The Silver Chalice (75 page)

Joseph brought up the midday meal. A few moments after he left, four raps were repeated on the door to announce the arrival of Elishama ben Sheshbazzar. The gem merchant looked a little more stately in his person and a great deal easier in his mind. He seated himself near the table while Basil continued with his meal of kidneys stewed in wine and dressed with African figs.

“The turmoil at the palace has subsided somewhat,” reported Elishama. “No evidence of a conspiracy has been uncovered, and the Emperor is beginning to quiet down. It seems that no one came forward to support the charges of this infamous woman. A whisper did reach Nero’s ears about Selech, but at that point the Empress put her foot down. It is said that she spoke quite violently to her royal spouse. ‘These drafty halls in which we have to live are bare and shabby,’ she told him. I shudder at the ugliness of everything and at the smells about the place. All we have to make life supportable is the best cook in the world. Are you going to get rid of him on suspicions?’ Petronius, who knows the real value of Selech better than anyone, supported Poppaea. And so, after much
grumbling and many loud outcries that he stood alone while assassins sharpened their daggers for him, Nero gave in.”

Basil sighed in an intensity of relief. “What happy news you have brought!” he exclaimed. “I was afraid that all who had helped me would be hopelessly entangled.”

“No one seems to know how you escaped from the hall,” said the merchant. “All eyes were on Nero. When he came to the end of his tantrum, they looked for you, and you were gone. The possibility that you were carried out in the pastry cage does not seem to have occurred to anyone.” He was silent for a moment as he offered Basil a dish containing pheasant sausages prepared with garum. “Selech was not called up for questioning. Darius was examined and he showed himself of small resolution, protesting loudly that he was not a Christian. I hear that Nero came around to speaking of you with regret. ‘I shall miss my little genius,’ he said. ‘Unhappy man that I am, compelled to sacrifice friendships in the interests of the state!’ If he continues to feel this way, you might regain your standing with him in time. But he is as capricious of temper as a panther with a thorn in its paw, and I would not advise any effort to return until he gives more certain indications of forgiveness.”

“I must leave Rome at the first possible moment,” declared Basil. “I had little taste for court life at any time, and now I am completely cured of it.”

“Wisely spoken,” said the merchant, nodding his head approvingly. He gave vent to a sigh. “You speak of having no taste for the life of the court. I lack taste for any part of the life I live here. I think it is the same with all the Jews of the Diaspora. They exist in a state of melancholy, quite unreconciled to life so far from the Temple. It is inevitable that we must continue to leave Jerusalem, for the genius of the children of Israel is too strong to be confined to that small strip of land between the Jordan and the sea. It needs the whole world for its expression, and so we move about and set up colonies. We become successful and prosperous, but we are unhappy all the days of our lives. I do as many do who have become rich men; I surround myself with luxury and try to find compensation in that. The doors of my house are made of tortoise shell, the handles are of silver. I partake of food off plates of gold and silver. But it is a small recompense for what I have given up. I sometimes think that I would be happier living in Jerusalem in poverty and obscurity; but if I returned I would soon find myself longing for the fruits of my labors here. There is, in other words, a devil with a pitchfork on each side of me. I can never be happy.” He remained sunk in thought for
some moments. Then he began speaking of other matters. “There will be a meeting of the leaders of the church here tonight to confer with Peter. It had been arranged before you came. Much as I dislike bringing more curious eyes into the house while your safety hangs in the balance, it is too late to think of postponement. There is this also, that the meeting was called to discuss the challenge of Simon the Magician. Further delay is impossible.”

“I saw Peter in a dream last night,” said Basil. “What I was shown confirmed a suspicion that has been in my mind.” Observing a look of apprehension in his host’s eye, he went on to make an explanation. “I know where he is living. I stayed at the inn where he works for a week before being summoned to the palace. I am still at a loss to understand why he chooses to exist under such difficulties.”

“It is easy to understand when you know how bitterly the tide of opinion has been running against us in Rome.” Elishama gave his head a shake of great gravity. “Peter lived at first in the Trans-Tiber, where there is a large Jewish colony. But some months ago Tigellinus adopted a more severe attitude. He began to send his officers throughout the city to ask questions and make lists. It was clear that he wanted the names of all the Christians in Rome. We felt it was unwise, under these circumstances, for Peter to remain openly where he was. It was agreed that he would either have to go into hiding or establish a new identity where he would be free of suspicion. He went to serve with Old Hannibal, whose connection with the faith had never been suspected. He has remained there ever since, content to serve in a menial capacity and to do the bidding of the guests who come and go. The authorities have no idea that this old man who works so patiently is the Peter who is our leader.” He filled his guest’s cup with wine, which was fragrant and well cooled. “You spoke of a dream. I am very much interested, having devoted some time to the study of dreams and trances. Did you see others in this dream?”

“I saw all the disciples who broke bread with Jesus on the last night,” declared Basil. “John was there. I heard him preach at Ephesus and so I was able to recognize him at once. At first there was one vacant place, but as I watched it gradually filled and I—I saw Jesus! I beg of you, O Elishama, not to think I am inventing a tale. I saw the room in the Wall of David and I saw the face of Jesus as clearly as I see yours now. He smiled at me. I looked into His eyes, His grave and understanding eyes.” Basil came to a stop. He must convince his host of the need to see and
speak to Peter. “I hesitate to put such an idea into words, but it is necessary for me to see Cephas when he comes. I have things to tell him. Things that are very important.”

Elishama ben Sheshbazzar considered the matter carefully. “This much I can promise,” he said finally. “That you will see him. The meeting is to be held in my showroom, which is the largest in the house. It has a watching gallery. You see, human nature is frail. Women of wealth and high station are particularly frail when they see beautiful things spread out before them in great profusion. Some of them are certain to become what we call light-fingered. And so it has been the rule with merchants who have large stocks of jewels to have a hidden gallery where watchers can keep an eye on these fashionable customers. My showroom has its gallery, and it will be your privilege to stand there and watch when Peter sits down in consultation with the princes of the church in Rome. I shall whisper in his ear that you are a witness and so you can feel guiltless of eavesdropping.” He paused. “As to speaking with him, that will be for Peter to decide.”

A question had been on the tip of Basil’s tongue from the moment the merchant entered. He had feared to ask it, but now he forced himself to the risk of hearing what he dreaded. “What of Juli-Juli?”

The face of the gem merchant became grave. “The dancer displayed a courage and fortitude in contrast to the weakness of her instructor,” he said. “She refused to give any information. They got nothing from her at all, not a name, not a hint.”

“But——” began Basil, and then stopped. He found it almost impossible to articulate a further question. “But—did she come through the ordeal safely?”

Elishama shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No. That was not to be expected. She refused to yield—and so she died under the torture.”

“Dead!” cried Basil. A feeling of horror had taken possession of him. “How can there be such cruelty in the world?”

“She has been the first to suffer martyrdom. There will be many more as time goes on. We are preparing ourselves for it.”

When he was alone Basil took a few steps blindly in the direction of the window. With unseeing eyes he gazed out over the rooftops shimmering in the midday heat. Everything seemed black and hopeless. Juli-Juli had died to save others from the fate that had overtaken her. That brave little spirit was no more. The light feet that had performed with such gaiety the Dance of the Sandals of Caesar were still.

“O Lord Jehovah,” he whispered in a choked voice, “I hope You did not let her suffer too much, that brave little girl.” Then he raised an arm in a gesture of farewell and called,
“Vale!”

Peering down through the narrow slot in the stone wall, Basil saw Peter seated at the head of the room. The space about the apostle was crowded with people who had eyes for no one else. Since his dream he had known that Cephas was Peter, but in the appearance of the leader of the church there was some room for surprise. The hair and beard of the apostle were snow-white and most benevolently tended and curled. He was dressed in linen of a matching whiteness. But it was a change in his attitude that was most to be remarked. This was not the self-effacing old man of the inn; it was an acknowledged leader, a man who knew how to command, how to make his will accepted. The earnest-faced people who filled the room waited on his words and listened to him as though the departed Jesus spoke with his tongue.

It became apparent that they had been discussing the challenge of Simon Magus, for Peter now said: “We have been too much concerned with this wicked man. He and his knavish tricks will soon cease to be of any consequence.”

“But, Peter,” protested a voice from the end of the room, “you must agree that he has been doing us much harm. People have been wondering, whispering, asking questions. Some have been won away. If we let him do his flying from the high tower he has built without anything being heard from us, men will indeed begin to ask if he has greater powers than those whom Jesus named to act in His stead.”

Another voice spoke earnestly. “It was you, Peter, who said to the lame beggar sitting for alms at the Beautiful Gate, ‘Rise up and walk.’ It was you who raised Tabitha from the dead. Can you not find it in your heart to perform a miracle for the confounding of this persistent gadfly, this wicked Simon? We know that with the mere stretching out of a hand——”

“My brothers,” said Peter, “do you think it the will of the Lord that I so demean the power that has been given to me, among others, that I would use it to put a mere trickster out of countenance before Caesar?”

“All the world will be watching!” cried a third voice. “Watching and listening and drawing conclusions.”

There was a brief silence before Peter spoke again. “Know this, my brethren, that I have never attempted to use the power unless the Lord spoke in my ear and commanded me to do so. Since that night when Simon stood before Nero and said, ‘Pit me against these Christians,’ I have listened. But the Lord has not spoken. I have not heard Him say to me, ‘Arise, Peter, and do that which I command thee, that this man from Samaria shall no longer utter his boasts.’ And, my friends, I have been happy that the Voice has not spoken. I see clearly that it would be wrong to match ourselves against a man who utters abominations and deals in the wicked use of charms and potions.”

“But,” protested one of the listeners, “should he be allowed to fly out from his tower for all Rome to see and marvel at?”

“I do not believe, my good friends,” answered Peter in a voice of sudden finality, “that we should question the will of God in advance. Our faith should be equal to believing this, that He will be watching when Simon Magus steps out on his new Tower of Babel. We should be ready to believe that, whatever happens, it will come about because He willed it.”

Basil, watching and listening eagerly, felt a glow of satisfaction. This was the answer he had expected to hear. It would make no difference if Peter knew that Simon relied on tangible aids and that it would be easy to expose him before the world. The answer would still be the same: The Lord will be watching.

The voice of Elishama ben Sheshbazzar made itself heard. “Peter is right, my friends. Should the lion turn his head to the channering of the hyena?”

Basil began to move along the dark and cramped passage in which he stood, feeling his way from one slit of light to another, and so getting a complete view of the gathering below. He saw the ascetic face of Selech, the nervous and unhappy visage of Demetrius, the beautifully modeled head of Elishama. Beside the latter sat a delicate lady with a face of great sweetness who undoubtedly was his wife. He saw also the round head and uneven shoulders of Mark, who looked a little out of place in a gathering of such gentility and whose frown testified that he was aware of it. On all of the many faces he studied there was the same look of reverence, the same willingness to abide finally by the decisions of the ancient fisherman.

Basil was not aware when the topic of discussion was changed below because at this point he found himself thinking of the tragedy that had occurred. He clenched his hands angrily and said to himself: “Why do I not return and wheedle myself back into the good graces of Nero? Someday, perhaps, I would find myself alone with him and I would say, ‘Caesar, do you remember the girl Juli-Juli, who used your sandals in a dance, and whom you had killed?’ And then I would cut his base, thick throat from one side to the other, and the voice he thinks so golden would be as still as her light feet.” As soon as this thought went through his mind he was conscious of a feeling of guilt. “My conversion cannot yet be complete,” he said to himself in a panic, “since I can still have violence in my heart.” It was not until he reached the slit at the far end of the room and could look down across the assembled company to where Peter sat in his fine white linen that he felt any comfort. “It was Peter,” he said to himself, then, “who drew a sword on the Mount of Olives and smote off the ear of Malchus. It cannot be the will of the Lord that His people should always abstain from anger.”