Hadassah had believed years previously that she had suffered to the extreme limits of human endurance--that there were no deeper depths of misery to which she could descend; but the news brought on that fatal night by Salathiel showed her that she had been mistaken. The idea of her Zarah, her tender loving Zarah, in the hands of the Syrians, brought almost intolerable woe. So carefully had the maiden been nurtured, watched over, shielded from every wrong, like an unfledged bird that has always been kept under the warm, soft, protecting wing, that the utter defencelessness of her present position struck Hadassah with terror.
And how--the widow could not help asking herself--how could one so timid and sensitive stand the test of persecution from which the boldest might shrink? Zarah would weep at a tale of suffering, turn faint at the sight of blood. She was not any means courageous, and her young cousins, Solomona's sons, had been wont to make mirth of her terror when a centipede had once been found nestling under a cushion near her. Could such a soft silken thread bear the strain of a blast which might snap the strongest cable? Hadassah trembled for her darling, and would willingly have consented to bear any torture, to have been able to exchange places with one so little fitted, as she thought, to endure. Sorely tried was the faith of the Hebrew lady; how little could she imagine that the prayers of many years were being answered by means of the very misfortune which was rending the cords of her heart.
In the misery of her soul, all Hadassah's physical weakness and pain seemed forgotten. Before morning she had dragged her feeble steps to the gate of the prison which held her child, with the faithful Anna for her only attendant. In vain Hadassah implored for admission; in vain offered to share the captivity of Zarah, if she might be but permitted to see her. She was driven away by the guards, with insolent taunts, only to return again and again, like a bird to its plundered nest! But no complaining word, no murmuring against the decree of Him who had appointed her sore trial, was heard from Hadassah; only that sublime expression of unshaken faith, Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.
Then the widow thought of Lycidas the Greek. She had a claim upon his gratitude, and she knew that Zarah had a place in his affections. With his wealth, his talent, his eloquence, might he not help to save her child?
"Anna," said Hadassah to her handmaid, "could we but find the Greek stranger, he might afford us aid and advice in this our sore need. But I know not where he abides."
"Joab would know," observed the Jewess, "and I know the quarter of the town in which he dwells with his mother's sister, Hephzibah; for I have dealt with her for olives and melons. But, lady, you are weary, the heat of the sun is now great; seek some place of shelter and rest while I go in search of Joab."
"There is no rest for me till I find my Zarah; and what care I for shelter when she has but that of a prison!" cried Hadassah.
The two women then proceeded on their quest to a quarter of Jerusalem inhabited only by the poorest of the people. Simple as were the garments worn by the widow lady, she carried with her so unmistakably the stamp of a person of distinction, that her appearance there excited surprise amongst the half-clad, half-starved children that stared at her as she passed along. The street was so narrow that the women, meeting a loaded camel in it, had to stand close to the wall on one side, to suffer the unwieldy beast to pass on the other. Hungry lean dogs were growling over well-picked bones cast forth in the way, evil odours rendered the stifling air more oppressive. But Hadassah went forward as if insensible of any outward annoyance.
Hephzibah, a miserable-looking old woman, with eyes disfigured and half blinded by ophthalmia, was standing in her doorway, throwing forth the refuse of vegetables, in which she dealt. Anna had frequently seen her before, and no introduction was needed.
"Where is Joab?" asked the handmaid, at the bidding of Hadassah.
The old crone through her bleared eyes peered curiously at the lady, as she replied to the maid, "Joab has gone forth, as he always goes at cockcrow, to lade his mule with leeks, and melons, and other vegetables and fruits. He will not be back till night-fall."
Hadassah pressed her burning brow in thought, and then herself addressed the old woman.
"Have you heard from Joab where dwells a week--an Athenian--Lycidas is his name?"
"Lycidas? no; there be none of that name in our quarters," was the slowly mumbled reply.
"Has Joab never spoken to you of a stranger, very goodly in person and graceful in mien?" persisted Hadassah, grasping at the hope that the singular beauty of Lycidas might make it less difficult to trace him.
Hephzibah shook her head, and showed her few remaining teeth in a grin. "Were he goodly as David, I should hear and care nothing about it," said she.
"The stranger has a very open hand, he gives freely," observed Anna. The words had an instant effect in improving the memory of the old Jewess.
"Ay, ay," she said, brightening up; "I mind me of a stranger who gave Joab gold when another would have given him silver. He! he! he! Our mule is as strong a beast as any in the city, but it never brought us such a day's hire before."
"When was that?" asked Hadassah.
"Two days since, when Joab had taken the youth to his home."
"Can you tell me where that home is?" inquired Hadassah with eagerness.
"Wait--let me think," mumbled Hephzibah.
Hadassah thrust a coin into the hand of seller of fruit. Hephzibah turned it round and round, looking at it as if she thought that the examination of the money would help her in giving her answer. It came at last, but slowly: "Ay, I mind me that Joab said that he took the stranger to the large house, with a court, on the left side of the west gate, which Apollonius" (she muttered a curse) "broke down."
This was clue sufficient; and thankful at having gained one, Hadassah with her attendant left the stifling precincts of Hephzibah's dwelling to find out that of the Greek. Terrible were the glare and heat of the noonday sun, and long appeared the distance to be traversed, yet Hadassah did not even slacken her steps till she approached the gymnasium erected by the renegade high-priest Jason. With difficulty she made her way through crowds of Syrians and others hastening to the place of amusement.
Hadassah groaned, but it was not from weariness; she turned away her eyes from the building which had been to so many of her people as the gate of perdition, and the merry voices of the pleasure-seekers sounded sadder to her ears than a wail uttered over the dead. Precious souls had been murdered in that gymnasium; the Hebrew mother thought of her own lost son!
Almost dropping from fatigue, Hadassah reached at last the place which Hephzibah had described. It was an inn of the better sort, kept by an Athenian named Cimon, who had established himself in Jerusalem. Hadassah had no difficulty in obtaining an interview with the host, who received her with the courtesy befitting a citizen of one of the most polished cities then to be found in the world. Cimon offered the lady a seat under the shadow of the massive gateway leading into his courtyard.
"Dwells the Lord Lycidas here?" asked Hadassah faintly. She could hardly speak; her tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth from heat, fatigue, and excitement.
"The Lord Lycidas left this place yesterday lady," said the Greek.
"Whither has he gone?" gasped Hadassah.
"I know not--he told me not whither," answered Cimon, surveying his questioner with compassion and curiosity. "Months have elapsed since the Athenian lord, after honouring this roof by his sojourn under it, suddenly disappeared. Search was made for him in vain. I feared that evil had happened to my guest, and as time rolled on and brought no tidings, I sent word to his friends in Athens, asking what should be done with property left under my charge by him............