn to fall and betrodden underfoot.
"Our death is upon us!" cried one of the Nazarenes.
"Nay, life remains to us," answered Nehushta. "Follow me, all of you,for I know the road," and, seizing Rachel about the middle, she began todrag her towards a little door. It was unlocked and guarded by one manonly, the apostate jailer Rufus.
"Stand back!" he cried, lifting his spear.
Nehushta made no answer, only drawing a dagger from her robe, she fellupon the ground, then of a sudden rose again beneath his guard. Theknife flashed and went home to the hilt. Down fell the man screaming forhelp and mercy, and there, in the narrow way, his spirit was stamped outof him. Beyond lay the broad passage of the vomitorium. They gained it,and in an instant were mixed with the thousands who sought to escape thepanic. Some perished, some were swept onwards, among them Nehushta andRachel. Thrice they nearly fell, but the fierce strength of the Libyansaved her mistress, till at length they found themselves on the broadterrace facing the seashore.
"Whither now?" gasped Rachel.
"Where shall I lead you?" answered Nehushta. "Do not stay. Be swift."
"But the others?" said Rachel, glancing back at the fighting, trampling,yelling mob.
"God guard them! We cannot."
"Leave me," moaned her mistress. "Save yourself, Nou; I am spent," andshe sank down to her knees.
"But I am still strong," muttered Nehushta, and lifting the swooningwoman in her sinewy arms, she fled on towards the port, crying, "Way,way for my lady, the noble Roman, who has swooned!"
And the multitude made way.