CHAPTER II. With a foregoing explanation in mind, the reader is invited to look into one of the gardens of the palace on Mount Zion. The time was noonday, in the middle of July, when the heat of summer was at its highest. The garden was bounded on every side by buildings, which in places arose two stories, with verandas shading the doors and windows of the lower story, while retreating galleries guarded by strong balustrades adorned and protected the upper. Here and there, moreover, the structures fell into what appeared low colonnades, permitting the passage of such winds as chance to blow, and allowing other parts of the house to be seen the better to realize its magnitude and beauty. The arrangement of the ground was equally pleasant to the eye. There were walks, and patches of grass and shrubbery, and a few large trees, rare specimens of the palm, grouped with the carob, apricot, and walnut. In all directions the grade sloped gently from the center, where there was a reservoir, or deep marble basin, broken at intervals by little gates which, when raised, emptied the water into sluices bordering the walks, a cunning device for the rescue of the place from the aridity too prevalent elsewhere in the region. Not far from the fountain there was a small pool of clear water nourishing a clump of cane and oleander, such as grow on the Jordan and down by the dead sea. Between the clump and the pool, unmindful of the sun shining full upon them in the breathless air, two boys, one about nineteen, the other seventeen, sat engaged in earnest conversation. They were both handsome, and at first glance would have been pronounced brothers. Both had hair and eyes black, their faces were deeply browned, and, sitting, they seemed of a size proper for the difference in their ages. The elder was bareheaded, a loose tunic dropping to the knees, was his attire complete, except sandals and a light blue mantle spread under him on the seat. The costume left his arms and legs exposed, and they were brown as the face. Nevertheless a certain grace of manner, refinement of features, and culture of voice decided his rank. The tunic, of softest woollen, gray-tended at the neck, sleeves, and edge of the skirt bordered with red, and bound to the waist by a tasseled, silken cord, certified him the Roman he was. And if in speech he now and then gazed haughtily at his companion, and addressed him as an inferior, he might almost be excused, for he was of a family noble even in Rome, a circumstance which in that age justified any assumption. In the terrible wars between the first Caesar and his great enemies, a Masala had been the friend of Brutus. After Philippi, without sacrifice of his honour, he and the conqueror became reconciled. Yet later, when Octavius disputed for the Empire, Masala supported him. Octavius as the Emperor Augustus remembered the service and showered the family with honours. Among other things, Judea being reduced to a province, he sent the son of his old client or retainer to Jerusalem, charged with the receipt and management of the taxes levied in that region, and in that service the son had since remained, sharing the palace with the High Priest. The youth just ascribed was his son, whose habit it was to carry about with him, all too faithfully, a remembrance of the relation between his grandfather and the great Romans of his day. The associate of the Masala was slighter in form, and his garments were of fine white linen and of the prevalent style in Jerusalem. A cloth covered his head, held by a yellow cord, and arranged so as to fall away from the forehead down low over the back of the neck. An observer skilled in the distinctions of race, and studying his features more than his costume, would have soon discovered him to be of Jewish descent. The forehead of the Roman was high and narrow, his nose sharp and aquiline, while his lips were thin and straight, and his eyes cold and close under the brows. The front of the Israelite, on the other hand, was low and broad, his nose long with expanded nostrils, his upper lip slightly shading the lower one, short and curving to the dimpled corners, like a cupid's bow. Points which, in connection with the round chin, full eyes and oval cheeks, reddened with a wine-like glow, gave his face the softness, strength and beauty peculiar to his race. The comeliness of the Roman was severe and chaste, that of the Jew, rich and voluptuous. Did you not say the new procurator is to arrive to-morrow? The question proceeded from the younger of the friends, and was couched in Greek, at the time singularly enough, the language everywhere prevalent in the politer circles of Judea. Having passed from the palace into the camp and college, thence nobody knew exactly when or how, into the temple itself, and, for that matter, into precincts of the temple far beyond the gates and cloisters, precincts of a sanctity intolerable for a Gentile. Yes, to-morrow. Missala answered. Who told you? I heard Ishmael, the new governor in the palace. You call him High Priest. Tell my father so last night. The news had been more credible, I grant you, coming from an Egyptian, who is of a race that has forgotten what truth is, or even from an I-Dumaian, whose people never knew what truth was. But, to make quite certain, I saw a centurion from the tower this morning, and he told me, preparations were going on for the reception, that the armorers were fervishing the helmets and shields, and regilding the eagles and globes, and that apartments long unused were being cleansed and aired as if for an addition to the garrison, the bodyguard probably of the great man. A perfect idea of the manner in which the answer was given cannot be conveyed, as its fine points continually escaped the power behind the pen. The reader's fancy must come to his aid, and for that he must be reminded that reverence, as a quality of the Roman mind, was fast breaking down, or rather it was becoming unfashionable. The old religion had nearly ceased to be a faith. At most it was a mere habit of thought and expression, cherished principally by the priests who found service in the temple profitable, and the poets who, in the turn of their verses, could not dispense with the familiar deities. There are singers of this age who are similarly given. As philosophy was taking the place of religion, satire was fast substituting reverence, in so much that in Latin opinion it was to every speech, even to the little diatribes of conversation, as salt to vines and aroma to wine. The young Missala, educated in Rome, but lately returned, had caught the habit in manner, the scarce perceptible movement of the outer corner of the lower eyelid, the decided curl of the corresponding nostril, and a languid utterance affected as the best vehicle to convey the idea of general indifference, but more particularly because of the opportunities it afforded for certain rhetorical pauses thought to be of prime importance to enable the listener to take the happy conceit or receive the virus of the stinging epigram. Such a stop occurred in the answer just given, at the end of the allusion to the Egyptian and the Aegean. The color in the Jewish lads' cheeks deepened, and he may not have heard the rest of the speech, for he remained silent, looking absently into the depths of the pool. Our farewell took place in this garden.  The gods keep you, I said. Do you remember? How many years have passed since then? Five, answered the Jew, gazing into the water. Well, you have reason to be thankful to whom shall I say, the gods? No matter. You have grown handsome. The Greeks would call you beautiful. Happy achievement of the years. If Jupiter would stay content with one ganameed, what a cupbearer you would make for the emperor. Tell me, my Judah, how the coming of the procurator is of such interest to you. Judah bent his large eyes upon the questioner. The gaze was grave and thoughtful, and caught the Romans, and held it while he replied, Yes, five years. I remember the parting. You went to Rome. I saw you start, and cried, for I love you. The years are gone, and you have come back to me accomplished in princely. I do not jest. And yet I do wish you were the micella you went away. The fine nostril of the satirist stirred, and he put on a longer drawl, as he said, No, no, not a ganameed. An oracle, my Judah. A few lessons from my teacher of rhetoric, hard by the forum. I will give you a letter to him when you become wise enough to accept the suggestion which I am reminded to make you. A little practice of the art of mystery. And Delphi will receive you as Apollo himself. At the sound of your solemn voice the Pythia will come down to you with her crown. Seriously, oh my friend, in what am I not the micella I went away? I once heard the greatest logician in the world. His subject was disputation. One saying I remember. Understand your antagonist before you answer him. Let me understand you. The lad readened under the cynical look to which he was subjected, yet he replied firmly, You have availed yourself, I see, of your opportunities. From your teachers you have brought away much knowledge in many graces. You talk with the ease of a master, yet your speech carries a sting. My micella, when he went away, had no poison in his nature. Not for the world would he have hurt the feelings of a friend. The Romans smiled as if complimented and raised his patrician head a toss higher. Oh, my solemn Judah! We are not at Dodona or Pitho. Drop the oracular and be plain. Wherein have I hurt you? The other drew a long breath and said, pulling at the cord about his waist, In the five years I too have learned somewhat. Hillel may not be the equal of the logician you heard, and Simeon and Shemai are, no doubt, inferior to your master hard by the forum. Their learning goes not out into forbidden paths. Those who sit at their feet arise enriched simply with knowledge of God, the law, and Israel, and the effect is love and reverence for everything that pertains to them. Attendants at the great college, and study of what I heard there, have taught me that Judea is not as she used to be. I know the space that lies between an independent kingdom and the petty province Judea is. I were meaner, vileer than a Samaritan not to resent the degradation of my country. Ishmael is not lawfully high priest, and he cannot be while the noble Hannes lives. Yet he is a Levite, one of the devoted who for thousands of years has acceptably served the Lord God of our faith and worship. His Missala broke in upon him with a budding laugh. Oh, I understand you now. Ishmael, you say, is a usurper. Yet to believe an Ijumean sooner than Ishmael is to sting like an adder. By the drunken son of Simeon, what it is to be a Jew. All men and things even heaven and earth change, but a Jew never. To him there is no backward, no forward. He is what his ancestor was in the beginning. In the sand I draw you a circle. There. Now tell me what more a Jew's life is. Round and round Abraham here, Isaac and Jacob yonder, God in the middle. And the circle, by the master of all thunders, the circle is too large. I draw it again. He stopped, put his thumb upon the ground, and swept the fingers around it. See? The thumb spot is the temple, the finger-lines Judea. Outside the little space is there nothing of value? The arts. Herod was a builder, therefore he is accursed. Painting, sculpture. To look upon them is sin. Poetry you make fast to your altars, except in the synagogue, who of you attempts eloquence? In war all you conquer in the six days you lose on the seventh. Such your life and limit. Who shall say no if I laugh at you? Satisfied with the worship of such a people, what is your God to our Roman Jove, who lends us his eagles that we may compass the universe with our arms? Hillel, Simeon, Shemai, Abteleon? What are they to the masters who teach that everything is worth knowing that can be known? The Jew arose, his face much flushed. No, no, keep your place, my Judah, keep your place! Masala cried, extending his hand. You mock me. Listen a little further. Directly—the Roman smiled derisively—directly Jupiter and his whole family, Greek and Latin, will come to me, as is their habit, and make an end of serious speech. I am mindful of your goodness in walking from the old house of your fathers to welcome me back and renew the love of our childhood, if we can. Go, said my teacher, in his last lecture, go and make your lives great. Remember Mars rains and Eros has found his eyes. He meant love is nothing, war everything. It is so in Rome. Marriage is the first step to divorce. Virtue is a tradesman's jewel. Cleopatra dying bequeathed her arts and is avenged. She has a successor in every Roman's house. The world is going the same way. So, as to our future, down Eros, up Mars.  After June moved nearer the pool, Masala's drawl deepened. Yes, I pity you, my fine Judah. From the college to the synagogue, then to the temple, then—oh, a crowning glory!—the seat in the Sanhedrin. A life without opportunities, the gods help you, but I! Judah looked at him in time to see the flush of pride that kindled in his haughty face as he went on. But I! Ah! the world is not all conquered. The sea has islands unseen. In the North there are nations yet unvisited. The glory of completing Alexander's march to the Far East remains to some one. See what possibilities lie before a Roman. Last instant he resumed his drawl. A campaign into Africa. Another after the Scythian. Then a legion. Most careers end there, but not mine. I, by Jupiter, what a conception I will give up my legion for a prefecture. Think of life in Rome with money. Money, wine, women, games. It's at the banquet. Intrigues in the court. Dice all the year round. Such a rounding of life may be.  Oh, my Judah, here is Syria. Judea is rich. Antioch a capital for the gods. I will succeed Serenius, and you shall share my fortune. The Sophists and rhetoricians who throng the public resorts of Rome, almost monopolizing the business of teaching her patrician youth, might have approved these sayings of Masala, for they were all in the popular vein. To the young Jew, however, they were new, and unlike the solemn style of discourse and conversation to which he was accustomed. He belonged moreover, to a race whose laws, modes, and habits of thought forbade satire and humor. Very naturally, therefore, he listened to his friend with varying feelings. One moment indignant, then uncertain how to take him. The superior heirs assumed had been offensive to him in the beginning. Soon they became irritating, and at last an acute smart. Anger lies close by this point in all of us, and that the satirist evoked in another way. To the Jew of the Herodian period patriotism was a savage passion, scarcely hidden under his common humor, and so related to his history, religion, and God, that it responded instantly to derision of them. Wherefore it is not speaking too strongly to say that Masala's progress, down to the last pause, was exquisite torture to his hearer. At that point, the latter said, with a forced smile. There are a few I have heard who can afford to make a jest of their future. You convince me, O my Masala, that I am not one of them. The Romans studied him, then replied, Why not the truth in a jest as well as a parable? The great Fulvia went fishing the other day. She caught more than all the company besides. They say it was because the barb of her hook was covered with gold. Then you were not merely jesting? My Judah, I see I did not offer you enough. The Roman answered quickly, as I sparkling. When I am prefect, with Judea to enrich me, I will make you high priest. The Jew turned off angrily. Do not leave me, said Masala. The other stopped irresolute. God's Judah, how hot the sun shines! cried the patrician, observing his perplexity. Let us seek a shade. Judah answered coldly, We had better part. I wish I had not come. I sought a friend and find a— Ah, Roman, said Masala quickly. The hands of the Jew clenched, but controlling himself again he started off. Masala arose and, taking the mantle from the bench, flung it over his shoulder and followed after. When he gained his side he put his hand upon his shoulder and walked with him. This is the way, my hand thus, we used to walk when we were children. Let us keep it as far as the gate. Apparently Masala was trying to be serious and kind, though he could not rid his countenance of the habitual satirical expression. Judah permitted the familiarity.  I am a man. Let me talk like one. The complacency of the Roman was superb. Mentor lecturing the young Telemachus could not have been more at ease. Do you believe in the Parse? Oh, I forgot.  The Essienes are your sensible people. They believe in the sisters. So do I. However lastingly the three are in the way of our doing what we please. I sit down scheming. I run paths here and there. Purple. Just when I am reaching to take the world in hand I hear behind me the grinding of scissors. I look, and there she is, the accursed Atropos. But my Judah, why did you get mad when I spoke of succeeding old Cyrenius? You thought I meant to enrich myself plundering your Judea. Suppose so. It is what some Roman will do. Why not I? Judah shortened his step. There had been strangers in mastery of Judea before the Roman, he said with lifted hand. Where are they, Massala? She has outlived them all. What has been will be again. Massala put on his drawl. The Parse have believers outside the Essienes. Welcome, Judah. Welcome to the faith. No, Massala. Count me not with them. My faith rests on the rock which was the foundation of the faith of my fathers back further than Abraham, on the covenants of the Lord God of Israel. Too much passion, my Judah.  There were other things I had to tell you, but I fear too now. And they had gone a few yards, the Romans spoke again. I think you can hear me now, especially as what I have to say concerns yourself. I would serve you, O handsome Miss Ganymede. I would serve you with real good will. I love you, all I can. I told you I meant to be a soldier. Why not you also? Why not you step out of the narrow circle which, as I have shown, is all of noble life your laws and customs allow? Judah made no reply. Who are the wise men of our day? Massala continued. Not they who exhaust their years quarreling about dead things, about bowels, joves, and Jehovah's, about philosophies and religions. Give me one great name, O Judah. I care not where you go to find it, to Rome, Egypt, the East, or here in Jerusalem. Pluto take me if it belonged not to a man who wrought his fame out of the material furnished him by the present. Holding nothing sacred that did not contribute to the end, scorning nothing that did. How was it with Herod? How were the Maccabees? How were the first and second Caesars? Imitate them. Begin now. At hand see Rome as ready to help you as she was the Adjumean Antipater. The Jewish lad trembled with rage, and as the garden gate was close by he quickened his steps eager to escape. Oh, Rome! Rome! he muttered. Be wise, continued Massala. Give up the follies of Moses and the traditions. See the situation as it is. Dare look the parse in the face, and they will tell you Rome is the world. Ask them of Judea, and they will answer she is what Rome wills. They were now at the gate. Judea stopped and took the hand gently from his shoulder, and confronted Massala, tears trembling in his eyes. I understand you, because you are a Roman. You cannot understand me. I am an Israelite. You have given me suffering today by convincing me that we can never be the friends we have been. Never! Here we part. The peace of the God of my fathers abide with you. Massala offered him his hand. The Jew walked on through the gateway. When he was gone the Roman was silent a while, then he too passed through, saying to himself with a toss of the head, Be it so. Eros is dead. Mars reigns. From the entrance to the holy city, equivalent to what is now called St. Stephen's Gate, a street extended westwardly, on a line parallel with the northern front of the tower of Antonia, through a square from that famous castle. Keeping the course as far as the Tyropoian valley, which it followed a little way south, it turned and again ran west until a short distance beyond what tradition tells us was the judgment gate, from whence it broke abruptly south. The traveller or the student familiar with the sacred locality will recognize the thoroughfare described as part of the Via Dolorosa, with Christians of more interest, though of a melancholy kind, than any street in the world. As the purpose in view does not at present require dealing with the whole street, it will be sufficient to point out a house standing in the angle last mentioned as marking the change of direction south, in which, as an important centre of interest, needs somewhat particular description. The building fronted north and west, probably four hundred feet each way, and, like most pretentious eastern structures, was two stories in height and perfectly quadrangular. The street on the west side was about twelve feet wide, that on the north not more than ten, so that one walking close to the walls and looking up at them would have been struck by the rude, unfinished, uninviting, but strong and imposing appearance they presented, for they were of stone laid in large blocks, undressed, on the outer side, in fact, just as they were taken from the quarry. A critic of this age would have pronounced the house fortalesque in style, except for the windows, with which it was unusually garnished, and the ornate finish of the doorways, or gates. The western windows were four in number, the northern only two, all set on the line of the second story in such manner as to overhang the thoroughfares below. The gates were the only breaks of wall externally visible in the first story, and, besides being so thickly riven with iron bolts as to suggest resistance to battering-rams, they were protected by cornices of marble, handsomely executed, and of such bold projection as to assure visitors well informed of the people that the rich man who resided there was a sad you see in politics and creed. Not long after the young Jew parted from the Roman at the palace up on the marketplace, he stopped before the western gate of the house described, and knocked. The wicket, a door hung in one of the valves of the gate, was open to admit him. He stepped in hastily and failed to acknowledge the low salam of the porter. To get an idea of the interior arrangement of the structure, as well as to see what more befell the youth, we will follow him. The passage into which he was admitted appeared not unlike a narrow tunnel with paneled walls and pitted ceiling. There were benches of stone on both sides, stained and polished by long use. Twelve or fifteen steps carried him into a courtyard, oblong north and south, and in every quarter except the east, bounded by what seemed the fronts of two-story houses, of which the lower floor was divided into lewans, while the upper was terraced and defended by strong balustrating. The servants coming and going along the terraces, the noise of millstones grinding, the garments fluttering from ropes stretched from point to point, the chickens impigeons in full enjoyment of the place, the goats, cows, donkeys and horses, stabled in the lewans, a massive trough of water, apparently for the common use, declared this court a pertinent to the domestic management of the owner. Eastwardly there was a division wall broken by another passageway in all respects like the first one. Clearing the second passage, the young man entered a second court, spacious, square, and set with shrubbery and vines, kept fresh and beautiful by water from a basin erected near a porch on the north side. The lewans here were high, airy, and shaded by curtains striped alternate white and red. The arches of the lewans rested on clustered columns. A flight of steps on the south ascended to the terraces of the upper story, over which great awnings were stretched as a defence against the sun. Another stairway reached from the terraces to the roof, the edge of which, all around the square, was defined by a sculptured cornice, and a parapet of burned clay tiling, sexangular and bright red. In this quarter, moreover, there was everywhere observable a scrupulous neatness, which, allowing no dust in the angles, not even a yellow leaf upon a shrub, contributed quite as much as anything else to the delightful general effect, in so much that a visitor, breathing the sweet air, knew in advance of introduction the refinement of the family he was about to be calling upon. A few steps within the second court the lad turned to the right, and, choosing a walk through the shrubbery, part of which was in flower, passed to the stairway and ascended to the terrace, a broad pavement of white and brown flags, closely laid, and much worn. Making way under the awning to a doorway on the north side, he entered an apartment which the dropping of the screen behind him returned to darkness. Nevertheless, he proceeded, moving over a tiled floor to a divan upon which he flung himself, face downwards, and lay at rest, his forehead upon his crossed arms. About nightfall a woman came to the door and called. He answered, and she went in. "'Supper is over, and it is night. Is not my son hungry?' she asked. "'No,' he replied. "'Are you sick?' "'I am sleepy.' "'Your mother has asked for you?' "'Where is she?' "'In the summer-house on the roof.' He stirred himself and sat up. "'Very well. Bring me something to eat.' "'What do you want?' "'What do you please, Amra? I am not sick, but indifferent. Life does not seem as pleasant as it did this morning. A new ailment o' my Amra, and you who know me so well, who never failed me, may think of the things now that answer for food and medicine. Bring me what you choose.' Amra's questions, and the voice in which she put them, low, sympathetic, and solicitous, were significant of an endeared relation between the two.  After a while she returned, bearing on a wooden platter a bowl of milk, some thin cakes of white bread broken, a delicate paste of braid wheat, a bird broiled, and honey and salt. On one end of the platter there was a silver goblet full of wine, on the other a brazen handlamp lighted. The room was then revealed, its walls smoothly plastered, the ceiling broken by great oaken rafters, brown with rain stains and time, the floor of small diamond-shaped white and blue tiles, very firm and enduring. A few stools with legs carved in imitation of the legs of lions. A divan raised a little above the floor, trimmed with blue cloth, and partially covered by an immense striped woollen blanket or shawl, in brief, a Hebrew bedroom. The same light also gave the woman to view. Drawing a stool to the divan, she placed the platter upon it, then knelt close by, ready to serve him. Her face was that of a woman of fifty, dark skinned, dark eyed, and at the moment softened by a look of tenderness almost maternal.  She was a slave of Egyptian origin, to whom not even the sacred fiftieth year could have brought freedom, nor would she have accepted it, for the boy she was attending was her life. She had nursed him through babyhood, tendered him as a child, and could not break the service. To her love he could never be a man. He spoke but once during the meal. You remember, O my emra, he said, the Masala who used to visit me here days at a time. I remember him. He went to Rome some years ago, and is now back. I called upon him to-day. A shudder of disgust sees the lad. I knew something had happened. She said, deeply interested. I never liked the Masala. Tell me all. But he fell into musing, and to her repeated inquiries only said, He is much changed, and I shall have nothing more to do with him. When Amra took the platter away he also went out and up from the terrace to the roof. The reader is presumed to know somewhat of the uses of the housetop in the east. In the matter of customs, climate is a lawgiver everywhere. The Syrian summer day drives the seeker of comfort into the darkened loon. Night, however, calls him forth early, and the shadows deepening over the mountain-sides seem veils dimly covering Cersei and Singers. But they are far off, while the roof is close by, and raised above the level of the shimmering plain enough for the visitation of cool airs, and sufficiently above the trees to allure the stars down closer, down at least into brighter shining. So the roof became a resort, became playground, sleeping chamber, boudoir, rendezvous for the family, place of music, dance, conversation, reverie, and prayer. The motive that prompts the decoration at whatever cost of interiors and colder climbs suggested to the Oriental the embellishment of his housetop. The parapet ordered by Moses became a potter's triumph. Above that, later, arose towers, plain infantastic. Still later, kings and princes crowned their roofs with summer houses of marble and gold. When the Babylonians hung gardens in the air, extravagance could push the idea no further. The lad whom we are following walked slowly across the housetop, to a tower built over the northwest corner of the palace. Had he been a stranger, he might have bestowed a glance upon the structure as he drew nigh it, and seen all the dimness permitted, a darkened mass, low, lattice, pillard, and domed. He entered, passing under a half-raised curtain. The interior was all darkness, except that on four sides there were arched openings like doorways, through which the sky, lighted with stars, was visible. In one of the openings, reclining against a cushion from a divan, he saw the figure of a woman, indistinct even in white, floating drapery. At the sound of his steps upon the floor, the fan in her hand stopped, glistening where the starlight struck the jewels with which it was sprinkled, and she sat up and called his name. "'Juda, my son!' "'It is I, mother,' he answered, quickening his approach. Going to her, he knelt, and she put her arms around him, and with kisses pressed him to her bosom. CHAPTER IV The mother resumed her easy position against the cushion, while the sun took place on the divan, his head in her lap. Both of them, looking out of the opening, could see a stretch of lower housetops in the vicinity, a bank of blue blackness over in the west which they knew to be mountains, and the sky, its shadowy depths, brilliant with stars. The city was still. Only the winds stirred. "'Amra tells me something has happened to you,' she said, caressing his cheek. When my Judah was a child, I allowed small things to trouble him. But he is now a man. He must not forget. Her voice became very soft. That one day he is to be my hero.' She spoke in the language almost lost in the land, but which a few, and they were always as rich in blood as in possessions, cherished in its purity, that they might be more surgeonly distinguished from Gentile peoples, the language in which the loved Rebecca and Rachel sang to Benjamin. The words appeared to set him thinking anew. After a while, however, he caught the hand with which she fanned him, and said, "'Today, O my mother, I have been made to think of many things that never had place in my mind before. Tell me first, what am I to be?' "'Have I not told you? You are to be my hero.' He could not see her face, yet he knew she was in play. He became more serious. "'You are very good, very kind, O my mother. No one will ever love me as you do.' He kissed the hand over and over again. "'I think I understand why you would have me put off the question,' he continued. "'Thus far my life has belonged to you. How gentle, how sweet your control has been. I wish it could last forever. But that may not be. It is the Lord's will that I shall one day become owner of myself, a day of separation, and therefore a dreadful day to you. Let us be brave and serious. I will be your hero, but you must put me in the way. You know the law.  I am not exempt. And ask now, shall I tend the herds, or till the soil, or drive the saw, or be a clerk or lawyer? What shall I be? Dear good mother, help me to an answer.' "'Gamalil has been lecturing to-day,' she said thoughtfully. "'If so, I did not hear him.' "'Then you have been walking with Simeon, who, they tell me, inherits the genius of his family.' "'No, I have not seen him. I have been up on the market-place, not to the temple. I visited the young Masala.' A certain change in his voice attracted the mother's attention. A presentiment quickened the beating of her heart. The fan became emotionless again. "'The Masala,' she said, what could he say to so trouble you?' "'He is very much changed.' "'You mean he has come back a Roman?' "'Yes.' "'Roman,' she continued, half to herself, to all the world the word means master. How long has he been away?' "'Five years,' she raised her head and looked off into the night. "'The heirs of the Via Sacra are well enough in the streets of the Egyptian and in Babylon, but in Jerusalem, our Jerusalem, the Covenant abides.  He was first to speak. What Masala said my mother was sharp enough in itself, but, taken with the manner, some of the sayings were intolerable. "'I think I understand you.  But the pride of that people is unlike all others. In these latter days it is so grown that the gods barely escape it.' "'The gods escape,' said the mother quickly. More than one Roman has accepted worship as his divine right.' "'Well, Masala has always had his share of the disagreeable quality. When he was a child I have seen him mock strangers whom even Herod condescended to receive with honors. Yet he always spared Judea. For the first time in conversation with me today he trifled with our customs in God. As you would have had me do, I parted with him finally. And now, oh my dear mother, I would know with more certainty if there be just ground for the Romans' contempt. In what am I his inferior? Is ours a lower grade of people? Why should I, even in Caesar's presence, feel the shrinking of a slave? Tell me especially why, if I have the soul and so choose, I may not hunt the honors of the world in all its fields. Why may not I take sword and indulge the passion of war? As a poet, why may not I sing of all themes? I can be a worker in metals, a keeper of flocks, a merchant. Why not an artist like the Greek? Tell me, oh my mother, and this is the sum of my trouble. Why may not a son of Israel do all a Roman may?' The reader will refer these questions back to the conversation in the marketplace. The mother, listening with all her faculties awake, from something which would have been lost upon one less interested in him, from the connections of the subject, the pointing of the questions, possibly his accent and tone, was not less swift in making the same reference. She sat up, and in a voice quick and sharp as his own, replied, I see, I see, from association Masala in boyhood was almost a Jew. Had he remained here, he might have become a proselyte. So much do we all borrow from the influences that ripen our lives, but the years in Rome have been too much for him. I do not wonder at the change. Yet, her voice fell, he might have dealt tenderly at least with you. It is a hard, cruel nature which in youth can forget its first loves.  Her pride responded to his, not merely an echo, but in the unison of perfect sympathy. She would answer him. At the same time, not for the world would she have had the answer unsatisfactory, and admission of inferiority might weaken his spirit for life. She faltered with misgivings of her own powers. What you propose, O my Judah, is not a subject for treatment by a woman. Let me put its consideration off till to-morrow, and I will have the wise Simeon. Do not send me to the rector, he said, abruptly. I will have him come to us. No, I seek more than information. While he might give me that better than you, O my mother, you can do better by giving me what he cannot, the resolution which is the soul of a man's soul. She swept the heavens with a rapid glance, trying to compass all the meaning of his questions. While craving justice for ourselves, it is never wise to be unjust to others. To deny valor in the enemy we have conquered is to underrate our victory. And if the enemy be strong enough to hold us at bay, much more to conquer us, she hesitated. Self-respect bids us seek some other explanation of our misfortunes than accusing him of qualities inferior to our own. Thus speaking to herself rather than to him, she began, Take heart, O my son, the Masala is nobly descended. His family has been illustrious through many generations, in the days of Republican Rome. How far back I cannot tell. They were famous, some as soldiers, some as civilians. I can recall but one consul of the name. Their rank was senatorial, and their patronage always sought because they were always rich. Yet if to-day your friend boasted of his ancestry, you might have shamed him by recounting yours. If he referred to the ages through which the line is traceable, or to deeds, rank, or wealth, such illusions, except when great occasion demands them, are tokens of small minds. If he mentioned them in proof of his superiority, then without dread, and standing on each particular, you might have challenged him to a comparison of records. One of the ideas of fast hold now is that time has much to do with the nobility of races and families.  The founding of Rome was his beginning. The very best of them cannot trace their descent beyond that period. Few of them pretend to do so. And of such as do, I say not one could make good his claim except by resort to tradition. Masala certainly could not. Let us look now to ourselves. Could we better? A little more light would have enabled him to see the pride that diffused itself over her face. Let us imagine the Roman putting us to the challenge. I would answer him, neither doubting nor boastful. Her voice faltered. A tender thought changed the form of the argument. Your father, O my Judah, is at rest with his fathers. Yet I remember, as though it were this evening, the day he and I, with many rejoicing friends, went up into the temple to present you to the Lord. We sacrificed the doves, and to the priest I gave your name, which he wrote in my presence. Judah, son of Ithamar, of the house of her. The name was then carried away and written in a book of the division of records devoted to the saintly family. I cannot tell you when the custom of registration in this mode began. We know it prevailed before the flight from Egypt. I have heard Hillel say, Abraham caused the record to be first opened with his own name, and the names of his sons, moved by the promises of the Lord which separated him and them from all other races, and made them, the highest and noblest, the very chosen of the earth. The covenant with Jacob was of like effect. In thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed. So said the angel to Abraham in the place Jehovah Jirei, and the land whereon thou liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed. So the Lord himself said to Jacob asleep at Bethel on the way to Heron. Afterwards the wise men looked forward to adjust the vision of the land of promise, and that it might be known in the day of partition who were entitled to portions the book of generations was begun. But not for that alone. The promise of a blessing to all the earth through the patriarch reached far into the future. One name was mentioned in connection with the blessing. The benefactor might be the humblest of the chosen family, for the Lord our God knows no distinctions of rank or riches. So to make the performance clear to men of the generation who were to witness it, and that they might give the glory to whom it belonged, the record was required to be kept with absolute certainty. Has it been so kept? The fan played to and fro until, becoming impatient, he repeated the question. Is the record absolutely true? Hillel said it was, and of all who have lived no one was so well informed upon the subject. Our people have at times been heedless of some parts of the law, but never of this part. The good rector himself has followed the books of generations through three periods, from the promises to the opening of the temple, thence to the captivity, thence again to the present. Once only were the records disturbed, and that was at the end of the second period. But when the nation returned from the long exile, as a first duty to God, Zerubbabel restored the books, enabling us once more to carry the lines of Jewish descent, back unbroken fully two thousand years, and now she paused as if to allow the hearer to measure the time comprehended in the statement, and now she continued, What becomes of the Roman boast of blood enriched by ages? By that test the sons of Israel watching the herds on old Refiam yonder are nobler than the noblest of the mercy I. And I, mother, by the books who am I? What I have said thus far, my son, had reference to your question, I will answer you. If Masala were here he might say, as others have said, that the exact trace of your lineage stopped when the Assyrian took Jerusalem and raised the temple with all its precious stores, but you might plead the pious action of Zerubbabel and retort that all verity and Roman genealogy ended when the barbarians from the west took Rome and camped six months upon her desolated sight. Did the government keep family histories? If so, what became of them in those dreadful days? No. No. There is verity in our books of generations, and following them back to the captivity, back to the foundation of the first temple, back to the march from Egypt, we have absolute assurance that you are linearly sprung from her, the associate of Joshua. In the matter of descent sanctified by time, is not the honor perfect? Do you care to pursue further? If so, take the Torah and search the book of numbers and of the seventy-two generations after Adam you can find the very progenitor of your house. There was silence for a time in the chamber on the roof. I thank you, O my mother," Judah next said, clasping both her hands in his. I thank you with all my heart. I was right in not having the good rector called in. He could not have satisfied me more than you have. Yet to make a family truly noble, is time alone sufficient? Ah, you forget. You forget. Our claim rests not merely upon time. The Lord's preference is our especial glory. You are speaking of the race and I, mother, of the family, our family. In the years since Father Abraham, what have they achieved? What have they done? What great things to lift them above the level of their fellows. She hesitated, thinking she might all this time have mistaken his object. The information he sought might have been for more than the satisfaction of wounded vanity. Youth is but the painted shell within which, continually growing, lives that wondrous thing, the spirit of man, biding its moment of apparition, earlier in some than in others. She trembled under a perception that this might be the supreme moment come to him, that his children at birth reach out their untried hands grasping for shadows and crying the while, so his spirit might, in temporary blindness, be struggling to take hold of its impalpable future. They to whom a boy comes asking, who am I, and what am I to be, have need of ever so much care. Each word and answer may prove to the afterlife what each finger touch of the artist is to the clay he is modeling. I have a feeling, oh my Judah! She said, patting his cheek with the hand he had been caressing. I have the feeling that all I have said has been in strife with an antagonist more real than imaginary. If Masala is the enemy, do not leave me to fight him in the dark. Tell me all he's said. CHAPTER 5 The young Israelite proceeded then and rehearsed his conversation with Masala, dwelling with particularity upon the latter's speeches in contempt of the Jews, their customs, and much pent round of life. Afraid to speak the while, the mother listened, discerning the matter plainly. Judah had gone to the palace on the marketplace, allured by love of a playmate whom he thought to find exactly as he had been at the parting years before. A man met him, and in place of laughter and references to the sports of the past, the man had been full of the future, and talked of glory to be one, and of riches and power. Unconscious of the effect the visitor had come away hurt in pride, yet touched with a natural ambition. But she, the jealous mother, saw it, and, not knowing the turn the aspiration might take, became at once Jewish in her fear. What if it lured him away from the patriarchal faith? In her view that consequence was more dreadful than any or all others. She could discover but one way to avert it, and she said about the task, her native power reinforced by love to such degree that her speech took a masculine strength, and at times a poet's fervor. There never has been a people, she began, who did not think themselves at least equal to any other. Never a great nation, my son, that did not believe itself the very superior. When the Roman looks down upon Israel and laughs, he merely repeats the folly of the Egyptian, the Assyrian, and the Macedonian, and as the laugh is against God the result will be the same. Her voice became firmer. There is no law by which to determine the superiority of nations, the vanity of the claim, and the idleness of disputes about it.  If I were called upon to symbolize God and man in the simplest form, I would draw a straight line and a circle, and of the line I would say, This is God, for he alone moves for ever straightforward. And of the circle, This is man, such is his progress. I do not mean that there is no difference between the careers of nations, no two or alike. The difference, however, is not, as some say, in the extent of the circle they describe, or the space of earth they cover, but in the sphere of their movement, the highest being nearest God. To stop here, my son, would be to leave the subject where we began. Let us go on. There are signs by which to measure the height of the circle each nation runs while in its course. By them let us compare the Hebrew and the Roben. The simplest of all the signs is the daily life of the people. Of this I will only say, Israel has at times forgotten God, while the Roman never knew him. Consequently comparison is not possible. Your friend, or your former friend, charged, if I understood you rightly, that we have had no poets, artists, or warriors, by which he meant, I suppose, to deny that we have had great men, the next most certain of the signs. A just consideration of this charge requires a definition at the commencement. A great man, oh my boy, is one whose life proves him to have been recognized, if not called, by God. A Persian was used to punish our Recreant Fathers, and he carried them into captivity. Another Persian was selected to restore their children to the Holy Land. Greater than either of them, however, was the Macedonian through whom the desolation of Judea and the Temple was avenged. The special distinction of the men was that they were chosen by the Lord, each for a divine purpose, and that they were Gentiles does not lessen their glory. Do not lose sight of this definition while I proceed. There is an idea that war is the most noble occupation of men, and that the most exalted greatness is the growth of battlefields. As the world has adopted the idea, be not you deceived, that we must worship something is a law which will continue as long as there is anything we cannot understand. The Prayer of the Barbarian is a wail of fear addressed to strength, the only divine quality he can clearly conceive, hence his faith in heroes. What is Jove but a Roman hero? The Greeks have their great glory because they were the first to set mind above strength. In Athens the orator and philosopher were more revered than the warrior. The charioteer and the swiftest runner are still idols of the arena, yet the immortals are reserved for the sweetest singer. The birthplace of one poet was contested by seven cities, but was the Helene the first to deny the old barbaric faith? No. My son, that glory is ours. Against brutalism our fathers erected God. In our worship the wail of fear gave place to the Hosanna and the psalm. So the Hebrew and the Greek would have carried all humanity forward and upward. But alas! the government of the world presumes war as an eternal condition. Therefore, over mind and above God, the Roman has enthroned his Caesar, the absorbent of all attainable power, the prohibition of any other greatness. The sway of the Greek was a flowering time for genius. In return for the liberty it then enjoyed, what a company of thinkers the mind led forth. There was a glory for every excellence, and a perfection so absolute that in everything but war even the Roman has stooped to imitation. A Greek is now the model of the orators and the forum. Listen, and in every Roman song you will hear the rhythm of the Greek. If a Roman opens his mouth speaking wisely of moralities, or abstractions, or of the mysteries of nature, he is either a plagiarist or the disciple of some school which had a Greek for its founder. Nothing but war, I say again, has Roman claimed to originality. Her games and spectacles are Greek inventions, dashed with blood to gratify the ferocity of her rabble. Her religion, if such it may be called, is made up of contributions from the faiths of all other peoples. Her most venerated gods are from Olympus, even her Mars, and for that matter the jove she much magnifies. So it happens, oh my son, that of the whole world our Israel alone can dispute the superiority of the Greek, and with him contest the palm of original genius. To the excellences of other peoples the egotism of a Roman is a blindfold, impenetrable as his breastplate. Oh, the ruthless robbers! Under their trampling the earth trembles like a floor beaten with flails.  They have our highest places, and the holiest, and the end no man can tell. But this I know. They may reduce Judea as an almond broken with hammers, and devour Jerusalem, which is the oil and sweetness thereof. Yet the glory of the men of Israel will remain a light in the heavens overhead out of reach. For their history is the history of God, who wrote with their hands, spake with their tongues, and was himself in all the good they did, even the least, who dwelt with them a lawgiver on Sinai, a guide in the wilderness, in war a captain, in government a king, who once and again pushed back the curtains of the pavilion which is his resting place, intolerably bright, and, as a man speaking to men, showed them the right, and the way to happiness, and how they should live, and made them promises binding the strength of his almightiness with covenants sworn to everlasting lay. Oh, my son, could it be that they, with whom Jehovah thus dwelt, an awful familiar, derived nothing from him? That in their lives and deeds the common human qualities should not, in some degree, have been mixed and colored with the divine? That their genius should not have in it, even after the lapse of ages, some little of heaven? For a time the rustling of the fan was all the sound heard in the chamber. In the sense which limits art to sculpture and painting, it is true, she next said, Israel has had no artists. The admission was made regretfully, for it must be remembered she was a Sadducee, whose faith, unlike that of the Pharisees, permitted a love of the beautiful in every form and without reference to its origin. Still he who would do justice, she proceeded, would not forget that the cunning of our hands was bound by the prohibition thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything, which the Sophram wickedly extended beyond its purpose in time. Nor should it be forgotten that long before Daedalus appeared in Attica and with his wooden statues so transformed sculpture as to make possible the schools of Corinth and Edgina, and their ultimate triumphs the Puyseel and Capitolium. Long before the age of Daedalus I say. Two Israelites, Bezalil and Ohaleab, the master builders of the first tabernacle, said to have been skilled in all manner of workmanship, wrought the cherubim of the mercy-seat above the ark. Of gold beaten, not chiseled were they, and they were statues in form both human and divine. And they shall stretch forth their wings on high, and their faces shall look one to another, who will say they were not beautiful, or that they were not the first statues. Oh, I see now why the Greek outstripped us, said Judah intensely interested, and the ark accursed be the Babylonians who destroyed it. Nay, Judah, be of faith. It was not destroyed, only lost, hidden away too safely in some cavern of the mountains. One day, Hilal and Shemai both say so. One day, in the Lord's good time, it will be found in Bratforth, an Israel dance before it, singing as of old.  The mother in her eagerness had risen into something like the rapidity and vehemence of a speech-maker. But now, to recover herself, or to pick up the thread of her thought, she rested awhile. You are so good, my mother, he said in a grateful way. And I will never be done saying so. Shemai could not have talked better, nor Hilal. I am a true son of Israel again. Flatterer, she said, you do not know that I am but repeating what I heard Hilal say in an argument he had one day in my presence with the Sophists from Rome. Well, the hearty words are yours. Directly all her earnestness returned. Where was I? Oh, yes, I was claiming for our Hebrew fathers the first statues. The trick of the sculptor, Judah, is not all there is of art, any more than art is all there is of greatness. I always think of great men marching down the centuries in groups and goodly companies, separable according to nationalities. They are the Indian, they are the Egyptian, yonder the Assyrian, above them the music of trumpets and the beauty of banners, and on their right hand and left, as reverent spectators, the generations from the beginning, numberless. As they go, I think of the Greeks saying, Lo, the Helene leads the way. Then the Roman replies, Silence, what was your place is ours now. We have left you behind as dust trodden upon. And all the time, from the far front back over the line of the march, as well as forward into the farthest future, streams a light of which the Wranglers know nothing, except that it is forever leading them on, the light of revelation. Who are they that carry it? Ah, the old Judean blood! How it leaps at the thought! By the light we know them. Thrice blessed, O our fathers, servants of God, keepers of the Covenants. Ye are the leaders of men, the living and the dead. The front is thine, and though every Roman were a Caesar, ye shall not lose it. Judah was deeply stirred. Do not stop, I pray you, he cried. You give me to hear the sound of timbrels. I wait for Miriam and the women who went after her dancing and singing. She caught his feeling, and with ready wit wove it into her speech. Very well, my son, if you can hear the timbrel of the prophetess, you can do what I was about to ask. You can use your fancy and stand with me, as if by the wayside, while the chosen of Israel pass us at the head of the procession. Now they come, the patriarchs first, next the fathers of the tribes. I almost hear the bells of their camels and the lowing of their herds. Who is he that walks alone between the companies? An old man, yet his eye is not dim, nor his natural force abated. He knew the Lord face to face. Warrior, poet, orator, lawgiver, prophet, his greatness is as the sun at morning, its flood of splendor quenching all other lights, even that of the first and noblest of the Caesars. After him the judges, and then the kings, the son of Jesse, a hero in war, and a singer of songs eternal as that of the sea, and his son, who passing all other kings and riches in wisdom, and while making the desert habitable, and in its waste places planting cities, forgot not Jerusalem which the Lord had chosen for his seat on earth. Ben lower, my son, these that come next are the first of their kind, and the last. Their faces are raised as if they heard a voice in the sky and were listening. Their lives were full of sorrows, their garments smell of tombs and caverns, hearken to a woman among them. Sing ye to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously. Nay, put your forehead in the dust before them. They were tongues of God, his servants, who looked through heaven, and seeing all the future, wrote what they saw, and left the writing to be proven by time. Kings turned pale as they approached them, and nations trembled at the sound of their voices. The elements waited upon them. In their hands they carried every bounty and every plague. See the Tishbite and his servant Elisha? See the sad son of Hilkaya, and him the seer of visions by the river of Chabar. And of the three children of Judah who refused the image of the Babylonian low, that one who, in the feast to the thousand lords, so confounded the astrologers. And Yonder, O my son, kissed the dust again. Yonder, the gentle son of Amos, from whom the world has its promise of the Messiah to come. In this passage the fan had been kept in rapid play. It stopped now, and her voice sank low. You are tired, she said. No, he replied. I was listening to a new song of Israel. The mother was still intent upon her purpose and passed the pleasant speech. In such light as I could, my Judah, I have set our great men before you, patriarchs, legislators, warriors, singers, prophets. Turn we to the best of Rome. Against Moses, place Caesar. And Tarquin against David. Silla against either of the Maccabees. The best of the consuls against the judges. Augustus against Solomon. And you were done. Comparison ends there. But think then of the prophets, greatest of the great. She laughed scornfully. Pardon me. I was thinking of the soothsayer who warned Chaos Julius against the Ides of March, and fancied him looking for the omens of evil which his master aspired in the entrails of a chicken. From that picture turned to Elijah, sitting on the hilltop on the way to Samaria, amid the smoking bodies of the captains and their fifties, warning the son of Ahab of the wrath of our God. Finally, oh my Judah, if such speech be reverent, how should we judge Jehovah and Jupiter unless it be by what their servants have done in their names? And as for what you shall do?  As for what you shall do, my boy? Serve the Lord, the Lord God of Israel. Not Rome. For a child of Abraham there is no glory except in the Lord's ways, and in them there is much glory. I may be a soldier, then? Judah asked. Why not? Did not Moses call God a man of war? There was then a long silence in the summer chamber. You have my permission, she said finally, if only you serve the Lord instead of Caesar. He was content with the condition, and by and by fell asleep. She arose then and put the cushion under her head, and, throwing a shawl over him and kissing him tenderly, went away. End of chapter. Book 2 Chapter 6 of Ben Hur. This lever-box recording is in the public domain, and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Ben Hur. A Tale of the Christ, by Lou Wallace. Book 2 Chapter 6. The good man, like the bad, must die, but remembering the lesson of our faith, we say of him and the event, no matter, he will open his eyes in heaven. Nearest this in life is the waking from healthful sleep to a quick consciousness of happy sights and sounds. When Judah awoke, the sun was up over the mountains, the pigeons were abroad in flocks, filling the air with the gleams of their white wings. And off southeast he beheld the temple, an apparition of gold in the blue of the sky. These, however, were familiar objects, and they received but a glance. Upon the edge of the divan, close by him, a girl scarcely fifteen sat singing to the accompaniment of a navel, which she rested upon her knee and touched gracefully. To her he turned listening, and this was what she sang. The song. Wake not, but hear me, love, adrift, adrift on slumber's sea. Thy spirit called to list to me. Wake not, but hear me, love. A gift from sleep, the restful king, all happy, happy dreams I bring. Wake not, but hear me, love, of all the world of dreams, to thine this wants to choose the most divine. So choose and sleep, my love, but nare again in choice be free, unless, unless, thou dreamst of me. She put the instrument down, and, resting her hands in her lap, waited for him to speak. And as it has become necessary to tell somewhat of her, we will avail ourselves of the chance, and add such particulars of the family into whose privacy we are brought, as the reader may wish to know. The favors of Herod had left surviving him many persons of vast estate. Where this fortune was joined to undoubted lineal descent from some famous son of one of the tribes, especially Judah, the happy individual was accounted a prince of Jerusalem, a distinction which suffice to bring him the homage of his less-favored countrymen, and the respect, if nothing more, of the Gentiles with whom business and social circumstance brought him into dealing. Of this class none had won in private or public life a higher regard than the father of the lad whom we have been following. With the remembrance of his nationality which never failed him, he had yet been true to the king, and served him faithfully at home and abroad. Some officers had taken him to Rome, where his conduct attracted the notice of Augustus, who strove without reserve to engage his friendship. In his house, accordingly, were many presents, such as had gratified the vanity of kings. Purple togas, ivory chairs, gold impatero, chiefly valuable on account of the imperial hand which had honorably conferred them. Such a man could not fail to be rich. Yet his wealth was not altogether the large excess of royal patrons. He had welcomed the law that bound him to some pursuit, and, instead of one, he entered into many. Of the herdsmen watching flocks on the plains and hillsides, far as Old Lebanon, numbers reported to him as their employer. In the cities by the sea, and in those inland, he founded houses of traffic. His ships brought him silver from Spain, whose minds were then the richest known. While his caravans came twice a year from the east, laid him with silks and spices. In faith he was a Hebrew, observant of the law and every essential right. His place in the synagogue and temple knew him well. He was thoroughly learned in the scriptures. He delighted in the society of the college masters, and carried his reverence for Hillel almost to the point of worship. Yet he was in no sense a separatist. His hospitality took in strangers from every land. The carping Pharisees even accused him of having more than once entertained some maritans at his table. Had he been a Gentile and lived, the world might have heard of him as the rival of Herodes Atticus. As it was, he perished at sea some ten years before this second period of our story, in the prime of life, and lamented everywhere in Judea. We are already acquainted with two members of his family, his widow and son, the only other was a daughter, she whom we have seen singing to her brother. Terza was her name, and as the two looked at each other, their resemblance was plain. Her features had the regularity of his, and were of the same Jewish type. They had also the charm of childish innocencey of expression. Home-life and its trustful love permitted the negligent attire in which she appeared. A chemise buttoned upon the right shoulder, and passing loosely over the breast and back and under the left arm, but half concealed her person above the waist, where it left the arms entirely nude. A girdle caught the folds of the garment, marking the commencement of the skirt. The coiffure was very simple and becoming. A silken cap, Tyrion died, and over that a striped scarf of the same material, beautifully embroidered, and wound about in thin folds so as to show the shape of the head without enlarging it. The hole finished by a tassel dropping from the crown point of the cap. She had rings, ear, and finger, anklets and bracelets all of gold. And around her neck there was a collar of gold, curiously garnished with a network of delicate chains, to which were pendants of pearl. The edges of her eyelids were painted, and the tips of her fingers stained. Her hair fell in two long plates down her back.  All together it would have been impossible to deny her grace, refinement, and beauty. Very pretty, my tourism, very pretty, he said, with animation. The song, she asked. Yes, and the singer, too. It has the conceit of a Greek. Where did you get it? You remember the Greek who sang in the theatre last month? They said he used to be a singer at the court for Herod and his sister Salome. He came out just after an exhibition of wrestlers when the house was full of noise. At his first note everything became so quiet that I heard every word. I got the song from him. But he sang in Greek. And I in Hebrew. Ah, yes. I am proud of my little sister. Have you another as good? Very many. But let them go now. Amra sent me to tell you she will bring you your breakfast and that you need not come down. She should be here by this time. She thinks you sick. That a dreadful accident happened to you yesterday. What was it? Tell me, and I will help Amra talk to you.   Do you think so? Very well, then. She replied, almost without pause, and putting her hands to her left ear. We will have nothing to do with any of them. I have here what is much sure and better. The amulet which was given to some of our people. I cannot tell when. It was so far back. By a Persian magician. See? The inscription is almost worn out.  If I were dying, Terzai, could not use the charm. It is a relic of idolatry. Forbidden every believing son and daughter of Abraham. Take it, but do not wear it any more. Forbidden? Not so, she said. Our father's mother wore it. I do not know how many Sabbaths in her life. It is cured. I do not know how many people. More than three anyhow. It is approved. Look, here is the mark of the rabbis. I have no faith in amulets. She raised her eyes to his and astonishment. What would Amra say? Amra's father and mother tended Sakia for a garden on the Nile. But Camelil. He says they are godless inventions of unbelievers and sheshamites. Terzai looked at the ring doubtfully. What shall I do with it? Wear it, my little sister. It becomes you. It helps make you beautiful, though I think you that without help. Satisfied, she returned the amulet to her ear just as Amra entered the summer chamber, bearing a platter with washbowl, water, and napkins. Not being a Pharisee, the ablution was short and simple with Judah. The servant then went out, leaving Terzai to dress his hair. When a lock was disposed to her satisfaction she would unloose the small metallic mirror, which, as was the fashion among her fair countrywomen, she wore at her girdle and gave it to him that he might see the triumph and how handsome it made him. Meanwhile, they kept up their conversation. What do you think, Terzai? I'm going away. She dropped her hands with amazement. Going away? When? Where? For what? He laughed. Three questions all in a breath.  Next instant he became serious. You know the law requires me to follow some occupation. Our good father set me an example. Even you would despise me if I spent in idleness the results of his industry and knowledge. I'm going to Rome. Oh, I will go with you.   The brightness faded from her face. Ah, yes, yes. But must you go? Here in Jerusalem you can learn all that is needed to be a merchant, if that is what you are thinking of. But that is not what I am thinking of. The law does not require the son to be what the father was. What else can you be? A soldier. He replied with a certain pride of voice. Tears came into her eyes. You will be killed. If gods will, be it so. But Terza, the soldiers are not all killed. She threw her arms around his neck as if to hold him back. We are so happy. Stay at home, my brother. Home cannot always be what it is. You yourself will be going away before long. Never! he smiled at her earnestness. A prince of Judah or some other of one of the tribes will come soon and claim my Terza and ride away with her to be the light of another house. What will then become of me? She answered with sobs. War is a trade, he continued more soberly. To learn it thoroughly one must go to school, and there is no school like a Roman camp. You would not fight for Rome? she asked, holding her breath.  The whole world hates her. In that, O Terza, find the reason of the answer I give you. Yes, I will fight for her. If in return she will teach me how one day to fight against her. When will you go? Amra's steps were then heard returning. He said, Do not let her know of what I'm thinking. The faithful slave came in with breakfast and placed the waiter holding it upon a stool before them. Then, with white napkins upon her arm, she remained to serve them. They dipped their fingers in the bowl of water and were rinsing them when a noise arrested their attention. They listened and distinguished martial music in the street on the north side of the house. Soldiers from the praetorium! I must see them! he cried, springing from the divan and running out. In a moment more he was leaning over the parapet of tiles which guarded the roof at the extreme northeast corner, so absorbed that he did not notice Terza by his side, resting one hand upon his shoulder. Their position, the roof being the highest one in the locality, commanded the housetops eastward as far as the huge irregular tower of Antonia, which has already been mentioned as a citadel for the garrison and military headquarters for the governor. The street, not more than ten feet wide, was spanned here and there by bridges, open and covered, which, like the roofs along the way, were beginning to be occupied by men, women, and children called out by the music. The word is used, though it is hardly fitting, what the people heard when they came forth was rather an uproar of trumpets and the shriller Litwai so delightful to the soldiers. The array after a while came into view of the two upon the house of the hers. First a vanguard of the light-armed, mostly slingers and bowmen, marching with wide intervals between their ranks and files. Next a body of heavy-armed infantry, bearing large shields and hasto elongo, or spears identical of those used in the duels before Ilium. Then the musicians, and then an officer riding alone, but followed closely by a guard of cavalry. After them again a column of infantry also heavy-armed, which, moving in close order, crowded the streets from wall to wall, and appeared to be without end. The brawny limbs of the men, the cadenced motion from right to left of the shields, the sparkle of scales, buckles and breast-plates and helms, all perfectly burnished, the plumes nodding above the tall crests, the sway of ensigns and iron-shod spears, the bold, confident step, exactly timed and measured, the demeanor so grave yet so watchful, the machine-like unity of the whole moving mass, made an impression upon Judah, but as something felt rather than seen. Two objects fixed his attention, the eagle of the legion first, a gilded effigy perched on a tall shaft, with wings outspread until they met above its head. He knew that, when brought from its chamber in the tower, it had been received with divine honours. The officer riding alone in the midst of the column was the other attraction. His head was bare, otherwise he was in full armour. At his left hip he wore a short sword. In his hand, however, he carried a truncheon, which looked like a roll of white paper. He sat upon a purple cloth instead of a saddle, and that, and a bridle with a forestall of gold and reins of yellow silk broadly fringed at the lower edge, completed the housings of the horse. While the man was yet in the distance, Judah observed that his presence was sufficient to throw the people looking at him into angry excitement. They would lean over the parapets, or stand boldly out, and shake their fists at him. They followed him with loud cries, and spit at him as he passed under the bridges. The women even flung their sandals, sometimes with such good effect as to hit him. When he was nearer, the yells became distinguishable. Robber, tyrant, dog of a Roman, away with Ishmael, give us back our Hannas. When quite near, Judah could see that, as was but natural, the man did not share the indifference so superbly shown by the soldiers. His face was dark and sullen, and the glances he occasionally cast at his persecutors were full of menace. The very timid shrank from them. Now the lad had heard of the custom, borrowed from a habit of the first Caesar, by which chief commanders, to indicate their rank, appeared in public with only a laurel vine upon their heads. By that sign he knew this officer, Valerius Gratis, the new procurator of Judea. To say truth now, the Roman under the unprovoked storm had the young Jew's sympathy, so that when he reached the corner of the house, the latter leaned yet farther over the parapet to see him go by, and in the act rested a hand upon a tile which had been a long time cracked and allowed to go unnoticed. The pressure was strong enough to displace the outer piece, which started to fall. A thrill of horror shot through the youth. He reached out to catch the missile. In appearance the motion was exactly that of one pitching something from him. The effort failed, nay, it served to push the descending fragment further out over the wall. He shouted with all his might. The soldiers of the guard looked up, so did the great man, and at that moment the missile struck him, and he fell from his seat as dead. The cohort halted. The guards leaped from their horses and hastened to cover the chief with their shields. On the other hand, the people who witnessed the affair, never doubting that the blow had been purposely dealt, cheered the lad as he stooped in full view over the parapet, transfixed by what he beheld, and by anticipation of the consequences flashed all too plainly upon him. A mischievous spirit flew with incredible speed from roof to roof along the line of march, seizing the people and urging them all alike. They laid hands upon the parapets and tore up the tiling and the sun-burnt mud of which the housetops were for the most part made, and with blind fury began to fling them upon the legionaries halted below. A battle then ensued. Discipline, of course, prevailed. The struggle, the slaughter, the skill of one side, the desperation of the other, are alike unnecessary to our story. Let us look rather to the wretched author of it all. He arose from the parapet, his face very pale. Oh, Terza! Terza! What will become of us? She had not seen the occurrence below, but was listening to the shouting and watching the mad activity of the people in view on the houses. Something terrible was going on, she knew. But what it was, or the cause, or that she or any of those dear to her were in danger, she did not know. What has happened? What does it all mean? She asked in sudden alarm. I have killed the Roman governor! The tile fell upon him! An unseen hand appeared to sprinkle her face with a dust of ashes. It grew white so instantly. She put her arm around him and looked wistfully, but without a word, into his eyes. His fears had passed to her, and the sight of them gave him strength. I did not do it purposely, Terza. It was an accident. He said, more calmly. What will they do? She asked. He looked off over the tumult momentarily deepening in the street and on the roofs, and thought of the sulling countenance of Gratis. If he were not dead, where would his vengeance stop? And if he were dead, to what height of fury would not the violence of the people lash the legionaries? To evade an answer he peered over the parapet again, just as the guard were assisting the Roman to remount his horse. He lives! He lives, Terza! Blessed be the Lord God of our fathers! With that outcry and a brightened countenance he drew back and replied to her question. Be not afraid, Terza. I will explain how it happened, and they will remember our father and his services and not hurt us. He was leading her to the summer house when the roof jarred under their feet, and a crash of strong timbers being burst away, followed by a cry of surprise and agony, arose apparently from the courtyard below. He stopped and listened. The cry was repeated, then came a rush of many feet, and voices lifted in rage blunt with voices in prayer, and then the screams of women in mortal terror. The soldiers had beaten in the north gate, and were in possession of the house. The terrible sense of being hunted smote him. His first impulse was to fly, but where? Nothing but wings would serve him. Terza, her eyes wild with fear, caught his arm. Oh, Judah, what does it mean? The servants were being butchered, and his mother. Was not one of the voices he heard, hers? With all the will left him, he said, Stay here, and wait for me, Terza. I will go down and see what is the matter, and come back to you. His voice was not steady as he wished. She clung closer to him. Clearer, shriller, no longer a fancy, his mother's cry arose. He hesitated no longer. Come then, let us go. The terrace or gallery at the foot of the steps was crowded with soldiers. Other soldiers with drawn swords ran in and out of the chambers. At one place a number of women on their knees clung to each other or prayed for mercy. Apart from them, one with torn garments, and long hair streaming over her face, struggled to tear loose from a man all whose strength was tasked to keep his hold. Her cries were shrillest of all. Cutting through the clamor, they had risen distinguishably to the roof. To her, Judah sprang, his steps were long and swift, almost a winged flight. Mother, mother! he shouted. She stretched her hands toward him. But when almost touching them, he was seized and forced to side. Then he heard someone say, speaking loudly, That is he. Judah looked and saw Massala. What? The assassin? That? Said a tall man in legionary armor, a beautiful finish. Why, he is but a boy. Gods! replied Massala, not forgetting his drawl. A new philosophy. What would Seneca say to the proposition that a man must be old before he can hate enough to kill? You have him, and that is his mother, yonder his sister. You have the whole family. For love of them Judah forgot his quarrel. Help them, O my Massala! Remember our childhood, and help them. I, Judah, pray you. Massala affected not to hear. I cannot be of further use to you, he said to the officer. There is richer entertainment in the street. Down eros, up Mars. With the last words he disappeared. Judah understood him, and in the bitterness of his soul, prayed to heaven. In the hour of thy vengeance, O Lord, he said, Be mine the hand to put it upon him. By great exertion he drew nearer the officer.  Spare her, spare my sister, yonder. God is just. He will give you mercy for mercy. The man appeared to me moved. To the tower with the women, he shouted. But do them no harm. I will demand them of you. Then to those holding Judah, he said, Get cords and bind his hands, and take him to the street. His punishment is reserved. The mother was carried away. The little Terza, in her home attire, stupefied with fear, went passively with her keepers. Judah gave each of them a last look, and covered his face with his hands, as if to possess himself of the scene fadelessly. He may have shed tears, though no one saw them. There took place in him, then, what may be justly called the wonder of life. The thoughtful reader of these pages has erred this, discerned enough to know that the young Jew in disposition was gentle, even to womanliness. A result that seldom fails the habit of loving and being loved. The circumstances through which he had come had made no call upon the harsher elements of his nature, if such he had. At times he had felt the stir and impulses of ambition, but they had been like the formless dreams of a child walking by the sea and gazing at the coming and going of stately ships. But now, if we can imagine an idol, sensible of the worship it was accustomed to, dashed suddenly from its altar and lying amidst the wreck of its little world of love, an idea may be had of what had befallen the young Ben Hur and of its effect upon his being. Yet there was no sign, nothing to indicate that he had undergone a change, except that when he raised his head and held his arms out to be bound, the bend of the Cupid's bow had vanished from his lips. In that instant he had put off childhood and become a man. A trumpet sounded in the courtyard. With the cessation of the call the gallery was cleared of the soldiery, many of whom as they dared not appear in the ranks with visible plunder in their hands, flung what they had upon the floor until it was strewn with articles of riches virtue. When Judah descended the formation was complete, and the officer waiting to see his last order executed. The mother, daughter, and entire household were led out of the north gate, the ruins of which choked the passageway. The cries of the domestics, some of whom had been born in the house, were most pitiable.  The very structure was devoted. Far as the order was possible of execution, nothing living was to be left within its walls. If in Judea there were others desperate enough to think of assassinating a Roman governor, the story of what befell the princely family of her would be a warning to them, while the ruin of the habitation would keep the story alive. The officer waited outside while a detail of Ben temporarily restored the gate. In the street the fighting had almost ceased. Upon the houses here and there, clouds of dust told where the struggle was yet prolonged. The cohort was, for the most part, standing at rest, its splendor, like its ranks, in no wise diminished. Born past the point of care for him so that Judah had heart for nothing in view but the prisoners, among whom he looked in vain for his mother and Terza. Suddenly, from the earth where she had been lying, a woman arose and started swiftly back to the gate. Some of the guards reached out to seize her and a great shout followed their failure. She ran to Judah and, dropping down, clasped his knees, and to the other side of the gate.  Oh, Amra, good Amra, he said to her, God help you, I cannot. She could not speak. He bent down and whispered, Live, Amra, for Terza and my mother, they will come back and— A soldier drew her away, whereupon she sprang up and rushed through the gateway and passage into the vacant courtyard. Let her go, the officer shouted. We will seal the house and she will starve. The men resumed their work, and when it was finished there, passed round to the west side. That gate was also secured, after which the palace of the hers was lost to use. The cohort at length marched back to the tower, where the procurator stayed to recover from his hurts and dispose of his prisoners. On the tenth day following he visited the marketplace.


Welcome into the fan duel hurry up. I am Sean Guastamacchia joined now by Jim Sanis of fan duel and we are talking XFL Week four Jim welcome back. Thank you Sean I appreciate it pretty excited for this week for a slate got a couple of games that are Intriguing at least a couple of teams may be able to be able to buy low on so pretty good spot this week This slates looking pretty solid. How are you doing today Sean? I'm doing fantastic, and I'm really looking forward to the Wildcats in person. I'll get a chance to see them here in New York They play the New York Guardians last week 39 to 9 thrashing At home in LA Josh Johnson really got things going in his second week of action But you don't have him as your quarterback for Saturday's games You have Jordan Tomu the St. Louis Battle Hawks quarterback. Yeah, I think that if you're playing things straight up Josh Johnson is going to be the number one quarterback for this week But as you mentioned Josh Johnson lit things up last week He was tremendous which means that when people look at this Saturday only slate They're probably going to gravitate towards Josh Johnson, and you know again straight up He is about a quarterback But I think there is a good case to be made for Jordan Tomu as a tournament play because he is just one one dollar cheaper than Josh Johnson people aren't going to go there for salary savings And when you look at the distribution of fantasy fantasy points between Josh Johnson and Jordan Tomu I think there is a pretty realistic scenario where Jordan Tomu is the highest-groting quarterback on the Saturday only slate Largely because of his rushing you know but the passing volume with St. Louis is never going to be all that high But Tomu runs quite a bit. He is averaging 41 rushing yards per game And basically what that says to me is he has a very good floor that is awesome But there's also a path to a ceiling game if he gets a rushing touchdown or two And that's definitely intriguing when I know a guy is not going to be as popular as a counterpart on this slate To me there are only two viable quarterbacks on this Saturday only slate one of them is Johnson One of them is Tomu. I expect Johnson to get the majority of the ownership And I want to pivot to Tomu instead because of that rushing St. Louis has a good implied team total neither game on the slate is Expected to be all that high scoring So I'm gonna go with the less popular guy go with Tomu But I think that this Saturday only slate really does revolve around just those two guys Yeah, and Jordan Tomu really doing well for the battle Hawks one of the surprises through three weeks It's early Jim, but through the first three weeks the battle Hawks have been one of the surprises in the XFL Let's move to the running back position a guy who was inactive last week for the Wildcats in that big win They had at home Elijah hood at running back Why Elijah this week as you're running back for Saturday? Yeah, I think there's a decent amount of risk with Elijah hood because of what you just mentioned He missed last week due to injury and that is concerning but this week on the injury report Elijah hood It's not there which says to me that Elijah hood is probably healthy and ready to go Which is encouraging Martez Carter was a guy who started for Elijah hood last week And he is actually on the injury report. He missed practice both Tuesday and Wednesday So if I had to make a guess here I would bet that Elijah hood comes back and plays the same role He had before and the role before for hood was pretty good He had a 71% snap rate back in week number one He played 64% of the snaps in week number two So if we get Elijah hood back in that same role, he's a pretty massive value at $13 and I am definitely intrigued by that I think you can make a case for both of the St. Louis running backs and Kristen Michael and Matt Jones Matt Jones also banged up missing some practice But those guys split that backfield up whereas a lot of the hood is kind of a lone ranger in the backfield here for Los Angeles So it's definitely risky if you want to go the safer I think that Kristen Michael is probably the guy I would turn to there But the upside in hood is very good if he can get somewhere near what his role was before this injury I think that with Martes Carter being bagged up. There's a good chance that happens. So I'm willing to roll the dice in Elijah hood I am pretty risk tolerant though So I think if you are a different type of DFS player and don't want to take that risk Maybe this isn't your guy But for me knowing the potential that Elijah hood has if he gets that role back I am willing to go here for just $13 and the potential of this offense playing the New York Guardians the Wildcats We saw what Josh Johnson can do last week He continues that same play Elijah hood a great play there at running back this week on Saturday All right, let's move over move over to the wide receiver tight end position a guy many of us know Playing quarterback at Navy Kenan Reynolds is now a wide receiver in the XFL and he's coming on lately for the Seattle dragons You have him as your wide receiver tight end this week Yeah, for me, it's really comes down to predictable volume because you could go to Los Angeles because Nelson spruce Who's been a very high usage wide receiver this entire year will not play that opens a volume for Los Angeles So I think there is a good case to me for a Donis Jennings possibly Jordan Elijah small wood Trey McBride would be interesting, but he popped up on the injury report on Wednesday So little bit concerned there. There is a lot of value going at the LA guys But we know Kenan Reynolds will get volume for Seattle. It's not gonna be the most efficient volume by any means But he'll give volume because over the first three games this year Kenan Reynolds has 24% of the team's overall targets He has 38% of the team's deep targets and Brandon Silvers has been disappointing But he has gone deep which means that we do have some upside here with Kenan Reynolds And I think that's definitely intriguing So I think that if you want to shoot for the stars, you know aim for the fences and try to get a super high upside play That's where you go at the LA guys specifically a Donis Jennings I think is the most interesting one at $12 But if you want a safe guy, you know will be out there You know will run routes and you know will get targets. That's Kenan Reynolds So some good lower cost options on this slate But I think that the one that I want to go to may save deep perspective and with a good chance at a good path to a ceiling It's Kenan Reynolds for $16 in Seattle. All right Let's move over to Sunday slate and a little bit of a surprise You have Cardale Jones at your quarterback position over a guy Like Philip Walker who for the Houston Roughnecks is taking the league by storm for the undefeated Houston Roughnecks even Landry Jones putting up some good numbers for the Dallas renegades Why are you going with Cardale Jones as your quarterback on Sunday this week? It's the same thought process we use for Jordan to Amu because we know most of the popularity in this Sunday Slate is gonna be focused around PJ Walker and Landry Jones And it should because the total in that game is 50 and a half that is super high for an XFL game It's about six points clear of every other game on this slate You should want to go with that game, but Cardale Jones I think it's also in a good by low spot after a hideous outing in week number three where he threw four picks He looks really bad, but we've also seen him hit the highs And it's fun to use guys who are going to be less popular with the ability to have a ceiling game We know that Cardale Jones can do that He is facing the Tampa Bay Vipers They rank sixth in coverage grade according to pro football focus so not a great second there We saw PJ Walker kind of put it to him last week Cardale Jones is a 33% deep rate And he has also run 16 times this year in three games. That's not bad PJ Walker is at 12 rush attempts So some juice there for Cardale Jones. I am very okay with PJ Walker I am very okay with Landry Jones as well But PJ Walker is also four more dollars than Cardale Jones If you want to get to Kim Phillips who is I think the best play on this slate Geese 22 bucks and it's hard to get there if you use PJ Walker and stack that up Cardale Jones a little bit cheaper It makes it a lot more realistic to get to Kim Phillips. I like that a lot I like the bounce back here for Cardale Jones against a weak defense. So it may be tough after The brutal game logs you're gonna see from week number three But I do still think that Cardale Jones is a lot of appeal at what should be lower Popularity this weekend. All right So expect a bounce back performance from Cardale Jones as the DC defenders take on the Tampa Bay Vipers on Sunday Running back Cameron artists pain and he's been doing it not only rushing but also catching the ball out of the backfield For the Dallas renegades. You're going with Cameron artists pain as you're running back for this Sunday Yeah, and honestly if I could just go like Cameron artists pain or lands done bar and just say use a Dallas running back I don't care which one I would do that because they're both really appealing if you look at running back snap rate From week number three Dallas had two of the four highest snap rates among running backs Lance Dunbar But 61% of the snaps Cameron artists pain was the highest snap rate running back on the entire sleigh That's why I'm gonna go here with Cameron artists pain But I think that Dunbar at $16 is also very much in play as well Dunbar last week or artist pain last week had 13 carries he also had six targets and he ran more routes than Lance Dunbar So Dunbar is gonna get the attention. That's dessert and I like Lance Dunbar But artist pain has a really tremendous role And I think that he you could make the case that he has the best role of any running back in the entire XFL Get passing down work will get early down work You get chances that touchdown because that team is good in what projects to be a super high scoring game Cameron artists pain checks all the boxes now I Don't think it's entirely outrageous to consider using both Cameron artists pain and Lance Dunbar in the same lineup as Weird and as unnatural as that may feel I think that it is at least in play But if I had to pick one of those two guys, I would go Cameron artists pain James Butler is also intriguing on the other side of this game at $17 But I think my favorite running back on this Sunday only slate is Cameron artists pain But just broadly use those Dallas running backs for sure We mentioned the Houston Roughnecks We mentioned the offense and a PJ Philip Walker there at the quarterback position lighting things up in the XFL His number one target cam Phillips But you have a guy who maybe under the radar not maybe a little bit here at $16 he's priced Khalil Lewis You're going with Khalil Lewis as your wide receiver on Sunday Yeah, I think we'd all love to have PJ Walker stacked with cam Phillips in every lineup we could get but PJ Walker is $23 cam Phillips is $22 and that's pretty tough to get to so if you want to use PJ Walker I'm okay jumping down to Khalil Lewis at $16. That's pretty cheap to get exposure to this high flying offense In the first three games Khalil Lewis has actually had a pretty good role He has 21% of the overall targets in that time. He does not have as much deep work as cam Phillips So if you can get to Phillips, I would be trying to do so for sure But Lewis has a decent role and he's playing on a good team And that's what we should look for and we're trying if we're trying to find running backs for a path to a big game So I like Khalil Lewis a lot from that perspective if you can't find the salary to get up to cam Phillips I think that Eli Rogers is also in play here He is $15. He's had a really good role for DC so far this year So I do like that some cheaper options at wide receivers So maybe your ability to get to PJ Walker is a little bit easier than may have thought initially But I do like kind of a bounce build here this week getting a guy like Cardale Getting someone like Cameron Artis Payne and then plugging these like middle-range wide receivers like Khalil Lewis and Eli Rogers I think that's a pretty good strategy for this weekend and Khalil Lewis has a good enough role on a great offense Where I think that he can help make up for the disappointment and not being able to afford cam Phillips Yeah, that June Jones led Houston Roughnecks offense putting up tremendous amount of yards and winning three and oh the only undefeated team left in the XFL week four starts on Saturday with two games another two on Sunday should be a lot of fun Jim Sonos a fan duel. Thanks for the time and the knowledge. We're looking forward to another week in the XFL Thank you, Sean. I appreciate it. Good luck to you and we'll talk to you again next week. Thank you, Jim That is Jim Sonos a fan duel. I am strong while Samakia. That is the fan duel hurry up