Great Lion of God Read Free Page A

small girl—he never thought of her as an adult woman. He had heard from his bookshop that a little known manuscript of one of Philo of Larissa’s earlier works had been discovered a year ago, and copies were expected in Tarsus. He would send for one tomorrow; it would please Deborah, and, alas, it would flatter her. She would not understand a single word, poor pretty child. On the other hand, she had admired a necklace of fiery opals she had seen in her jeweler’s shop, though had prudently caviled at the price. Which should it be? Philo of Larissa or the opals? Hillel, in mercy, decided on the jewels. Two heavily laden ships had made their way from Cilicia to Rome without encountering the enthusiastic and ubiquitous Cilician pirates—who had not been entirely destroyed by Julius Caesar and his successors—and Hillel had been heavily invested in those vessels and their cargo. He had made a handsome profit. Therefore, Deborah would have her fine opals.
    The peacock screeched again, and the child in his ivory and ebony cradle complained. The nursery was filled with the newly awakened scent of the night-blooming jasmine, though the sun had not yet set and its reddish light struck on white marble wall and on the white and black marble floor. The shadow of a palm tree blew against the wall nearest the young child, and he quickly turned his head and gazed at it, and Hillel marveled. A child so young, so newly born, and he saw! It was said that an infant did not truly see anything but light and shadow before he was two months old, but of a certainty this child not only saw but comprehended. Hillel did not in the least feel fatuous and too fond as he bent over the cradle and clucked at his son. “Saul,” he said, in the softest voice. “Saul?”
    The boy had not yet been named in the Temple, but a man held his son’s name in his heart before that. Hillel and the infant were alone in the large and gleaming nursery. Hillel’s face and golden beard shone as if the light of his own spirit illuminated it. He felt a passionate love, and immediately murmured a prayer, for above all one must love one’s God with all one’s heart, mind and soul, and that love must surpass any human love for any human creature. Hillel hoped for a moment that he had not offended his omnipresent God nor incurred His wrath, which could fall upon this innocent morsel in his cradle.
    The child turned his head quickly again and looked up at his father, who leaned over him. As Deborah had said, he was not beautiful; he was almost ugly. He was smaller than the average babe, even at his age, yet he had a broad and sturdy body, naked except for the cloth about his loins, and that body was not fair as were the parents’ but slightly ivory in tint as if he had been exposed to the sun. The nursemaids had mentioned a young Hercules, which had pleased Deborah, but Hillel thought of David, the warrior king. The muscles of the little chest were strong and visible under the sweating skin, like minute plates of armor, and the arms were the arms of a soldier. The legs, equally strong, were, however, bowed like one who has ridden a horse since childhood. The toes flexed vigorously and with a kind of rhythm, as did the square little fingers. They seemed to move with purpose, and not aimlessly, thought Hillel.
    He had a round head, virile and solid, but overlarge for his body, and big red ears. Unfortunately, his hair, thick and coarse, was even redder. It was not a charming tint, as was the hair of Deborah. It was that particular shade of raw and audacious color which usually aroused mistrust among superstitious Jews. Moreover, it grew far down the wide powerful cliff which was the child’s forehead, and this gave him a pugnacious appearance, like an irritable Roman.
    The effect of irritability was enhanced by his most peculiar eyes. They were round, huge and commanding, under the red brows—which almost met across a nose even more suggestive of a Hittite’s than