Pearl-Maiden | Page 3

of noble
blood. She was Rachel, the widow of Demas, a Græco-Syrian, and only
child of the high-born Jew Benoni, one of the richest merchants in Tyre.
The other was a woman of remarkable aspect, apparently about forty
years of age. She was a native of the coasts of Libya, where she had
been kidnapped as a girl by Jewish traders, and by them passed on to
Phœnicians, who sold her upon the slave market of Tyre. In fact she
was a high-bred Arab without any admixture of negro blood, as was
shown by her copper-coloured skin, prominent cheek bones, her
straight, black, abundant hair, and untamed, flashing eyes. In frame she
was tall and spare, very agile, and full of grace in every movement. Her
face was fierce and hard; even in her present dreadful plight she
showed no fear, only when she looked at the lady by her side it grew
anxious and tender. She was called Nehushta, a name which Benoni
had given her when many years ago he bought her upon the
market-place. In Hebrew Nehushta means copper, and this new slave
was copper-coloured. In her native land, however, she had another
name, Nou, and by this name she was known to her dead mistress, the
wife of Benoni, and to his daughter Rachel, whom she had nursed from

childhood.
The moon shone very brightly in a clear sky, and by the light of it an
observer, had there been any to observe where all were so occupied
with their own urgent affairs, could have watched every movement and
expression of these women. Rachel, seated on the ground, was rocking
herself to and fro, her face hidden in her hands, and praying. Nehushta
knelt at her side, resting the weight of her body on her heels as only an
Eastern can, and stared sullenly at nothingness.
Presently Rachel, dropping her hands, looked at the tender sky and
sighed.
"Our last night on earth, Nou," she said sadly. "It is strange to think that
we shall never again see the moon floating above us."
"Why not, mistress? If all that we have been taught is true, we shall see
that moon, or others, for ever and ever, and if it is not true, then neither
light nor darkness will trouble us any more. However, for my own part
I don't mean that either of us should die to-morrow."
"How can you prevent it, Nou?" asked Rachel with a faint smile.
"Lions are no respecters of persons."
"Yet, mistress, I think that they will respect my person, and yours, too,
for my sake."
"What do you mean, Nou?"
"I mean that I do not fear the lions; they are country-folk of mine and
roared round my cradle. The chief, my father, was called Master of
Lions in our country because he could tame them. Why, when I was a
little child I have fed them and they fawned upon us like dogs."
"Those lions are long dead, Nou, and the others will not remember."
"I am not sure that they are dead; at least, blood will call to blood, and
their company will know the smell of the child of the Master of Lions.

Whoever is eaten, we shall escape."
"I have no such hope, Nou. To-morrow we must die horribly, that King
Agrippa may do honour to his master, Cæsar."
"If you think that, mistress, then let us die at once rather than be rent
limb from limb to give pleasure to a stinking mob. See, I have poison
hidden here in my hair. Let us drink of it and be done: it is swift and
painless."
"Nay, Nou, it would not be right. I may lift no hand against my own life,
or if perchance I may, I have to think of another life."
"If you die, the unborn child must die also. To-night or to-morrow,
what does it matter?"
"Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. Who knows? To-morrow
Agrippa may be dead, not us, and then the child might live. It is in the
hand of God. Let God decide."
"Lady," answered Nehushta, setting her teeth, "for your sake I have
become a Christian, yes, and I believe. But I tell you this--while I live
no lion's fangs shall tear that dear flesh of yours. First if need be, I will
stab you there in the arena, or if they take my knife from me, then I will
choke you, or dash out your brains against the posts."
"It may be a sin, Nou; take no such risk upon your soul."
"My soul! What do I care about my soul? You are my soul. Your
mother was kind to me, the poor slave-girl, and when you were an
infant, I rocked you upon my breast.