                     BOOK THIRD.

           "Cleopatra.... Our size of sorrow,
         Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
         As that which makes it.-

              Enter, below, DIOMEDES.

                                   How now? is he dead?
           Diomedes. His death's upon him, but not dead."
                          Antony and Cleopatra (act iv. sc. xiii.).


                      CHAPTER I.

             QUINTIS ARRIUS GOES TO SEA.


THE city of Misenum gave name to the promontory which it crowned,
a few miles south-west of Naples. An account of ruins is all that
remains of it now; yet in the year of our Lord 24- to which it is
desirable to advance the reader- the place was one of the most
important on the western coast of Italy.*


* The Roman government, it will be remembered, had two harbours in
which great fleets were constantly kept- Ravenna and Misenum.


In the year mentioned, a traveller coming to the promontory to
regale himself with the view there offered, would have mounted a wall,
and, with the city at his back, looked over the bay of Neapolis, as
charming then as now; and then, as now, he would have seen the
matchless shore, the smoking cone, the sky and waves so softly, deeply
blue, Ischia here and Capri yonder; from one to the other and back
again, through the purpled air, his gaze would have sported; at
last- for the eyes do weary of the beautiful as the palate with
sweets- at last it would have dropped upon a spectacle which the
modern tourist cannot see- half the reserve navy of Rome astir or at
anchor below him. Thus regarded, Misenum was a very proper place for
three masters to meet, and at leisure parcel the world among them.

In the old time, moreover, there was a gateway in the wall at a
certain point fronting the sea- an empty gateway forming the outlet of
a street which, after the exit, stretched itself, in the form of a
broad mole, out many stadia into the waves.

The watchman on the wall above the gateway was disturbed, one cool
September morning, by a party coming down the street in noisy
conversation. He gave one look, then settled into his drowse again.

There were twenty or thirty persons in the party, of whom the
greater number were slaves with torches which flamed little and smoked
much, leaving on the air the perfume of the Indian nard. The masters
walked in advance arm-in-arm. One of them, apparently fifty years old,
slightly bald, and wearing over his scant locks a crown of laurel,
seemed, from the attentions paid him, the central object of some
affectionate ceremony. They all sported ample togas of white wool
broadly bordered with purple. A glance had sufficed the watchman. He
knew, without question, they were of high rank, and escorting a friend
to ship after a night of festivity. Further explanation will be
found in the conversation they carried on.

"No, my Quintus," said one, speaking to him with the crown, "it is
ill of Fortune to take thee from us so soon. Only yesterday thou didst
return from the seas beyond the Pillars. Why, thou hast not even got
back thy land legs."

"By Castor! if a man may swear a woman's oath," said another,
somewhat worse of wine, "let us not lament. Our Quintus is but going
to find what he lost last night. Dice on a rolling ship is not dice on
shore- eh, Quintus?"

"Abuse not Fortune!" exclaimed a third. "She is not blind or fickle.
At Antium, where our Arrius questions her, she answers him with
nods, and at sea she abides with him, holding the rudder. She takes
him from us, but does not always give him back with a new victory?"

"The Greeks are taking him away," another broke in. "Let us abuse
them, not the gods. In learning to trade, they forgot how to fight."

With these words, the party passed the gateway, and came upon the
mole, with the bay before them beautiful in the morning light. To
the veteran sailor the plash of the waves was like a greeting. He drew
a long breath, as if the perfume of the water were sweeter than that
of the nard, and held his hand aloft.

"My gifts were at Praeneste, not Antium- and see! Wind from the
west. Thanks, O Fortune, my mother!" he said, earnestly.

The friends all repeated the exclamation, and the slaves waved their
torches.

"She comes- yonder!" he continued, pointing to a galley outside
the mole. "What need has a sailor for other mistress? Is your
Lucrece more grateful, my Caius?"

He gazed at the coming ship, and justified his pride. A white sail
was bent to the low mast, and the oars dipped, arose, poised a moment,
then dipped again, with wing-like action, and in perfect time.

"Yes, spare the gods," he said, soberly, his eyes fixed upon the
vessel. "They send us opportunities. Ours the fault if we fail. And as
for the Greeks, you forget, O my Lentulus, the pirates I am going to
punish are Greeks. One victory over them is of more account than a
hundred over the Africans."

"Then thy way is to the AEgean?"

The sailor's eyes were full of his ship.

"What grace, what freedom! A bird hath not less care for the
fretting of the waves. See!" he said, but almost immediately added,
"thy pardon, my Lentulus. I am going to the AEgean; and as my
departure is so near, I will tell the occasion- only keep it under the
rose. I would not that you abuse the duumvir when next you meet him.
He is my friend. The trade between Greece and Alexandria, as ye may
have heard, is hardly inferior to that between Alexandria and Rome.
The people in that part of the world forgot to celebrate the Cerealia,
and Triptolemus paid them with a harvest not worth the gathering. At
all events, the trade is so grown that it will not brook
interruption a day. Ye may also have heard of the Chersonesan pirates,
nested up in the Euxine; none bolder, by the Bacchae! Yesterday word
came to Rome that, with a fleet, they had rowed down the Bosphorus,
sunk the galleys of Byzantium and Chalcedon, swept the Propontis, and,
still unsated, burst through into the AEgean. The corn-merchants who
have ships in the East Mediterranean are frightened. They had audience
with the Emperor himself, and from Ravenna there go to-day a hundred
galleys, and from Misenum"- he paused as if to pique the curiosity
of his friends, and ended with an emphatic- "one."

"Happy Quintus! We congratulate thee!"

"The preferment forerunneth promotion. We salute thee duumvir;
nothing less."

"Quintus Arrius, the duumvir, hath a better sound than Quintus
Arrius, the tribune."

In such manner they showered him with congratulations.

"I am glad with the rest," said the bibulous friend, "very glad; but
I must be practical, O my duumvir; and not until I know if promotion
will help thee to knowledge of the tesserae will I have an opinion
as to whether the gods mean thee ill or good in this- this business."

"Thanks, many thanks!" Arrius replied, speaking to them
collectively. "Had ye but lanterns, I would say ye were augurs.
Perpol! I will go further, and show what master diviners ye are!
See- and read."

From the folds of his toga he drew a roll of paper, and passed it to
them, saying, "Received while at table last night from- Sejanus."

The name was already a great one in the Roman world; great, and
not so infamous as it afterwards became.

"Sejanus!" they exclaimed, with one voice, closing in to read what
the minister had written.


       "Sejanus to C. Caecilius Rufus, Duumvir.

                                             "Rome, XIX. Kal. Sept.

"Caesar hath good report of Quintus Arrius, the tribune. In
particular he hath heard of his valour, manifested in the western
seas; insomuch that it is his will that the said Quintus be
transferred instantly to the East.

"It is our Caesar's will, further, that you cause a hundred
triremes, of the first class, and full appointment, to be despatched
without delay against the pirates who appeared in the AEgean, and that
Quintus be sent to command the fleet so despatched.

"Details are thine, my Caecilius.

"The necessity is urgent, as thou wilt be advised by the reports
enclosed for thy perusal and the information of the said Quintus.


                                                         "SEJANUS."


Arrius gave little heed to the reading. As the ship drew more
plainly out of the perspective, she became more and more an attraction
to him. The look with which he watched her was that of an
enthusiast. At length he tossed the loosened folds of his toga in
the air; in reply to the signal, over the aplustre, or fan-like
fixture at the stern of the vessel, a scarlet flag was displayed;
while several sailors appeared upon the bulwarks, and swung themselves
hand over hand up the ropes to the antenna, or yard, and furled the
sail. The bow was put round, and the time of the oars increased one
half; so that at racing speed she bore down directly towards him and
his friends. He observed the maneuvering with a perceptible
brightening of the eyes. Her instant answer to the rudder, and the
steadiness with which she kept her course, were especially
noticeable as virtues to be relied upon in action.

"By the Nymphae!" said one of the friends, giving back the roll, "we
may not longer say our friend will be great; he is already great.
Our love will now have famous things to feed upon. What more hast thou
for us?"

"Nothing more," Arrius replied. "What ye have of the affair is by
this time old news in Rome, especially between the palace and the
Forum. The duumvir is discreet; what I am to do, where go to find my
fleet, he will tell on the ship, where a sealed package is waiting me.
If, however, ye have offerings for any of the altars to-day, pray
the gods for a friend plying oar and sail somewhere in the direction
of Sicily. But she is here, and will come to," he said, reverting to
the vessel. "I have interest in her masters; they will sail and
fight with me. It is not an easy thing to lay ship side on a shore
like this; so let us judge their training and skill."

"What, is she new to thee?"

"I never saw her before; and, as yet, I know not if she will bring
me one acquaintance."

"Is that well?"

"It matters but little. We of the sea come to know each other
quickly; our loves, like our hates, are born of sudden dangers."

The vessel was of the class called naves liburnicae- long, narrow,
low in the water, and modelled for speed and quick manoeuvre. The
bow was beautiful. A jet of water spun from its foot as she came on,
sprinkling all the prow, which rose in graceful curvature twice a
man's stature above the plane of the deck. Upon the bending of the
sides were figures of Triton blowing shells. Below the bow, fixed to
the keel, and projecting forward under the water-line was the rostrum,
or beak, a device of solid wood, reinforced and armed with iron, in
action used as a ram. A stout moulding extended from the bow the
full length of the ship's sides, defining the bulwarks, which were
tastefully crenelated; below the moulding, in three rows, each covered
with a cap or shield of bull-hide, were the holes in which the oars
were worked- sixty on the right, sixty on the left. In further
ornamentation, caducei leaned against the lofty prow. Two immense
ropes passing across the bow marked the number of anchors stowed on
the foredeck.

The simplicity of the upper works declared the oars the chief
dependence of the crew. A mast, set a little forward of midship, was
held by fore and back stays and shrouds fixed to rings on the inner
side of the bulwarks. The tackle was that required for the
management of one great square sail and the yard to which it was hung.
Above the bulwark the deck was visible.

Save the sailors who had reefed the sail, and yet lingered on the
yard, but one man was to be seen by the party on the mole, and he
stood by the prow helmeted and with a shield.

The hundred and twenty oaken blades, kept white and shining by
pumice and the constant wash of the waves, rose and fell as if
operated by the same hand, and drove the galley forward with a speed
rivalling that of a modern steamer.

So rapidly, and apparently so rashly, did she come that the landsmen
of the tribune's party were alarmed. Suddenly the man by the prow
raised his hand with a peculiar gesture; whereupon all the oars flew
up, poised a moment in air, then fell straight down. The water
boiled and bubbled about them; the galley shook in every timber, and
stopped as if scared. Another gesture of the hand, and again the
oars arose, feathered, and fell; but this time those on the right,
dropped towards the stern, pushed forward; while those on the left,
dropping towards the bow, pulled backward. Three times the oars thus
pushed and pulled against each other. Round to the right the ship
swung as upon a pivot; then, caught by the wind, she settled gently
broadside to the mole.

The movement brought the stern to view, with all its garniture-
Tritons like those at the bow; name in large raised letters; the
rudder at the side; the elevated platform upon which the helmsman sat,
a stately figure in full armour, his hand upon the rudder-rope; and
the aplustre, high, gilt, carved, and bent over the helmsman like a
great runcinate leaf.

In the midst of the rounding-to, a trumpet was blown brief and
shrill, and from the hatchways out poured the marines, all in superb
equipment, brazen helms, burnished shields, and javelins. While the
fighting-men thus went to quarters as for action, the sailors proper
climbed the shrouds and perched themselves along the yard. The
officers and musicians took their posts. There was no shouting or
needless noise. When the oars touched the mole, a bridge was sent
out from the helmsman's deck. Then the tribune turned to his party and
said, with a gravity he had not before shown:

"Duty now, O my friends."

He took the chaplet from his head and gave it to the dice-player.

"Take thou the myrtle, O favourite of the tesserae!" he said. "If
I return, I will seek my sesterce again; if I am not victor, I will
not return. Hang the crown in thy atrium."

To the company he opened his arms, and they came one by one and
received his parting embrace.

"The gods go with thee, O Quintus!" they said.

"Farewell," he replied.

To the slaves waving their torches he waved his hand; then he turned
to the waiting ship, beautiful with ordered ranks and crested helms,
and shields and javelins. As he stepped upon the bridge the trumpets
sounded, and over the aplustre rose the vexillum purpureum, or pennant
of a commander of a fleet.

                      CHAPTER II.

                      AT THE OAR.


THE tribune, standing upon the helmsman's deck with the order of the
duumvir open in his hand, spoke to the chief of the rowers.*


* Called hortator.


"What force hast thou?"

"Of oarsmen, two hundred and fifty-two; ten supernumeraries."

"Making reliefs of- "

"Eighty-four."

"And thy habit?"

"It has been to take off and put on every two hours."

The tribune mused a moment.

"The division is hard, and I will reform it, but not now. The oars
may not rest day or night."

Then to the sailing-master he said,

"The wind is fair. Let the sail help the oars."

When the two thus addressed were gone, he turned to the chief
pilot.*


* Called rector.


"What service hast thou had?"

"Two-and-thirty years."

"In what seas chiefly?"

"Between our Rome and the East."

"Thou art the man I would have chosen."

The tribune looked at his orders again.

"Past the Camponellan cape, the course will be to Messina. Beyond
that, follow the bend of the Calabrian shore till Melito is on thy
left, then- Knowest thou the stars that govern in the Ionian Sea?"

"I know them well."

"Then from Melito course eastward for Cythera. The gods willing, I
will not anchor until in the Bay of Antemona. The duty is urgent. I
rely upon thee."

A prudent man was Arrius- prudent, and of the class which, while
enriching the altars at Praeneste and Antium, was of opinion,
nevertheless, that the favour of the blind goddess depended more
upon the votary's care and judgment than upon his gifts and vows.
All night as master of the feast he had sat at table drinking and
playing; yet the odour of the sea returned him to the mood of the
sailor, and he would not rest until he knew his ship. Knowledge leaves
no room for chances. Having begun with the chief of the rowers, the
sailing-master, and the pilot, in company with the other officers- the
commander of the marines, the keeper of the stores, the master of
the machines, the overseer of the kitchen or fires- he passed
through the several quarters. Nothing escaped his inspection. When
he was through, of the community crowded within the narrow walls he
alone knew perfectly all there was of material preparation for the
voyage and its possible incidents; and, finding the preparation
complete, there was left him but one thing further- thorough knowledge
of the personnel of his command. As this was the most delicate and
difficult part of his task, requiring much time, he set about it his
own way.

At noon that day the galley was skimming the sea off Paestum. The
wind was yet from the west, filling the sail to the master's
content. The watches had been established. On the foredeck the altar
had been set and sprinkled with salt and barley, and before it the
tribune had offered solemn prayers to Jove and to Neptune and all
the Oceanidae, and, with vows, poured the wine and burned the incense.
And now, the better to study his men, he was seated in the great
cabin, a very martial figure.

The cabin, it should be stated, was the central compartment of the
galley, in extent quite sixty-five by thirty feet, and lighted by
three broad hatchways. A row of stanchions ran from end to end,
supporting the roof, and near the centre the mast was visible, all
bristling with axes and spears and javelins. To each hatchway there
were double stairs descending right and left, with a pivotal
arrangement at the top to allow the lower ends to be hitched to the
ceiling; and, as these were now raised, the compartment had the
appearance of a sky-lighted hall.

The reader will understand readily that this was the heart of the
ship, the home of all aboard- eating-room, sleeping-chamber, field
of exercise, lounging-place off duty- uses made possible by the laws
which reduced life there to minute details and a routine relentless as
death.

At the after-end of the cabin there was a platform, reached by
several steps. Upon it the chief of the rowers sat; in front of him
a sounding-table, upon which, with a gavel, he beat time for the
oarsmen; at his right a clepsydra, or water-clock, to measure the
reliefs and watches. Above him, on a higher platform, well guarded
by gilded railing, the tribune had his quarters, overlooking
everything, and furnished with a couch, a table, and a cathedra, or
chair, cushioned, and with arms and high back- articles which the
imperial dispensation permitted of the utmost elegance.

Thus at ease, lounging in the great chair, swaying with the motion
of the vessel, the military cloak half draping his tunic, sword in
belt, Arrius kept watchful eye over his command, and was as closely
watched by them. He saw critically everything in view, but dwelt
longest upon the rowers. The reader would doubtless have done the
same; only he would have looked with much sympathy, while, as is the
habit with masters, the tribune's mind ran forward of what he saw,
inquiring for results.

The spectacle was simple enough of itself. Along the sides of the
cabin, fixed to the ship's timbers, were what at first appeared to
be three rows of benches; a closer view, however, showed them a
succession of rising banks, in each of which the second bench was
behind and above the first one, and the third above and behind the
second. To accommodate the sixty rowers on a side, the space devoted
to them permitted nineteen banks separated by intervals of one yard,
with a twentieth bank divided so that what would have been its upper
seat or bench was directly above the lower seat of the first bank. The
arrangement gave each rower when at work ample room, if he timed his
movements with those of his associates, the principle being that of
soldiers marching with cadenced step in close order. The arrangement
also allowed a multiplication of banks, limited only by the length
of the galley.

As to the rowers, those upon the first and second benches sat, while
those upon the third, having longer oars to work, were suffered to
stand. The oars were loaded with lead in the handles, and near the
point of balance hung to pliable thongs, making possible the
delicate touch called feathering, but, at the same time, increasing
the need of skill, since an eccentric wave might at any moment catch a
heedless fellow and hurl him from his seat. Each oar-hole was a vent
through which the labourer opposite it had his plenty of sweet air.
Light streamed down upon him from the grating which formed the floor
of the passage between the deck and the bulwark over his head. In some
respects, therefore, the condition of the men might have been much
worse. Still, it must not be imagined that there was any
pleasantness in their lives. Communication between them was not
allowed. Day after day they filled their places without speech; in
hours of labour they could not see each other's faces; their short
respites were given to sleep and the snatching of food. They never
laughed; no one ever heard one of them sing. What is the use of
tongues when a sigh or a groan will tell all men feel while, perforce,
they think in silence? Existence with the poor wretches was like a
stream under ground sweeping slowly, laboriously on to its outlet,
wherever that might chance to be.

O Son of Mary! The sword has now a heart- and thine the glory! So
now; but, in the days of which we are writing, for captivity there was
drudgery on walls, and in the streets and mines, and the galleys
both of war and commerce were insatiable. When Druilius won the
first sea-fight for his country, Romans plied the oars, and the
glory was to the rower not less than the marine. These benches which
now we are trying to see as they were testified to the change come
with conquest, and illustrated both the policy and the prowess of
Rome. Nearly all the nations had sons there, mostly prisoners of
war, chosen for their brawn and endurance. In one place a Briton;
before him a Libyan; behind him a Crimean. Elsewhere a Scythian, a
Gaul, and a Thebasite. Roman convicts cast down to consort with
Goths and Longobardi, Jews, Ethiopians, and barbarians from the shores
of Maeotis. Here an Athenian, there a red-haired savage from Hibernia,
yonder blue-eyed giants of the Cimbri.

In the labour of the rowers there was not enough art to give
occupation to their minds, rude and simple as they were. The reach
forward, the pull, the feathering, the blade, the dip, were all
there was of it; motions most perfect when most automatic. Even the
care forced upon them by the sea outside grew in time to be a thing
instinctive rather than of thought. So, as the result of long service,
the poor wretches became imbruted- patient, spiritless, obedient-
creatures of vast muscle and exhausted intellects, who lived upon
recollections generally few but dear, and at last lowered into the
semi-conscious alchemic state wherein misery turns to habit, and the
soul takes on incredible endurance.

From right to left, hour after hour, the tribune, swaying in his
easy-chair, turned with thought of everything rather than the
wretchedness of the slaves upon the benches. Their motions, precise,
and exactly the same on both sides of the vessel, after a while became
monotonous; and then he amused himself singling out individuals.
With his stylus he made note of objections, thinking, if all went
well, he would find among the pirates of whom he was in search
better men for the places.

There was no need of keeping the proper names of the slaves
brought to the galleys as to their graves; so, for convenience, they
were usually identified by the numerals painted upon the benches to
which they were assigned. As the sharp eyes of the great man moved
from seat to seat on either hand, they came at last to number sixty,
which, as has been said, belonged properly to the last bank on the
left-hand side, but, wanting room aft, had been fixed above the
first bench of the first bank. There they rested.

The bench of number sixty was slightly above the level of the
platform, and but a few feet away. The light glinting through the
grating over his head gave the rower fairly to the tribune's view-
erect, and, like all his fellows, naked, except a cincture about the
loins. There were, however, some points in his favour. He was very
young, not more than twenty. Furthermore, Arrius was not merely
given to dice; he was a connoisseur of men physically, and when ashore
indulged a habit of visiting the gymnasia to see and admire the most
famous athletae. From some professor, doubtless, he had caught the
idea that strength was as much of the quality as the quantity of the
muscle, while superiority in performance required a certain mind as
well as strength. Having adopted the doctrine, like most men with a
hobby, he was always looking for illustrations to support it.

The reader may well believe that while the tribune, in the search
for the perfect, was often called upon to stop and study, he was
seldom perfectly satisfied- in fact, very seldom held as long as on
this occasion.

In the beginning of each movement of the oar, the rower's body and
face were brought into profile view from the platform; the movement
ended with the body reversed, and in a pushing posture. The grace
and ease of the action at first suggested a doubt of the honesty of
the effort put forth; but it was speedily dismissed; the firmness with
which the oar was held while in the reach forward, its bending under
the push, were proofs of the force applied; not that only, they as
certainly proved the rower's art, and put the critic in the great
arm-chair in search of the combination of strength and cleverness
which was the central idea of his theory.

In course of the study, Arrius observed the subject's youth;
wholly unconscious of tenderness on that account, he also observed
that he seemed of good height, and that his limbs, upper and nether,
were singularly perfect. The arms, perhaps, were too long, but the
objection was well hidden under a mass of muscle which, in some
movements, swelled and knotted like kinking cords. Every rib in the
round body was discernible; yet the leanness was the healthful
reduction so strained after in the palaestrae. And altogether there
was in the rower's action a certain harmony which, besides
addressing itself to the tribune's theory, stimulated both his
curiosity and general interest.

Very soon he found himself waiting to catch a view of the man's face
in full. The head was shapely, and balanced upon a neck broad at the
base, but of exceeding pliancy and grace. The features in profile were
of Oriental outline, and of that delicacy of expression which has
always been thought a sign of blood and sensitive spirit. With these
observations, the tribune's interest in the subject deepened.

"By the gods," he said to himself, "the fellow impresses me! He
promises well. I will know more of him."

Directly the tribune caught the view he wished- the rower turned and
looked at him.

"A Jew! and a boy!"

Under the gaze then fixed steadily upon him, the large eyes of the
slave grew larger- the blood surged to his very brows- the blade
lingered in his hands. But instantly, with an angry crash, down fell
the gavel of the hortator. The rower started, withdrew his face from
the inquisitor, and, as if personally chidden, dropped the oar half
feathered. When he glanced again at the tribune, he was vastly more
astonished- he was met with a kindly smile.

Meantime the galley entered the Straits of Messina, and, skimming
past the city of that name, was after a while turned eastward, leaving
the cloud over AEtna in the sky astern.

Often as Arrius returned to his platform in the cabin he returned to
study the rower, and he kept saying to himself, "The fellow hath a
spirit. A Jew is not a barbarian. I will know more of him."

                      CHAPTER III.

              ARRIUS AND BEN-HUR ON DECK.


THE fourth day out, and the Astraea- so the galley was named-
speeding through the Ionian Sea. The sky was clear, and the wind
blew as if bearing the good-will of all the gods.

As it was possible to overtake the fleet before reaching the bay
east of the island of Cythera, designated for assemblage, Arrius,
somewhat impatient, spent much time on deck. He took note diligently
of matters pertaining to his ship, and, as a rule, was well pleased.
In the cabin, swinging in the great chair, his thought continually
reverted to the rower on number sixty.

"Knowest thou the man just come from yon bench?" he at length
asked of the hortator.

A relief was going on at the moment.

"From number sixty?" returned the chief.

"Yes."

The chief looked sharply at the rower then going forward.

"As thou knowest," he replied, "the ship is but a month from the
maker's hand, and the men are as new to me as the ship."

"He is a Jew," Arrius remarked, thoughtfully.

"The noble Quintus is shrewd."

"He is very young," Arrius continued.

"But our best rower," said the other. "I have seen his oar bend
almost to breaking."

"Of what disposition is he?"

"He is obedient; further I know not. Once he made request of me."

"For what?"

"He wishes me to change him alternately from the right to the left."

"Did he give a reason?"

"He had observed that the men who are confined to one side become
misshapen. He also said that some day of storm or battle there might
be sudden need to change him, and he might then be unserviceable."

"Perpol! The idea is new. What else hast thou observed of him?"

"He is cleanly above his companions."

"In that he is Roman," said Arrius, approvingly. "Have you nothing
of his history?"

"Not a word."

The tribune reflected awhile, and turned to go to his own seat.

"If I should be on deck when his time is up," he paused to say,
"send him to me. Let him come alone."

About two hours later Arrius stood under the aplustre of the galley;
in the mood of one who, seeing himself carried swiftly towards an
event of mighty import, has nothing to do but wait- the mood in
which philosophy vests an even-minded man with the utmost calm, and is
ever so serviceable. The pilot sat with a hand upon the rope by
which the rudder paddles, one on each side of the vessel, were
managed. In the shade of the sail some sailors lay asleep, and up on
the yard there was a look-out. Lifting his eyes from the solarium
set under the aplustre for reference in keeping the course, Arrius
beheld the rower approaching.

"The chief called thee the noble Arrius, and said it was thy will
that I should seek thee here. I am come."

Arrius surveyed the figure, tall, sinewy, glistening in the sun, and
tinted by the rich red blood within- surveyed it admiringly, and
with a thought of the arena; yet the manner was not without effect
upon him: there was in the voice a suggestion of life at least
partly spent under refining influences; the eyes were clear and
open, and more curious than defiant. To the shrewd, demanding,
masterful glance bent upon it, the face gave back nothing to mar its
youthful comeliness- nothing of accusation or sullenness or menace,
only the signs which a great sorrow long borne imprints, as time
mellows the surface of pictures. In tacit acknowledgment of the
effect, the Roman spoke as an older man to a younger, not as a
master to a slave.

"The hortator tells me thou art his best rower."

"The hortator is very kind," the rower answered.

"Hast thou seen much service?"

"About three years."

"At the oars?"

"I cannot recall a day of rest from them."

"The labour is hard; few men bear it a year without breaking, and
thou- thou art but a boy."

"The noble Arrius forgets that the spirit hath much to do with
endurance. By its help the weak sometimes thrive, when the strong
perish."

"From thy speech, thou art a Jew."

"My ancestors further back than the first Roman were Hebrews."

"The stubborn pride of thy race is not lost in thee," said Arrius,
observing a flush upon the rower's face.

"Pride is never so loud as when in chains."

"What cause hast thou for pride?"

"That I am a Jew."

Arrius smiled.

"I have not been to Jerusalem," he said; "but I have heard of its
princes. I knew one of them. He was a merchant, and sailed the seas.
He was fit to have been a king. Of what degree art thou?"

"I must answer thee from the bench of a galley. I am of the degree
of slaves. My father was a prince of Jerusalem, and, as a merchant, he
sailed the seas. He was known and honoured in the guest-chamber of the
great Augustus."

"His name?"

"Ithanar, of the house of Hur."

The tribune raised his hand in astonishment.

"A son of Hur- thou?"

After a silence, he asked,

"What brought thee here?"

Judah lowered his head, and his breast laboured hard. When his
feelings were sufficiently mastered, he looked the tribune in the
face, and answered,

"I was accused of attempting to assassinate Valerius Gratus, the
procurator."

"Thou!" cried Arrius, yet more amazed, and retreating a step.
"Thou that assassin! All Rome rang with the story. It came to my
ship in the river by Lodinum."

The two regarded each other silently.

"I thought the family of Hur blotted from the earth," said Arrius,
speaking first,

A flood of tender recollections carried the young man's pride
away; tears shone upon his cheeks.

"Mother- mother! And my little Tirzah! Where are they? O tribune,
noble tribune, if thou knowest anything of them"- he clasped his hands
in appeal- "tell me all thou knowest. Tell me if they are living- if
living, where are they? and in what condition? Oh, I pray thee, tell
me!"

He drew nearer Arrius, so near that his hands touched the cloak
where it dropped from the latter's folded arms.

"The horrible day is three years gone," he continued- "three
years, O tribune, and every hour a whole lifetime of misery- a
lifetime in a bottomless pit with death, and no relief but in
labour- and in all that time not a word from anyone, not a whisper.
Oh, if, in being forgotten, we could only forget! If only I could hide
from that scene- my sister torn from me, my mother's last look! I have
felt the plague's breath, and the shock of ships in battle; I have
heard the tempest lashing the sea, and laughed, though others
prayed: death would have been a riddance. Bend the oar- yes, in the
strain of mighty effort trying to escape the haunting of what that day
occurred, Think what little will help me. Tell me they are dead, if no
more, for happy they cannot be while I am lost. I have heard them call
me in the night; I have seen them on the water walking. Oh, never
anything so true as my mother's love! And Tirzah- her breath was as
the breath of white lilies. She was the youngest branch of the palm-
so fresh, so tender, so graceful, so beautiful! She made my day all
morning. She came and went in music. And mine was the hand that laid
them low! I- "

"Dost thou admit thy guilt?" asked Arrius, sternly.

The change that came upon Ben-Hur was wonderful to see, it was so
instant and extreme. The voice sharpened; the hands arose
tight-clenched; every fibre thrilled; his eyes flamed.

"Thou hast heard of the God of my fathers," he said; "of the
infinite Jehovah. By his truth and almightiness, and by the love
with which he hath followed Israel from the beginning, I swear I am
innocent!"

The tribune was much moved.

"O noble Roman!" continued Ben-Hur, "give me a little faith, and,
into my darkness, deeper darkening every day, send a light!"

Arrius turned away, and walked the deck.

"Didst thou not have a trial?" he asked, stopping suddenly.

"No!"

The Roman raised his head, surprised.

"No trial- no witnesses! Who passed judgment upon thee?"

Romans, it should be remembered, were at no time such lovers of
the law and its forms as in the ages of their decay.

"They bound me with cords, and dragged me to a vault in the Tower. I
saw no one. No one spoke to me. Next day soldiers took me to the
seaside. I have been a galley-slave ever since."

"What couldst thou have proven?"

"I was a boy, too young to be a conspirator. Gratus was a stranger
to me. If I had meant to kill him, that was not the time or the place.
He was riding in the midst of a legion, and it was broad day. I
could not have escaped. I was of a class most friendly to Rome. My
father had been distinguished for his services to the emperor. We
had a great estate to lose. Ruin was certain to myself, my mother,
my sister. I had no cause for malice, while every consideration-
property, family, life, conscience, the Law- to a son of Israel as the
breath of his nostrils- would have stayed my hand, though the foul
intent had been ever so strong. I was not mad. Death was preferable to
shame; and, believe me, I pray it is so yet."

"Who was with thee when the blow was struck?"

"I was on the house-top- my father's house. Tirzah was with me at my
side- the soul of gentleness. Together we leaned over the parapet to
see the legion pass. A tile gave way under my hand, and fell upon
Gratus. I thought I had killed him. Ah, what horror I felt!"

"Where was thy mother?"

"In her chamber below."

"What became of her?"

Ben-Hur clenched his hands, and drew a breath like a gasp.

"I do not know. I saw them drag her away- that's all I know. Out
of the house they drove every living thing, even the dumb cattle,
and they sealed the gates. The purpose was that she should not return.
I, too, ask for her. Oh for one word! She, at least, was innocent. I
can forgive- but I pray thy pardon, noble tribune! A slave like me
should not talk of forgiveness or of revenge. I am bound to an oar for
life."

Arrius listened intently. He brought all his experience with
slaves to his aid. If the feeling shown in this instance were assumed,
the acting was perfect; on the other hand, if it were real, the
Jew's innocence might not be doubted; and if he were innocent, with
what blind fury the power had been exercised! A whole family blotted
out to atone an accident! The thought shocked him.

There is no wiser providence than that our occupations, however rude
or bloody, cannot wear us out morally; that such qualities as
justice and mercy, if they really possess us, continue to live on
under them, like flowers under the snow. The tribune could be
inexorable, else he had not been fit for the usages of his calling; he
could also be just; and to excite his sense of wrong was to put him in
the way to right the wrong. The crews of the ships in which he
served came after a time to speak of him as the good tribune. Shrewd
readers will not want a better definition of his character.

In this instance there were many circumstances certainly in the
young man's favour, and some to be supposed. Possibly Arrius knew
Valerius Gratus without loving him. Possibly he had known the elder
Hur. In the course of his appeal Judah had asked him of that, and,
as will be noticed, he had made no reply.

For once the tribune was at loss, and hesitated. His power was
ample. He was monarch of the ship. His prepossessions all moved him to
mercy. His faith was won. Yet, he said to himself, there was no haste-
or, rather, there was haste to Cythera; the best rower could not
then be spared; he would wait; he would learn more; he would at
least be sure this was the prince Ben-Hur, and that he was of a
right disposition. Ordinarily slaves were liars.

"It is enough," he said aloud. "Go back to thy place."

Ben-Hur bowed, looked once more into the master's face, but saw
nothing for hope. He turned away slowly, looked back, and said-

"If thou dost think of me again, O tribune, let it not be lost in
thy mind that I prayed thee only for word of my people- mother,
sister."

He moved on.

Arrius followed him with admiring eyes.

"Perpol!" he thought. "With teaching, what a man for the arena! What
a runner! Ye gods! what an arm for the sword or the cestus!- Stay!" he
said aloud.

Ben-Hur stopped, and the tribune went to him.

"If thou wert free, what wouldst thou do?"

"The noble Arrius mocks me!" Judah said, with trembling lips.

"No; by the gods, no!"

"Then I will answer gladly. I would give myself to duty the first of
life. I would know no other. I would know no rest until my mother
and Tirzah were restored to home. I would give every day and hour to
their happiness. I would wait upon them; never a slave more
faithful. They have lost much, but, by the God of my fathers, I
would find them more!"

The answer was unexpected by the Roman. For a moment he lost his
purpose.

"I spoke to thy ambition," he said, recovering. "If thy mother and
sister were dead, or not to be found, what wouldst thou do?"

A distinct pallor overspread Ben-Hur's face, and he looked over
the sea. There was a struggle with some strong feeling; when it was
conquered, he turned to the tribune.

"What pursuit would I follow?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Tribune, I will tell thee truly. Only the night before the dreadful
day of which I have spoken, I obtained permission to be a soldier. I
am of the same mind yet; and, as in all the earth there is but one
school of war, thither I would go."

"The Palaestra!" exclaimed Arrius.

"No; a Roman camp."

"But thou must first acquaint thyself with the use of arms."

Now a master may never safely advise a slave. Arrius saw his
indiscretion, and, in a breath, chilled his voice and manner.

"Go now," he said, "and do not build upon what has passed between
us. Perhaps I do but play with thee. Or,"- he looked away musingly-
"or, if thou dost think of it with any hope, choose between the renown
of a gladiator and the service of a soldier. The former may come of
the favour of the emperor; there is no reward for thee in the
latter. Thou art not a Roman. Go!"

A short while after Ben-Hur was upon his bench again.

A man's task is always light if his heart is light. Handling the oar
did not seem so toilsome to Judah. A hope had come to him, like a
singing bird. He could hardly see the visitor or hear its song; that
it was there, though, he knew; his feelings told him so. The caution
of the tribune- "Perhaps I do but play with thee"- was dismissed often
as it recurred to his mind. That he had been called by the great man
and asked his story was the bread upon which he fed his hungry spirit.
Surely something good would come of it. The light about his bench
was clear and bright with promises, and he prayed-

"O God! I am a true son of the Israel thou hast so loved! Help me, I
pray thee!"

                      CHAPTER IV.

                       "No. 60".


IN the Bay of Antemona, east of Cythera the island, the hundred
galleys assembled. There the tribune gave one day to inspection. He
sailed then to Naxos, the largest of the Cyclades, midway the coasts
of Greece and Asia, like a great stone planted in the centre of a
highway, from which he could challenge everything that passed; at
the same time he would be in position to go after the pirates
instantly, whether they were in the AEgean or out on the
Mediterranean.

As the fleet, in order, rowed in towards the mountain shores of
the island, a galley was descried coming from the north. Arrius went
to meet it. She proved to be a transport just from Byzantium, and from
her commander he learned the particulars of which he stood in most
need.

The pirates were from all the farther shores of the Euxine. Even
Tanais, at the mouth of the river which was supposed to feed Palus
Maeotis, was represented among them. Their preparations had been
with the greatest secrecy. The first known of them was their
appearance off the entrance to the Thracian Bosphorus, followed by the
destruction of the fleet in station there. Thence to the outlet of the
Hellespont everything afloat had fallen their prey. There were quite
sixty galleys in the squadron, all well manned and supplied. A few
were biremes, the rest stout triremes. A Greek was in command, and the
pilots, said to be familiar with all the Eastern seas, were Greek. The
plunder had been incalculable. The panic, consequently, was not on the
sea alone; cities, with closed gates, sent their people nightly to the
walls. Traffic had almost ceased.

Where were the pirates now?

To this question, of most interest to Arrius, he received answer.

After sacking Hephaestia, on the island of Lemnos, the enemy had
coursed across to the Thessalian group, and, by last account,
disappeared in the gulfs between Euboea and Hellas.

Such were the tidings.

Then the people of the island, drawn to the hill-tops by the rare
spectacle of a hundred ships careering in united squadron, beheld
the advance division suddenly turn to the north, and the others
follow, wheeling upon the same point like cavalry in a column. News of
the piratical descent had reached them, and now, watching the white
sails until they faded from sight up between Rhene and Syros, the
thoughtful among them took comfort, and were grateful. What Rome
seized with strong hand she always defended: in return for their
taxes, she gave them safety.

The tribune was more than pleased with the enemy's movements; he was
doubly thankful to Fortune. She had brought swift and sure
intelligence, and had lured his foes into the waters where, of all
others, destruction was most assured. He knew the havoc one galley
could play in a broad sea like the Mediterranean, and the difficulty
of finding and overhauling her; he knew, also, how those very
circumstances would enhance the service and glory if, at one blow,
he could put a finish to the whole piratical array.

If the reader will take a map of Greece and the AEgean, he will
notice the island of Euboea lying along the classic coast like a
rampart against Asia, leaving a channel between it and the continent
quite a hundred and twenty miles in length, and scarcely an average of
eight in width. The inlet on the north had admitted the fleet of
Xerxes, and now it received the bold raiders from the Euxine. The
towns along the Pelasgic and Meliac gulfs were rich and their
plunder seductive. All things considered, therefore, Arrius judged
that the robbers might be found somewhere below Thermopylae. Welcoming
the chance, he resolved to enclose them north and south, to do which
not an hour could be lost; even the fruits and wines and women of
Naxos must be left behind. So he sailed away without stop or tack
until, a little before nightfall, Mount Ocha was seen upreared against
the sky, and the pilot reported the Euboean coast.

At a signal the fleet rested upon its oars. When the movement was
resumed, Arrius led a division of fifty of the galleys, intending to
take them up the channel, while another division, equally strong,
turned their prows to the outer or seaward side of the island, with
orders to make all haste to the upper inlet, and descend sweeping
the waters.

To be sure, neither division was equal in number to the pirates; but
each had advantages in compensation, among them, by no means least,
a discipline impossible to a lawless horde, however brave. Besides, it
was a shrewd count on the tribune's side, if, peradventure, one should
be defeated, the other would find the enemy shattered by his
victory, and in condition to be easily overwhelmed.

Meanwhile Ben-Hur kept his bench, relieved every six hours. The rest
in the Bay of Antemona had freshened him, so that the oar was not
troublesome, and the chief on the platform found no fault.

People, generally, are not aware of the ease of mind there is in
knowing where they are, and where they are going. The sensation of
being lost is a keen distress; still worse is the feeling one has in
driving blindly into unknown places. Custom had dulled the feeling
with Ben-Hur, but only measurably. Pulling away hour after hour,
sometimes days and nights together, sensible all the time that the
galley was gliding swiftly along some of the many tracks of the
broad sea, the longing to know where he was, and whither going, was
always present with him; but now it seemed quickened by the hope which
had come to new life in his breast since the interview with the
tribune. The narrower the abiding-place happens to be, the more
intense is the longing; and so he found. He seemed to hear every sound
of the ship in labour, and listened to each one as if it were a
voice come to tell him something; he looked to the grating overhead,
and through it into the light of which so small a portion was his,
expecting, he knew not what; and many times he caught himself on the
point of yielding to the impulse to speak to the chief on the
platform, than which no circumstance of battle would have astonished
that dignitary more.

In his long service, by watching the shifting of the meagre sunbeams
upon the cabin floor when the ship was under way, he had come to know,
generally, the quarter into which she was sailing. This, of course,
was only of clear days like those good fortune was sending the
tribune. The experience had not failed him in the period succeeding
the departure from Cythera. Thinking they were tending towards the old
Judean country, he was sensitive to every variation from the course.
With a pang, he had observed the sudden change northward which, as has
been noticed, took place near Naxos: the cause, however, he could
not even conjecture; for it must be remembered that, in common with
his fellow-slaves, he knew nothing of the situation, and had no
interest in the voyage. His place was at the oar, and he was held
there inexorably, whether at anchor or under sail. Once only in
three years had he been permitted an outlook from the deck. The
occasion we have seen. He had no idea that, following the vessel he
was helping drive, there was a great squadron close at hand and in
beautiful order; no more did he know the object of which it was in
pursuit.

When the sun, going down, withdrew his last ray from the cabin,
the galley still held northward. Night fell, yet Ben-Hur could discern
no change. About that time the smell of incense floated down the
gangways from the deck.

"The tribune is at the altar," he thought. "Can it be we are going
into battle?"

He became observant.

Now he had been in many battles without having seen one. From his
bench he had heard them above and about him, until he was familiar
with all their notes, almost as a singer with a song. So, too, he
had become acquainted with many of the preliminaries of an engagement,
of which, with a Roman as well as a Greek, the most invariable was the
sacrifice to the gods. The rites were the same as those performed at
the beginning of a voyage, and to him, when noticed, they were
always an admonition.

A battle, it should be observed, possessed for him and his
fellow-slaves of the oar an interest unlike that of the sailor and
marine; it came, not of the danger encountered, but of the fact that
defeat, if survived, might bring an alteration of condition-
possibly freedom- at least a change of masters, which might be for the
better.

In good time the lanterns were lighted and hung by the stairs, and
the tribune came down from the deck. At his word the marines put on
their armour. At his word again, the machines were looked to, and
spears, javelins, and arrows, in great sheaves, brought and laid
upon the floor, together with jars of inflammable oil, and baskets
of cotton balls wound loose like the wicking of candles. And when,
finally, Ben-Hur saw the tribune mount his platform and don his
armour, and get his helmet and shield out, the meaning of the
preparations might not be any longer doubted, and he made ready for
the last ignominy of his service.

To every bench, as a fixture, there was a chain with heavy
anklets. These the hortator proceeded to lock upon the oarsmen,
going from number to number, leaving no choice but to obey, and, in
event of disaster, no possibility of escape.

In the cabin, then, a silence fell, broken, at first, only by the
sough of the oars turning in the leathern cases. Every man upon the
benches felt the shame, Ben-Hur more keenly than his companions. He
would have put it away at any price. Soon the clanking of the
fetters notified him of the progress the chief was making in his
round. He would come to him in turn; but would not the tribune
interpose for him?

The thought may be set down to vanity or selfishness, as the
reader pleases; it certainly, at that moment, took possession of
Ben-Hur. He believed the Roman would interpose; anyhow, the
circumstance would test the man's feelings. If, intent upon the
battle, he would but think of him, it would be proof of his opinion
formed- proof that he had been tacitly promoted above his associates
in misery- such proof as would justify hope.

Ben-Hur waited anxiously. The interval seemed like an age. At
every turn of the oar he looked towards the tribune, who, his simple
preparations made, lay down upon the couch and composed himself to
rest; whereupon number sixty chid himself, and laughed grimly, and
resolved not to look that way again.

The hortator approached. Now he was at number one- the rattle of the
iron links sounded horribly. At last number sixty! Calm from
despair, Ben-Hur held his oar at poise, and gave his foot to the
officer. Then the tribune stirred- sat up- beckoned to the chief.

A strong revulsion seized the Jew. From the hortator the great man
glanced at him; and when he dropped his oar all the section of the
ship on his side seemed aglow. He heard nothing of what was said;
enough that the chain hung idly from its staple in the bench, and that
the chief, going to his seat, began to beat the sounding-board. The
notes of the gavel were never so like music. With his breast against
the leaded handle, he pushed with all his might- pushed until the
shaft bent as if about to break.

The chief went to the tribune, and, smiling, pointed to number
sixty.

"What strength!" he said.

"And what spirit!" the tribune answered. "Perpol! He is better
without the irons. Put them on him no more."

So saying, he stretched himself upon the couch again.

The ship sailed on hour after hour under the oars in water
scarcely rippled by the wind. And the people not on duty slept, Arrius
in his place, the marines on the floor.

Once- twice- Ben-Hur was relieved; but he could not sleep. Three
years of night, and through the darkness a sunbeam at last! At sea
adrift and lost, and now land! Dead so long, and, lo! the thrill and
stir of resurrection. Sleep was not for such an hour. Hope deals
with the future; now and the past are but servants that wait on her
with impulse and suggestive circumstance. Starting from the favour
of the tribune, she carried him forward indefinitely. The wonder is,
not that things so purely imaginative as the results she points us
to can make us so happy, but that we can receive them as so real. They
must be as gorgeous poppies under the influence of which, under the
crimson and purple and gold, reason lies down the while, and is not.
Sorrows assuaged; home and the fortunes of his house restored;
mother and sister in his arms once more- such were the central ideas
which made him happier that moment than he had ever been. That he
was rushing, as on wings, into horrible battle had, for the time,
nothing to do with his thoughts. The things thus in hope were
unmixed with doubts- they were. Hence his joy so full, so perfect,
there was no room in his heart for revenge. Messala, Gratus, Rome, and
all the bitter, passionate memories connected with them, were as
dead plagues- miasms of the earth above which he floated. far and
safe, listening to singing stars.

The deeper darkness before the dawn was upon the waters, and all
things going well with the Astraea, when a man, descending from the
deck, walked swiftly to the platform where the tribune slept, and
awoke him. Arrius arose, put on his helmet, sword, and shield, and
went to the commander of the marines.

"The pirates are close by. Up and ready!" he said, and passed to the
stairs, calm, confident, insomuch that one might have thought,
"Happy fellow! Apicius has set a feast for him."

                      CHAPTER V.

                    THE SEA FIGHT.


EVERY soul aboard, even the ship, awoke. Officers went to their
quarters. The marines took arms, and were led out, looking in all
respects like legionaries. Sheaves of arrows and armfuls of javelins
were carried on deck. By the central stairs the oil-tanks and
fireballs were set ready for use. Additional lanterns were lighted.
Buckets were filled with water. The rowers in relief assembled under
guard in front of the chief. As Providence would have it, Ben-Hur
was one of the latter. Overhead he heard the muffled noises of the
final preparations- of the sailors furling sail, spreading the
nettings, unslinging the machines, and hanging the armour of bull-hide
over the sides. Presently quiet settled about the galley again;
quiet full of vague dread and expectation, which, interpreted, means
ready.

At a signal passed down from the deck, and communicated to the
hortator by a petty officer stationed on the stairs, all at once the
oars stopped.

What did it mean?

Of the hundred and twenty slaves chained to the benches, not one but
asked himself the question. They were without incentive. Patriotism,
love of honour, sense of duty, brought them no inspiration. They
felt the thrill common to men rushed helpless and blind into danger.
It may be supposed the dullest of them, poising his oar, thought of
all that might happen, yet could promise himself nothing; for
victory would but rivet his chains the firmer, while the chances of
the ship were his; sinking or on fire, he was doomed to her fate.

Of the situation without they might not ask, And who were the enemy?
And what if they were friends, brethren, countrymen? The reader,
carrying the suggestion forward, will see the necessity which governed
the Roman when, in such emergencies, he locked the hapless wretches to
their seats.

There was little time, however, for such thought with them. A
sound like the rowing of galleys astern attracted Ben-Hur, and the
Astraea rocked as if in the midst of countering waves. The idea of a
fleet at hand broke upon him- a fleet in manoeuvre- forming probably
for attack. His blood started with the fancy.

Another signal came down from the deck. The oars dipped, and the
galley started imperceptibly. No sound from without, none from within,
yet each man in the cabin instinctively poised himself for a shock;
the very ship seemed to catch the sense, and hold its breath, and go
crouched tiger-like.

In such a situation time is inappreciable; so that Ben-Hur could
form no judgment of distance gone. At last there was a sound of
trumpets on deck, full, clear, long blown. The chief beat the
sounding-board until it rang; the rowers reached forward full
length, and, deepening the dip of their oars, pulled suddenly with all
their united force. The galley, quivering in every timber, answered
with a leap. Other trumpets joined in the clamour- all from the
rear, none forward- from the latter quarter only a rising sound of
voices in tumult heard briefly. There was a mighty blow; the rowers in
front of the chief's platform reeled, some of them fell; the ship
bounded back, recovered, and rushed on more irresistibly than
before. Shrill and high arose the shrieks of men in terror; over the
blare of trumpets, and the grind and crash of the collision, they
arose; then under his feet, under the keel, pounding, rumbling,
breaking to pieces, drowning, Ben-Hur felt something overridden. The
men about him looked at each other afraid. A shout of triumph from the
deck- the beak of the Roman had won! But who were they whom the sea
had drunk? Of what tongue, from what land were they?

No pause, no stay! Forward rushed the Astraea; and, as it went, some
sailors ran down, and plunging the cotton balls into the oil-tanks,
tossed them dripping to comrades at the head of the stairs: fire was
to be added to other horrors of the combat.

Directly the galley heeled over so far that the oarsmen on the
uppermost side with difficulty kept their benches. Again the hearty
Roman cheer, and with it, despairing shrieks. An opposing vessel,
caught by the grappling-hooks of the great crane swinging from the
prow, was being lifted into the air that it might be dropped and sunk.

The shouting increased on the right hand and on the left; before,
behind, swelled an indescribable clamour. Occasionally there was a
crash, followed by sudden peals of fright, telling of other ships
ridden down, and their crews drowned in the vortexes.

Nor was the fight all on one side. Now and then a Roman in armour
was borne down the hatchway, and laid bleeding, sometimes dying, on
the floor.

Sometimes, also, puffs of smoke, blended with steam, and foul with
the scent of roasting human flesh, poured into the cabin, turning
the dimming light into yellow murk. Gasping for breath the while,
Ben-Hur knew they were passing through the cloud of a ship on fire,
and burning up with the rowers chained to the benches.

The Astraea all this time was in motion. Suddenly she stopped. The
oars forward were dashed from the hands of the rowers, and the
rowers from their benches. On deck, then, a furious trampling, and
on the sides a grinding of ships afoul of each other. For the first
time the beating of the gavel was lost in the uproar. Men sank on
the floor in fear or looked about seeking a hiding-place. In the midst
of the panic a body plunged or was pitched headlong down the hatchway,
falling near Ben-Hur. He beheld the half-naked carcass, a mass of hair
blackening the face, and under it a shield of bull-hide and
wicker-work- a barbarian from the white-skinned nations of the North
whom death had robbed of plunder and revenge. How came he there? An
iron hand had snatched him from the opposing deck- no, the Astraea had
been boarded! The Romans were fighting on their own deck? A chill
smote the young Jew: Arrius was hard pressed- he might be defending
his own life. If he should be slain! God of Abraham forefend! The
hopes and dreams so lately come, were they only hopes and dreams?
Mother and sister- house- home- Holy Land- was he not to see them,
after all? The tumult thundered above him; he looked around; in the
cabin all was confusion- the rowers on the benches paralyzed; men
running blindly hither and thither; only the chief on his seat
imperturbable, vainly beating the sounding-board, and waiting the
orders of the tribune- in the red murk illustrating the matchless
discipline which had won the world.

The example had a good effect upon Ben-Hur. He controlled himself
enough to think. Honour and duty bound the Roman to the platform;
but what had he to do with such motives then? The bench was a thing to
run from; while, if he were to die a slave, who would be the better of
the sacrifice? With him living was duty, if not honour. His life
belonged to his people. They arose before him never more real: he
saw them, their arms outstretched; he heard them imploring him. And he
would go to them. He started- stopped. Alas! a Roman judgment held him
in doom. While it endured, escape would be profitless. In the wide,
wide earth there was no place in which he would be safe from the
imperial demand; upon the land none, nor upon the sea. Whereas he
required freedom according to the forms of law, so only could he abide
in Judea and execute the filial purpose to which he would devote
himself: in other land he would not live. Dear God! How he had
waited and watched and prayed for such a release! And how it had
been delayed! But at last he had seen it in the promise of the
tribune. What else the great man's meaning? And if the benefactor so
belated should now be slain! The dead come not back to redeem the
pledges of the living. It should not be- Arrius should not die. At
least, better perish with him than survive a galley-slave.

Once more Ben-Hur looked around. Upon the roof of the cabin the
battle yet beat; against the sides the hostile vessels yet crushed and
grided. On the benches the slaves struggled to tear loose from their
chains, and, finding their efforts vain, howled like madmen; the
guards had gone upstairs; discipline was out, panic in. No, the
chief kept his chair, unchanged, calm as ever- except the gavel,
weaponless. Vainly with his clangour he filled the lulls in the din.
Ben-Hur gave him a last look, then broke away- not in flight, but to
seek the tribune.

A very short space lay between him and the stairs of the hatchway
aft. He took it with a leap, and was half-way up the steps- up far
enough to catch a glimpse of the sky blood-red with fire, of the ships
alongside, of the sea covered with ships and wrecks, of the fight
closed in about the pilot's quarter, the assailants many, the
defenders few- when suddenly his foothold was knocked away, and he
pitched backward. The floor, when he reached it, seemed to be
lifting itself and breaking to pieces; then, in a twinkling, the whole
after-part of the hull broke asunder, and, as if it had all the time
been lying in wait, the sea, hissing and foaming, leaped in, and all
became darkness and surging water to Ben-Hur.

It cannot be said that the young Jew helped himself in this
stress. Besides his usual strength, he had the indefinite extra
force which nature keeps in reserve for just such perils to life;
yet the darkness, and the whirl and roar of water, stupefied him. Even
the holding of his breath was involuntary.

The influx of the flood tossed him like a log forward into the
cabin, where he would have drowned but for the refluence of the
sinking motion. As it was, fathoms under the surface the hollow mass
vomited him forth, and he arose along with the loosed debris. In the
act of rising he clutched something, and held to it. The time he was
under seemed an age longer than it really was; at last he gained the
top; with a great gasp he filled his lungs afresh, and, tossing the
water from his hair and eyes, climbed higher upon the plank he held,
and looked about him.

Death had pursued him closely under the waves; he found it waiting
for him when he was risen- waiting multiform.

Smoke lay upon the sea like a semi-transparent fog, through which
here and there shone cores of intense brilliance. A quick intelligence
told him that they were ships on fire. The battle was yet on; nor
could he say who was victor. Within the radius of his vision now and
then ships passed, shooting shadows athwart lights. Out of the dun
clouds farther on he caught the crash of other ships colliding. The
danger, however, was closer at hand. When the Astraea went down, her
deck, it will be recollected, held her own crew, and the crews of
the two galleys which had attacked her at the same time, all of whom
were ingulfed. Many of them came to the surface together, and on the
same plank or support of whatever kind continued the combat, begun
possibly in the vortex fathoms down. Writhing and twisting in deadly
embrace, sometimes striking with sword or javelin, they kept the sea
around them in agitation, at one place inky-black, at another aflame
with fiery reflections. With their struggles he had nothing to do;
they were all his enemies: not one of them but would kill him for
the plank upon which he floated. He made haste to get away.

About that time he heard oars in quickest movement, and beheld a
galley coming down upon him. The tall prow seemed doubly tall, and the
red light playing upon its gilt and carving gave it an appearance of
snaky life. Under its foot the water churned to flying foam.

He struck out, pushing the plank, which was very broad and
unmanageable. Seconds were precious- half a second might save or
lose him. In the crisis of the effort, up from the sea, within arm's
reach, a helmet shot like a gleam of gold. Next came two hands with
fingers extended- large hands were they, and strong- their hold once
fixed, might not be loosed. Ben-Hur swerved from them appalled. Up
rose the helmet and the head it encased- then two arms, which began to
beat the water wildly- the head turned back, and gave the face to
the light. The mouth gaping wide; the eyes open, but sightless, and
the bloodless pallor of a drowning man- never anything more ghastly!
Yet he gave a cry of joy at the sight, and as the face was going under
again, he caught the sufferer by the chain which passed from the
helmet beneath the chin, and drew him to the plank.

The man was Arrius, the tribune.

For a while the water foamed and eddied violently about Ben-Hur,
taxing all his strength to hold to the support and at the same time
keep the Roman's head above the surface. The galley had passed,
leaving the two barely outside the stroke of its oars. Right through
the floating men, over heads helmeted as well as heads bare, she
drove, in her wake nothing but the sea sparkling with fire. A
muffled crash, succeeded by a great outcry, made the rescuer look
again from his charge. A certain savage pleasure touched his heart-
the Astraea was avenged.

After that the battle moved on. Resistance turned to flight. But who
were the victors? Ben-Hur was sensible how much his freedom and the
life of the tribune depended upon that event. He pushed the plank
under the latter until it floated him, after which all his care was to
keep him there. The dawn came slowly. He watched its growing
hopefully, yet sometimes afraid. Would it bring the Romans or the
pirates? If the pirates, his charge was lost.

At last morning broke in full, the air without a breath. Off to
the left he saw the land, too far to think of attempting to make it.
Here and there men were adrift like himself. In spots the sea was
blackened by charred and sometimes smoking fragments. A galley up a
long way was lying to with a torn sail hanging from the tilted yard,
and the oars all idle. Still farther away he could discern moving
specks, which he thought might be ships in flight or pursuit, or
they might be white birds awing.

An hour passed thus. His anxiety increased. If relief came not
speedily, Arrius would die. Sometimes he seemed already dead, he lay
so still. He took the helmet off, and then, with greater difficulty,
the cuirass; the heart he found fluttering. He took hope at the
sign, and held on. There was nothing to do but wait, and, after the
manner of his people, pray.

                      CHAPTER VI.

                 ARRIUS ADOPTS BEN-HUR.


THE throes of recovery from drowning are more painful than the
drowning. These Arrius passed through, and, at length, to Ben-Hur's
delight, reached the point of speech.

Gradually, from incoherent questions as to where he was, and by whom
and how he had been saved, he reverted to the battle. The doubt of the
victory stimulated his faculties to full return, a result aided not
a little by a long rest- such as could be had on their frail
support. After a while he became talkative.

"Our rescue, I see, depends upon the result of the fight. I see also
what thou hast done for me. To speak fairly, thou hast saved my life
at the risk of thy own. I make the acknowledgment broadly; and,
whatever cometh, thou hast my thanks. More than that, if fortune
doth but serve me kindly, and we get well out of this peril, I will do
thee such favour as becometh a Roman who hath power and opportunity to
prove his gratitude. Yet, yet it is to be seen if, with thy good
intent, thou hast really done me a kindness; or, rather, speaking to
thy good-will"- he hesitated- "I would exact of thee a promise to do
me, in a certain event, the greatest favour one man can do another-
and of that let me have thy pledge now."

"If the thing be not forbidden, I will do it," Ben-Hur replied.

Arrius rested again.

"Art thou, indeed, a son of Hur, the Jew?" he next asked.

"It is as I have said."

"I knew thy father- "

Judah drew himself nearer, for the tribune's voice was weak- he drew
nearer, and listened eagerly- at last he thought to hear of home.

"I knew him, and loved him," Arrius continued.

There was another pause, during which something diverted the
speaker's thought.

"It cannot be," he proceeded, "that thou, a son of his, hast not
heard of Cato and Brutus. They were very great men, and never as great
as in death. In their dying, they left this law- A Roman may not
survive his good fortune. Art thou listening?"

"I hear."

"It is a custom of gentlemen in Rome to wear a ring. There is one on
my hand. Take it now."

He held the hand to Judah, who did as he asked.

"Now put it on thine own hand."

Ben-Hur did so.

"The trinket hath its uses," said Arrius next. "I have property
and money. I am accounted rich even in Rome. I have no family. Show
the ring to my freedman who hath control in my absence; you will
find him in a villa near Misenum. Tell him how it came to thee, and
ask anything, or all he may have; he will not refuse the demand. If
I live, I will do better by thee. I will make thee free, and restore
thee to thy home and people; or thou mayst give thyself to the pursuit
that pleaseth thee most. Dost thou hear?"

"I could not choose but hear."

"Then pledge me. By the gods- "

"Nay, good tribune, I am a Jew."

"By thy God, then, or in the form most sacred to those of thy faith-
pledge me to do what I tell thee now, and as I tell thee; I am
waiting, let me have thy promise."

"Noble Arrius, I am warned by thy manner to expect something of
gravest concern. Tell me thy wish first."

"Wilt thou promise, then?"

"That were to give the pledge, and- Blessed be the God of my
fathers! yonder cometh a ship!"

"In what direction?"- "From the north."- "Canst thou tell her
nationality by outward signs?"- "No. My service hath been at the
oars."- "Hath she a flag?"- "I cannot see one."

Arrius remained quiet some time, apparently in deep reflection.

"Does the ship hold this way yet?" he at length asked.- "Still
this way."- "Look for the flag now."- "She hath none."- "Nor any other
sign?"

"She hath a sail set, and is of three banks, and cometh swiftly-
that is all I can say of her."

"A Roman in triumph would have out many flags. She must be an enemy.
Hear, now," said Arrius, becoming grave again, "hear, while yet I
may speak. If the galley be a pirate, thy life is safe; they may not
give thee freedom; they may put thee to the oar again; but they will
not kill thee. On the other hand, I- "

The tribune faltered.

"Perpol!" he continued, resolutely. "I am too old to submit to
dishonour. In Rome let them tell how Quintus Arrius, as became a Roman
tribune, went down with his ship in the midst of the foe. This is what
I would have thee do. If the galley prove a pirate, push me from the
plank and drown me. Dost thou hear? Swear thou wilt do it."

"I will not swear," said Ben-Hur, firmly; "neither will I do the
deed. The Law, which is to me most binding, O tribune, would make me
answerable for thy life. Take back the ring"- he took the seal from
his finger- "take it back, and all thy promises of favour in the event
of delivery from this peril. The judgment which sent me to the oar for
life made me a slave, yet I am not a slave; no more am I thy freedman.
I am a son of Israel, and this moment, at least, my own master. Take
back the ring."

Arrius remained passive.

"Thou wilt not?" Judah continued. "Not in anger, then, nor in any
despite, but to free myself from a hateful obligation, I will give thy
gift to the sea. See, O tribune!"

He tossed the ring away. Arrius heard the splash where it struck and
sank, though he did not look.

"Thou hast done a foolish thing," he said- "foolish for one placed
as thou art. I am not dependent upon thee for death. Life is a
thread I can break without thy help; and, if I do, what will become of
thee? Men determined on death prefer it at the hands of others, for
the reason that the soul which Plato giveth us is rebellious at the
thought of self-destruction; that is all. If the ship be a pirate, I
will escape from the world. My mind is fixed. I am a Roman. Success
and honour are all in all. Yet I would have served thee; thou
wouldst not. The ring was the only witness of my will available in
this situation. We are both lost. I will die regretting the victory
and glory wrested from me; thou wilt live to die a little later,
mourning the pious duties undone because of this folly. I pity thee."

Ben-Hur saw the consequences of his act more distinctly than before,
yet he did not falter.

"In the three years of my servitude, O tribune, thou wert the
first to look upon me kindly. No, no! There was another." The voice
dropped, the eyes became humid, and he saw plainly, as if it were then
before him, the face of the boy who helped him to a drink by the old
well at Nazareth. "At least," he proceeded, "thou wert the first to
ask me who I was; and if, when I reached out and caught thee, blind
and sinking the last time, I, too, had thought of the many ways in
which thou couldst be useful to me in my wretchedness, still the act
was not all selfish; this I pray you to believe. Moreover, seeing as
God giveth me to now, the ends I dream of are to be wrought by fair
means alone. As a thing of conscience I would rather die with thee
than be thy slayer. My mind is firmly set as thine; though thou wert
to offer me all Rome, O tribune, and it belonged to thee to make the
gift good, I would not kill thee. Thy Cato and Brutus were as little
children compared to the Hebrew whose law a Jew must obey."

"But my request. Hast- "

"Thy command would be of more weight, and that would not move me.
I have said."

Both became silent, waiting.

Ben-Hur looked often at the coming ship. Arrius rested with closed
eyes, indifferent.

"Art thou sure she is an enemy?" Ben-Hur asked.- "I think so," was
the reply.- "She stops, and puts a boat over the side."- "Dost thou
see her flag?" "Is there no other sign by which she may be known if
Roman?"- "If Roman, she hath a helmet over the mast's top."- "Then
be of cheer. I see the helmet."

Still Arrius was not assured.

"The men in the small boat are taking in the people afloat.
Pirates are not humane."

"They may need rowers," Arrius replied, recurring, possibly, to
times when he had made rescues for the purpose.

Ben-Hur was very watchful of the actions of the strangers.

"The ship moves off," he said.

"Whither?"

"Over on our right there is a galley which I take to be deserted.
The new-comer heads towards it. Now she is alongside. Now she is
sending men aboard."

Then Arrius opened his eyes and threw off his calm.

"Thank thou thy God," he said to Ben-Hur, after a look at the
galleys, "thank thou thy God, as I do my many gods. A pirate would
sink, not save, yon ship. By the act and the helmet on the mast I know
a Roman. The victory is mine. Fortune hath not deserted me. We are
saved. Wave thy hand- call to them- bring them quickly. I shall be
duumvir, and thou! I knew thy father, and loved him. He was a prince
indeed. He taught me a Jew was not a barbarian. I will take thee
with me. I will make thee my son. Give thy God thanks, and call the
sailors. Haste! The pursuit must be kept. Not a robber shall escape.
Hasten them!"

Judah raised himself upon the plank, and waved his hand, and
called with all his might; at last he drew the attention of the
sailors in the small boat, and they were speedily taken up.

Arrius was received on the galley with all the honours due a hero so
the favourite of Fortune. Upon a couch on the deck he heard the
particulars of the conclusion of the fight. When the survivors
afloat upon the water were all saved and the prize secured, he
spread his flag of commandant anew, and hurried northward to rejoin
the fleet and perfect the victory. In due time the fifty vessels
coming down the channel closed in upon the fugitive pirates, and
crushed them utterly; not one escaped. To swell the tribune's glory,
twenty galleys of the enemy were captured.

Upon his return from the cruise, Arrius had warm welcome on the mole
at Misenum. The young man attending him very early attracted the
attention of his friends there; and to their questions as to who he
was the tribune proceeded in the most affectionate manner to tell
the story of his rescue and introduce the stranger, omitting carefully
all that pertained to the latter's previous history. At the end of the
narrative, he called Ben-Hur to him, and said, with a hand resting
affectionately upon his shoulder-

"Good friends, this is my son and heir, who, as he is to take my
property- if it be the will of the gods that I leave any- shall be
known to you by my name. I pray you all to love him as you love me."

Speedily as opportunity permitted, the adoption was formally
perfected. And in such manner the brave Roman kept his faith with
Ben-Hur, giving him happy introduction into the imperial world. The
month succeeding Arrius's return the armilustrium was celebrated
with the utmost magnificence in the theatre at Scaurus. One side of
the structure was taken up with military trophies; among which by
far the most conspicuous and most admired were twenty prows,
complemented by their corresponding aplustra, cut bodily from as
many galleys; and over them, so as to be legible to the eighty
thousand spectators in the seats, was this inscription:-


    TAKEN FROM THE PIRATES IN THE GULF OF EURIPUS,
                         BY
                    QUINTUS ARRIUS,
                       DUUMVIR.


