The Silver Chalice (48 page)

Ohad became convinced quickly that there could be no advantage in disputing the exclusion of Aaron from the inheritance. He lowered himself into his seat and began to speak in earnest tones to his principal. It was apparent that the latter was not in immediate agreement. He seemed to be fighting back in a state of sullen fury, and it was not until the weight of the arguments the man of the law brought to bear became too heavy that he gave in. He twitched his shoulders in bitterness rather than resignation. When Ohad rose to discuss the second of their claims he turned to stare bleakly at the nearest window.

“O Judge,” said the lawyer, “there is nothing in the instructions to deny Aaron the right to act as his daughter’s guardian. Nay, it is an established fact that he may continue to exercise all duties and responsibilities as long as she remains in his tutelage.”

“Is she a minor?” The magistrate’s voice carried a strong note of skepticism. His shortsighted eyes darted about the courtroom. “I believe she is present. Will Deborra, daughter of Aaron and a principal in this case, stand up?”

Deborra rose to her feet. She flushed when she realized that every pair of eyes in the room had turned to stare at her save those of her father, who continued to gaze out of the window. She was dressed quietly in a white
palla
with gold and blue bands, and her hair was bound with a gold ribbon. The judge leaned out over his bench, the better to see her, and then gave his head an approving bob.

“Women cannot be called as witnesses,” he said, “and so I may not ask you any questions. I desire to state, nevertheless, that I have already reached two conclusions. The first—and I am sure that all will agree with me here—is that the daughter of Aaron is a most handsome young woman indeed.” The courtroom tittered and the magistrate beamed and nodded his head like an ancient but pranksome faun. “The second is that she has come of age legally, it being my understanding that the age fixed under Hebrew law is thirteen years and one day.”

Luke rose to his feet and advanced to the bench. “I have documents to offer,” he said, “in proof of the fact that Deborra, daughter of Aaron, is in her sixteenth year.”

Fabius squinted down at Luke suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“I am called Luke the Physician. I was for many years a close acquaintance—nay, a close friend—of the deceased Joseph of Arimathea. I was
present in his house and witnessed the marriage of his granddaughter. I accompanied her from Jerusalem to Antioch.”

The magistrate consulted a list in front of him. “You have not been summoned,” he complained.

“This man is a leader among the Christians,” declared Ohad bitterly. “For many years he has accompanied one Paul of Tarsus on his journeyings about the land.”

The eyes of Fabius turned slowly from Ohad to Luke. “You are a companion of Paul of Tarsus,” he said to the latter. “In spite of this I am prepared to accept the documents you bear. But you will not be permitted to offer oral evidence.”

Fabius ran a quick and practiced eye over the parchment. “The statements contained here,” he said, nodding his head, “bear out the conclusions I had already reached. The daughter has come of age legally.” He inclined his head in her direction. “You may now sit down.”

When Deborra had resumed her seat, Adam tiptoed up behind her and began to whisper in her ear. “I have learned one thing. Your father paid a visit to Jabez this morning and they quarreled, noisily and unmistakably. The banker’s face was red with anger when he escorted your father to the door. Has he been taking any part in the proceedings?”

“None,” answered Deborra. “He has not raised his eyes once.”

Adam frowned uneasily. “I do not understand this,” he said. “Does Jabez intend to stand aside and play a neutral part? If he does, it will weigh against us.”

“I think,” whispered Deborra, “that we were wise not to entrust our documents to him.”

Adam lowered his head still further. “I have also gleaned some facts about the judge. He was a slave in Rome but secured his freedom and later became a Roman citizen. This may be a fortunate thing for us. It is said there was some opposition to having him hear this case.”

Deborra looked at the magistrate with new eyes. It seemed to her now that she could detect the faintest hint of kindliness in the purple-veined expanse of his face.

“He became a political force in Rome but made enemies by speaking his mind freely about men above him in rank. He was sent here as a measure of exile. It has been the same; he continues to make ill-wishers by his persistent candor. In spite of this he is liked by the common people, and it is generally believed he is honest.” After a moment Adam added: “He has had little education and depends on that redheaded
shadow back of him; and
he
is as venal as a professional beggar.”

Fabius raised a hand to still the bickering voices beneath him. “It is contended by the learned man from Jerusalem,” he said, “that the heiress in this case is under the guardianship of her father. This does not apply, because she comes into court a married woman. She is now under the tutelage of her husband.”

Ohad had declared his intention to conduct himself without giving way to passion, but at this point his face became contorted with feeling and his voice shook with an anger he made no effort to conceal. “The man she married is an ex-slave!” he cried. “He has had his freedom for a few weeks only. I assert without any fear of contradiction that a freedman may not usurp the authority of the head of a family. This is a point we are prepared to fight, if necessary, in the highest tribunal in the world.”

A murmur of voices filled the courtroom, and it was apparent that some approval of what the doctor of laws had said was helping to swell the volume of sound.

“Less than an hour ago,” said the magistrate, “another court passed on an application by the man who stands in the relationship of husband to the heiress in this case. The application was for reinstatement as a citizen of Rome. It has been affirmed.”

For a moment the people in the room were too surprised by this announcement to make a sound. Deborra found herself on her feet, with no consciousness of having changed her position, an exultation in her veins that she had never before experienced. It was hard to keep from shouting out aloud. All about her people had risen also, and she saw that on most of the faces there was excited approval. Then the silence was broken by a loud outburst of enthusiasm, in which she joined.

The judge made no effort at first to still the uproar. He seemed willing to have the fact of public assent established before making an effort a second time to command silence. The response when he did raise his arm was not as immediate; it was many seconds before his order was obeyed.

Ohad remained standing throughout the demonstration. His eyes, which encroached closely on his long expanse of nose, darted about the room with quite apparent surprise. When silence had been restored, he began to speak in a voice that lacked some of the ease of delivery he had displayed before.

“The action of the court comes,” he declared, “as a complete surprise.
And, I may add, it gives much cause for amazement. In view of this it becomes necessary for me to make a statement on behalf of my principal, Aaron, son of Joseph. As soon as he returns to Jerusalem, it is his intention to move to have the marriage set aside. His daughter did not have his consent. In fact, he knew nothing of her intentions until after the wedding had taken place. The ceremony occurred, moreover, after the death of Joseph of Arimathea. It is established in our laws that a marriage may not take place within the thirty days of mourning prescribed.”

The man at the magistrate’s shoulder spread out seven fingers on the table. Fabius grasped what he meant at once and raised his head to speak. “Is not the term of mourning seven days instead of thirty?”

“It is seven days after the death of a woman,” declared Ohad, “but thirty in the case of a man.”

“A distinction,” cried the old magistrate, “with which I am in disagreement. There is at least equal reason for mourning the passing of a good woman as for any man who strutted in the toga of high office. And my enemies and detractors, of whom there are many, may make the most of what I have said.” He paused then as the man behind him thrust a document into his hand. After making a pretense of reading it, he nodded his head and handed it back. “A statement has been placed in evidence to the effect that the wedding took place half an hour before the death of Joseph of Arimathea. More than fifty persons who were in the house at the time have either signed it or affixed their marks to the document.”

The doctor of law continued his argument in a spate of glib words, and other voices joined in. It became a jumble of sound finally, with the opinions of the participants becoming more heated each moment. The magistrate allowed the discussion to continue for some considerable time. Finally he employed a sharp twiddle of his fingers to signify that the end of his patience had been reached.

“But we deal with an accomplished fact,” he declared. “The young woman
is
married. No matter what the circumstances of his past, her husband is today a Roman citizen. The law places her under his tutelage. Can I disregard this in the mere expectation that a court in a foreign land may declare the marriage void? In a suit, moreover, which has not yet been entered for hearing?”

The eyes of Deborra and Luke met, hers wide open with delight. “We are going to win!” she said in an exultant whisper. “My good friend, I can feel it. I can see it in the eyes of that strange old man. We are going to win!”

Luke’s eyes indulged themselves in a pleased twinkle. “I feel the same way,” he said. “Jabez has done nothing to assist us, but the magistrate is not allowing anything to stand in the way of an honest view of the facts. Yes, my child, we have every reason to be satisfied so far.”

Adam did not share their optimistic mood. He stared across the room at his old enemy and the man of the law who had turned to consult with him. “They will have something more to say,” he muttered. “Ohad is as cunning as a fox. He is not beaten yet. Don’t let yourself get too certain until the verdict has been given.”

Aaron and Ohad became involved in an argument, and it was apparent that the great doctor of laws was finding his client stubborn and intractable. At first Aaron gave his head a frigid shake at everything the other man said. Once he exclaimed in an audible voice: “No, no! I do not agree. I do not, I tell you.” The lawyer continued to press him, and after a time Aaron began to weaken. His protests became petulant rather than violent. He still shook his head, but the earlier heat had left his denials. Finally he threw both hands in the air, and so gave in.

Ohad turned and addressed the magistrate. “O Learned Judge,” he said, “it is my purpose to propose a compromise. It is a measure in which I lack the full approval of my client, who feels he has rights and privileges which should be recognized. In the interests of a quicker settlement, however, he has agreed to let me make the suggestion I have urged upon him. It is this, Learned Judge.” The lawyer placed a judicial finger on the tip of his nose and squinted down at it in deep concentration. “Delay the making of any decision until after the legality of this marriage has been tested. In the meantime let the funds remain in the hands of Jabez. He has handled them for many years with a skill and foresight that we all recognize. It will not be a hardship for the ultimate winner to have him continue his stewardship for such longer time as is necessary to allow the court in Jerusalem to reach a decision.”

“I knew it,” muttered Adam. “I was sure Ohad would have something of the kind to propose. This is a shrewd move. If they win before the Sanhedrin and get the marriage set aside—and they may, if only because Aaron’s consent was not obtained or even on influence alone—then the court here will not continue to regard Deborra as a married woman. They have nothing to lose by this and a great deal to gain. Yes, Ohad is as sharp as a new pick.”

Deborra had lost her exultant mood. She glanced with apprehension
at Luke and found that he was listening to Adam with a disturbed pucker between his eyes.

“Look at the judge,” said Adam. “He sees this as a means to escape responsibility. Do you recall that Pontius Pilate tried every way to avoid making a decision in the case of Jesus? This magistrate has a mind of his own, but he is not averse to shuffling off the load.” He gave his head a discouraged shake. “I do not like it. Any delay is in their favor. If the court postpones a decision as he is suggesting, they will have many months in which to work. In that time the sun of influence might climb high enough into the sky to scorch and destroy all the green shoots of justice. I tell you, I do not like it at all. We have everything to lose by this proposal.”

At this moment a disturbance was heard at the entrance to the courtroom. In spite of a negative order from an official at the door, Linus came striding in, his eyes glistening in full consciousness of his importance. One hand held his toga in place; in the other he carried a chariot whip. He walked with a loud clomp of leather to the front of the room and stationed himself before the magistrate.

“It has been brought to my attention,” he asserted loudly, “that a case is being tried here that concerns a former slave of mine.”

Adam twisted excitedly on the bench. “Look at Jabez!” he said in a whisper. “I swear he was expecting something of this kind to happen. His eyes are like sparks from a wood fire.”

At this stage the face of Jabez, which had been as expressionless as a marble wall, was turned toward the bench where Deborra and her allies sat. He smiled at them. Then, to their amazement, he allowed his left eyelid to droop. It was no more than a momentary flicker, but none of them had any doubts as to what had happened. The great banker had winked at them.

“He arranged this,” whispered Adam. “He saw there would be some advantage for us in having this man stalk in like a conquering general.”

The old magistrate was looking down from his high perch at Linus, his eyes reflecting a sudden frostiness.

“You have not been summoned to appear.”