CHAPTER XI
Evening was hardly come upon Antioch, when the Omphalus, nearly inthe centre of the city, became a troubled fountain from which inevery direction, but chiefly down to the Nymphaeum and east andwest along the Colonnade of Herod, flowed currents of people,for the time given up to Bacchus and Apollo.
For such indulgence anything more fitting cannot be imagined thanthe great roofed streets, which were literally miles on milesof porticos wrought of marble, polished to the last degree offinish, and all gifts to the voluptuous city by princes carelessof expenditure where, as in this instance, they thought they wereeternizing themselves. Darkness was not permitted anywhere; and thesinging, the laughter, the shouting, were incessant, and in compoundlike the roar of waters dashing through hollow grots, confused by amultitude of echoes.
The many nationalities represented, though they might have amazeda stranger, were not peculiar to Antioch. Of the various missionsof the great empire, one seems to have been the fusion of menand the introduction of strangers to each other; accordingly,whole peoples rose up and went at pleasure, taking with themtheir costumes, customs, speech, and gods; and where they chose,they stopped, engaged in business, built houses, erected altars,and were what they had been at home.
There was a peculiarity, however, which could not have failed thenotice of a looker-on this night in Antioch. Nearly everybody worethe colors of one or other of the charioteers announced for themorrow's race. Sometimes it was in form of a scarf, sometimes abadge; often a ribbon or a feather. Whatever the form, it signifiedmerely the wearer's partiality; thus, green published a friend ofCleanthes the Athenian, and black an adherent of the Byzantine.This was according to a custom, old probably as the day of therace of Orestes--a custom, by the way, worthy of study as amarvel of history, illustrative of the absurd yet appallingextremities to which men frequently suffer their follies todrag them.
The observer abroad on this occasion, once attracted to the wearingof colors, would have very shortly decided that there were threein predominance--green, white, and the mixed scarlet and gold.
But let us from the streets to the palace on the island.
The five great chandeliers in the saloon are freshly lighted. Theassemblage is much the same as that already noticed in connectionwith the place. The divan has its corps of sleepers and burden ofgarments, and the tables yet resound with the rattle and clash ofdice. Yet the greater part of the company are not doing anything.They walk about, or yawn tremendously, or pause as they passeach other to exchange idle nothings. Will the weather be fairto-morrow? Are the preparations for the games complete? Do thelaws of the Circus in Antioch differ from the laws of the Circusin Rome? Truth is, the young fellows are suffering from ennui.Their heavy work is done; that is, we would find their tablets,could we look at them, covered with memoranda of wagers--wagerson every contest; on the running, the wrestling, the boxing;on everything but the chariot-race.
And why not on that?
Good reader, they cannot find anybody who will hazard so much asa denarius with them against Messala.
There are no colors in the saloon but his.
No one thinks of his defeat.
Why, they say, is he not perfect in his training? Did he notgraduate from an imperial lanista? Were not his horses winnersat the Circensian in the Circus Maximus? And then--ah, yes! heis a Roman!
In a corner, at ease on the divan, Messala himself may be seen.Around him, sitting or standing, are his courtierly admirers,plying him with questions. There is, of course, but one topic.
Enter Drusus and Cecilius.
"Ah!" cries the young prince, throwing himself on the divan atMessala's feet, "Ah, by Bacchus, I am tired!"
"Whither away?" asks Messala.
"Up the street; up to the Omphalus, and beyond--who shall say howfar? Rivers of people; never so many in the city before. They saywe will see the whole world at the Circus to-morrow."
Messala laughed scornfully.
"The idiots! Perpol! They never beheld a Circensian with Caesarfor editor. But, my Drusus, what found you?"
"Nothing."
"O--ah! You forget," said Cecilius.
"What?" asked Drusus.
"The procession of whites."
"Mirabile!" cried Drusus, half rising. "We met a faction of whites,and they had a banner. But--ha, ha, ha!"
He fell back indolently.
"Cruel Drusus--not to go on," said Messala.
"Scum of the desert were they, my Messala, and garbage-eatersfrom the Jacob's Temple in Jerusalem. What had I to do withthem!"
"Nay," said Cecilius, "Drusus is afraid of a laugh, but I am not,my Messala."
"Speak thou, then."
"Well, we stopped the faction, and--"
"Offered them a wager," said Drusus, relenting, and taking the wordfrom the shadow's mouth. "And--ha, ha, ha!--one fellow with notenough skin on his face to make a worm for a carp stepped forth,and--ha, ha, ha!--said yes. I drew my tablets. 'Who is your man?'I asked. 'Ben-Hur, the Jew,' said he. Then I: 'What shall it be?How much?' He answered, 'A--a--' Excuse me, Messala. By Jove'sthunder, I cannot go on for laughter! Ha, ha, ha!"
The listeners leaned forward.
Messala looked to Cecilius.
"A shekel," said the latter.
"A shekel! A shekel!"
A burst of scornful laughter ran fast upon the repetition.
"And what did Drusus?" asked Messala.
An outcry over about the door just then occasioned a rush to thatquarter; and, as the noise there continued, and grew louder, evenCecilius betook himself off, pausing only to say, "The noble Drusus,my Messala, put up his tablets and--lost the shekel."
"A white! A white!"
"Let him come!"
"This way, this way!"
These and like exclamations filled the saloon, to the stoppageof other speech. The dice-players quit their games; the sleepersawoke, rubbed their eyes, drew their tablets, and hurried to thecommon centre.
"I offer you--"
"And I--"
"I--"
The person so warmly received was the respectable Jew, Ben-Hur'sfellow-voyager from Cyprus. He entered grave, quiet, observant.His robe was spotlessly white; so was the cloth of his turban.Bowing and smiling at the welcome, he moved slowly towards thecentral table. Arrived there, he drew his robe about him in astately manner, took seat, and waved his hand. The gleam of ajewel on a finger helped him not a little to the silence whichensued.
"Romans--most noble Romans--I salute you!" he said.
"Easy, by Jupiter! Who is he?" asked Drusus.
"A dog of Israel--Sanballat by name--purveyor for the army; residence,Rome; vastly rich; grown so as a contractor of furnishments whichhe never furnishes. He spins mischiefs, nevertheless, finer thanspiders spin their webs. Come--by the girdle of Venus! let uscatch him!"
Messala arose as he spoke, and, with Drusus, joined the masscrowded about the purveyor.
"It came to me on the street," said that person, producing histablets, and opening them on the table with an impressive air ofbusiness, "that there was great discomfort in the palace becauseoffers on Messala were going without takers. The gods, you know,must have sacrifices; and here am I. You see my color; let us tothe matter. Odds first, amounts next. What will you give me?"
The audacity seemed to stun his hearers.
"Haste!" he said. "I have an engagement with the consul."
The spur was effective.
"Two to one," cried half a dozen in a voice.
"What!" exclaimed the purveyor, astonished. "Only two to one,and yours a Roman!"
"Take three, then."
"Three say you--only three--and mine but a dog of a Jew! Give mefour."
"Four it is," said a boy, stung by the taunt.
"Five--give me five," cried the purveyor, instantly.
A profound stillness fell upon the assemblage.
"The consul--your master and mine--is waiting for me."
The inaction became awkward to the ma
ny.
"Give me five--for the honor of Rome, five."
"Five let it be," said one in answer.
There was a sharp cheer--a commotion--and Messala himself appeared.
"Five let it be," he said.
And Sanballat smiled, and made ready to write.
"If Caesar die to-morrow," he said, "Rome will not be all bereft.There is at least one other with spirit to take his place. Give mesix."
"Six be it," answered Messala.
There was another shout louder than the first.
"Six be it," repeated Messala. "Six to one--the difference betweena Roman and a Jew. And, having found it, now, O redemptor of theflesh of swine, let us on. The amount--and quickly. The consulmay send for thee, and I will then be bereft."
Sanballat took the laugh against him coolly, and wrote, and offeredthe writing to Messala.
"Read, read!" everybody demanded.
And Messala read:
"Mem.--Chariot-race. Messala of Rome, in wager with Sanballat,also of Rome, says he will beat Ben-Hur, the Jew. Amount of wager,twenty talents. Odds to Sanballat, six to one.
"Witnesses: SANBALLAT."
There was no noise, no motion. Each person seemed held in the posethe reading found him. Messala stared at the memorandum, while theeyes which had him in view opened wide, and stared at him. He feltthe gaze, and thought rapidly. So lately he stood in the sameplace, and in the same way hectored the countrymen around him.They would remember it. If he refused to sign, his hero-ship waslost. And sign he could not; he was not worth one hundred talents,nor the fifth part of the sum. Suddenly his mind became a blank;he stood speechless; the color fled his face. An idea at last cameto his relief.
"Thou Jew!" he said, "where hast thou twenty talents? Show me."
Sanballat's provoking smile deepened.
"There," he replied, offering Messala a paper.
"Read, read!" arose all around.
Again Messala read:
"AT ANTIOCH, Tammuz 16th day.
"The bearer, Sanballat of Rome, hath now to his order with mefifty talents, coin of Caesar.
SIMONIDES."
"Fifty talents, fifty talents!" echoed the throng, in amazement.
Then Drusus came to the rescue.
"By Hercules!" he shouted, "the paper lies, and the Jew is a liar.Who but Caesar hath fifty talents at order? Down with the insolentwhite!"
The cry was angry, and it was angrily repeated; yet Sanballatkept his seat, and his smile grew more exasperating the longerhe waited. At length Messala spoke.
"Hush! One to one, my countrymen--one to one, for love of ourancient Roman name."
The timely action recovered him his ascendancy.
"O thou circumcised dog!" he continued, to Sanballat, "I gave theesix to one, did I not?"
"Yes," said the Jew, quietly.
"Well, give me now the fixing of the amount."
"With reserve, if the amount be trifling, have thy will,"answered Sanballat.
"Write, then, five in place of twenty."
"Hast thou so much?"
"By the mother of the gods, I will show you receipts."
"Nay, the word of so brave a Roman must pass. Only make the sumeven--six make it, and I will write."
"Write it so."
And forthwith they exchanged writings.
Sanballat immediately arose and looked around him, a sneer inplace of his smile. No man better than he knew those with whomhe was dealing.
"Romans," he said, "another wager, if you dare! Five talents againstfive talents that the white will win. I challenge you collectively."
They were again surprised.
"What!" he cried, louder. "Shall it be said in the Circus to-morrowthat a dog of Israel went into the saloon of the palace full ofRoman nobles--among them the scion of a Caesar--and laid fivetalents before them in challenge, and they had not the courageto take it up?"
The sting was unendurable.
"Have done, O insolent!" said Drusus, "write the challenge,and leave it on the table; and to-morrow, if we find thou hastindeed so much money to put at such hopeless hazard, I, Drusus,promise it shall be taken."
Sanballat wrote again, and, rising, said, unmoved as ever, "See,Drusus, I leave the offer with you. When it is signed, send itto me any time before the race begins. I will be found with theconsul in a seat over the Porta Pompae. Peace to you; peace toall."
He bowed, and departed, careless of the shout of derision withwhich they pursued him out of the door.
In the night the story of the prodigious wager flew along thestreets and over the city; and Ben-Hur, lying with his four,was told of it, and also that Messala's whole fortune was onthe hazard.
And he slept never so soundly.