THE ESSENES LOSE THEIR QUEEN
The Court of the Essenes was gathered
in council debating the subject of the departure of
their ward, Miriam. She must go, that was evident,
since not even for her, whom they loved as though each
of them had been in truth her father or her uncle,
could their ancient, sacred rule be broken. But
where was she to go and how should she be supported
as became her? These were the questions that
troubled them and that they debated earnestly.
At length her great-uncle Ithiel suggested that she
should be summoned before them, that they might hear
her wishes. To this his brethren agreed, and
he was sent to fetch her.
A while later, attended by Nehushta,
Miriam arrived, clad in a robe of pure white, and
wearing on her head a wimple of white, edged with
purple, and about her waist a purple scarf. So
greatly did the Essenes love and reverence this maid,
that as she entered, all the hundred of the Court
rose and remaining standing until she herself was seated.
Then the President, who was sorrowful and even shamefaced,
addressed her, telling her their trouble, and praying
her pardon because the ordinance of their order forced
them to arrange that she should depart from among
them. At the end of this speech he asked her what
were her wishes as regarded her own future, adding
that for her maintenance she need have no fear, since
out of their revenues a modest sum would be set aside
annually which would suffice to keep her from poverty.
In answer Miriam, also speaking sadly,
thanked them from her heart for all their goodness,
telling them she had long known this hour of separation
to be at hand. As to where she should dwell, since
tumults were so many in Jerusalem, she suggested that
she might find a home in one of the coast cities,
where perhaps some friend or relative of the brethren
would shelter Nehushta and herself.
Instantly eight or ten of those present
said that they knew such trusty folk in one place
or another, and the various offers were submitted to
the Court for discussion. While the talk was still
going on there came a knock upon the door. After
the usual questions and precautions, a brother was
admitted who informed them that there had arrived in
the village, at the head of a considerable retinue,
Benoni, the Jewish merchant of Tyre. He stated
that he desired speech with them on the subject of
his granddaughter Miriam, who, he learned, was, or
had been recently, in their charge.
“Here may be an answer to the
riddle,” said the President. “We know
of this Benoni, also that he purposed to demand his
granddaughter of us, though until he did so it was
not for us to speak.” Then he put it to
the Court that Benoni should be admitted.
To this they agreed, and presently
the Jew came, splendidly attired, his long white beard
flowing down a robe that glittered with embroideries
of gold and silver. Entering the dim, cool hall,
he stared in amazement at the long half-circles of
venerable, white-robed men who were gathered there.
Next his quick eyes fell upon the lovely maiden who,
attended by the dark-visaged Nehushta, sat before
them on a seat of honour; and looking, he guessed
that she must be Miriam.
“Little wonder,” reflected
Benoni to himself, “that all men seem to love
this girl, since at the first sight of her my own heart
softens.”
Then he bowed to the President of
the Court and the President bowed back in answer.
But not one of the rest so much as moved his head,
since already every man of them hated this stranger
who was about to carry away her whom they called their
Queen.
“Sirs,” said Benoni breaking
the silence, “I come here upon a strange errand namely,
to ask of you a maid whom I believe to be my granddaughter,
of whose existence I learned not long ago, and whom,
as it seems, you have sheltered from her birth.
Is she among you here?” and he looked at Miriam.
“The lady Miriam sits yonder,”
said the President. “You are right in naming
her your granddaughter, as we have known her to be
from the beginning.”
“Then why,” said Benoni, “did I
not know it also?”
“Because,” answered the
President quietly, “we did not think it fitting
to deliver a child that was committed to our charge,
to the care of one who had brought her father, and
tried to bring her mother, his own seed, to the most
horrible of deaths.”
As he spoke he fixed his eyes indignantly
upon Benoni; as did every man of all that great company,
till even the bold-faced Jew dropped his head abashed.
“I am not here,” he said,
recovering himself, “to make defence of what
I have done, or have not done in the past. I am
here to demand that my grandchild, now as I perceive
a woman grown, may be handed over to me, her natural
guardian.”
“Before this can be considered,”
answered the President, “we who have been her
guardians for so many years, should require guarantees
and sureties.”
“What guarantees, and what sureties?”
asked Benoni.
“These among others That
money sufficient for her support after your death
should be settled upon her. That she shall be
left reasonable liberty in the matter of her daily
life and her marriage, if it should please her to
marry. Lastly, that as we have undertaken not
to meddle with her faith, or to oppress her into changing
it, so must you undertake also.”
“And if I refuse these things?” asked
Benoni.
“Then you see the lady Miriam
for the first and last time,” answered the President
boldly, while the others nodded approval. “We
are men of peace, but, merchant, you must not, therefore,
think us men without power. We must part with
the lady Miriam, who to every one of us is as a daughter,
because the unbreakable rule of our order ordains that
she, who is now a woman grown, can no longer remain
among us. But wherever she dwells, to the last
day of her life our love shall go with her and the
whole strength of our Order shall protect her.
If any harm is attempted to her, we shall be swift
to hear and swifter to avenge. If you refuse
our conditions, she will vanish from your sight, and
then, merchant, go, search the world, the coasts of
Syria, the banks of Egypt, and the cities of Italy and
find her if you can. We have spoken.”
Benoni stroked his white beard before he answered.
“You talk proudly,” he
said. “Did I shut my eyes I might fancy
that this voice was the voice of a Roman procurator
speaking the decrees of Caesar. Still, I am ready
to believe that what you promise you can perform,
since I for one am sure that you Essenes are not mere
harmless heretics who worship angels and demons, see
visions, prophesy things to come by the help of your
familiars, and adore the sun in huts upon the desert.”
He paused, but the President, without taking the slightest
notice of his insults or sarcasms, repeated merely:
“We have spoken,” and
as with one voice, like some great echo, the whole
hundred of them cried, “We have spoken!”
“Do you hear them, master?”
said Nehushta in the silence that followed. “Well,
I know them. They mean what they say, and you
are right what which they threaten they
can perform.”
“Let my grandchild speak,”
said Benoni. “Daughter, is it your wish
that such dishonouring bonds should be laid upon me?”
“Grandsire,” replied Miriam,
in a pure, clear voice, “I may not quarrel with
that which is done for my own good. For the wealth
I care little, but I would not become a slave in everything
save the name, nor do I desire to set my feet in that
path my parents trod. What my uncles say all
of these” and she waved her hand “speaking
in the name of the thousands that are without, that
I do, for they love me and I love them, and their
mind is my mind and their words are my words.”
“Proud-spirited, and well spoken,
like all her race,” muttered Benoni. Still
he stroked his beard and hesitated.
“Be pleased to give your answer,”
said the President, “that we may finish our
discussion before the hour of evening prayer.
To help you to it, remember one thing we
ask no new conditions.” Benoni glanced
up quickly and the President added: “Those
of which we have received a copy, that you swore to
and signed in the presence of Marcus the Roman, are
enough for us.”
Now it was Miriam’s turn to
look, first up and then down. As for her grandfather,
he turned white with anger, and broke into a bitter
laugh.
“Now I understand ”
“ that the
arm of the Essenes is longer than you thought, since
it can reach from here to Rome,” said the President.
“Ay! that you can plot with
Romans. Well, be careful lest the sword of these
Romans prove longer than you thought and reach
even to your hearts, O you peaceful dwellers in the
desert!” Then, as though he feared some answer,
he added quickly, “I am minded to return and
leave this maiden with you to dispose of as you think
fit. Yet I will not do so, for she is very fair
and gracious, and with the wealth that I can give
her, may fill some high place in the world. Also and
this is more to me I am old and draw near
my end and she alone has my blood in her veins.
Therefore I will agree to all your terms, and take
her home with me to Tyre, trusting that she may learn
to love me.”
“Good,” said the President.
“To-morrow the papers shall be prepared and
signed. Meanwhile we pray you to be our guest.”
Next evening signed they were accordingly,
Benoni agreeing without demur to all that the Essenes
asked on behalf of her who had been their ward, and
even assigning to her a separate revenue during his
lifetime. Indeed, now that he had seen her, so
loth was he to part with this new-found daughter,
that he would have done still more had it been asked
of him, lest she should be spirited from his sight,
as, did he refuse, might well happen.
Three days later Miriam bade farewell
to her protectors, who accompanied her by hundreds
to the ridge above the village. Here they stopped,
and seeing that the moment of separation was at hand,
Miriam’s tears began to flow.
“Weep not, beloved child,”
said Ithiel, “for though we part with you in
body, yet shall we always be with you in the spirit,
now in this life, and as we think, after this life.
Moreover, by night and day, we shall watch over you,
and if any attempt to harm you ” here
he glanced at Benoni, that brother-in-law to whom
he bore but little love “the very
winds will bear us tidings, and in this way or that,
help will come.”
“Have no fear, Ithiel,”
broke in Benoni, “my bond, which you hold, is
good and it will be backed by love.”
“That I believe also,”
said Miriam; “and if it be so, grandsire, I will
repay love for love.” Then she turned to
the Essenes and thanked them in broken words.
“Be not downhearted,”
said Ithiel in a thick voice, “for I hope that
even in this life we shall meet again.”
“May it be so,” answered
Miriam, and they parted, the Essenes returning sadly
to their home, and Benoni taking the road through Jericho
to Jerusalem.
Travelling slowly, at the evening
of the second day they set their camp on open ground
not far from the Damascus gate of the Holy City, but
within the new north wall that had been built by Agrippa.
Into the city itself Benoni would not enter, fearing
lest the Roman soldiers should plunder them.
At moonrise Nehushta took Miriam by the hand and led
her through the resting camels to a spot a few yards
from the camp.
There, standing with her back to the
second wall, she pointed out to her a cliff, steep
but of no great height, in which appeared little caves
and ridges of rock that, looked at from this distance,
gave to its face a rude resemblance to a human skull.
“See,” she said solemnly.
“Yonder the Lord was crucified.”
Miriam heard and sank to her knees
in prayer. As she knelt there the grave voice
of her grandfather spoke behind her, bidding her rise.
“Child,” he said, “it
is true. True is it also that signs and wonders
happened after the death of that false Messiah, and
that for me and mine He left a curse behind Him which
it may well be is not done with yet. I know your
faith, and I have promised to let you follow it in
peace. Yet I beseech of you, do not make prayers
to your God here in public, where with malefactors
He suffered as a malefactor, lest others less tolerant
should see you and drag you to your father’s
death.”
Miriam bowed her head and returned
to the camp, nor at that time did any further words
pass between them on this matter of her religion.
Thenceforward, however, she was careful to do nothing
which could bring suspicion on her grandfather.
Four days later they came to the rich
and beautiful city of Tyre, and Miriam saw the sea
upon which she had been born. Hitherto, she had
fancied that its waters were much like those of the
Dead Lake, upon whose shores she had dwelt so many
years; but when she perceived the billows rushing
onwards, white-crested, to break in thunder against
the walls of island Tyre, she clapped her hands with
joy. Indeed, from that day to the end of her
life she loved the sea in all its moods, and for hours
at a time would find it sufficient company. Perhaps
this was because the seethe of its waves was the first
sound that her ears had heard, while her first breath
was salted with its spray.
From Jerusalem, Benoni had sent messengers
mounted on swift horses bidding his servants make
ready to receive a guest. So it came about that
when she entered his palace in Tyre, Miriam found it
decked as though for a bride, and wandered in amazement she
who had known nothing better than the mud-houses of
the Essenes from hall to hall of the ancient
building that in bygone generations had been the home
of kings and governors. Benoni followed her steps,
watching her with grave eyes, till at length all was
visited save the gardens belonging to him which were
on the mainland.
“Are you pleased with your new
home, daughter?” he asked presently.
“My grandfather, it is beautiful,”
she answered. “Never have I dreamed of
such a place as this. Say, may I work my art in
one of these great rooms?”
“Miriam,” he answered,
“of this house henceforth you are the mistress,
as in time to come you will be its owner. Believe
me, child, it was not needed that so many and such
different men should demand from me sureties for your
comfort and your safety. All I have is yours,
whilst all you have, including your faith and your
friends, of whom there seem to be many, remains your
own. Yet, should it please you to give me in
return some small share of your love, I who am childless
and friendless shall be grateful.”
“That is my desire,” answered
Miriam hurriedly; “only, grandsire, between
you and me ”
“Speak it not,” he said,
with a gesture almost of despair, “or rather
I will speak it between you and me runs
the river of your parents’ blood. It is
so, yet, Miriam, I will confess to you that I repent
me of that deed. Age makes us judge more kindly.
To me your faith is nothing and your God a sham, yet
I know now that to worship Him is not worthy of death at
least not for that cause would I bring any to their
death to-day, or even to stripes and bonds. I
will go further; I will stoop even to borrow from
His creed. Do not His teachings bid you to forgive
those who have done you wrong?”
“They do, and that is why Christians love all
mankind.”
“Then bring that law into this
home of ours, Miriam, and love me who sorrow for what
I did in the blind rage of my zeal, and who now in
my old age am haunted by its memory.”
Then for the first time Miriam threw
herself into the old man’s arms and kissed him
on the brow.
So it came about that they made their
peace and were happy together.
Indeed, day by day Benoni loved her
more, till at length she was everything to him, and
he grew jealous of all who sought her company, and
especially of Nehushta.