THE gatekeeper at the House of Naaman was extremely wise. Old and faithful and trusted, he was an autocrat whose word few had the temerity to question. For years he had admitted and dismissed through that gate high and low, rich and poor, distinguished and obscure, speaking to each in his own tongue and with the manner his rank and errand demanded. For this reason he felt entirely competent to judge for himself of the worth of any applicant for admission, without referring the matter to higher authority. When, therefore, two young men of poverty-stricken appearance and speaking the language of Israel came, demanding to see the master of the house, it required but a moment to decide that their request should, by all means, be refused.
They were undoubtedly grieved and disappointed. The next day they came again, also the next and still the fourth, but neither arguments nor persuasion availed with the gatekeeper. Then they changed their tactics. They pursued a policy of watchful waiting, coming every day and crouching on the roadway outside the forbidden walls from the earliest beam of sunrise until its last faint glow in the evening. Against such warfare as this the autocrat of the gate was incensed, but not despondent. Others had made like attempts at various times, but had never been victorious.
To the sorely tried youths, their enemy’s resources seemed unlimited. By turns he tried threats, blows, indifference, sarcasm, and ridicule, enlisting the sympathy and ready help of the assorted variety of hangers-on who might always be counted upon to linger in the vicinity of a rich man’s dwelling. To the gatekeeper’s surprise and disgust, it was all useless. Smarting under defeat and in great irritation the old man carried his grievance to Isaac.
“Right hast thou been to tell me,” the young man assured him. “Either they be thieves watching their opportunity, in which case the soldiers should pay heed to them, or else they bear a message sufficiently important to be heard. I will see them at once.”
Meanwhile the two on the roadway without held converse in low tones. “Not in vain have we daily watched these comings and goings,” said one, “for much have we learned of the ways of the household and the manner of behavior therein.”
“Yea, and what meaneth more to us,” responded his companion, “much have we learned as to whom it is that cometh and goeth: soldiers and servants, merchants and mendicants and messengers of various sorts as well as visitors of rank and distinction. Of importance must this man Naaman be and of considerable possessions. Thinkest thou he will demand more than we can pay?”
“Thou knowest the alternative,” was the grim answer.
“Then,” went on the speaker, “also have we seen the master himself, I take it, but never close enough to have speech with him. Likewise hath the mistress passed and a maiden who always goeth forth with her, a maiden very gorgeously appareled and of great beauty whom we supposed to be the daughter of the house save that her looks betray a different lineage. All these and more, yet never the young soldier, Isaac by name, who carried her away.”
“And if it were possible,” was the quick retort, “I would be content not to see him.”
“More concerned am I,” pursued the other, “that he should not see me. He may remember that out of his hand did I escape and seek to take me again. Yet to redeem my promise and thy vow are we come, and I shall not begrudge the price.”
At that moment an air of expectancy ran through the group outside the portal, a thrill which communicated itself even to the two who were conversing and who, by reason of the hostility offered them, had been obliged to surrender the strategic position opposite the entrance and take refuge under the wall at a little distance. The gatekeeper appeared, beckoning violently. The idle pauper group, each individual of which hoped this honor was for him, crowded about the man, only to be repulsed with grumbling curses. The two young men, having learned to expect nothing but unkindness, merely gazed and wondered. At last they became aware that it was they who were being called.
“Come, thou gaunt tricksters. Thou of the brawny arm,” to the younger, “and thou of the burning eyes,” to the elder. “Thou Israelitish impostors! Come and tell thy errand to the favorite servant of my lord Naaman. Come quickly that thou mayest be gone before he loseth patience.”
The two looked at each other questioningly, disregarding the curious and envious eyes upon them.
“What new insult thinkest thou—?”
Out of the gate limped a soldier very little older than themselves and halted before them with a grave salute.
“Peace be unto thee if thy errand be peace. Naaman, my master, goeth forth on a matter for the king. Quickly, therefore, thy names and what it is that bringeth thee hither.”
The young men bowed low before him and the elder made the necessary explanations.
“A long and toilsome journey hath thy servants taken and one beset with danger, and five lean and hungry years have they spent in preparing that they might speak to the master of this house concerning a matter on which only he can speak with both knowledge and authority. So I pray thee, if thy servants have found favor in thine eyes, grant that their request be carried to him.”
“It shall be done,” the soldier answered, tersely, after a momentary hesitancy, and conducted them forthwith past the sacred gate and the once frowning gatekeeper (now all smiles) to the outer courtyard.
Scarcely had he left them and scarcely had they time to observe the magnificence of the surroundings, when he returned, a few steps behind his master. The latter suffered the usual elaborate salutations of the East with visible irritation.
“The king’s business, on which I go, requireth haste,” he told them, thoughtlessly speaking in Syrian. “State thy errand in as few words as possible that I may tarry but briefly.”
The elder of the two, continuing to act as spokesman, bowed low before the soldier, who was standing apart: “Thy speech is that of Israel and thy master is not able to understand thy servants. I pray thee stand near that thou mayest tell thy lord what thy servants say and tell them what he saith.”
A smile played round the soldier’s mouth. “Nay, for my mother, who was of the Land of Israel, taught its tongue to my master, whom she nursed. Say on and he will understand. Long hath Isaac’s people served the House of Naaman.”
“Isaac?” The question—or exclamation—was like the swift thrust of a sword dividing friend from friend. The speaker drew back with hostility in eye and voice. “Thou art Isaac?”
The soldier wonderingly assented.
“Then thou art he who hath brought us hither. Five years and more,” sternly, “hast the captivity of a maid been on thy conscience, if thou hast a conscience; a maid whom thy soldiers stole from Hannathon in the Land of Israel.”
Surprise, resentment, and then infinite sadness overspread Isaac’s countenance. “Nay,” he said gently, “not five, but twenty-five, fifty, an hundred, hath been the years of my remorse.”
The travelers exchanged glances.
“Then do we not need to be told how it hath fared with the maiden,” said the spokesman, and turned his back upon the soldier, addressing Naaman in the tongue of Israel.
“Thy servants be Eli and Nathan, from the city of Hannathon in the Land of Israel, and we have come to redeem out of thy hand this captive maid, Miriam by name.”
Naaman frowned, and he spoke slowly. “Thy words do I comprehend but not thy meaning. ‘Redeem,’ thou sayest.”
Out of his bosom Eli drew a piece of sheepskin, which he carefully unwrapped, displaying two huge bracelets and a ring.
“When these are weighed, my lord, thou wilt find that they are of considerable value.”
Naaman exchanged a look with Isaac and assumed an air of sternness. “And when the truth is known thou wilt be found to have stolen them.”
On the faces of the two young men was blank despair. “Say not so, my lord. It is the product of five years and more of toil for us in the fields and vineyards of Abner of Hannathon. Robbed of his flocks and herds and his stores of oil and wine by the same hand which made Miriam’s parents desolate”—he paused and cast a contemptuous glance at Isaac, who winced as if he had received a blow—“naught had he left but his land, so he agreed with us for wages, and the God of our fathers, who heard the sighs of the maid in captivity, also prospered Abner and us.”
Naaman surveyed the jewelry appraisingly. “Five years’ wages for two would scarcely equal their value. Thou hast obtained them by fraud. Peradventure even now he for whom thou wert hirelings mourneth his loss.”
Genuinely distressed, tears came to the eyes of Eli. “Nay,” he said, eagerly, “my lord misjudgeth his servants. Privation hath been sister unto Toil and both have been sweet unto us for the hope wherewith we were comforted. My lord can see that these be the hands of workers—” he stretched open palms toward Naaman and commanded Nathan to do likewise. “These are not the hands of those who live delicately on the earnings of others.”
Naaman surveyed their hardened and calloused hands, to which his attention had been directed, but he saw yet more: their emaciated appearance, their coarse clothing, above all, their earnestness, but he seemed to find no words.
Slowly Eli drew from his bosom another and yet smaller piece of sheepskin and unwrapping it, passed it without speaking to Naaman. The latter looked long and with surprise, examining it diligently and commenting briefly.
“It is a pearl of great price. It hath never belonged to thee.”
“Never,” assented the spokesman. “It is a gift from Judith, kinswoman to Miriam and wife of Abner, who considereth herself to blame for Miriam’s capture. Loath was I to take it, but she besought me with tears and we reflected that what might mean much to the maid was but a little thing to Abner, so we hearkened to his wife.”
The conversation was interrupted momentarily when Lemuel, bowing low and with many apologies, crossed the courtyard hurriedly and whispered a message in Naaman’s ear. With a hasty glance at the sun the great captain turned to Eli.
“Put up thy jewels into thy bosom. Very dear unto her mistress is the maid, and the sum thou canst offer tempts me not. Nay, for I would tell thee—”
With one dismayed look at his brother Eli spoke again with calm finality: “Then one thing more do we bring my lord, all that we have to give. Let, I pray thee, thy servants remain as thy bondmen and let the maid return to Israel and to the mother who yearneth for her.”
The younger brother now advanced, prostrating himself and echoing Eli’s request: “Let Nathan and Eli serve thee as thou seest fit, but let not the maid remain in captivity.”
Frank admiration beamed from Naaman’s countenance. “Nay, not as bondmen shalt thou remain in this house, but as guests. Meat and drink shall be set before thee and changes of raiment shall be brought. Thou shalt see the maid and have audience with her mistress. Much of gratitude and affection do we owe Miriam, and if it please my wife to let her go into Israel, naught of what thou hast offered would we take, but a gift should she carry in her hand. Already hath request for the maiden’s freedom been made by my well-beloved servant, Isaac, and—”
Toward the gate they had entered flitted a smiling maiden, attended by an older woman and a maid servant. She stopped to pick a flower from the courtyard garden. Two women passed and she spoke to each, not with familiar chat, but with pleasant authority, both hurrying off to do her bidding. As the three entered a chariot which was in waiting and to which she was assisted with every mark of respect, she turned her head and the visitors saw that it was the gorgeously appareled maiden they had once supposed to be the daughter of the house.
“Behold,” said Naaman, “the maid whom thou seekest. She goeth—”
A rush of faintness caused Eli to lean heavily upon his brother. It was not this Miriam for whose sake they had toiled and suffered, but a Miriam poor and abused and possibly degraded. Upon the stone floor of the courtyard Eli fell. It was the tragedy of an unnecessary sacrifice.