Part 32 (1/2)

She concluded with her arms around my neck, her face upturned to mine and temptingly close, her eyes greatly solemn and greatly promising.

Small wonder I was slow of speech. For the moment there was but one thought in my brain. After all the strange play I had seen played out, to have this come upon me! I did not misunderstand. The thing was clear. A great woman was mine if . . . if I betrayed Rome. For Pilate was governor, his order had gone forth; and his voice was the voice of Rome.

As I have said, it was the woman of her, her sheer womanliness, that betrayed Miriam and me in the end. Always she had been so clear, so reasonable, so certain of herself and me, so that I had forgotten, or, rather, I there learned once again the eternal lesson learned in all lives, that woman is ever woman . . . that in great decisive moments woman does not reason but feels; that the last sanctuary and innermost pulse to conduct is in woman's heart and not in woman's head.

Miriam misunderstood my silence, for her body moved softly within my arms as she added, as if in afterthought:

”Take two spare horses, Lodbrog. I shall ride the other . . . with you . . . with you, away over the world, wherever you may ride.”

It was a bribe of kings; it was an act, paltry and contemptible, that was demanded of me in return. Still I did not speak. It was not that I was in confusion or in any doubt. I was merely sad--greatly and suddenly sad, in that I knew I held in my arms what I would never hold again.

”There is but one man in Jerusalem this day who can save Him,” she urged, ”and that man is you, Lodbrog.”

Because I did not immediately reply she shook me, as if in impulse to clarify wits she considered addled. She shook me till my harness rattled.

”Speak, Lodbrog, speak!” she commanded. ”You are strong and unafraid.

You are all man. I know you despise the vermin who would destroy Him.

You, you alone can save Him. You have but to say the word and the thing is done; and I will well love you and always love you for the thing you have done.”

”I am a Roman,” I said slowly, knowing full well that with the words I gave up all hope of her.

”You are a man-slave of Tiberius, a hound of Rome,” she flamed, ”but you owe Rome nothing, for you are not a Roman. You yellow giants of the north are not Romans.”

”The Romans are the elder brothers of us younglings of the north,” I answered. ”Also, I wear the harness and I eat the bread of Rome.” Gently I added: ”But why all this fuss and fury for a mere man's life? All men must die. Simple and easy it is to die. To-day, or a hundred years, it little matters. Sure we are, all of us, of the same event in the end.”

Quick she was, and alive with pa.s.sion to save as she thrilled within my arms.

”You do not understand, Lodbrog. This is no mere man. I tell you this is a man beyond men--a living G.o.d, not of men, but over men.”

I held her closely and knew that I was renouncing all the sweet woman of her as I said:

”We are man and woman, you and I. Our life is of this world. Of these other worlds is all a madness. Let these mad dreamers go the way of their dreaming. Deny them not what they desire above all things, above meat and wine, above song and battle, even above love of woman. Deny them not their hearts' desires that draw them across the dark of the grave to their dreams of lives beyond this world. Let them pa.s.s. But you and I abide here in all the sweet we have discovered of each other.

Quickly enough will come the dark, and you depart for your coasts of sun and flowers, and I for the roaring table of Valhalla.”

”No! no!” she cried, half-tearing herself away. ”You do not understand.

All of greatness, all of goodness, all of G.o.d are in this man who is more than man; and it is a shameful death to die. Only slaves and thieves so die. He is neither slave nor thief. He is an immortal. He is G.o.d.

Truly I tell you He is G.o.d.”

”He is immortal you say,” I contended. ”Then to die to-day on Golgotha will not shorten his immortality by a hair's breadth in the span of time.

He is a G.o.d you say. G.o.ds cannot die. From all I have been told of them, it is certain that G.o.ds cannot die.”

”Oh!” she cried. ”You will not understand. You are only a great giant thing of flesh.”

”Is it not said that this event was prophesied of old time?” I queried, for I had been learning from the Jews what I deemed their subtleties of thinking.

”Yes, yes,” she agreed, ”the Messianic prophecies. This is the Messiah.”