Mark Twain's Medieval Romance (11 page)

“My father sat at a small table with an older gladiator named Longinus—a man whose life my father once had spared in the arena. They kept me on the bench between them.

“As the night wore on, he placed his hand behind my head and forced me to look at the hoggish couples who wallowed on the floor. ‘Look, my son,’ he said, with a mirthless smile. ‘Look and see how you were created! Your mother was just such a drab as these!’

“I remember that I began to cry. And people stopped to stare at us. A child was the one thing they didn’t expect to see at a gladiators’ banquet. Longinus growled to my father to shut up. The scene was horrible.

“But my father continued in a low, intense voice. ‘I am telling the boy this so that he may remember his destiny when I am gone! I didn’t know his mother—I couldn’t have told her from any of the other slatterns. The one time I embraced her, I was drunk. But, by the Gods, she remembered me! I shall never forget the dumb look that was on her face when she came to the barracks with her baby. I saw adoration there, not for me, but for the child—for you, son!’

“He told me that my mother had left me out on the hill, as she had left her previous children. But something nagged at her stupid mind and told her that she could not let the child of a prince die that way. So she went back to the hill and brought me to my father.

“And as he held me in his arms, my father felt that the ignorant trull was right. She had inspired him.

“His thick-skinned sword-hand gripped my shoulder as he told me all this and he said, ‘I can only find freedom through you, my son! My blood in you can be a prince again! And this I demand of you, that no matter what happens—whether I live or die—that you shall fight by every method to reclaim our lost greatness!’”

Jason repeated his father’s words in a voice that was low but excited, the tone he always used when he spoke of how important he might have been. Now his voice went flat.

“My father died the next day. He had been matched against Longinus. It was an honest fight. It had to be, or both men would have been thrown to the lions. Suddenly, though he had suffered no wound, my father collapsed upon the sand. I guess his heart gave out, after the long years of fighting. As I watched, his feeble arm went up in the gesture that asked for mercy. He wanted to live because of me.

“Longinus looked toward the Emperor. But Tiberius reached out a brawny arm and pointed his thumb—down.

“I saw the pleading look on Longinus’ face. He hesitated. There were tears on his cheeks. The arena attendants were running forward to split my father’s skull with mallets—the death reserved for a coward.

“Longinus’ sword flashed down.”

Jason had finished his story. The last of the flaming fountains flickered into darkness. We heard Herod ordering the servants to light the torches. I held Jason close and tried to comfort him. But when the flares were ignited, he moved away.

A few days later he was my escort when Herod took the court to his race course outside the city. Now he seemed to be trying to forget everything he had confided. His robes were rich and perfect. His eyebrows had been thinned and his smile was aloof and distant as he glanced toward the royal box, where Salome sat beside her stepfather.

In each race the colors of the charioteers were the same—white, red, blue, and green. Jason explained that these identified the four great racing syndicates in Rome. Herod favored the blue because that was the faction of the reigning emperor.

“I want to bet on the whites,” I told Jason.

“Why?” he asked. “The blue is the best bet, but if you want a good long shot, choose the red. It is an exciting color.”

“But the whites are your horses!” I said. “I saw you drive them into the city.”

His face clouded as he replied, “They are not my horses!” He spoke with undue vehemence. But I continued to smile at him. I knew what I had seen.

“Look, Miriam!” he cajoled. “The white hasn’t a chance! They are older than the others, and the horse on the inside trace has a bowed tendon.”

“Nevertheless, I want to bet on them!”

“All right,” he shrugged. “At least, you’ll get good odds.”

Perhaps I imagined it, but as the chariots paraded past, I thought a slight signal passed from Jason to the charioteer in white.

I know you don’t know much about racing, Father, so I’ll try to explain to you. The two center horses are harnessed to the tongue of the chariot, while the outside animals run in leather shafts called traces. On the white chariot the outside horse was in a long trace so that he ran far out from his teammates. He wasn’t pulling, he was running free and independently. And his long trace made a leather barrier across the track so that no other chariot could pass.

It was the first time this trick had been seen in Palestine. The shouts from the grandstands were deafening. At first, people thought there had been an accident and that the outside horse had broken his harness. But soon the air was filled with the excited frenzy of those who had backed the white and the curses of those who had bet on the other colors. Then everybody forgot money in their amazement at the skill of the thing. The outside horse swept around the track, keeping close to the outside railing—and the other chariots didn’t try to pass for fear of getting entangled and turned over.

Of course, the white won! I turned excitedly to Jason.

“These provincial drivers are amateurs,” he shrugged scornfully. “If this race had been run in Rome all the chariots would have had long traces. The green would have run into the white so that the blue could get through. Afterwards the drivers would have shared in the winning purse—and the Emperor’s favor.”

“But what of the drivers? They wear the ends of the reins wrapped around their bodies—wouldn’t such crack-ups be dangerous?”

“Of course,” he replied indifferently. “If they were quick, they might cut themselves free with their daggers—or they might be killed. That’s the chance you take in Rome.”

The odds had been twenty-to-one. I won almost fifty silver shekels, even after the bookmaker had taken his commission.

I soon discovered that, even at Herod’s court, a girl can have many friends after she’s won fifty shekels. It was astonishing how many of the court ladies were short on spending money. They came to me for little loans—which they never paid back; and by way of compensation, they included me in their conversation, most of which was catty—if not positively evil. They seldom came right out and said anything vicious. But they were full of hints and innuendos. According to them, the King was in love with Salome.

“And, my dear, his interest isn’t entirely fatherly,” one of them giggled.

I didn’t like to hear this, even though I felt it might be true. The King’s attitude toward Salome was anything but decorous. Still, the thing they hinted at was perfectly monstrous—and I doubted if even Herod, who had defied the Law by taking his brother’s wife, would pile incest on incest by now making love to his stepdaughter.

“Whatever the King may lack,” I said, “He is still our King—and the only protection we have from the Romans. And as long as we are members of his household, we owe him our loyalty and our patriotism.”

“Listen to her silly preaching!” laughed an Athenian girl named Enid. “Of all people! If Herod wasn’t in love with Salome, little Miriam wouldn’t be here!”

I didn’t like this Enid. She had a long jaw that kept her from being pretty, so she tried to attract attention to her figure. To make sure of this, she walked with her hips thrust out in a most preposterous and vulgar way. She had borrowed more from me than the others. Maybe that was why she was always giving me digs.

“What do you mean?” I flared.

“Oh, please, Miriam!” She glanced over her shoulder at her hips with an air of exaggerated patience and languor. “You of all people shouldn’t be naive! Don’t you realize that the King brought you here to keep Jason away from Salome?”

“You are absolutely insane!” I retorted. “I never heard of anything so stupid! The King is the King! If he doesn’t like Jason, he can send him away!”

“What a dull little thing you are! Herod isn’t rude to one who’s been favored by Pontius Pilate!”

“But how do I fit into his plans?”

“Darling, are you actually asking me to tell you? I was hoping we could be more delicate. Why do you think the King gave you this lovely room with a window—so accessible from the gardens?”

“Get out!” My face was flaming, “Get out! I won’t answer your filthy accusations! I never want to see any of you again!”

Enid strutted toward the door, followed by the others. Their steps were insolent and leisurely.

“All right, we’ll go, my dear! There’s no need to be shrill. After all it isn’t our fault that the King’s plan miscarried—and that the Greek prefers Salome. He never goes near you except when he is commanded, and even then he scarcely dares speak—he’s so afraid of Salome. No wonder you’re jealous!”

When they were gone I threw myself on the couch and cried. I wished I could go back home to Jerusalem. I longed for a life that was clean and decent. The court and everyone in it was hateful. I wanted you, father. I wanted to crawl in your lap, like a little girl, and to forget everything.

But that afternoon we were ordered to accompany the King to the famous mineral hot baths, south of the city.

I sent word that I was too ill to go to the baths. But they refused to accept my excuses. Queen Herodias herself came to persuade me. Her attitude was almost motherly, and she was so serene and dignified that it was hard to argue with her. She said the baths were good for all sorts of ailments and were bound to make me feel better. Furthermore, she said that the King had sent her to tell me that Jason was waiting. I wondered if she knew that she and I were both pawns in his love game. But I didn’t dare ask. I was too discouraged to do anything but submit. I let her take my hand and lead me out to Jason’s chariot.

He was driving the Arabians and he looked very handsome. At once he began his amiable chatter.

“Please,” I said. “There is no need to be charming. I know that you are with me only because of the King’s orders.”

His look was pained. “Miriam, you don’t understand—”

“I think I do. Your father was a slave and you are a slave—a slave to your ambitions.”

I wanted to hurt him. The anger flushed up behind his sunburn. He lashed the horses and the chariot spun forward ahead of the rest of the procession. He didn’t draw rein until we had reached the baths.

“Miriam,” he said. “You have to believe me!”

“Why should I? I know that you have lied to me. You even told me that these horses weren’t yours!”

“In a way, they aren’t,” he said. “These horses were the property of the White Syndicate. I took them from Rome with me when I retired from racing.”

“You stole those horses?” I made my voice scornful. “You
are
dishonest—and more foolhardy than your reckless nature seems capable of being.”

“Well, why not!” he exclaimed. “They’re my luck! Longinus apprenticed me to a charioteer after my father died, and I won two hundred and thirty-nine victories with these horses in the Circus Maximus. They made me a millionaire!”

“But you are not satisfied with being a millionaire! You must have the love of a princess, even though you have to share that love with her stepfather! You are as evil as they are!”

He restrained me as I started to leave the chariot.

“Please, Miriam!” he begged. “I know you have good reason to be angry. But doesn’t the fact that I let my horses win for you mean anything? I had planned to keep that trick up my sleeve.”

“I don’t doubt it! And I still don’t know why you became so generous—I don’t want your pity! And I don’t want your favors!” I flung myself out of the chariot.

The rest of the royal procession was driving up just then. Salome looked hatefully at me and even the Queen seemed irritated. But Herod was smiling and bland. We went into the baths.

I was relieved to see that the men’s and women’s quarters were separate. I hadn’t known what to expect. As soon as we were in the women’s section, Salome and the others threw their clothes off. I found a dark spot in a corner of the steam room and tried to be inconspicuous. The Queen had a pitcher of wine brought to her. It was the first time I had seen her drink. She explained that she did this to increase her perspiration. After a while she and her favorites played ball with a sphere stuffed with feathers. They caught it with their right hands and threw it with their left. Soon the Queen and an Abyssinian girl grabbed for the ball at the same time, and began to wrestle for it.

I clutched a towel around myself and tried to stay out of their way, as they grunted and strained in their efforts to throw each other. But they kept bumping into me and I had the feeling that these accidents were deliberate.

Finally I got away—only to face new tormenters. Salome and her girls were rushing around the room, rolling light metal hoops. I did my best to avoid them. But inevitably, Salome ran her hoop across my feet.

“Excuse me!” she would cry mockingly—then hit me with the stick she used to guide the hoop. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she would laugh.

The other girls were quick to take up the game. No matter where I went, they came toward me screeching, “You clumsy slattern! Get out of our way!”

I was so angry I forgot I didn’t have any clothes on. I wanted to hit Salome and pull her hair and throw her on the pavement—even if the other girls all fought on her side. I knew I would be punished, but I didn’t care. You can endure just so much. I wrested the stick from her hand and aimed a blow at her.

But before it could land, the other girls surrounded me and with shrieks and shouts, bore me through the great bronze doors to the plunge. They threw me in and leaped in after me. The water was hot. It smelled of sulphur and had a bitter, salty taste. I was ducked several times, then suddenly they let me alone and I crawled out and got dressed. The others, by now, were splashing in the showers or being massaged by the serving women. I slipped out of the building, without waiting for this.

A peasant woman with some donkeys was passing. I asked her to take me back to Tiberias. The road was dusty and the donkeys slow.