Part 11

"He is one Hamid Bey, a Colonel of Turkish gendarmerie, Vali of the labour-camps near Nazareth--high in the confidence of the Turkish commander of their Eighth Army Corps, and, like all the rest of the idolaters, lustful as an ape. And she--_Achi Nebbich!_ she was as a rose of Sharon! And word came to her brother Jacob, who was working with the road-gangs at Tiberias, his cousin Elias being a labourer on the railway near Beersheba--peace be upon them! Therefore, Jacob, with one Reuben Ephraim--their playmate from childhood, and a fellow-labourer--who had an affection for Esther--as she unto him, poor creature!--broke out of camp and struck across the hills to Nazareth--careless of peril, raging like furious wolves."

"Wish I'd had the chance to make one of the party!" John murmured. Old Mendel's croaking voice went on:

"Now these two had determined to purchase exemption from service,--notwithstanding that they were already enrolled,--for such things can be done where the officers are Turks!--and they brought with them the money, forty gold pieces of twenty francs for each,--that is eighty pieces!--meaning to buy with them the honour of the girl! They found out where Hamid Bey was quartered--in the large new _Khân_ near the _Hammâm_ that is at the north-east end of Nazareth, looking towards the fig-orchards and vineyards and olive-groves that are as a green fringe upon the borders of the Tiberias Road. News had come through that Turkey was at War, and there was terror in the hearts of the people.... First, the French Christian Orphanage--then the Scotch Medical Mission--then every hospital, school, convent or mission in the town had been taken over by the Turkish Army Corps' Commander for military uses--and Jewish and European houses were gutted by the score. The streets were full of howling rioters--there was concealment in such confusion,--so the young men lurked in the gardens through the day, and Jacob kept close to the sentry-posts and heard the password--thus when dusk fell they passed the sentries, and came into the lower part of the _Khân_. And with cunning they made their way up to the Bey's apartment--and found him there with Esther. _Achi Nebbich!_"

Mendel's parchment forehead was wet with perspiration. He mopped it and went on, screwing up his nose and blinking:

"When she leaped from the divan shrieking and fell upon her face at the feet of her brother and lover, the Bey's eyes barely followed her,--he was already weary of his toy. He covered the boys with his big German Army revolver--his companion even in pleasure--and told them that he was willing to hear what they had to say.... They said it, and offered the money--as the price--not of Esther's honour--for she was ruined already!--but to purchase her deliverance from slavery with him."

The veins on John's forehead were swollen and blackening. Mendel's voice had sunk to a penetrating hiss.

"The Turk--may Fire from Heaven consume him!--was immovable by arguments and deaf to prayers. He would take the eighty gold pieces--what Turk can resist money!--but his Jewish concubine he would keep also. Then Jacob asked to speak to Esther apart. No farther than the end of the room, distant from the door and windows.... To this the Bey agreed, smiling, turning his tongue between his lips, and--keeping the German Army revolver--they all have them--and Zeiss binoculars!--ready in his hand. Then--Reuben says:--"

"Was it _he_ who told you?"

"Of that presently! Then Jacob embraced Esther and Reuben as one that taketh farewell for a journey--while Reuben watched them shudderingly, knowing what should come! The Turk signed that Jacob should hand him the bag of money--and this Jacob did. Bowing obsequiously before the son of Satan--who, thrusting the revolver in its pouch--gripped the bag, with one hand--and with the other patted the youth upon the cheek that was as fair as Esther's--and touched with the first growth of the black silken down...."

John would have said "Go on," but he couldn't. The little, eyes like glowing embers held him spellbound, as they burned into his own....

"Suddenly Jacob sprang like a leopard on the revolver, wrenched it away and leapt to his feet. The Bey set his whistle to his lips and blew,--and his servants and orderlies came running in tumultuously. But not so quickly but that two shots had cracked out--and the room was ringing!--and the brown cordite smoke hung under the ceiling in a thin cloud, smelling of aniseed, and mingled with the smell of scorched flesh and hair. For--Jacob--peace be upon him!--had thrust the pistol-muzzle close against the girl's temple when he shot her--and fired the next bullet into his own mouth!"

"How on earth did Reuben get off?"

"He cannot tell me. The Lord knoweth! But he found himself running through the night like a deer,--with shots and shouts dying out upon the distance--and when he ran into the dawn of the mild November day, lo! there was blood upon his naked feet! Esther's and Jacob's! ... But why should there have been blood upon his hands, and a dagger in one of them--bloody also? ... He does not know! ... A frenzy was upon him. The country was searched for him, but he had found a friend who kept him well hidden. He was the American Consul at Jaffa, and in the safety of his shadow Reuben dwelt for many days. Then he found means to communicate with his family. From them he learned that Elias--the cousin of Jacob and Esther who was working on the Beersheba Railway,--had suffered the punishment of the _falagy_. Why? For abetting his cousin--of whose deed he knew not!--in an attempt upon the life of the Bey at Nazareth--"

"What is the _falagy_?"

"The bastinado. Beating with green rods--_asâyisi_."

"On the soles of the feet. Oh--well! One's often heard of that, hasn't one?"

"_Schlemihl!_ Are there not beatings and beatings? The _asâyisi_ to punish--the _asâyisi_ to maim and torture! The _asâyisi_ until there is no shape of humanity left in the body, and even the mother of the man would not know the putrid mass of bloody flesh for the child she bore and bred! So thy cousin Elias died. And after that there was no peace for the house of thy grandfather Eli. His son Amos, and Shemuel,--the second son of Amos,--were mobilised to go south with Labour Corps of Jews and Syrians.... Digging trenches for the Turks to hold the railway at El Arish, they dug their own graves, upon them be peace! The two sons of their sister Sara were taken prisoner by the British at Kantara, and related their story, and were kindly used. They joined the Zion Mule Corps and went to Gallipoli. Perhaps they live, perhaps they met their deaths--carrying ammunition under shell-fire on the Peninsula! But they are the sons of daughters--not the sons of sons! To make an end--being warned that the vengeance of Hamid was to fall upon his house, thy Uncle Isaac--the father of Esther and Jacob--took the child that remained to him, even Benjamin, his darling--who was not of age to serve,--and with money and papers hidden upon them, the two escaped in disguise. I will not tell you after what fashion--but wives and mothers are cunning at these deceits when their dear ones are in danger!--and father and son arrived in safety at Beirut."

"And did they get away?"

"Woe, woe! Isaac was recognised by the Turkish wharf-inspector even as he lifted the boy into the boat that was to take them to the American steamer. They were dragged to prison--they died in prison, and that last blow slew your grandfather. Peace,--peace upon them all! The wives of Amos and Isaac live still, and two of Amos's daughters; but what are women to a house that needs sons that are begotten of sons! Now that the old man's white hairs have been brought to the grave by sorrow, the house of Eli Hazaël is represented by whom?" Mendel blew his nose sonorously and finished: "Whom but your brother Maurice and yourself!"

John was conscious at the back of his mind of a tingle of eager--let us call it expectation. He asked, carefully divesting his tone of excitement in any undue degree.

"Do I understand that--there's money in this business?"

"There is much property, both in land south of Mount Carmel, and in the export business-houses at Alexandria, and at Jaffa and elsewhere. There is money lying at the _Crédit Lyonnais_," John's black eyes kindled. "Also at the _Deütsche Palästina_ Bank Branch at Jaffa,"--John whistled dismally--"and the Anglo-Palestine Banking Co."--John blew a sigh of relief. "And there is the stewardship of the olive-groves and vineyards of Kir Saba--the title-deeds of which property (the original mortgage on it having now expired, and the sum lent having been recovered, with the interest)--must--this is the word of your grandfather!--be formally given over to those to whom it rightfully belongs. Here! Take the documents! Thou hast the ring aready!"

Mendel jumped up quite briskly, and deposited a double-handful of documents, account-books and bank pass-books of foreign appearance and exotic odour, in the hollow where the coverlet dipped between John Hazel's knees.

"A copy of your grandfather's Will is with them--" He picked out a long, tough, yellow envelope, directed in a round Levantine banking-house handwriting to "John Ben Hazaël, Esquire, London, England," and resumed: "This is it. The original is in the keeping of the old gentleman's solicitors, 'Abel Manasseh, Ephraim & Co., Rue Jerusalem, Jaffa.' Reuben,--who brought the news and the papers!--is the junior partner in the firm. There's a holograph letter from your grandfather, peace be upon him! written in Hebrew--and a sheet with a translation I have made for you, seeing that you, Eli Hazaël's heir, know nothing of the Holy Tongue!"

"His heir! ... Look here! ... You ain't talking through your hat when you say there's a goodish property?"

"Your English slang sounds unto me as Hebrew to you, a mere gibberish without sense or meaning!"--Mendel shook off the large, loose grip of the young man from his arm. "The Sons of Perdition--the Turks!--have wasted and spoiled much land that lay under cultivation; and the wine-vaults of the Colonies have been gutted, by those of them who break the Law of their Prophet,--and also by their German Allies. Also, of the money in the Deütsche Palästina little, if any, may be recovered now. But, despite this, and the provision for the females living--there is still a great property! Supposing three hundred and eighty thousand pounds British," the glowing eyes were watching John's face narrowly: "is enough to make it worth your while to live as a good Jew?"

V

"What? ... Who? ... Me! ... Great Moses in the Bulrushes!" ...

"Profane not the name of the Lawgiver," said Mendel sternly. "Is it not reasonable that the father of your father should desire you to cast off your Epicureanism, take upon you the Yoke of the Torah, and cease to become a sinner in Israel?"

"Reasonable--from his point of view! But--Me kiss a Mezuzah nailed on the doorpost, and reel off long prayers in a synagogue with my hat on--and my head wrapped in a shawl!"

"The Orthodox would respect instead of despising you."

"But my own set! What price they, I should like to know?"

"Their price--do you ask their price?" The fierce eyes flashed, the beaky nose looked capable of pecking. "For half of the great sum that is in question, there are not three among your associates--lewd men and loose women!--that would not kiss the buttocks of the Goat of Mendes, and spit upon the Cross! For they are not even Christians. They are as the brutes that perish. And you--another brute!--plant your hoofs and lay your ears back--and bite at the hand that tries to pluck you by the garment back from the brink of the bottomless Abyss!"

"Look here! ..."

Under the accusing glare of Mendel's little red-hot eyes, various deviations from the straight path of morality condoned by John as natural and even pardonable,--assumed a much less harmless character, and even took on an ugly and sinister hue....

Since John Hazel had left school at the age of eighteen, a string of young women of garish attractions and uncommonly easy virtue,--flaunting blossoms plucked by the wayside--in the City or the West End--had succeeded one another in his temporary affections. There had been several more or less quite serious entanglements, one of which had threatened to effloresce in a Divorce Case, but fortunately had not. There had been--previous to John's engagement--numberless rather rowdy jaunts; all-night Launch Parties; excursions to Pleasure Resorts: Seaside-hotel, Thames-side-hostelry-Saturday-to-Mondays,--enjoyed by John as member of an association, small, select, eclectic, expensive; rather artistic, decidedly sporting; semi-literary, slightly theatrical and wholly Bohemian in character,--rejoicing in the title of the Cocky-Locky and Henny-Penny Club.

Not so out-and-out Improper, these gay and giddy galas.... Of course you couldn't take your mother to them! but you could, with a little careful editing, tell her amusing stories about them--now and then.

It was at a symposium of Club members, assembled at a riverside hostelry in the summer of 1913, that John had encountered Birdie Bright. Ostensibly a Beauty of the Chorus, Birdie, a young person of lowly origin, pronounced good looks, accommodating affections and expensive tastes in jewelry, furs, sweets and _lingerie_, had played the part of Zobeide to John's Harûn Er Raschid--practically until the arrival of Beryl on the scene.

She had vowed herself "broaken harted" in several despairing letters, written in an immense angular hand in ink of vivid green, upon sheets of pink ribbed note. But John had been generous--even Birdie admitted it!--as she took his advice, and put away the consolatory wad of crisp ten-pound notes that had sweetened the bitterness of parting, carefully in the Brixton Branch of a solid and reliable Bank.

Since Beryl's heartless breakage of her betrothal vows, the image of Miss Birdie Bright, previously effaced from the surface of John's heart, had revived in all its pristine charm through the whitewash that had coated it. To a letter from John in Hospital, Birdie had effusively responded--in passionate purple ink this time,--and in a bigger hand-writing than ever. The telegram appointing a day and an hour for her visit to her erstwhile lover's bedside was written, and wrapped round a half-crown in the pocket of his pyjama-jacket, in readiness for despatch.

That wire would have been sent an hour ago--had not the convalescent Sapper of Engineers--to whom belonged the next bed--gone off in such a hurry to the Pictures with his young woman that he forgot--and now Birdie would never get it! Nor would the letter enclosing John's cheque, soliciting from the Secretary of the Cocky-Locky and Henny-Penny Club, re-election as a member of that interesting association, ever be posted now....

Seen through the stern medium of Old Mendel's spectacles, the periodical revels of the C.L.H.P. took on a tinge of hellishness--became a very Witches' Sabbat. And Birdie, viewed through the same merciless, unsparing lenses, became even as one of the harpies that devour young men and lead them in the Way of Destruction.

VI

"And what more is required of you, young man," the harsh voice went on croaking, "in return for this fortune, than to carry out the instructions of your elders: to follow cleanliness; to do justly; to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God! But I have done. Time does not avail for more. Study what is written on that paper I have pinned within the letter in Hebrew. I am old, and the fountain of my tears is dry, but mine eyes were moistened when the good old man entreated of his last descendant--even with his foot upon the threshold of Death.... Stay, I will read to you his letter. Listen to this!"

"_John, son of John, my youngest and best-beloved! All thine elders being removed by the Will of the Most High, it falls to thee to take upon thee the Guardianship of the Sacred Ashes, and the Keeping of the Ancient Shrine. Thou wilt not refuse? Oh, child of my child!--the hand that pens this page, before my very eyes into the dust is crumbling. Wouldst thou live as long? Then be dutiful. Wouldst thou be happy? Happiness is the gift of Heaven, but a good conscience brings peace. Seek then the peace, and happiness will follow. If the dying prayer of an old man is granted, Those Others that have been before me may be permitted to guide thee in the Way wherein thou shouldst go. Farewell! Forget not to say Kaddish for thy father's father;--Eli Ben Hazaël._"

The voice: not Old Mendel's croak, but a deep voice rolling out of the mist of centuries, wakening sub-conscious memories, thrilling along the nerves to energise long-atrophied cells in the listener's brain, ceased: and the icy thrills left off coursing down John Hazel's spinal column, and his strong, wiry hair left off bristling and lay down. The paper crackled as it was thrust once more into the envelope, and tossed back upon John's lap. John said, clearing his throat and speaking with some degree of huskiness:

"I don't quite tumble to the meaning of all this about the Guardianship of the Ashes and the Keeping of the Shrine, but, of course, I'd say Kaddish for him--like a bird--if I knew it! I'm not quite such a howling brute as you seem to think! Didn't you make me say it for my father when I was a little kid in petticoats? I seem to remember something of the kind."

"Well, if I did, was it not a good deed? But now that you are man grown you have cast off the faith of your fathers. And Kaddish cannot lawfully be said by one who is not a Jew! When you have made up your mind whether you will be a rich Jew--or a heathen no better off than many others--write to me at your uncle's Hull address!" Mendel, who had resumed his seat, snapped his mouth shut, and snapped shut the calfskin bag--and stood up and went on--in the act of buttoning the single-breasted brown great-coat. "As to the Shrine, it's at Alexandria, and the Ashes are naturally where the Shrine is--not that I've any information to give you on that point. But the other--less sacred obligation--you may discharge as soon as you see fit. The accounts and the documents touching Kir Saba--some of them are very old and should be handled carefully!--must be taken to Scotland and delivered to the representatives of the original mortgagor, whose address is there written--by no other hands than your own. A gift of five hundred pounds English has been bequeathed you by your grandfather,--without further condition than that you render him this service. The cash will be paid you by a cheque upon London as soon as I receive the receipt for the documents. You will naturally not part with them without receiving this acknowledgment. Take care! Haven't I warned you?"

John's big fingers were prying into a flat wallet of mouldy parchment sewn with something like ancient silkworm-gut, and containing an oblong of crumbly brown....

"What on earth is it? ... It looks like seaweed.... Or an old felt sole out of somebody's boot! ..."

"It is the original Title Deed of the Tower of Kirjath Saba and the lands about it, granted by the Emperor Vespasian to the Tribune Justus Martius, of the Tenth Roman Legion: on the tenth day of the month of Ab--that is, August, in the second year of his reign."

"My holy hat! That was Anno Domini 70, when the Romans under Titus took the Temple at Jerusalem and burnt--"

"Not burned but demolished, according to Josephus--the walls of the Upper City alone being left standing--to shelter the garrison chosen from the Roman Tenth Legion!--together with the three great towers built by Herod--in order to demonstrate to Posterity how glorious a city had been cast down.... Woe! for the madness and the wickedness of the Pagans. Alas! for the Sacred City, a chattel in the hands of the filthy unbeliever even to this day! Who shall restore the glory of Jerusalem, or give back life to the dead place, or cleanse the robe of snowy wool that hath been defiled by pitch?"

"I've heard you reel off things like this before, haven't I, when I was a little beggar? I say! Do you know this rotten old sheepskin is pretty well priceless? Why, it's about one thousand eight hundred and forty-five years old! Those Johnnies at the British Museum would hand over a pot of cash for it."

"Have I not told you to lose no time in returning the document to its owner? Let him deal with it as he will! There is another parchment, the original Deed of Mortgage dated in your Christian Era 1146. Money was lent by Issachar Ben Hazaël, of Joppa (they spell it 'Jaffa' in these days)--to the Mortgagor, Sir Hugh Forbys, (they write his name 'Hew'), Knight, and lord of the Strong Tower of Kir Saba, in return for the right of user of the Tower, with its groves, gardens, springs and vineyards; and all the 'purtnans' for the 'makyn of wine.' When the cash with the interest, should be recovered, the Title-Deed was to be given back to Forbys.... These later records continue unbroken up to the June of the Christian year 1914. Examine them at your leisure. They are faithfully translated and clearly typed."

John answered and said unto the aged man, not being unmindful of the bequest of £500.

"You make my head spin, chuckling about centuries as though they were marbles! But I give you my word of honour, I'll swot all the documents up. When have I to go down to hand them over to these Scotch people? ... I suppose they do have some sort of a name?" ...

"They are a family of high repute and ancient standing on the Border. The Forbis of Kerr's Arbour, Tweedburgh, N.B. Have you at any time heard of them?"

"Never in my natural! They seem to have been thunderingly pally with us Hazels somewhere about the Bronze Age.... Do you know 'em at all?" ...

"Ask not foolish questions. What are the people to me? For a reason that the documents will clearly explain to you, they have had no intercourse with your family since the time of the Seventh Crusade."

"I wonder whether they'll be likely to know me when they see me?"

"Be not a Schlemihl! Where is the ring?"

"Which ring? You know, my head is fairly buzzing with all this business! ... You've dropped on me like a sandbag out of an Observation Rupert. Here--I've got it! Some ring!" ...

"It is a black onyx, a Greek gem of price, carved with a head of the Pagan Hercules and in an ancient setting of gold. It was given to your ancestor, Hazaël Aben Hazaël, by the Roman Prætor Philoremus Florens Fabius, at Alexandria, in the reign of the Pagan Emperors Diocletian and Maximianus--about the beginning of the fourth century of the Christian Era." Mendel added as John groaned again at this fresh evidence of antiquity, "This signet now belongs to you as head of the House of Hazaël. Let me see you put it on the third finger of your right hand!"

John obeyed. The great ring fitted the big finger as though it had been made for it. The intaglio, worn thin by time and chipped at the edges, was still beautiful, and though the tiny Greek letters at the lower left-hand corner signified nothing to its new owner--the signed work of a master-hand. John commented:

"He must have been a hefty chap, that old Hazaël!"

Mendel responded, buttoning up the brown overcoat:

"Your race have always been noted for breeding men of extraordinary strength and stature. There is a fellow-ring to this, I am given to understand, in the possession of the Forbis family. It is in high relief, this being the intaglio. Remember, you will bequeath the signet to your elder son, after you: as an heirloom which must always be in the possession of the chief male of the line."