


 ...Roads
       By
 Seabury Quinn

With illustrations
by Virgil Finlay

      1948



               To

         MARY HELEN

and "Mr. Son," remembering joyous
     Christmastides together



It's a long way round the year, my dears,
     A long way round the year.
I met the frost and flame, my dears,
     I found the smile and tear.
The wind blew high on the pine-topp'd hill,
     And cut me keen on the moor;
The heart of the stream was frozen still
     As I tapped the miller's door.

I tossed them holly in hall and cot,
     And bade them right good cheer,
But stayed me not in any spot
     For I traveled round the year,
To bring the Christmas joy, my dears,
     To your eyes so bonnie and true,
And a mistletoe bough for you, my dears,
     A mistletoe bough for you.

                 - Virginia Woodward Cloud*


*By permission of Appleton-Century-Crofts, Inc.



...Roads



I. The Road to
   Bethlehem






     PILES of blazing thornbush crackled in the base-court
of the sari, camels grunted discontentedly in their kneeling
places, horses munched dry grass. Around the empty cook-
pots men licked grease and crumbs of millet from their fingers
and brushed them from their beards, then drew their
sheepskin cloaks about them and lay down upon the kidney
stones to sleep: all but the three who huddled round a
charcoal brazier in a corner by the horse lines - they were
talking treason.

                              [8]



     "Wah, these be evil days for Jacob's children, they are as
the tribes in Egypt were, only they have neither Moses nor a
Joshua! The tax of a denarius on every household, and each
one forced to journey to his birthplace.... Now they slay our
children in their swaddling-bands.... This Romans' puppet
that sits on the throne, this unbelieving Greek!"
     "But Judas will avenge our wrongs; men say that he is
that Messiah we have waited for so long. He will rouse his
men of valor out of Galilee and sweep the Roman tyrant in
the sea -"
     "Sh-s-s-sh, hold thy babble, Joachim; that one yonder is
belike a spy!"
     With one accord the men turned toward the figure
hunched in sleep before a dying fire of thornbush. Flaxen-
haired, fair-skinned, he drooped above the whitening embers,
his cloak of ruddy woolen stuff draped loosely round his
shoulders, the sinking fire-glow picking out soft highlights on
the iron cap that crowned his flowing, braided hair - a man
of mighty stature, one of the gladiators kept by Herod in his
school for athletes that was constantly replenished from the
German provinces or the Slavic tribes beyond the Danube.
     "What does the godless dog so far from Herod's
kennels?"
     "The Lord of Zion knows, but if he go back to the Holy
City and tell the tale of what he has heard here, three crosses
will crown Golgotha before another sun has set," Joachim
interrupted softly, and dropping to his knees unloosed the

                               [9]



dagger strapped to his wrist as he wormed his way across the
courtyard flints. In all the country round about Jerusalem
there was no hand more skillful with the knife than that of
Joachim, the cut-purse. Softly as the cat that stalks a mouse
he crept across the stones, paused and bore his weight on one
hand while he drew the other back... a single quick thrust
underneath the shoulder-blade, slanting downward to the
heart, then the gurgling, blood-gagged cry, the helpless
thrashing of the limbs, the fight for breath, and - perhaps the
sleeping gladiator had a wallet stuffed with gold, or even
copper. They were well paid, these fighting mastiffs from
Herod's kennels. The firelight glinted on the plunging knife,
and on the golden bracelet clasped about the Northman's
arm."Ho! little brother of a rat, would you bite a sleeping
man?" the giant's bell-like voice boomed, "And one who
never did thee any harm? For shame!" White lines sprang into
prominence against the sun-gilt skin, his mighty muscles
tightened, and a yelp of pain came from Joachim as the knife
dropped from his unnerved fingers and a crackling like the
breaking of a willow twig told where his wrist bones snapped
beneath the Northling's grip.
    "Have mercy, mighty one," Joachim begged. "I
thought -"
    "Aye, that thou didst, thou niddering craven!" came the
answer. "Thou thought me sleeping, and like the thief thou art
were minded to have my purse and life at once. Now get thee

                                 [10]



gone from out my sight, thou and those hangdog friends of
thine, before I crush that puny neck between my fingers."
     He spread his hands, great well-shaped, white-skinned
hands trained in the wrestler's art and in the wielding of the
sword, and the strong white fingers twitched as though
already they felt yielding flesh and snapping bone between
them. With a frightened skirking, as though they were in truth
the rats the Northman named them, the three conspirators
slunk out, Joachim the cut-purse nursing his broken right
wrist in the crook of his left arm, his two companions close
beside him as they sought to gain the exit of the courtyard
before the giant Norseman reconsidered and repented of his
mercy.
     The blond-haired stranger watched them go, then swung
his cloak back from his shoulders. Beneath the cape he wore
from neck to knee a tunic of fine woolen stuff dyed brilliant
red and edged about the bottom with embroidery of gold. A
corselet of tanned bull-hide set with iron studs was buckled
round his torso; his feet were shod with buskins of soft
leather laced about his legs with rawhide thongs; from the
girdle at his waist on one side hung a double-bladed axe, on
the other a soft leather pouch that clinked with a metallic
sound each time he moved. Between his shoulders swung a
long two-handed sword with a wide well-tempered blade,
pointed and double-edged. He was brawny and wide-
shouldered, his hair was braided in two long fair plaits that fell
on either side of his face beneath his iron skullcap. Like his

                               [11]



hair his beard was golden as the ripening wheat, and hung
well down upon his breastplate. Yet he was not old; the flaxen
beard was still too young to have felt shears, his lightly sun-
tanned skin was smooth and fair, his sea-blue eyes were clear
and youthful. He glanced up at the star-flecked heaven, then
drew the cloak about him.
     "The Dragon marches low upon the skies," he muttered,
"'tis time I set forth on my journey if I would reach the
homeland ere the winter tempests howl again."
     The road was thick with travelers, mostly peasants on
their way to market, for the day began with sunrise, and
bartering would start within an hour. Hucksters of every sort
of article, fanciful as well as necessary, pressed along the way,
tugging at halters, now entreating, now berating their pack
animals to greater speed. A patrol of soldiers passed and their
decurion raised his hand in greeting.
     "Salve, Claudius! Art thou truly going back to that cold
land of thine? By Pluto, I am sorry that thou leavest us; many
is the silver penny I have won by betting on those fists of
thine, or on thy skill at swordplay!"
     The Northman smiled amusedly. Though he had been
among the Romans since before his beard was sprouted, their
rendering of his simple Nordic name of Claus to Claudius had
never failed to rouse his laughter.
     "Yea, Marcus, I am soothly gone this time. Five years
and more I have served Herod's whim, and in that time I've
learnt the art of war as few can know it. With sword and axe

                               [12]



and mace, or with bare hands or cestus have I fought until
methinks I've had my fill of fighting. Now I go back to till my
father's acres, perchance to go a-viking if the spirit moveth
me, but hereafter I fight for mine own gain or pleasure, not to
the humor of another."
     "The gods go with thee, then, Barbarian," the Roman
bade. "'Twill be a long time ere we see thy match upon the
sands of the arena."
     A rambling, single-streeted village fringed the highway,
and at the trickling fountain where the women came to fill
their jars the wayfarer stopped to scoop up a sup of tepid
water in his hand. The sun was up six hours and the little
square around the spring should have been alive with magpie-
chattering women and their riotously noisy children; but the
place was like a city of the dead. Silence thick as dust lay on
the white sun-bitten road, utter quiet sealed the wayside
houses with the silence of a row of tombs. Then, as he looked
about in wonderment, Claus heard a thin-drawn, piping wail:
"Ai-ai-ai-ai!" the universal cry of mourning in the East. "Ai-
ai-ai-ai!"
     He kicked aside the curtain at the doorway and looked
into the darkness of the house. A woman crouched cross-
legged on the earthen floor, her hair unbound, her gown
ripped open to expose her bosom, dust on her brow and
cheeks and breast. Quiet, but not sleeping, a baby lay upon
her knees - a baby boy, and on the whiteness of his little
body flowered a crimson wound. Claus recognized it - a

                              [13]



gladiator knew the trade mark of his calling! - a sword-cut.
Half a hand's span long it was, and ragged at the edges, sunk
so deep into the baby flesh that the glint of white breastbone
showed between its gaping bloody lips.
     "Who did this thing?" the Northman's eyes were hard as
fjord-ice, and a grimness set upon his bearded lips like that
they wore when he faced a Capadocian netman in the circus.
"Who hath done this thing to thee, Woman?"
     The young Jewess looked up from her keening. Her eyes
were red and swollen with much weeping, and tears had made
small rivulets in the dust smearing her face, but even in her
agony she showed some traces of her wonted beauty.
     "The soldiers," she replied between breath-breaking
sobs. "They came and went from house to house as the Angel
of the Lord went through the land of Egypt, but we had no
blood to smear our lintels. They came and smote and slew;
there is not a man-child left alive in all the village. Oh, my son,
my little son, why did they do this thing to thee, thou who
never did them any harm? Oh, woe is me, my God hath left
me comfortless; my firstborn, only son is slain -"
     "Thou liest, woman!" Claus's words rang sharp as steel.
"Soldiers do not things like this. They war with men; they
make no war on babes."
     The mother rocked her body to and fro and beat her
breast with small clenched fists. "The soldiers did it," she
repeated doggedly. "They came and went from house to
house, and slew our sons -"

                               [14]



    "Romans?" Claus asked incredulously. Cruel the
Romans were at times, but never to his knowledge had they
done a thing like this. Romans were not baby-killers.
    "Nay, the soldiers of the King. Romans only in the armor
that they wore. They came marching into town, and -"
    "The soldiers of the King? Herod's?"
    "Yea, Barbarian. King Herod, may his name be cursed
for evermore! Some days agone came travelers from the East
who declared a king was born among the Jews, and Herod,
fearing that the throne might go to him, dispatched his
soldiery throughout the coasts of Bethlehem to slay the sons
of every house who had not reached their second year."
    "Thy husband -"
    "Alas, I am a widow."
    "And hast thou store of oil and meal?"
    "Nay, my lord, here is only death. Ai-ai-ai -"
    Claus took some copper from his pouch and dropped it
into the woman's lap beside the little corpse. "Take this," he
ordered, "and have done unto the body of thy babe according
to thy custom."
    "The Lord be gracious unto thee, Barbarian. To thee and
all thy house, for that thou takest pity on the widow in her
sorrow. The Lord of Abraham, of Isaac and of Jacob -"
    "Let be. What is thy name?"
    "Rachael, magnificence; and may the Lord of Israel give
favor unto -"


                              [15]



     Claus turned away and left the weeping woman with her
dead.

     The waxing moon rode high above the grove where
Claus lay bundled in his cloak. Occasionally from the denser
thickets came the chirp of bird or squeak of insect, but
otherwise the night was silent, for robbers roamed the
highway after dark, and though the soldiers of the Governor
kept patrol the wise man stayed indoors until the sun had
risen. But the hardiest highwayman would stop and give the
matter sober second thought ere he attacked a sworded giant,
and the nearest inn was several miles away; also a journey of
a thousand miles and more lay between the Northman and his
home, and though his wallet bulged with gold saved from his
years spent as a hired fighter in the Tetrarch's barracks, it
behooved him to economize. Besides, the turf was sweet to
smell, which the caravansaries were not, and the memory of
the widow woman's murdered son had set a canker in his
brain. It were better that he had no traffic with his fellow men
for several hours.
     The broken rhythm of a donkey's hoofs came faintly to
him from the highway. The beast walked slowly, as though
tired, and as if he who led it were also weary and footsore, yet
urged by some compulsion to pursue his journey through the
night."By Thor!" mused Claus, "they are a nation of strange
men, these Jews. Always disputing, ever arguing, never

                               [16]



faltering in their lust for gold; yet withal they have a spirit in
them like no other people has. Should their long-sought
Messiah finally come, methinks that all the might of Rome
would scarcely be enough to stop them in their -"
     The hail came piercingly, mounting to a sharp crescendo,
freighted with a burden of despair. "Help - help - we be
beset by robbers!"
     Claus smiled sardonically. "So eager to be early at
tomorrow's market that he braves the dangerous highway
after dark, and when the robbers set upon him -"
     A woman's scream of terror seconded the man's
despairing hail, and Claus bounded from his couch upon the
turf, dragging at the sword that hung between his shoulders.
     A knot of spearmen clustered round a man and woman.
From their crested helmets and bronze cuirasses he knew
them to be soldiers in the livery of Rome; by their hook-
nosed faces he knew them for Syrians, Jewish renegades,
perhaps, possibly Arabs or Armenians, for such composed
the little private army which the Tetrarch kept for show, and
to do the work he dared not ask the Roman garrison to do.
     "Ho, what goes on here?" challenged Claus as he
emerged from the grove. "What mean ye by molesting
peaceful travelers?"
     The decurion in command turned on him fiercely. "Stand
back, Barbarian. We be soldiers of the King, and -"



                                [17]



     "By Father Odin's Ravens, I care not if ye be Caesar's
soldiers, I'll have your reason for attacking this good man and
wife, or the sword sings its song!" Claus roared.
     "Seize him, some of you," the decharch ordered. "We'll
take him to the Tetrarch for his pleasure. The rest stand by, we
have our task to do - give me thy baby, Woman!" He bared
his sword and strode up to the woman seated on the ass, a
sleeping baby in her arms.
     And now the wild war-madness of his people came on
Claus. A soldier sprang at him and thrust his lance straight at
his face, but Claus's long sword clove through bronze
spearhead and ash-wood stave, and left the fellow
unweaponed before him. Then before his adversary could
drag out his shortsword Claus thrust, and his blade pierced
through the soldier's shield and through the arm behind it,
and almost through the cuirassed body. The man fell with a
gasping cry and three more soldiers leapt at Claus, heads low
above their shields, their lances at rest.
     "Aie, for the song of the sword, aie for the red blood
flowing, aie for the lay Storm-Maidens sing of heroes and
Valhalla!" chanted Claus, and as he sang he struck, and struck
again, and his gray-steel blade drank thirstily. Four soldiers of
the Tetrarch's guard he slew before they could close with
him, and when two others, rushing to attack him from behind,
laid hands on him, he dropped his sword and, reaching
backwards, took his adversaries in his arms as if he were some
monstrous bear and beat their heads together till their helmets

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toppled off and their skulls cracked and they fell dead, blood
rushing from their ears and noses. Now only four remained to
face him, and he seized the double-bladed axe that dangled at
his girdle and with a mighty shout leapt on his foes as though
they had been one and he a score. His iron axe-blade clove
through bronze and bullock-hide as though they had been
parchment, and two more of the Tetrarch's guardsmen fell
dead; the other two turned tail and fled from this avenging
fury with the fiery wind-blown beard and long fair hair that
streamed unbound upon the night wind. Then Claus stood
face to face with the decurion.
     "Now, sayer of great words and doer of small deeds,
thou baby-killer, say, wilt thou play the man's game, or do I
smite thee headless like the criminal thou art?" asked he.
     "I did but do my duty, Barbarian," the decurion
answered sulkily. "The great King bade us go through all this
land and take the man-child of each house, if he were under
two years old, and slay him. I know not why. A soldier's duty
is to bear his orders out."
     "Aye, and a soldier's duty is to die, by Odin's Twelve
Companions!" Claus broke in. "Take this for Rachael's child,
the widow woman's only son, thou eater-up of little helpless
babes!" And he aimed an axe-blow at the decharch, and never
in his years of fighting in the circus had Claus the Smiter
smitten such a blow. Neither shield nor mail could stop it, for
the axe-blade sheared through both as if they had been
parchment, and the axe-edge fell upon the decharch's neck

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where neck and shoulder join, and cut through bone and
muscle, and cleaving on bit deep into the decharch's breast
until it split his very heart in two, and as the oak tree falls
when fire from heaven blasts it, so fell the soldier of King
Herod in the dust at Claus's feet, and lay there, quivering and
lifeless.
     Then Claus unloosed the thong that bound the axe-helve
to his wrist and tossed the weapon up into the air so that it
spun around, a gleaming circle in the silver moonlight, and as
it fell he caught it in his hand again and tossed it up above the
whispering treetops, and sang a song of victory as his fathers
had sung since the days when Northmen first went viking,
and he praised the gods of Valhalla: to Odin, Father of the
Gods, and Thor the Thunderer, and to the beauteous
Valkyrior, choosers of the valiant slain in battle, he gave full
meed of praise, and on the bodies of his fallen foes he kicked
the gray road dust, and spat on them and named them churls
and nidderings and unfit wearers of the mail of men of war.
     His frenzy wore itself to calm, and putting up his axe he
turned to look upon the little family he had succored. The
man stood by the donkey's head, holding the lead-strap in
one hand and in the other a stout stick which seemed to have
been chosen for the double purpose of walking staff and
goad. He was some fifty years of age, as the gray that streaked
his otherwise black beard attested, and he was dressed from
neck to heels in a gown of somber-colored woolen stuff
which from its freshness was evidently the ceremonial best

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that he was wont to wear on Sabbath to the synagogue. A
linen turban bound his head, and before his ears the unshorn
locks of "David-curls" hung down each side his face. His
clothes and bearing stamped him as a countryman or villager,
yet withal there was that simple dignity about him which has
been the heritage of self-respecting poverty since time began.
     Unmindful of the battle that had taken place so near it,
the donkey cropped the short grass at the roadside in
somnolent content, indifferent alike to war's alarms and the
woman seated on the cushioned pillion strapped to its back.
The woman on the ass was barely past her girlhood, not more
than fifteen, Claus surmised as he looked appreciatively at her
clear-cut lovely features. Her face was perfect oval, her skin
like ivory, more pale than fair, her features were exquisite in
their purity of outline; a faultless nose, full, sweetly-curving
lips that had the indescribably lovely red of doves' feet, large
eyes as blue as the ocean of Claus's homeland and, in
harmony with all, a flood of golden hair which in the style
permitted Jewish brides fell unconfined beneath her veil down
to the pillion upon which she sat. Her gown was blue, as was
her over-mantle, and a veil and wimple of white linen framed
her features to perfection. Against her breast she held a tiny
infant bound round and round in Jewish fashion with layer on
layer of swaddling-clothes, and a single glance showed that
the mother's beauty and sweet purity were echoed in the
baby's face.


                               [21]



     "We are beholden to you, sir," the man thanked Claus
with simple courtesy. "Those men were seeking our son's life.
Only last night the Angel of the Lord forewarned me in a
dream to take the young child and its mother and flee from
Nazareth to Egypt, lest the soldiers of King Herod come upon
us unawares. I hear that they have murdered many little ones
whose parents had not warning from the Lord."
     "Thou heard'st aright, old man," Claus answered grimly,
thinking of the widow woman's son. "Back in the village
yonder is the sound of lamentation. Rachael weeps for her
dead and will not be comforted. Howbeit," he looked
disdainfully upon the bodies in the road, "meseemeth I have
somewhat paid the debt your kinsmen owed these murdering
dogs."
     "Alas," the traveler returned, "you have put your life in
jeopardy for us, sir. After this there is a price upon your head,
and Herod will not rest until he nails you to a cross for all to
see the vengeance of the King."
     "Sayest thou?" Claus laughed, but not with mirth.
"Methinks the sword will sing its song and many more like
these will journey to the storm-land ere they hang me on the
doom tree."
     The blue eyes of the woman were on him as he spoke,
and he stopped abashed. Never in the score and two years of
wild life that had been his had Claus the Northman, Claus the
gladiator, Claus the champion, felt a gaze like hers. He had a
feeling of unworthiness, a sense that he stood in the presence

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of some being from another sphere, a sure and certain
knowledge that this woman differed from all other women in
the world.
     "Your baby, Mistress," he said awkwardly, "may I look
upon its face ere I go my ways? 'Tis something to have saved
a little child from murderers' steel - a pity 'tis I was not in
the village to save Widow Rachael's child as well."
     The woman raised the infant in her arms and the little
boy's blue eyes were fixed on Claus. The Northman took a
forward step to stroke the baby's smooth pink cheek, then, as
if it had been a wall of stone that stopped him, halted where
he stood. For a voice was speaking to him, or, rather, it was
no mortal voice that spake, but a sound that touched his ears,
yet seemed to come from nowhere.
     "Claus, Claus," the softly modulated voice proclaimed,
"because thou hast done this for me and risked thy life and
freedom for a little child, I say that never shalt thou taste of
death until thy work for me is finished."
     Now though the infant's lips moved not, Claus knew the
words proceeded from him. At first he was astonished, even
frightened, for the world he knew was peopled with strange
spirit-beings, all of whom were enemies to man. Yet as he
looked into the baby boy's blue eyes, so calm, so knowing for
an infant's, he felt his courage coming back, and made answer
as was fitting when addressing a magician of more than usual
power.


                               [23]



     "Lord Jarl," he said, "I would not live always. There
comes a time when arm grows weak and sight grows dim,
however strong and brave the heart may be, and man is no
more able to take part in the man's game. Say, rather, Lord,
that I may die with sword or axe in hand and the wild war-
shout in my mouth, in the full vigor of my manhood, and
while the crimson tide of battle runs full-spate. Let it be that
Odin's beauteous daughters deem me worthy to be taken
from the battlefield and borne aloft to that Valhalla where
heroes play the sword-game evermore."
     "Not so, my Claus. Thou who hast put thy life in forfeit
for the safety of a little child hast better things in store for
thee. When the name of Odin is forgot, and in all the world
there is none to do him reverence, thy name and fame shall
live, and laughing, happy children shall praise thy goodness
and thy loving-kindness. Thou shalt live immortally in every
childish heart so long as men shall celebrate my birthday."
     "I shall live past Ragnavok?"
     "Ragnavok is come, Claus. The old gods die, the fires
upon their altars sink to whitened ashes and the voices of their
worshippers grow weak, but thou shalt live so long as gleeful
children praise thy name at the season of winter solstice."
     "Then I shall be a mighty hero?"
     "A hero to be held in loving memory by every man who
ever was a child."
     "Lord Jarlkin, I think thou art mistaken. Rather would I
die with the sword-song in my ears and the din of battle for a

                                [24]



dirge, but if thou speakest sooth, why, then, a man follows his
star, and where mine leads I go."
     Then Claus unsheathed his sword and flourished it three
times above his head and finally brought its point to rest upon
the road, for thus did heroes of the Northland pay respect to
their liege lords.
     The father cried out in afright when he heard the gray
sword whistle in the air, but the mother looked on calmly, nor
did she seem to marvel when the Northling spake in heathen
language to her infant, as though he answered to unspoken
words.
     So Claus bade them safe faring on their way to Egypt
land, and turned to face him toward the North Star and the
homeward road.













                              [25]



II. The Road to
       Calvary






    LUCIUS PONTIUS PILATE, Procurator of Judea, leant
across the parapet and looked down at the night-bound city.
Lights blossomed here and there among the flat-roofed
houses; now and then the clatter of mailed hoofs was heard
upon the cobblestones; almost incessantly there came the roar
of jostling, fractious crowds. Jerusalem was crowded to the
bursting point; for days the people had been streaming
through the Joppa Gate, for a great feast was in preparation -
these Jews were always celebrating either feast or fast - and

                             [28]



the police power of his legionaries had been put upon its
mettle.
     "A turbulent and stiff-necked people these, my
Claudius," the Governor addressed the tall blond-bearded
man who stood three paces to his left and rear. "Ever
disputing, always arguing and bickering, everlastingly in
tumult of some sort. But yesterday when the troops marched
from the citadel with the Eagles of the Legion at their head a
band of townsmen stoned them, crying out that they bore
graven images through the Holy City's streets. It seems they
hold it a sin to make the simulacrum of anything that walks or
flies or swims. A stubborn, narrow-minded lot, methinks."
     "Aye, Excellence, a stubborn and rebellious lot," the first
centurion agreed.
     The Procurator laughed. "None knows it better than
thyself, my Claudius. Thou wert here among them aforetimes,
in the days of the great Herod, I've been told. How comes it
that thou'rt here again? Dost like the odor of this sacred city
of the Hebrews?"
     The bearded soldier smiled sardonically. "I served King
Herod as a gladiator a tricennium ago," he answered. "When
my period of service was expired I found myself without a
scar or wound, and with a wallet stuffed with gold. I told the
praetor I would fight no more for hire, and set out for my
northern home, but on my way -" He stopped and muttered
something which the Procurator failed to catch.
     "Yes? On the way -" the Roman prompted.

                              [29]



     "I became embroiled with certain soldiers of the King
who sought to do a little family violence. Herod swore a
vengeance on me, and I was hunted like a beast from wood to
desert and from desert to mountain. At last I sought the
shelter which so many hunted men have found, and joined
the legions. Since then I've followed where my star - and
army orders - led, and now once more I stand within these
city walls, safe from the vengeance of King Herod's heirs."
     "And right glad am I that thou art here," Pilate declared.
"This is no sinecure I hold, my Claudius. I have but a single
legion to police this seething country, and treason and
rebellion lift their heads on every side. Do I do one thing, the
Jews cry out against me for that I have trespassed on some
rite or custom which they hold in veneration. Do I do the
other, again they howl to heaven that the iron heel of Rome
oppresses them. By Jupiter! had I a dozen legions more -
nay, had I but a single legion more of men like thee, my
Claudius - I'd drive this mutinous rabble at the lance point
till they whined like beaten dogs for mercy!" He gazed down
at the city for a time in moody silence, then:
     "What talk is this I hear of one who comes from Galilee
claiming to be King of the Jews? Think ye it bodes sedition?
Had they but a leader they could rally to I doubt not we
should soon be fighting for our lives against these pestilent
Judeans."
     "I do not think we need fear insurrection from that
quarter, Excellence," the soldier answered. "I saw this teacher

                              [30]



when he came into the city but four days agone. Milk of mein
he was, and very meek and humble, riding on an ass's colt,
which was a good sign, for the Jews have a tradition that
when kings go forth to war they bestride horses, but when
they go in peace they use an ass for mount. I think he is a
prophet rather than a priest or king, for afterwhiles he went
into the temple, and instead of making sacrifices preached
unto the people, bidding them to live as brethren, fear God,
honor the King, and render unto Caesar that which is his."
     "Ha, sayest thou? I had feared otherwise. Caiaphas, the
chief priest, tells me he foments sedition, and urges that I
throw him into prison or give him over to be crucified as one
who preaches treason to the Empire."
     "A priest's word -" the centurion began, the Governor
laughed as he completed the vulgar proverb.
     "I know. A priest's word, the laughter of fools and the
anger of apes are alike to be regarded with contempt.
Natheless...." He paused in pensive silence.
     "Caiaphas!" the big centurion pursed his lips as though
to spit. "That fatted swine! No wonder his religion bids him to
refrain from pig's flesh. Were he to eat of it he would be a
cannibal!"
     Pilate nodded somberly. His quarrel with the high priest
was one of long standing, and one in which the victories were
even. Caiaphas had on occasion sent appeal to Rome, subtly
intimating that unless the Governor yielded some disputed
point there would be danger of rebellion. Word came back to

                               [31]



Pilate that the Caesar held him personally responsible for
conditions in Judea, and that in case of revolution his would
be the blame. Thus the high priest triumphed in some
controversies. On the other hand the Governor had advantage
in that appeal in criminal cases and matters of taxation lay
with him, and by asserting this authority he would often bend
the prelate to his will.
     "I would we had another pontifex," he mused. "One
more pliant to suggestion than this sacerdotal fool who rules
their priestly council."
     The jingling clink of metal sword sheath on mailed kilts
sounded as a legionary hurried out upon the roof, halted and
saluted, then handed Claudius a scroll. The chief centurion
returned the military salutation and in turn delivered the rolled
missive to the Procurator.
     "By Pluto's beard," swore Pilate as he broke the seal and
read the message by the light of a small lanthorn set upon the
parapet, "it comes sooner than we thought, my Claudius!
Caiaphas has taken custody of this self-styled King of Jewry,
tried him on a charge of blasphemy and treason before the
Sanhedrin and judged him worthy to be crucified. Now he
brings the case to me on high petition. What are we to do?"
     "Why, kick the fat pig squealing back to his sty,
Excellence. None but Rome has jurisdiction in such cases.
Caiaphas can no more condemn a man to death than he can
don the toga of Imperial authority -"


                              [32]



     "Aye, thou hast said it. But therein lies our difficulty, and
our danger. I alone, as Procurator, can mete out sentence of
death, but if these priests and their paid underlings should
rouse the louse-bit rabble to rebellion we have not troops
enough to put it down. Furthermore, should insurrection
come, Rome is like to have my life. True, I am sent out here to
govern and to rule, but chiefly to collect the tax. A people in
rebellion pays no tribute to the throne. Come, Claudius, my
toga. Let us hear what harm this uncrowned king hath done
the state."
     A murmur like a storm wind in the treetops filled the hall
of audience. In the brilliant light of flambeaux double files of
praetorian guardsmen stood at stiff attention as the Procurator
took his seat upon the ivory and purple chair of state. Well
forward in the hall, before the dais, stood Caiaphas with
Simeon and Annas to his right and left. A knot of temple
guards - tawdry imitations of the Roman legionaries -
grouped about their prisoner, a tall young man in white,
bearded in the Jewish fashion, but so light of skin and fair of
hair he seemed to bear no racial kinship to the swarthy men
surrounding him.
     "Hail, Procurator!" Meticulously Caiaphas raised his
right hand in the Roman fashion, then bowed with almost
fawning oriental obsequiousness. "We come to you for
confirmation of the sentence we have passed upon this
blasphemer and traitor to the Empire."


                               [33]



     Pilate's salutation was the merest lifting of the hand.
"The blasphemy is your affair, priest," he answered shortly.
"What treason hath he wrought?"
     "He hath proclaimed himself a king, and if thou dost not
find that treason, then thou art not Caesar's friend!"
     "Art thou in very truth King of the Jews?" the Governor
turned curious eyes upon the prisoner.
     "Sayest thou this thing of me, or did others tell thee of
it?" the young man answered.
     "Am I a Jew?" the Procurator asked. "Thy own nation
and thy chief priests have brought thee unto me for judgment.
What hast thou done?"
     There came no answer from the prisoner, but the
murmuring outside grew ominous. A mob had gathered at the
entrance and the guards were having trouble holding it in
check.Again the Procurator challenged. "Art thou in truth a
king, and if so, of what kingdom?"
     "Thou hast said it. To this end was I born, and for this
cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness to the
truth...."
     "What is truth?" the Governor mused. "Myself have
heard the sages argue long about it, but never have I found
two who agreed on it. Claudius!" he turned to the centurion
who stood behind his chair.
     "Excellence!"


                               [34]



     "I am minded to put these men to the test. Go thou to the
dungeons and bring the greatest malefactor thou canst find
into the hall. We shall see how far this bigotry can go."
     As the soldier turned to execute the order the Governor
faced the chief priest and his satellites. "I will have him
scourged, then turn him free," he pronounced. "If he hath
transgressed your laws the scourging will be punishment
enough; as to the charge of treason, I find no fault in him."
     Docilely the prisoner followed a decurion to the barrack
room where the soldiers stripped his garments off and lashed
him to a pillar, then laid a tracery of forty stripes upon his
naked back.
     "The King of Jews, is he?" laughed the decurion. "Why,
by the glorious eyes of Juno, every king should have a crown
to call his own, yet this one hath no crown at all. Ho, there,
some of you, go make a fitting crown for Jewry's King!"
     A chaplet of thorn-branch was quickly plaited and thrust
upon the prisoner's head, and the long sharp spines bit deeply
in his tender flesh, so that a jewel-like diadem of ruby droplets
dewed his brow. Then another found a frayed and tattered
purple robe which they laid on his bleeding shoulders. Finally
a reed torn from a hearth-broom was thrust between his tight-
bound wrists for sceptre, and thus regailed they set him on a
table and bowed the knee to him in mock servility, what time
they hailed him as Judea's new King.
     Now some of the guards from the temple had come into
the barrack room to watch the scourging, and one of them

                               [35]



said to another, "This man's disciples claim he has worked
wonders, making blind men see and lame men walk, aye,
even raised corpses from the dead." And hearing this some of
the others stepped behind the prisoner and struck him on his
raw scourge-wounded back, then when he turned mild eyes
on them demanded, "If thou art truly given power from God
to know all things, say which of us it was that smote thee."
     But the decurion had wearied of the cruel sport, so they
brought him back and set him on the pavement between
Pilate and the priests. "Behold the man!" the Procurator bade.
"Behold your King, O men of Judea!"
     "We have no king but Caesar!" Caiaphas cried self-
righteously. "This one hath declared himself a king, and
whoso calls himself a king speaketh against Caesar!"
     Meanwhile Claudius was hastening to the judgment hall
with a miserable object. The man was of great stature, but so
bowed with fetters that he could not stand erect. His clothing
was in tatters, no second glance was needed to know he was a
walking vermin-pasture; the members of the prison guard
shrank from him, fending him away with their lance-butts lest
the lice that swarmed his hair and garments get to them.
     Then Pilate bade the prisoner from the dungeons stand
before the priests, and motioned to the bound and thorn-
crowned captive.
     "It is your custom, men of Judea, that at the Passover I
release to ye a prisoner," said the Procurator. "Whom will ye,
therefore, that I set at liberty, this convicted robber, doomed

                               [36]



to die upon the gallows tree, or this one ye have called your
king?"
     "We have no king but Caesar!" shouted Caiaphas in
rage. "Away with this one! Crucify him!"
     "What, crucify your king?" the Procurator asked in mock
astonishment.
     The mob of temple hangers-on that had been carefully
rehearsed by Caiaphas and his underlings - the money-
changers from the forecourt and traffickers in sacrificial doves
who had been driven from their stalls by the prisoner three
days since - thundered a chorus: "Crucify him!"
     "Water in a ewer and a napkin, Claudius," ordered Pilate,
and when his aide returned he set the silver basin down before
him and laved his hands in the water and dried them on the
Linen napkin. "Bear ye witness, priests and people. I am
innocent of the blood of this just man. See ye to it!" cried the
Procurator as he handed ewer and towel back to Claudius.
     The high priest smiled in his beard. Once more he had
bent Pilate to his will. "His blood be on our heads and on our
children's heads," he answered, and the chorus massed
outside the judgment hall took up the savage paean of blood-
guiltiness: "On our heads and on our children's! Crucify
him!"Lucius Pontius Pilate shrugged his shoulders. "I have
done the best I could, my Claudius. Let him be led away to
prison, and on the morrow have him taken with the other
adjudged malefactors and crucified. My guard will have no

                              [37]



part in it, but I would that you go with the execution party to
make sure all is regularly done and" - his thin lips parted in a
mocking, mirthless smile - "to put my superscription on the
cross to which they hang him. By Neptunus his trident, the
same nails that pierce his members are like to prick the vanity
of Caiaphas, methinks!" He chuckled softly to himself as if he
relished some keen jest.

     The procession to the execution hill or "Place of Skulls"
began at dawn, for crucifixion was a slow death, and the
morrow being Sabbath it was not lawful that the malefactors
be left alive to profane the sacred day with their expiring
groans. The crowds assembled in the city to keep Passover
lined the Street of David and gathered at the alley-heads to
watch the march of the condemned, making carnival of the
occasion. Sweetmeat vendors and water-sellers did a thriving
business with the merrymakers, and one or two far-sighted
merchants who had come with panniers of rotten fruit and
vegetables found ready market for their wares; for everyone
enjoyed the sport of heaving offal at the condemned as they
struggled past beneath the burden of their crosses.
     Claudius did not go with them. The Procurator rested late
that morning and there were routine matters to engage his
time when he had finished at the bath. The sun was several
hours high when a scrivener from the secretariat came into the
officium with the titulus the Governor had dictated,


                              [38]



engrossed on stiffened parchment. Pilate smiled with grim
amusement as he passed the sheet to Claudius.
    "Take thou this unto the place of execution, and with
thine own hand fix it over the young Prophet's head," he
ordered. "'Twill give Caiaphas and his plate-lickers something
fresh to whine about."
    The centurion glanced at the scroll. In letters large
enough for those who walked to read yet not be forced to
slacken pace or strain their eyes is proclaimed:

                       IESVS NAZARENVS

                          REX IVDAEORVM

Which was to say: "This is Jesus (for such was the forename
that the young Prophet bore) King of the Jews." Not only in
Latin, but in Hebrew and Greek as well was the legend writ,
that all who passed the place of crucifixion, whatever tongue
they spake, might read and understand.
    "They have prated long about a king who shall sweep
away the power of Rome," the Procurator smiled. "Let them
look upon him now, gibbeted upon a cross. By Jupiter, I
would that I might see that fat priest's face when he reads my
superscription!"
    Three crosses crowned the bald-topped hill when
Claudius reached the place of crucifixion. On two of them
hung burly robbers, nailed by hands and feet, supported by

                               [39]



the wooden peg or sedule set like a dowel in the upright beam
between their legs, that their bodies might not sag too much
or fall down from the gallows if their hands tore loose from
the nails with their weight. In the center, spiked upon the
tallest cross, hung the young Prophet, his frailer body already
beginning to give way beneath the dreadful torment it
endured. A decurion set a ladder up beside the cross, and
armed with nail and hammer Claudius mounted quickly and
fixed the placard to the upright beam above the bowed head
of the dying man.
     A thin, high, nickering cry of mixed astonishment and
rage sounded as the legend on the card appeared. "Not that!"
screamed Caiaphas as he put his hand up to his throat and
rent his splendid priestly robe. "Not that, centurion! Yon
superscription labels this blasphemer with the very title that
he claimed, and for claiming which he now hangs on the
gallows. Take down the card and change it so it reads that he
is not our king, but that he claimed the kingly title in despite
of Caesar!"
     There was something almost comic in the priests'
malevolence as they fairly gnashed their teeth in rage, and
Claudius with the fighting man's instinctive contempt for
politicians grinned openly as he replied, "'Twere best you
made complaint to Pilate, Priest. What he has written he has
written, nor do I think that he will change yon title for all your
whining grumble."


                               [40]



     "Caesar shall hear of this!" the wrathful high priest
snarled. "He shall be told how Pilate mocked our people and
incited them to riot by labeling a hanged malefactor our
King -"
     Claudius turned abruptly to the centurion commanding
the execution squad. "Clear away this rabble," he directed.
"Must we be pestered by their mouthings?"
     From the figure on the central cross a low moan came: "I
thirst."
     Claudius took a sponge and dipped it in the jar of sour
wine and myrrh that stood beside him on the ground. He put
it on a lance and held it to the sufferer's lips, but the poor
weak body was too far spent to drink. A shudder ran through
it, and with a final flash of strength the Prophet murmured: "It
is finished. Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit." A
last convulsive spasm, and the thorn-crowned head fell
forward on the shoulder. All was over.
     "We had best be finishing our work," the execution
squad's commander said phlegmatically. "These priests are
set on mischief and we'll have a riot on our hands if one of
these should live till sundown." He motioned to a burly
executioner who picked up a sledge and methodically went
about the task of smashing the suspended felons' arm- and
leg-bones.
     "Nay, by Father Odin's Ravens, thou shalt not break the
good young Prophet's legs," Claudius declared as he
snatched a guardsman's spear. "Let him die a man's death!"

                               [41]



With the precision taught by years of training in the circus
and on battlefield he poised the lance and drove the long
bronze spearhead between the Prophet's ribs, sinking it deep
into the heart. As he withdrew the point a stream of water
mixed with blood gushed forth, and Claudius returned the
soldier's spear. "'Tis long since I have done that favor to a
helpless man," he muttered as his memory flew back to his
days in the arena when the blood-mad mob withheld the
mercy sign and he had to thrust his sword or lance through
his defeated adversary - often the man with whom he'd
drunk and diced the night before. "By Friega's eyes," he
added as he looked at the frail body stretched upon the cross,
"he's beautiful! I've heard he called himself the Son of God,
nor is it hard to credit. 'Tis no man, but a god who hangs on
yonder gallows - Baldur the Beautiful, slain by foul
treacheries!"
     A ringing sounded in his ears like the humming of
innumerable bees, and through it he heard words, words in a
voice he had not heard in more than thirty years, but he
recognized it instantly. "Claus, thou tookest pity on a little
child attacked by murderers in days agone; this day thy pity
bade thee save a dying man from brutish violence. According
to thy lights thou dealtest mercifully when thou thrust the
spear into my side. Knowest thou not me, Claus?"
     "Lord Jarlkin!" Claus turned and gazed in wonder at the
slight, wilted body pendent on the cross. "The little child
whom I assisted on his way to Egypt land! What wouldst

                               [42]



thou with thy liegeman, Lord? Did not my mercy-stroke drive
true - is my work yet unfinished?" He put his hand out for
the soldier's spear again, but:
     "Thy work is not yet started, Claus. I will call and thou
shalt know my voice when I have need of thee."
     The soldiers of the guard and crowd of hang-jawed
watchers at the execution ground were thunderstruck to see
the Procurator's chief centurion draw himself up and salute
the body on the gallows as though it were a tribune, or the
Governor himself.

     Dark clouds obscured the sun and menacing thunder
mingled with the stabbing spears of lightning as Claus
hastened through the Street of David on his way back to the
Governor's palace. Once or twice there came a rumbling in
the bowels of the earth and the solid ground reeled drunkenly.
A rout of citizens fled past him, running aimlessly as ants
from a disturbed anthill. Their frightened voices were high-
pitched as those of terrified children. "O God of Our Fathers,
wherefore hast Thou forsaken us?... The rocks are split in
twain!... The temple veil is ripped apart!... 'Tis said the
graves gape open and the sheeted dead come forth!"
     "Siguna goes to drain her cup and Loki writhes beneath
the sting of serpent venom," Claus muttered as he dug his
heels into his horse's sides. It would not be comfortable in
that narrow street when the fury of the earthquake began to
shake the buildings down. A temblor retched the riven earth

                                   [43]



afresh, and an avalanche of broken tile and rubble slid into the
roadway, almost blocking it. Claus slid down from the saddle
and gave his horse a smart blow on the flank. "Go thou, good
beast, Thor see thee safely to thy stable," he bade, then took
shelter by the blank-walled houses, dashing forward a few
steps, then shrinking back again as spates of falling masonry
cataracted overhead and fell crashing on the cobbles of the
street."Ai-ai-ahee!" a woman's scream came knife-edged with
terror. "Help me, for the love of God! Save me, or I perish!
Have mercy, Master!"
     The flicker of a lightning flash lit up the pitch-black night-
in-day that swamped the narrow way, and by its quivering
brightness Claus saw a woman's body lying in the roadway.
A timber from a broken house had fallen on her foot, pinning
her against the cobbles, and even as she screamed a fresh
convulsion of the earth shook down a barrow-load of broken
brick and tile, scattering brash and lime dust over her. A stone
fell clanging on his helmet as he rushed across the gloom-
choked street, and a fragment of broken parapet crashed
behind his heels as he leant to prize the timber off her ankle.
She lay as limp as a dead thing in his arms as he dashed back
to the shelter of a wall, and for a moment he thought he had
risked his life in rescuing one beyond the need of succor, but
as he laid her down upon the flagstones her great eyes came
open and her little hands crept up to clasp themselves about
his neck. "Art safe, my lord?" she asked.

                               [44]



     "Aye, for the nonce, but we tempt the gods by staying
here. Canst walk?"
     "I'll try." She drew herself erect and took a step, but sank
down with a moan. "My foot - 'tis broken, I fear," she
gasped. "Do thou go on, my lord. Thou hast done thy duty to
the full already. 'Tis better one should die than two; nor is it
meet that thou shouldst stay and risk thy life for me -"
     "Be silent, Woman," he commanded gruffly. "Raise thy
arms!"
     Obediently she put her arms about his shoulders and he
lifted her as though she were a child. Then, his cloak about his
head to fend off falling fragments of the buildings, he darted
from house to house until the narrow street was cleared and
they came at length to a small open space.
     It was lighter here, and he could see his salvage. She was
a pretty thing, scarce larger than a half-grown child, and little
past her girlhood. Slender she was, yet with the softly
rounded curves of budding womanhood. Her skin, deep sun-
kissed olive, showed every violet vein through its veil of
lustrous tan. Her hands, as dimpled as a child's, were tipped
with long and pointed nails on which a sheathing of bright
goldleaf had been laid, so that they shone like tiny mirrors.
Her little feet were gilt-nailed like her hands and innocent of
sandals and painted bright with henna on the soles and heels
and toes. On ankles, wrists and arms hung bangles of rose
gold set thick with lapis-lazuli and topaz and bright garnet,
while rings of the same precious metal hung from each ear

                               [45]



almost to her wax-smooth shoulders. On fore and little fingers
of each hand and on the great and little toe of each foot she
wore rings of gold set with green zircon, and a diadem of gold
in which gems flashed was circled round her brow, binding
back the curling black locks which lay clustering round her
face. Her small high breasts were bare, their nipples stained
with henna, and beneath her bosom was a zone of golden
wire from which a robe of sheer vermilion gauze was hung.
Beneath this she wore baggy trousers of black net as fine-
meshed as a veil. Ground antimony had been rubbed on her
eyelids, and her full voluptuous lips were stained a brilliant
red with powdered cinnabar.
     He recognized her: one of the hetaerae from the house
of love kept by the courtezan of Magdala before she turned
from harlotry to follow the young Prophet they had crucified
that morning. Her mistress gone, the girl had taken service as
a dancer at Agrippa's court. He drew away a little. His clean-
bred northern flesh revolted at the thought of contact with the
little strumpet.
     "What didst thou in the street?" he asked. "Were there so
few to buy thy wares within the palace that thou must hawk
them in the highway?"
     "I - I came to see the Master," she sobbed softly. "I had
the dreadful malady, and I sought His cure."
     "Aye? And didst thou find it?"
     "Yea, that did I. As He went by, all burdened with His
gibbet, I called on Him and asked His mercy, and He did but

                               [46]



raise the fingers of one hand and look on me, and behold - I
am clean and whole again. See, is not my skin as fresh and
clean as any maiden's?"
     He moved a little farther from her, but she crept toward
him, holding out her hands for him to touch. "Behold me, I
am clean!" she whispered rapturously. "No more will I be
shunned of men -"
     "By this one thou wilt be," he broke in grimly. "What
have I to do with thee and thy kind, Girl? The earthquake
passes; it is safe for thee to walk the streets again. Get thee to
thy business. Be gone."
     "But my broken foot - I cannot walk. Wilt thou not
help me to my place -"
     "Not I, by Thor! Let the scented darlings of the palace
see to that." He shook her clinging hands away and half rose
to his feet when a voice - the well-remembered voice his
inward ear had heard before - came to him:
     "Despise her not. I have had mercy on her, and thou -
and I - have need of her in the work ordained for thee.
Claus, take her to thee."
     He stood irresolute a moment, then: "I hear and obey,
Lord," he answered and sank down again upon the turf.
"How art thou called?" he asked the girl.
     "Erinna, may it please your magnificence."
     "A Greek?"
     "Tyrian, my lord." She moved closer to him and rubbed
her supple body against his breastplate with a gentle, coaxing

                               [47]



manner. "They brought me over the bright water while I was
still a child, and schooled me in the arts of love, and I am very
beautiful and much desired, but now I am all thine." She
bowed her head submissively and put his hand upon it.
"Thou didst battle with the earthquake for me, and rived me
from its clutches; now I belong to thee by right of capture."
     Claus smiled, a trifle wryly. "What need have I, a plain
blunt soldier, for such as thou?"
     "I am very subtle in the dance, my lord. Moreover, I can
sing and play sweet music on the harp and flute and cymbals.
Also, I am skilled in cookery, and when thou hast grown tired
of me thou canst sell me for much gold -"
     "Men of my race sell not their wives -"
     "Wife? Saidst thou wife, my lord?" she breathed the
word incredulously.
     "Am I a Greek or Arab to have slave girls travel in his
wake? Come, rouse thee up; we must to the palace where
quarters can be found for thee until I take thee to mine own."
     Tears streamed down the girl's face, cutting little
channels in the rouge with which her cheeks were smeared,
but her smile looked through the tear drops as the sun in April
shines through showers of rain. "In very truth, He told my
future better than I knew!" she cried ecstatically, and to
Claus's utter consternation bent suddenly and pressed a
fervid kiss upon his buskin.
     "What charlatan foretold thy future?" he demanded,
raising her and crooking an arm beneath her knees, for her

                                [48]



broken foot was swelling fast, and walking was for her
impossible.
    "The Master whom they crucified - may swine make
wallows of their mothers' graves! When I bowed me in the
dust and begged Him to have pity on me, He looked at me
and smiled, e'en though He trod the way to torture and to
death and was borne down with the weight of His gallows. He
told me, `Woman, thy desire shall be unto thee.' I thought He
meant that I was healed, but -" She flung both arms about
her bearer's neck and crushed his face against the
hemispheres of her small bosoms as she sighed rapturously.
    "But what, wench?"
    "I have seen thee from afar, my Claudius. Long have I
watched thee and had pleasure in thy manly beauty. At night I
used to dream that thou wouldst notice me, perchance come
unto me, or even buy me for thy slave; but that ever I should
bear the name of wife" - again her voice broke on a sigh, but
it was a sigh of pure happiness - "that I, Erinna the
hetaerae -"
    "Thy Greek name likes me not," he interrupted.
    "What's in a name, my lord? I'll bear whatever name
thou givest me, and be happy in it, since 'tis given me by
thee. By Aphrodite's brows, I'll come like any dog whene'er
thou callest me by such name as it may please thee to give
me -"
    "Let be this talk of dogs and slaves," he broke in testily.
"Thou'lt be a wife and equal - aye, by Thor's Iron

                              [49]



Gauntlets, and whoso fails to do thee honor shall be shorter
by a head!"
     Pilate's legion was recruited largely from Germanic
tribesmen, and among these Claus found enough of his
people to arrange a marriage ceremony like those of his
homeland. Erinna's name was changed to Unna, and on the
day they wed she sat in the bride's seat robed in modest white
with a worked head-dress on her clustering black ringlets, a
golden clasp about her waist and gold rings on her arms and
fingers. The Northlings raised their drinking-skulls aloft and
shouted "Skoal!" and "Waes hael!" to the bride and
bridegroom, and clamored on their shields with sword and
axe. Then, when the feast was finished and the bride's cup
had been drained, because her broken foot was not yet
mended, Claus bore Unna in his arms to the bride's bed. Thus
did Claudius the centurion, who was also Claus the Northling,
wed a woman out of Tyre in the fashion of the Northmen.

     Now talk ran through the city of Jerusalem that the
Prophet whom the priests had done to death was risen from
the dead. Men said that while His sepulchre was watched by
full-armed guards an angel came and rolled away the stone
and He came forth, all bright and glorious. And many were
the ones who testified that they had seen Him in His
resurrected flesh.
     The priests and temple hangers-on cast doubt upon the
story, and swore that whilst the guardsmen slept the

                              [50]



Prophet's followers had come and stolen Him away, but
Claus and Unna both believed. That Mary Magdalene who
aforetime had been Unna's mistress swore she had seen Him
in the garden by the tomb, and heard His voice and touched
His solid flesh. Claus knew that soldiers under Pilate's orders
did not sleep on duty. The Prophet's followers could no more
have won through the guard to steal His body from the tomb
than they could have rescued Him from a dungeon in the
citadel.
     "Said I not He was a god, e'en as He hanged upon the
gallows tree?" asked Claus. "Baldur the Beautiful is He:
Baldur the Fair cannot be holden by the gates of Hel; He is
raised up again in their despite."
     "He is indeed the Son of God, as Mary Magdalene said,"
Unna answered as she laid her cheek against her husband's
breast. "He healed me of my malady and gave me that which
I desired above all things."
     Claus kissed his newly married wife upon the mouth.
"He said that I had need of thee, my sweetling," he
whispered. "I knew it not, but He spake sooth. And," he
added in an even softer tone, "He said likewise He had need
of thee. We shall hear His call and answer Him whenever He
shall please to summon us, though the summons come from
lowest Niflheim."




                                [51]



III. The Long, Long
              Road






     MEN grew old and grayed and died in the service of
Imperial Rome, but neither death nor old age came to Claus.
His ruddy hair retained its sheen, and when men who had
joined the legions as mere beardless youths laid by the sword
and sate them in the ingle-nook to tell brave tales of battles
fought and won on field and sea he was still instinct with
youthful vigor. For years he followed Pilate's fortunes, acting
as his aide-de-camp and confidant, and when the aging
Governor went from Palestine to Helvetia it was Claus who

                               [54]



went with him as commander of his soldiery. When death at
last came to his patron, Claus stood among the mourners and
watched the funeral flames mount crackling from the pyre,
then turned his face toward Rome, where men of valor still
were in demand. As a tribune he went with Agricola to Britain
and helped beat back the Picts and Scots and lay the first
foundations of the great wall that still endures. He followed
Aurelian to Palmyra, and, disdainful of the flaming pitch and
Greek fire hurled down by the defenders, led the assaults on
the city walls.
     When the Emperor returned to Rome and rode in
splendid triumph through the streets Claus walked behind the
chariot drawn by four white stags in which the conqueror
rode and helped Zenobia, the captive Palmyrene Queen, bear
the golden fetters fixed upon her wrists and neck, for she was
fainting from their burden, and it irked him to see the great-
hearted woman who had dared dispute the might and majesty
of Rome borne down beneath the weight of chains, though
they were solid gold.
     As commander of a legion he stood with Constantine the
Great at Malvian Bridge when, beneath the emblem of the
once despised Cross, Maximian's youthful son defeated old
Maxentius and won the purple toga of the Caesars. With
Constantine he sailed across the Bosphorus and helped to
found the world's new capital at Byzantium.
     Emperors came and went. The kingdom of the
Ostrogoths arose in Italy and strange bearded men who spoke

                              [55]



barbarian tongues ruled in the Caesars' stead. But though the
olden land of Latium no longer offered reverence to the
Empire, it owed allegiance to the name of Him the priests had
crucified so long ago in Palestine; for nowhere, save in the
frozen fjords and forests of the farthest North and in the sun-
smit deserts of the South, did men fail to offer prayer and
praise and sacrifice to the Prophet who had come to save His
people from their sins and had been scornfully rejected by
their priests and leaders.
     And now a mighty conflict arose between the Christians
of the West and the followers of Mahound in the East; and
Claus who knew the country round about Jerusalem as he
knew the lines that marked his palms rode forth with Tancred
and Count Raymond and Godfrey of Bouillon to take the
Holy City from the Paynim's hands. With him rode the ever-
faithful, thrice-beloved Unna, armed and mounted as a squire.
Never since the morning of their marriage had they been out
of voice-call of each other; for she had shared his life in camp
and field, marching with the legions dressed in armor like a
man, going to Byzantium when the New Empire was
founded, riding at his side across the troubled continent of
Europe when the Old Empire broke to pieces and little kings
and dukes and princes set their puny courts up in the midst of
their walled towns. Sometimes she cut her long hair and went
forth in male garb; again, in those brief intervals of peace
when they dwelt at their ease in some walled city, she let her
tresses grow and assumed woman's attire and ruled his house

                               [56]



with gentleness and skill as became the mate of one who rated
the esteem of prince and governor, for her husband's fame at
weaponry and sagacity in war had won him great standing
among those who had need of strong arms and wise heads to
lead their soldiery and beat their foemen back.
     Now Claus, with Unna fighting at his elbow as his squire,
had assailed the walls when Godfrey and Count Eustace and
Baldwin of the Mount leaped from the flaming tower and held
the Paynim back till Tancred and Duke Robert broke Saint
Stephen's Gate and forced their way into the Holy City; but
when the mailed men rode with martial clangor through the
streets and massacred the populace they took no part. In the
half darkness of the mosque that stood hard by the ancient
Street of David where aforetime the young Prophet had trod
the Via Dolorosa they saw old Moslems with calm features
watch their sons' heads beaten in with axe or mace and then
in their turn submit to slaughter; it was the will of Allah, and fi
amam 'llah - we are all in His protection. They heard the
Paynim women beg and plead for mercy, saw Christian
sword and pike rip open their soft bodies till their cries were
stilled. They tried to stop the wanton killing and begged the
men-at-arms and knights to stay their hands and show their
helpless foemen clemency, whereat the wearers of the Cross
turned on them with curses and swore they were no true and
loyal lovers of the Prince of Peace.
     But when the killing and the rapine ceased and men went
forth to worship at the Holy Places Claus and Unna walked

                               [57]



the city hand in hand, and their eyes were soft with memories.
"'Twas here we met, my love, doest thou remember?" Claus
asked as they walked through David's Street, and Unna
answered never a word, but her arms crept up around his neck
as they had been the tendrils of a vine, and drew his face
down to hers till her lips found his and clung as if they would
weld flesh to flesh and never more be severed.
    "And here He raised His hand and blessed them who did
persecute Him," Unna told a group of gentlewomen who had
come to make the pilgrimage to Calvary upon their knees.
"And here He fainted underneath the burden of His
gallows...." But when the Frankish women heard her they
would not heed, but hooted her away, for their chaplains who
until that time had never seen Jerusalem had shown them
where the Master trod, and sooth, the learned holy men knew
more of sacred things than this wild woman of the camps
who wore her hair at shoulder length and fared forth dight in
hose and doublet like a man and swaggered it among the
men-at-arms with a long sword at her thigh.
    But when she told them that she knelt upon those very
stones and watched Him bear the cross to Golgotha they
shrank from her and named her witch and crossed themselves
and called on every saint they knew for succor. And presently
men came to take her. She fought like any leopardess and
more than one armed man felt the sting of her steel. But they
were twenty, she was one, so afterwhiles they bound her arms
with cords and took her to the prison-house beneath the

                              [58]



Templars' stables and swore that on the morrow they would
burn her at a stake that all might see what fate befell a woman
who spake blasphemy within the very confines of Jerusalem.
    When she came not to their dwelling-place that night
Claus was like a man made mad by those foul drugs the
Paynims use to give them courage in the fight. And he went
to the prison-house and smote the warders where they stood,
so that they fled from him as from a thing accursed, and with
his mighty axe he brake the heavy doors that shut her in, and
they went forth from that place and took horse and rode until
they reached the sea, where they took ship and sailed away.
And no man durst stand in their way, for the flame of
Northern lightnings burned in Claus's eyes, and he raged like
a wild berserker if any bade them stand and give account of
whence they came and where their mission led them.

    The years slipped swiftly by like rapid rivers running in
their courses, and Claus and Unna rode the paths of high
adventure. Sometimes they rested in the cities, but more often
they were on the open road, or fighting in the armies of some
prince or duke or baron, and always fame and fortune came to
them. But they could not abide in any one place long, for
betimes they came in conflict with the theologians, for when
these heard them speak of the Great Teacher as though they
had beheld Him in the flesh they sought to have them
adjudged witch and warlock, and so great was these men's


                              [59]



power that had they not been fleet of foot and strong of arm
they were like to have been burnt a dozen times and more.
     As they passed through Gen�ve on their way to Italy
where Claus had business with the duke of a city, they saw a
great throng gathered as for holidaying, and presently they
saw a man led forth to die by fire. It was no roaring holocaust
they kindled at his feet, but a small fire of faggots, so that the
flames licked slowly at his searing flesh and stripped it from
his bones as great cat-beasts lap meat with roughened
tongues. As the victim's screams were mingled with the
crackling of the flames and jeers of the multitude Unna hid
her face against her husband's arm, and Claus swore
underneath his breath as soldiers have at needless suffering
since time was young. But the crowd drank in the spectacle
avidly, and he was minded of another mob that gathered
round a cross on Golgotha in days gone by.
     "Who was that one, friend, and what was his great crime
that he should die thus painfully?" Claus asked a lean man in
the drab stuff gown and shovel hat that marked him as a
pastor of the Reformed Faith.
     "He was the Spaniard Serveto," answered the
ecclesiastic. "He was denounced by our good leader, Ma�tre
Jean Calvin, for blaspheming the truth, and richly hath he
deserved death at the stake."
     Now Claus remembered Pilate's question asked so long
ago, and in his turn repeated: "What is truth?"


                                 [60]



     Whereat the other told him, "Truth is as we preach it; all
else is heresy and lies, and merits death in this world and
damnation in the next!"
     "Now, by the Iron Gloves of Thor," swore Claus when
he heard this, "meseems the very milk of human kindness
hath been curdled into clabber by these men. 'Twas Caiaphas
and Annas and their ilk who hanged the Master on the cross
because they said He blasphemed truth; today the men who
call themselves His ministers and servants roast their fellows
at the stake for the same reason! It matters not at whose altar
he serves, the priest is still a priest and changeth not."

     One Yuletide Claus and Unna lodged in a small city by
the Rhine. The harvest was not plentiful that year, and want
and famine stalked the streets as if an enemy laid siege to the
town. The feast of Christmas neared, but in the burghers'
houses there was little merriment. Scarce food had they to
keep starvation from their bellies, and none at all to make
brave holiday upon the Birthday of the Lord.
     And as they sate within their house Claus thought him of
the cheerless faces of the children of the town, and as he
thought he took a knife and block of wood and carved the
semblance of a sleigh the like of which the people used for
travel when the snows made roads impassable for wheels or
horsemen.
     When Unna saw his handiwork she laughed aloud and
clipt him in her arms and said, "My husband, make thou more

                               [61]



of those, as many as the time 'twixt now and Christmas Eve
permits! We have good store of sweetmeats in our vaults, and
even figs from Smyrna and sweet dried grapes from Cyprus,
Sicily and Africa, besides some quantity of barley sugar. Do
thou carve out the little sleighs and I will fill them to the brim
with comfits; then on the Eve of Christ His Birthday we'll go
amongst the poorest of the townsfolk and leave little gifts
upon their doorsteps, that on the morrow when the children
wake they shall not have to make their Christmas feast on
moldy bread and thin meat broth."
     The little sleighs piled up right swiftly, for it seemed to
Claus his fingers had a nimbleness and skill they never had
before, and he whittled out the toys so fast that Unna was
amazed and swore his skill at wood-carving was great as with
the sword and axe; whereat he laughed and whittled all the
faster.It was bitter cold on Christmas Eve, and the members of
the night watch hid themselves in doorways or crept into
cellars to shield them from the snow that rode upon the storm
wind's howling blast; so none saw Claus and Unna as they
made their rounds, leaving on each doorstep of the poor a
little sleigh piled high with fruits and sweets the like of which
those children of that northern clime had never seen before.
But one small lad whose empty belly would not let him sleep
looked from his garret window and espied the scarlet cloak
Claus wore, for Claus went bravely dressed as became a
mighty man of valor, and one who walked in confidence with

                               [62]



princes. And the urchin marveled much that Claus the mighty
captain of whose feats men spoke with bated breath should
stop before his doorstep. But anon he slept, and when he
waked he knew not if it were a dream he dreamt, or if he had
seen Claus pass through the storm all muffled in his crimson
cloak.But when the church bells called the folk to prayer and
praise next morning and the house doors were unbarred, the
people found the sleighs all freighted with their loads of
comfits on their thresholds, and great and loud was the
rejoicing, and children who had thought that Christmas was
to be another day of fasting clapped their hands and raised
their voices in wild shouts of glee. And Claus and Unna who
went privily about the streets saw their work and knew that it
was good, and their hearts beat quicker and their eyes shone
with the tears of happiness, for that they had brought joy
where sorrow was before, and they clasped each other by the
hand and exchanged a kiss like lovers when their vows are
new, and each swore that the other had conceived the scheme
and each denied it; so in sweet argument they got them to the
minster, and then went to their house where their Christmas
feast of plump roast goose was sweeter for the thought of joy
they had brought to the children of the town.
     But when the clergy of the town were told about the
miracle of fruits and sweets that came unmarked upon the
doorsteps of the poor they were right wroth, and swore this
was no Christian act, but the foul design of some fell fiend

                              [63]



who sought to buy men's souls away by bribing them with
Satan's sweetmeats.
     The lad whose waking eyes had seen Claus in his scarlet
mantle told his tale, and all the poor folk praised him mightily
as one who had compassion on the sufferings of childhood,
but the churchmen went to the Burggraf of the city saying,
"Go to, this man and his wife foment rebellion; they have
sought to buy the people's loyalty away by little gifts made to
their children."
     "Why, as to that," the Burggraf answered, "meseems it
is a good and kindly thing they did. Indeed, they have put
shame on us, sith we of our abundance gave no alms to those
who hungered. These be stern times for poor men, good your
reverences."
     When they heard this the clerics murmured one to
another, and finally put forth the saintly pastor of the High
Minster to make answer for them all. He was a very learned
man and skilled in disputation. He knew how many angels
could dance on the point of a needle, and whether angels
traveling from one place to another passed through
intervening space. Moreover, he was deeply versed in
demonology, and could smell wizardry or witchcraft featly as
the beagle scents the cony, so when he spake he spake with
great authority, and thus he spake to the Burggraf:
     "The poor we have with us alway. Did not the blessed
Master say as much, aye, and wrathfully rebuke His disciples
who would have had Mary Magdalene's embrocation sold to

                              [64]



buy bread for them? It is no work of merit to give bread unto
the poor. If it were Heaven's will that all men should be fed
then we should have no poor, but it is stated most explicitly
that the poor we shall have with us alway. It is the well-
considered thought of this most reverend company that it is
little less than a defiance of divine purpose to alleviate their
condition. If wise all-seeing Heaven had not willed them to be
poor they had not been so, but sith their poverty is obviously
by divine decree, whoso maketh them less poor, even though
it be by giving them no more than a dry crust, thwarts
Heaven's will, and is therefore no better than a contemnor of
the Holy Gospel. And as all wizardry is a species of heresy, it
follows as the night the day that heresy is also a form of
witchcraft, and Holy Scripture saith expressly, `Thou shalt not
suffer a witch to live.'
     "Look ye to it, then. If you permit this man and woman,
who are no better than a witch and warlock, to remain at large
you are no friend of true religion, nor of the Landgrave from
whom you hold this city as a fief. Dixi."
     "Amen," said all the others. "Our reverend brother
speaketh most sound doctrinal advice, which you will take to
heart if you be truly righteous."
     So the Burggraf would have put them into prison on a
charge of witchcraft and treason, but the townsmen came to
them and warned them of the net the churchmen wove; so
they escaped before the men-at-arms came clamoring at their
door and fled across the winter snows. Behind them swept a

                                [65]



raving tempest, so that those who sought to follow were
engulfed in drifting snows and lost their tracks upon the road,
and finally turned round and fought their way back to the city
with the tidings they had surely perished in the storm.

     Now presently their travels took them to the Baltic
shores, and as they passed across the country of the Lappmen
they came to a small valley ringed round with nine low hills,
and no man durst go to that place, for 'twas said the little
brown men of the land beneath the earth had power there and
whoso met them face to face was doomed to be their servant
always, and to slave and toil beneath the ground for evermore,
because these people had no souls, but were natheless gifted
with a sort of immortality so that they should live until the
Judgment Day when they and all the great host of the olden
gods should stand before the awful throne of the Most High
and hear sentence of eternal torment.
     But Claus and Unna had no fear of the aelf people or of
any harm that they might do, for both of them wore crosses
round their necks, and in addition each was girt with a long
sword, and the great axe that had aforetime laid the mightiest
foemen in the dust was hanged from Claus's saddle-bow.
     So they bent their way among the haunted Nine Hills,
and behold, as they rode toward the sea there came a great
procession of the aelfmen bearing packs upon their backs and
singing dolefully. "Waes hael to thee, small aelfmen," Claus


                               [66]



made challenge, "why go ye sadly thus with chant of dole and
drearihead?"
     "Alack and well-a-day," the aelf King answereth, "we
take our way to Niflheim, there to abide until the time shall
come when we are sent to torment everlasting, for the folk
whom we did help aforetime now cry out upon us and say we
are devils and set no pan of milk or loaf of barley bread beside
their doorstep for us; nor do they tell the tales their fathers
told of kindly deeds done by the Little People, but only tales
of terror and wickedness. For this we are no longer able to
come out and play upon the earth's good face, neither dance
and sing by moonlight in the glades, and, worst of all, our
human neighbors have no use for our good offices, but drive
us hence with curse and chant and bell and book and candle."
     Now Claus laughed long and loud mirthlessly when he
heard this, for well was he reminded of the time when he and
Unna had to flee for very life because they had done kindness
to the poor, so he made answer: "Would ye then find it
happiness to serve your human neighbors an ye could?"
     "Aye, marry, that would we," the aelf King told him.
"We be great artificers in both wood and stone and metal.
There are no smiths like unto us, nor any who can fashion
better things of crockery, and much would it delight our
hearts to shape things for men's service and bestow them on
the goodmen of the farms and villages and towns, but now
they will have none of us or of our gifts. Why, to say a
present is a fairy gift is to insult the giver in these days!"

                                [67]



     Now as Claus listened to this plaint there came a ringing
as of many bells within his ears and once again the voice he
knew spake to him and he heard: "Claus, thou hast need of
these small men. Take them with thee on the road that shall be
opened to thy feet."
     So Claus bespake the aelfmen's King and said: "Wouldst
go with me unto a place of safety, and there work diligently to
make things that children joy to have? If thou wilt do it I'll see
that thy gifts are put into the hands of those who will take joy
in them and praise thy name for making them."
     "My lord, if thou wilt do this thing for us I am thy true
and loyal vassal, now and ever, both I and all my people,"
swore the aelfmen's King. So on the fresh green turf he
kneeled him down upon his knees and swore an oath of fealty
unto Claus, acknowledging himself his vassal and vowing to
bear true and faithful service unto him. Both he and all his
host of tiny men pronounced the vow, and when they rose
from off their knees they hailed Claus as their lord and leader.
     Then from their treasure-store they brought a little sleigh
no larger than the helm a soldier wears to shield his skull from
sword-blows, and so cunningly contrived it was that it could
stretch and grow until it had room for them all, both the aelf
King and his host and Claus and Unna and their steeds as
well.And when they had ensconced them in the magic sleigh
they harnessed to it four span of tiny reindeer no larger than
the timid squeaking mice that steal forth in the night to forage

                               [68]



in the farmer's kitchen, and at once these grew until they were
as large as war-steeds, and with a shout the aelf King bade
them go, and straightway they rose up into the air and drew
the sleigh behind them, high above the heaving billows of the
Baltic."Bid them ride until they have the will to stop," Claus
ordered, and the aelf King did as he commanded, and
presently, far in the frozen North where the light of the bridge
Bifrost bears upon the earth the reindeer came to rest. And
there they builded them a house, strong-timbered and thick-
walled, with lofty chimneys and great hearths where mighty
fires roared ceaselessly. And in the rooms about the great hall
they set their forges up, and their kilns for baking earthenware
and benches for wood-turning. And the air was filled with
sounds of metal striking metal as cunning dwarfs beat toys of
metal out while others of their company plied saw and knife
and chisel, making toys of wood, and others still made dolls
of plaster and chinaware and clothed them in small garments
which artful aelfmen under Unna's teaching fashioned at the
great looms they had built. And in the castle garth they set out
groves of holly trees and oaks on which the mistletoe grew
thick, for the holly's ruddy berry is the symbol of the drops of
precious blood Christ shed for our redemption, and the pearly
fruit of mistletoe is emblematic of His tears of compassion for
our weakness, so both of them are fitting garniture for
Christian homes at Yuletide.


                                [69]



     When Christmas Eve was come again there was a heap
of toys raised mountain-high, and Claus put them into the
magic sleigh with wreaths of gleaming holly and white
boughs of mistletoe and whistled to the magic reindeer and
called them each by name, and off they sped across the bridge
Bifrost where in the olden days men said the gods had
crossed to Asgard. And so swiftly sped his eight small steeds,
and so well his sleigh was stocked with toys that before the
light of Christmas morning dawned there was a gift to joy the
heart of every child laid on each hearth, and Claus came
cloud-riding again unto his Northern home and there his
company of cunning dwarfs and Unna the beloved waited.
     Then they made a mighty feast and heaped the tables till
they groaned beneath the weight of venison and salmon and
fat goose, and the mead horns frothed and foamed, and song
and laughter echoed from the high walls of the castle as they
bid each other skoal and waes hael while they drank and
drank again to childhood's happiness.

     Long years ago Claus laid aside his sword, and his great
axe gathers rust upon the castle wall; for he has no need of
weapons as he speeds on his way to do the work foretold for
him that night so long ago upon the road to Bethlehem.
     Odin's name is but a memory, and in all the world none
serves his altars, but Claus is very real today, and every year
ten thousand times ten thousand gleeful children wait his
coming; for he is neither Claudius the gladiator nor Claus the

                              [70]



mighty man of war, but Santa Claus, the very patron saint of
little children. His is the work his Master chose for him that
night two thousand years ago; his the long, long road that has
no turning so long as men keep festival upon the anniversary
of the Saviour's birth.



                Note to the electronic edition, 2002

SEABURY QUINN (1889-1969) was more popular than H.P. Lovecraft,
Robert E. Howard, or Clark Ashton Smith among the readers of Weird
Tales, the premier fantasy magazine of the pulp era. An attorney by
profession with a special interest in laws related to disposal of the dead,
Quinn for some time edited the trade magazine Casket and Sunnyside, and
he authored Syllabus of Mortuary Jurisprudence. To the readers of the
pulps he was known primarily for his more than ninety tales of Jules de
Grandin, a French physician settled in Harrisonville, New Jersey, where his
continental expertise on weird menaces natural and supernatural was
needed considerably more often than his medical services. A
comprehensive edition of the series was recently published in three
volumes by Battered Silicon Dispatch Box. Quinn's novella ...Roads,
imagining an authentic Christian origin for Santa Claus, was first
published in the January 1938 issue of Weird Tales, and revised for
publication as a separate volume by Arkham House in 1948. Quinn wrote
little fiction after the early 1950s. One novel appeared after his death, Alien
Flesh (1977), having perhaps failed to find a publisher during his lifetime
due to its quirky theme of transsexual metempsychosis.

VIRGIL FINLAY (1914-1971) started his career of illustrating fantasy and
science fiction pulps in 1935, debuting in Seabury Quinn's favorite venue
Weird Tales. Although he occasionally contributed cover paintings, he was
known primarily for his amazingly detailed engraving-like interior
illustrations. When genre work could no longer support him, Finlay started
contributing illustrations to astrological publications. Finlay's distinctive
artwork has been reprinted in over a dozen volumes.