Judaism
Future Religion: Judith Maiden of the Land 1
Abstract
Contents Updated: Monday, October 11, 1999
Joshua and Judith
Once upon a time Salem had been the capital city of a great and powerful kingdom ruled by a mighty king. But time is not usually kind. It had been cruel. Powerful enemies had arisen on all sides and the kingdom had been reduced to a province of a vast empire. Once rich and independent, Salem now was in decay. Its once picturesque alleys and yards were overgrown with the suckers of a giant fig tree which sprang up in every street and garden.
Judith was the most beautiful woman in Salem. Her skin was of the purest burnished bronze, her hair framed her calm visage in dark ringlets, her spirit invited admiration from everyone in the city and many visting princes too, and her figure, though always modestly draped with the fulness of her siken gowns, was that enchantingly provocative shape of the lissome girl just entered upon full maturity.
She was a noble woman of the line of the warrior king and his wise son who had made Salem great in the past. Though not wealthy she retained the dignity of her ancestors and was considered important to the knights and princes of Rome to whom she was obliged to pay allegiance.
One day she sat upon a rough hewn stone beneath the copious leaves of the giant figtree which blighted the city. Her modest residence close to the dreaded fortress of the grim empire overlooked the outer courtyard of palace of the Most High King of Salem.
The king was her father but had been forced long, long ago to retreat before his enemies to far off lands, and the palace had been occupied by usurpers, the loathsome family of Herod who had rebuilt the palace, employing many people from the city and around for many years. But Herod was cruel, he was a foreigner and he was the puppet of the overweening and overpowerful Emperors across the sea.
Fortunately Herod was dead but her father had not returned and the city was still in the hands of the foreigners, the Romans and their puppets, the sons of Herod.
The toga betrayed as a Roman the man who stood some distance away looking abstractedly across the fig trees to the walls of the palace. At last he turned to Judith and said, “You will never get a better offer, Princess of Salem. Your father will never return. The Empire is too strong. The world is a different place now. Your old, vulgar loyalties must change. Marry into the Empire while you can. If you do not, I cannot guarantee your safety. The world is a harsh place and you might have to die if our August Emperors find you troublesome.’
Judith stood up angrily, glaring at the Roman with displeasure. “You and your lofty emperors demand too much, Pilatus,” she said. “I am my father’s daughter, and his ritual bride as the law demands. You have no right to address me thus while I am still the betrothed of my father. If we of Salem have been abandoned by our king then we shall know it, but until then I shall not surrender to your profane demands”.
The Roman took several rapid steps forward and took her roughly by the arm. “You shall do as I say!” he cried. “By the breasts of Cybele, neither you nor your God-king shall come between Rome and its objectives. Your mystic suiter shall never return, for if he did, I shall nail him to a tree, pluck out his heart with a pike and fling it to the pariahs of the Wilderness of the Dead Sea!”
Though the man was a Roman knight he was coarse in breeding and crude in manner. Her skin crawled at the grip of the Roman upon her wrist. For this vulgar breed of foot soldiers and road diggers nothing was sacred. The cultures of centuries were destroyed by them at the tilt of a sword and the flame of a torch.
Judith was not immediately fearful. She loathed the man before her and feared for the future of the Land if her father were not to return. She stiffened her sinews and pulled the grasped arm toward her, her chin held up and eyes wide and contemptuous. In a cool voice she commanded, “Release me”.
“Your response is unhelpful, Princess,” Pilate hissed through clenched teeth. “Rome will not be defied and nor shall I”.
Pilate pulled the hand gripping the girl’s wrist down and towards his thigh thus pulling Judith closer to him. With his free hand he brutally took her by the back of the neck and thrust her mouth on to his, then releasing his grip on her wrist he took her firmly by the waste pushing her body against his. The feel of her soft flesh beneath her silky gown fired his passion further.
Judith was horrified. The Roman gnawed at her mouth with his dribbling lips and she could feel him throbbing at her stomach, a mere few layers of flimsy material stopping her from being immediately ravished.
She had to free herself. In the law of Ephraim innocence was no defence. She could not be her father’s ritual bride if she had been ravished by another. With her hands now freed she pushed sharply against the Roman’s shoulders and simultaneously she bit.
The bite on his lip made Pilatus pull back immediately, hand to mouth.
“You bit me! Wretched woman, you bit me!” Pilatus looked down to the patch of blood on his fingers, and sucked his sore lip.
“It is not I who is wretched, Pilatus, it is you and your sorry Roman upbringing. Dogs like you will burn forever come the Day of Judgement”.
“You are mistaken, Madam,” rejoined Pilatus, dabbing his sore lip, “the punishment will be yours, and the day will be sooner than you bargained for”.
Judith flinched as Pilatus made to resume his act of lust, but another figure sprang over the low wall from a spot he had occupied during the previous exchange. Handsome and athletic, he stood tall and straight with long hair in curls and intense brown eyes with just sufficient of a glint of defiance to suggest a certain arrogance.
His skin was tinged with the polished bronze look that marks the Salemite men of The Land from other races. He had the demeanour of a noble and the figure of a soldier. His movement was characteristic. He moved with a natural grace, an effortless beauty, the motions of a dancer or a gymnast.
Pilatus again clamped Judith’s wrist just as as the young man, in two bounds, arrived before them.
“This is no way for the Roman Governor to be treating a princess of a subservient country, noble Pilatus.” The visitor spoke with sarcastic deference. “The Emperor, Tiberius, is said to regard his governors as maggots fattening themselves on the flesh of defeated people. I see he is right, in your case at any rate. I hear also that Tiberius is getting fed up with his governors causing unnecessary trouble. No doubt you have heard that we are considering sending a delegation of Elders to Rome, Pilatus. The indictment would look so much better if we could add the rape of a Princess of the Land to your other crimes.” The stranger’s voice had turned hard and menacing.
Had he been dressed in military dress, impetuous Pilatus would have drawn his sword against the visitor, who to judge from from his tone could not have been better pleased. For there burned in the young man’s eyes a fire that proclaimed a devoted cause for his championship of the beautiful and spirited daughter of The Land.
The brightness of the maiden’s manner had visibly returned with the arrival of the stranger, and cunning Pilatus could not miss such a signal. His eyes narrowed as he read the unspoken words between the princess and the visitor.
“You had better take care, whelp,” replied Pilatus. “Tiberius Augustus has no complaints when actions are justified. And you in your imprudent arrogance will give me cause to react. Nevertheless, I am tired of this foolishness and have the Emperor’s duty to perform. I shall depart now but heed these words,” he looked pointedly at Judith, “I shall not be defied”.
So saying the Roman walked through a low arch which led out of the residence.
The stranger turned toward the girl. “Shalom, Judith!” he smiled. “God guided the timing of my visit well”.
“Shalom, Joshua of Salem!” The princess smiled in return and relief. “God blesses those of noble parentage so it is to be expected of the son of such a father as yours”.
Joshua bowed his acceptance of the compliment to his father, David Overgath, Lord of The Land.
“Ha! If I were like my father I should have cut off the gentile’s head and used it as a pillow. Had it been your desire, I should have done it anyway for nothing would have given me greater pleasure than dealing to the scum of Rome the punishment he deserves”.
For a hundred years Rome and Ephraim had been at peace with each other. It was an enforced peace admittedly, and the peace did not extend to friendship, but it was not warfare. Majestic Roman merchant ships plied back and forth between the coasts of the two nations. Even now, far beyond the twin pylons of the king’s palace, she could see the line of a giant caravan taking its majestic way through the dessicated terrain of the Land toward the west, the Great Sea and thence Rome.
Yet to punish the Roman could mean nothing other than war, for his attempt to rape Judith, in the eyes of the Salemite, merited death.
A word from Judith whispered into Joshua’s ear could plunge the hapless kingdom into a bloody conflict with the ruler of the world. It would surrender its bravest blood and whatever remained of its wealth, leaving it helpless against the inroads of envious and less powerful neighbors, and ultimately a prey to the savage gentile hordes of the Wilderness beyond the Dead Sea.
No sense of fear influenced her, for though the king, her father, had gone afar she had no doubt that he would return. It was rather a sense of the responsibility that she, the daughter of their Lord, felt for the welfare of her father’s people.
“It cannot be, Joshua,” she replied. “Even though he has forfeited all claim upon my consideration, to my father alone must he account for the unpardonable act he has committed”.
“As you say, Judith,” replied the Salemite. “But afterward he shall account to Joshua, Prince of Salem, for this affront to the daughter of my father’s friend”.
“I thank you, Joshua,” she said, “for protecting the person of your princess. You are Joshua indeed for it means God is our Saviour, and God indeed sent you to save me. Should I be in danger again I shall need a champion like you. Escort me to the palace of the king, and I shall bestow upon you the title of Protector, which in our tongue is Nazarene. You shall be Prince Joshua, the Nazarene, the first of the knights of the Land”.
Night was rapidly falling and the couple settled together on the stone seat in the brilliant light of the wilderness moon.
Joshua’s eyes were on the profile of the girl’s upturned face.
“Judith,” he whispered.
The girl turned her eyes toward his.
His hand stole out to find hers, but she drew away gently.
“Judith of Ephraim, I love you!” cried the young knight. “Tell me that it does not offend”.
She shook her head sadly. “The love of Joshua of Salem,” she said simply, “could be nothing but an honour to any woman; but you must not speak, my friend, of bestowing upon me that which I may not reciprocate”.
The young man got slowly to his feet.
His eyes were wide in astonishment.
It never had occurred to the Prince of Salem that Judith of Ephraim might love another.
“But at Jericho!” he exclaimed. “And later here at your father’s court, what did you do, Judith of Ephraim, that might have warned me that you could not return my love?”
“And what did I do, Joshua of Salem,” she returned, “that might lead you to believe that I DID return it?”
He paused in thought, and then shook his head.
“Nothing, Judith, that is true; yet I could have sworn you loved me. Indeed, you well knew how near to worship has been my love for you”.
“And how might I know it, Joshua?” she asked innocently. “Did you ever tell me as much? Ever before have words of love for me fallen from your lips?”
“But you MUST have known it!” he exclaimed. “I am like the men of the Land—witless in matters of the heart, and of a poor way with women; yet the precious stones that strew these royal garden paths—the vines, the flowers, the balm and nard — all must have read the love that has filled my heart since first my eyes were made new by imaging your perfect face and form; so how could you alone have been blind to it?”
“Do the maidens of Salem pay court to their men?” asked Judith.
“You are playing with me!” exclaimed Joshua. “Say that you are but playing, and that after all you love me, Judith!”.
“I cannot tell you that, Joshua, for I am betrothed to another”.
Her tone was level, but was there not within it the hint of an infinite depth of sadness? Who may say?
“Betrothed to another?”
Joshua scarcely breathed the words.
His face went almost white, and then his head came up as befitted him in whose veins flowed the blood of the overlord of a world.
“Joshua of Salem wishes you every happiness with the man of your choice,” he said. “With—” and then he hesitated, waiting for her to fill in the name.
“Joseph Caiaphas, Great Prince of Temple,” she replied.
The young man looked at her intently for a moment before he spoke again.
“You love him, Judith of Ephraim?” he asked.
“I am betrothed to him,” she replied simply.
He did not press her.
“He is of The Land’s noblest blood and mightiest fighters,” mused Joshua. “My father’s friend and mine—would that it might have been another!” he muttered almost savagely.
What the girl thought was hidden by the mask of her expression, which was tinged only by a little shadow of sadness that might have been for Joshua, herself, or for them both.
Joshua of Salem did not ask, though he noted it, for his loyalty to Joseph Caiaphas was the loyalty of the blood of David Overgath for a friend, greater than which could be no loyalty.
He raised a jewel-encrusted bit of the girl’s magnificent trappings to his lips.
“To the honour and happiness of Joseph Caiaphas and the priceless pearl that has been bestowed upon him,” he said, and though his voice was husky there was the true ring of sincerity in it. I told you that I loved you, Judith, before I knew that you were betrothed to another. I may not tell you it again, but I am glad that you know it, for there is no dishonour in it either to you or to Joseph Caiaphas or to myself. My love is such that it may embrace as well Joseph Caiaphas—if you love him.” There was almost a question in the statement.
“I am betrothed to him,” she replied.
Joshua backed slowly away.
He laid one hand upon his heart, the other upon the pommel of his sikar.
“These are yours—always,” he said.
Apparently having already forgotten the lustful attack of Pilatus she arose, and taking Joshua’s hand, moved slowly toward the massive limestone palace, the house of her father, ruler of Ephraim and his court of attendants and Levites.
Beside a myrtle beyond the arch stood Pilatus, his dark eyes narrowed to mere slits of hate beneath his lowering brows as he watched the retreating forms of the woman who had aroused the fiercest passions of his nature and the man whom he now believed to be the one who stood between his love and its consummation.
As they disappeared within the palace Pilatus turned and with a muttered oath crossed the gardens toward the Antonia Tower where he and his retinue were housed.
That night he took leave of Salem and the Land.
When the last of the Romans clambered over the rail of the trireme that had brought them upon this fateful visit to the court of Ephraim, and the symbol of Imperial power had parted slowly from the ways of the post house, a note of relief was apparent in the voice of The Most High as he turned to one of his officers with a word of comment upon a subject foreign to that which had been uppermost in the minds of all for hours.
But, after all, was it so foreign?
“Inform the commanders,” he directed, “that it is our wish that the fleet which departed for Temple this morning be recalled to cruise to the west of Ephraim”.
As the warship, bearing Pilatus back to the court of the Emperor, turned toward the west, Judith of Ephraim, sitting upon the same bench where the Prince of Rome had affronted her, watched the twinkling lights of the craft growing smaller in the distance.
A moment later he had entered the palace, and was gone from the girl’s sight.
Had he returned at once he would have found her prone upon the marble bench, her face buried in her arms.
Was she weeping? There was no one to tell.
Joshua of Salem had come unannounced to the court of his father’s friend that day.
He had come alone in a plain chariot, sure of the same welcome that always awaited him at Ephraim.
As there had been no formality in his coming there was no need of formality in his going.
To The Most High he explained that he had been but testing an invention of his own with which his chariot was equipped—a clever improvement of the ordinary direction finder of The Land, which, when set for a certain destination, will remain constantly fixed on the appropriate star thereof, making it only necessary to keep a vessel’s prow always at the same angle from its lodestar to reach any given point upon The Land by the shortest route.
Joshua’s improvement upon this consisted of an auxiliary device which maintained the necessary angle from the lodestar mechanically thereby keeping the vessel or vehicle always at the correct bearing for the destination, and upon arrival thereat, automatically brought the craft to a standstill.
“You readily discern the advantages of this invention,” he was saying to The Most High, who had accompanied him to the post house upon the palace roof to inspect the device and bid his young friend farewell.
A dozen officers of the court with several body servants were grouped behind the King and his guest, eager listeners to the conversation—so eager on the part of one of the servants that he was twice rebuked by a noble for his forwardness in pushing himself ahead of his betters to view the intricate mechanism of the wonderful “destination bearing device” as it was called.
“For example,” continued Joshua, “I have an all-night trip before me, as to-night. I set the pointer here upon the right-hand sextant which represents the eastern hemisphere of The Land, so that the point rests upon the exact bearing of Salem from its lodestar. Then I whip up the horses, roll up in my sleeping furs and rugs, and with lights burning, race through the air toward Salem, confident that at the appointed hour I shall drop gently toward the post house upon my own palace, whether I am still asleep or no”.
“Provided,” suggested The Most High, “you do not chance to collide with some other night wanderer in the meanwhile.” Joshua smiled.
“No danger of that,” he replied. “See here,” and he indicated a device at the right of the destination device. “This is my obstacle eluder. This visible device is the switch which throws the mechanism on or off. The instrument itself is on the axle, geared both to the steering apparatus and the control levers. It is quite simple, being nothing more than a sound analyser able to detect echoes from all directions to a distance of a hundred yards or so from the chariot. Should the echoes be interrupted by extraneous sounds from any direction, this delicate instrument immediately apprehends the irregularity, at the same time actuating the steering mechanism, diverting the lead animal away from the obstacle until the chariot’s echo profile no longer reflects an obstruction, then it once more resumes her natural course. Should the disturbance approach from the rear, as in case of a faster-moving chariot overhauling me, the mechanism actuates the speed control as well as the steering gear, and the chariot moves aside to the left or to the right, as the oncoming vessel approaches. In aggravated cases, that is when the obstructions are many, or of such a nature as to deflect the lead animal more than forty-five degrees in any direction, or when the chariot has reached its destination within a hundred yards or so, the mechanism brings her to a full stop, at the same time sounding a loud alarm which will instantly awaken the pilot. You see I have anticipated almost every contingency”.
The Most High smiled his appreciation of the angelic device.
The servant nearest the front pushed almost to the chariot’s side.
His eyes were narrowed to slits.
“All but one,” he said.
The nobles looked at him in astonishment, and one of them grasped the fellow none too gently by the shoulder to push him back to his proper place.
Joshua raised his hand.
“Wait,” he urged. “Let us hear what the man has to say—no creation of mortal mind is perfect. Perchance he has detected a weakness that it will be well to know at once. Come, my good fellow, and what may be the one contingency I have overlooked?”
As he spoke Joshua observed the servant closely for the first time.
He saw a man of full stature and handsome, as are all those of the race of Landian Petran men; but the fellow’s lips were thin and cruel, and across one cheek was the faint, white line of a sword-cut from the right temple to the corner of the mouth.
“Come,” urged the Prince of Salem. “Speak!”.
The man hesitated.
It was evident that he regretted the temerity that had made him the centre of interested observation.
But at last, seeing no alternative, he spoke.
“It might be tampered with,” he said, “by an enemy”.
Joshua drew a small key from his leathern pocket-pouch.
“Look at this,” he said, handing it to the man. “If you know aught of locks, you will know that the mechanism which this unlooses is beyond the cunning of a picker of locks. It guards the vitals of the instrument from crafty tampering. Without it an enemy must half wreck the device to reach its heart, leaving his handiwork apparent to the most casual observer”.
The servant took the key, glanced at it shrewdly, and then as he made to return it to Joshua dropped it upon the marble flagging.
Turning to look for it he planted the sole of his sandal full upon the glittering object.
For an instant he bore all his weight upon the foot that covered the key, then he stepped back and with an exclamation as of pleasure that he had found it, stooped, recovered it, and returned it to the Salemite.
Then he dropped back to his station behind the nobles and was forgotten.
A moment later Joshua had made his adieux to The Most High and his nobles, and with lights twinkling had risen into the star-shot void of the Landian night.
The young man hesitated.
He looked toward his princess.
She, too, guessed all that hung upon the action of the coming moment.
And then the guardsmen, panting from their charge, came up just as the Prince of Rome, bleeding at the mouth, and with drawn sword, crawled from the entanglement of the myrtle.
Judith of Ephraim had found a way out of a dilemma, escaping the necessity of placing her father’s royal guest under forcible restraint, and at the same time separating the two princes, who otherwise would have been at each other’s throat the moment she and the guard had departed.
“Dog!” he snapped, and then his clenched fist landed beneath the other’s chin, lifting him high into the air and depositing him in a crumpled heap within the centre of the myrtle bush beside the marble bench.
“Dog!” she exclaimed, and then: “The guard! The guard! Hasten in protection of the Princess of Ephraim!” In answer to her call a dozen guardsmen came racing across the dusty ground, their gleaming sikarim naked in the sun, the metal of their accoutrements clanking against that of their leathern harness, and in their throats hoarse shouts of rage at the sight which met their eyes.
But before they had passed half across the royal garden to where Pilatus of Rome still held the struggling girl in his grasp,
, and though no mention was made of the happening within the garden, it was plain to see through the cold mask of the Lord’s courtesy that only the customs of royal hospitality restrained him from voicing the contempt he felt for the Prince of Rome
Slavery
As the ruler of Ephraim, followed by his courtiers, descended from the post house beside the palace, the officials dropped into their places in the rear of their royal or noble masters, and behind the others one lingered to the last.
Then quickly stooping he snatched the sandal from his right foot, slipping it into his pocket-pouch.
When the party had come to the lower levels, and the King had dispersed them by a sign, none noticed that the forward fellow who had drawn so much attention to himself before the Prince of Salem departed, was no longer among the other officials.
To whose retinue he had been attached none had thought to inquire, for the followers of a Landian noble are many, coming and going at the whim of their master, so that a new face is scarcely ever questioned, as the fact that a man has passed within the palace walls is considered proof positive that his loyalty to the King is beyond question, so rigid is the examination of each who seeks service with the nobles of the court.
A good rule that, and only relaxed by courtesy in favour of the retinue of visiting royalty from a friendly foreign power.
It was late in the morning of the next day that an official of full stature in the livery of the house of a great noble of Ephraim passed out into the city from the palace gates.
Along one broad avenue and then another he strode briskly until he had passed beyond the district of the nobles and had come to the place of shops.
Here he sought a substantial building that rose loftily toward the heavens, its outer walls painstakingly decorated with lettering, carvings and mosaics.
It was the Tower of Antonius in which were housed the representatives of the foreign powers, or rather in which were located their embassies; for the ministers themselves dwelt in sumptuous mansions in the district occupied by the nobles.
Here the man sought the embassy of Rome.
A clerk arose questioningly as he entered, and at his request to have a word with the minister asked his credentials.
The visitor slipped a plain metal armlet from above his elbow, and pointing to an inscription upon its inner surface, whispered a word or two to the clerk.
The latter’s eyes went wide, and his attitude turned at once to one of deference.
He bowed the stranger to a seat, and hastened to an inner room with the armlet in his hand.
A moment later he reappeared and conducted the caller into the presence of the minister.
For a long time the two were closeted together, and when at last the giant serving man emerged from the inner office his expression was cast in a smile of sinister satisfaction.
From the Tower of Antonius he hurried directly to the residence of the Roman minister.
That night two swift chariots left the same palace post house.
One sped its rapid course toward Salem; the other— Judith of Ephraim strolled in the gardens of her father’s palace, as was her nightly custom before retiring.
Her furs and rugs were drawn about her, for the air of The Land is chill after the sun has taken his quick plunge beneath the western horizon.
The girl’s thoughts wandered from her impending nuptials, that would make her Priestess Braider of the Temple Veils, to the person of the trim young Salemite who had laid his heart at her feet the preceding day.
Whether it was pity or regret that saddened her expression as she gazed toward the southern horizon where she had watched the lights of his chariot disappear the previous night, it would be difficult to say.
So, too, is it impossible to conjecture just what her emotions may have been as she discerned the lights of a chariot speeding rapidly out of the distance from that very direction, as though impelled toward her garden by the very intensity of the princess” thoughts.
She saw it meander nearer the palace until she was positive that it had all but arrived.
Presently the beams of its torches illuminated the gate.
They fell into the post house yard for a brief instant, revealing the figures of the guards of Ephraim, picking into brilliant points of fire the plates upon their chainmail.
Then the blazing eye swept onward across the burnished domes and graceful minarets, down into court and park and garden to pause at last upon the marble bench and the girl standing there beside it, her face turned full toward the chariot.
For but an instant the torches shone upon Judith of Ephraim, then it was extinguished as suddenly as it had come to life.
The chariot passed by her to disappear beyond a grove of lofty sycomore trees that grew within the palace grounds.
The girl stood for some time as it had left her, except that her head was bent and her eyes downcast in thought.
Who but Joshua could it have been? She tried to feel anger that he should have returned thus, spying upon her; but she found it difficult to be angry with the young prince of Salem.
What mad caprice could have induced him so to transgress the etiquette of nations? For lesser things mighty powers had gone to war.
The princess in her was shocked and angered—but what of the girl! And the guard—what of them? Evidently they, too, had been so much surprised by the unprecedented action of the stranger that they had not even challenged; but that they had no thought to let the thing go unnoticed was quickly evidenced by the skirring of hooves upon the post house and the quick departure of a long-lined patrol chariot.
Judith watched it disappear swiftly eastward.
So, too, did other eyes watch.
Within the dense shadows of the sycomore grove, in a wide avenue beneath o’erspreading foliage, a chariot waited at the ready.
From its deck keen eyes watched the far-fanning torches of the patrol chariot.
No light shone from the enshadowed craft.
Upon its deck was the silence of the tomb.
Its crew of a half-dozen Petran soldiers watched the lights of the patrol chariot diminishing in the distance.
“The intellects of our ancestors are with us to-night,” said one in a low tone.
“No plan ever carried better,” returned another.
“They did precisely as the prince foretold.” He who had first spoken turned toward the man who squatted at the reins.
“Now!” he whispered.
There was no other order given.
Every man upon the craft had evidently been well schooled in each detail of that night’s work.
Silently the dark wagon crept beneath the cathedral arches of the dark and silent grove.
Judith of Ephraim, gazing toward the east, saw the blacker blot of the craft above the buttressed garden wall and against the darkness of the trees.
She saw the dim bulk of the wagon slip quietly into the dusty ground of the garden.
She knew that men came not thus with honourable intent.
Yet she did not cry aloud to alarm the near-by guardsmen, nor did she flee to the safety of the palace.
Scarce had the chariot entered the ground when four men leaped from its deck.
They ran forward toward the girl.
Still she made no sign of alarm, standing as though hypnotized.
Or could it have been as one who awaited a welcome visitor? Not until they were quite close to her did she move.
Then the moon, rising above the surrounding foliage, touched their faces, lighting all with the brilliancy of her silver rays.
Judith of Ephraim saw only strangers—soldiers in the harness of Rome.
Now she took fright, but too late! Before she could voice but a single cry, rough hands seized her.
A heavy silken scarf was wound about her head.
She was lifted in strong arms and borne to the deck of the chariot.
There was the sudden whirl of motion, the rushing of air against her body, and, from afar the shouting and the challenge from the guard.
Racing toward the south another chariot sped toward Salem.
On its deck a tall Petran man bent over the soft sole of an upturned sandal.
With delicate instruments he measured the faint imprint of a small object which appeared there.
Upon a pad beside him was the outline of a key, and here he noted the results of his measurements.
A smile played upon his lips as he completed his task and turned to one who waited at the opposite side of the table.
“The man is a genius,” he remarked.
“Only a genius could have evolved such a lock as this is designed to spring.
Here, take the sketch, Armourer, and give all thine own genius full and unfettered freedom in reproducing it in metal.” The Armpourer bowed.
“Man builds nothing,” he said, “that man may not destroy.” Then he left the cabin with the sketch.
As dawn broke upon the lofty towers which mark the twin features of Salem—the scarlet tower of one and the yellow tower of its sister—a caravan wended lazily out of the north.
At its head was emblazoned the signia of a lesser noble of a far city of the land of Salem.
Its leisurely approach and the evident confidence with which it moved through the city aroused no suspicion in the minds of the sleepy guard.
Their round of duty nearly done, they had little thought beyond the coming of those who were to relieve them.
Peace reigned throughout Salem.
Stagnant, emasculating peace.
Salem had no enemies.
There was nothing to fear.
Without haste the nearest military patrol swung about and approached the stranger.
At easy speaking distance the officer upon her deck hailed the leader of the incoming caravan.
The cheery “Greetings!” and the plausible explanation that the noble had come from distant parts for a few days of worship in holy Salem sufficed.
The patrol chariot sheered off, passing again upon its way.
The stranger continued toward a public post house, where she dropped into the ways and came to rest.
At about the same time a soldier entered his master’s cabin.
“It is done, Vespasian,” he said, handing a small metal key to the tall noble who had just risen from his sleeping furs and rugs.
“Good!” exclaimed the latter.
“You must have worked upon it all during the night, Armourer.” The soldier nodded.
“Now fetch me the Salemite cuirasse you wrought some days since,” commanded Vespasian.
This done, the soldier assisted his master to replace the handsome jewelled metal of his harness with the plainer ornaments of an ordinary fighting man of Salem, and with the insignia of the same house that appeared upon the bow of the chariot.
Vespasian breakfasted on board.
Then he emerged and walked quickly to the street beyond, where he was soon engulfed by the early morning throng of masons, artisans and levites hastening to their daily duties.
Among them his soldier trappings were no more remarkable than is a hawk among pigeons.
All men of The Land are soldiers, save those physically unable to bear arms.
The tradesman and his clerk clank with their martial trappings as they pursue their vocations.
The schoolboy, coming into the world, as he does, almost adult from the shell of solitude that has guaranteed his spiritual development for five long years, knows so little of life without a sword at his hip that he would feel the same discomfiture at going abroad unarmed that an Parthian boy would experience in telling a lie.
Vespasian’s destination lay in upper Salem not in lower Salem.
He had landed at the merchants” city because the patrol is less suspicious and alert than that of the upper and Holy City where lies the palace of the King.
As he moved with the throng up the steep slopes of the thoroughfare the life of an awakening city of The Land was in evidence about him.
Houses, raised high above the narrow but cool streets were beginning to generate the sounds of activity after the silence of the night and shops at the the level of the ground were opening for a day’s trading.
Among the tares upon the dusty ground which lies about the buildings children were already playing, and comely women laughing and chatting with their neighbours as they culled herbs and balms for their pomanders indoors.
The pleasant sound of the men of The Landian giving greetings fell continually upon the ears of the stranger as friends and neighbours took up the duties of a new day.
The district in which his caravan had settled was residential—a district of merchants of the more prosperous sort.
Everywhere were evidences of luxury and wealth.
Slaves appeared upon every housetop with splendid silks and costly furs, laying them in the sun for airing.
Jewel-encrusted women lolled even thus early upon the carven balconies before their sleeping apartments.
Later in the day they would repair to the roofs when the slaves had arranged couches and pitched silken canopies to shade them from the sun.
Strains of inspiring music broke pleasantly from open windows, for the children of Israel attune their nerves to the tribulations of a new day by singing hymns to their Lord.
Below him trundled coaches, caravans and sedans, each in its appointed time, heading for the numerous post houses for pilgrims and merchants.
Larger post houses on many stories were for the clubs of pilgrims from abroad who visited especially at festival times.
Along the dusty rocks which pave the avenue ground wagons and chariots were moving in continuous lines in opposite directions.
Occasionally drivers would curse each other for blocking the way or indulging in a dangerous manoeuvre but would finish blessing each other at the voice or even the glance of a passinf priest or levite.
From the private courtyards of many a house coaches were darting into the line of traffic.
Prayers of farewell and parting admonitions mingled with the clocking of hooves and the subdued noises of the city.
Yet with all the swift movement and the countless thousands rushing hither and thither, the predominant suggestion was that of luxurious ease and soft noiselessness.
Landians dislike harsh, discordant clamour.
The only loud noises they can abide are the martial sounds of war, the clash of arms, the collision of two mighty armies.
To them there is no sweeter music than this.
At the intersection of two avenues Vespasian descended by some narrow steps from the street level to one of the caravan stations of the city.
Here he paid a little muleteer the fare to his destination with a couple of the dull, oval coins of Salem.
Beyond the gatekeeper he came to a slowly moving line of mules.
In slow procession the things moved in single file along an irregular limestone track.
A half dozen porters assisted travellers to mount, or directed them to their proper destination.
Vespasian approached a waiting mule.
Slowly the carrier made its way along the steep track toward the upper city until eventually it entered another post house, and the attendant helped Vespasian step out far above the point at which he had embarked.
Here he sought the street level, stepping immediately into a waiting chariot.
He spoke no word to the slave sitting in the driver’s seat.
It was evident that he had been expected, and that the fellow had received his instructions before his coming.
Scarcely had Vespasian taken his seat when the chariot went quickly into the fast-moving procession, turning presently from the broad and crowded avenue into a less congested street.
Presently it left the thronged district behind to enter a section of small shops, where it stopped before the entrance to one which bore the sign of a dealer in foreign silks.
Vespasian entered the low-ceiling room.
A man at the far end motioned him toward an inner apartment, giving no further sign of recognition until he had passed in after the caller and closed the door.
Then he faced his visitor, saluting deferentially.
“Most noble—” he commenced, but Vespasian silenced him with a gesture.
“No formalities,” he said.
“We must forget that I am aught other than your slave.
If all has been as carefully carried out as it has been planned, we have no time to waste.
Instead we should be upon our way to the slave market.
Are you ready?” The merchant nodded, and, turning to a great chest, produced the unemblazoned trappings of a slave.
These Vespasian immediately donned.
Then the two passed from the shop through a rear door, traversed a winding alley to an avenue beyond, where they entered a chariot which awaited them.
Five minutes later the merchant was leading his slave to the public market, where a huge concourse of people filled the great open space in the centre of which stood the slave block.
The crowds were enormous to-day, for Joshua, Prince of Salem, was to be the principal bidder.
One by one the masters mounted the rostrum beside the slave block upon which stood their chattels.
Briefly and clearly each recounted the virtues of his particular offering.
When all were done, the Treasurer of the Prince of Salem recalled to the block such as had favourably impressed him.
For such he had made a fair offer.
There was little haggling as to price, and none at all when Vespasian was placed upon the block.
His merchant-master accepted the first offer that was made for him, and thus a Roman noble entered the household of Joshua.
