Ben Hur Lew Wallace (black male authors .TXT) 📖

the village of Daphne, in the shade of the palms, Sheik Ilderim the Generous abideth in his tents, and we are his guests. Seek us there. Thou shalt have welcome sweet with the savor of the grateful.”

Ben-Hur was left in wonder at the old man’s clear voice and reverend manner. As he gazed after the two departing, he caught sight of Messala going as he had come, joyous, indifferent, and with a mocking laugh.

IX

As a rule, there is no surer way to the dislike of men than to behave well where they have behaved badly. In this instance, happily, Malluch was an exception to the rule. The affair he had just witnessed raised Ben-Hur in his estimation, since he could not deny him courage and address; could he now get some insight into the young man’s history, the results of the day would not be all unprofitable to good master Simonides.

On the latter point, referring to what he had as yet learned, two facts comprehended it all⁠—the subject of his investigation was a Jew, and the adopted son of a famous Roman. Another conclusion which might be of importance was beginning to formulate itself in the shrewd mind of the emissary; between Messala and the son of the duumvir there was a connection of some kind. But what was it?⁠—and how could it be reduced to assurance? With all his sounding, the ways and means of solution were not at call. In the heat of the perplexity, Ben-Hur himself came to his help. He laid his hand on Malluch’s arm and drew him out of the crowd, which was already going back to its interest in the gray old priest and the mystic fountain.

“Good Malluch,” he said, stopping, “may a man forget his mother?”

The question was abrupt and without direction, and therefore of the kind which leaves the person addressed in a state of confusion. Malluch looked into Ben-Hur’s face for a hint of meaning, but saw, instead, two bright-red spots, one on each cheek, and in his eyes traces of what might have been repressed tears; then he answered, mechanically, “No!” adding, with fervor, “never”; and a moment after, when he began to recover himself, “If he is an Israelite, never!” And when at length he was completely recovered⁠—“My first lesson in the synagogue was the Shema; my next was the saying of the son of Sirach, ‘Honor thy father with thy whole soul, and forget not the sorrows of thy mother.’ ”

The red spots on Ben-Hur’s face deepened.

“The words bring my childhood back again; and, Malluch, they prove you a genuine Jew. I believe I can trust you.”

Ben-Hur let go the arm he was holding, and caught the folds of the gown covering his own breast, and pressed them close, as if to smother a pain, or a feeling there as sharp as a pain.

“My father,” he said, “bore a good name, and was not without honor in Jerusalem, where he dwelt. My mother, at his death, was in the prime of womanhood; and it is not enough to say of her she was good and beautiful: in her tongue was the law of kindness, and her works were the praise of all in the gates, and she smiled at days to come. I had a little sister, and she and I were the family, and we were so happy that I, at least, have never seen harm in the saying of the old rabbi, ‘God could not be everywhere, and, therefore, he made mothers.’ One day an accident happened to a Roman in authority as he was riding past our house at the head of a cohort; the legionaries burst the gate and rushed in and seized us. I have not seen my mother or sister since. I cannot say they are dead or living. I do not know what became of them. But, Malluch, the man in the chariot yonder was present at the separation; he gave us over to the captors; he heard my mother’s prayer for her children, and he laughed when they dragged her away. Hardly may one say which graves deepest in memory, love or hate. Today I knew him afar⁠—and, Malluch⁠—”

He caught the listener’s arm again.

“And, Malluch, he knows and takes with him now the secret I would give my life for: he could tell if she lives, and where she is, and her condition; if she⁠—no, they⁠—much sorrow has made the two as one⁠—if they are dead, he could tell where they died, and of what, and where their bones await my finding.”

“And will he not?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I am a Jew, and he is a Roman.”

“But Romans have tongues, and Jews, though ever so despised, have methods to beguile them.”

“For such as he? No; and, besides, the secret is one of state. All my father’s property was confiscated and divided.”

Malluch nodded his head slowly, much as to admit the argument; then he asked anew, “Did he not recognize you?”

“He could not. I was sent to death in life, and have been long since accounted of the dead.”

“I wonder you did not strike him,” said Malluch, yielding to a touch of passion.

“That would have been to put him past serving me forever. I would have had to kill him, and Death, you know, keeps secrets better even than a guilty Roman.”

The man who, with so much to avenge, could so calmly put such an opportunity aside must be confident of his future or have ready some better design, and Malluch’s interest changed with the thought; it ceased to be that of an emissary in duty bound to another. Ben-Hur was actually asserting a claim upon him for his own sake. In other words, Malluch was preparing to serve him with good heart and from downright admiration.

After brief pause, Ben-Hur resumed speaking.

“I would not take his life, good Malluch; against that extreme the possession of the secret is for the present, at least, his safeguard; yet I may punish him, and