



Produced by John Bickers; Dagny





PEARL-MAIDEN


A Tale Of The Fall of Jerusalem


By H. Rider Haggard

First Published 1901.

TO

GLADYS CHRISTIAN

A DWELLER IN THE EAST THIS EASTERN TALE IS DEDICATED BY HER OWN AND HER
FATHER'S FRIEND

THE AUTHOR

Ditchingham: September 14, 1902.





PEARL-MAIDEN



CHAPTER I

THE PRISON AT CAESAREA

It was but two hours after midnight, yet many were wakeful in Caesarea on
the Syrian coast. Herod Agrippa, King of all Palestine--by grace of
the Romans--now at the very apex of his power, celebrated a festival in
honour of the Emperor Claudius, to which had flocked all the mightiest
in the land and tens of thousands of the people. The city was full of
them, their camps were set upon the sea-beach and for miles around;
there was no room at the inns or in the private houses, where guests
slept upon the roofs, the couches, the floors, and in the gardens. The
great town hummed like a hive of bees disturbed after sunset, and though
the louder sounds of revelling had died away, parties of feasters,
many of them still crowned with fading roses, passed along the
streets shouting and singing to their lodgings. As they went, they
discussed--those of them who were sufficiently sober--the incidents of
that day's games in the great circus, and offered or accepted odds upon
the more exciting events of the morrow.

The captives in the prison that was set upon a little hill, a frowning
building of brown stone, divided into courts and surrounded by a
high wall and a ditch, could hear the workmen at their labours in the
amphitheatre below. These sounds interested them, since many of those
who listened were doomed to take a leading part in the spectacle of this
new day. In the outer court, for instance, were a hundred men called
malefactors, for the most part Jews convicted of various political
offences. These were to fight against twice their number of savage Arabs
of the desert taken in a frontier raid, people whom to-day we should
know as Bedouins, mounted and armed with swords and lances, but wearing
no mail. The malefactor Jews, by way of compensation, were to be
protected with heavy armour and ample shields. Their combat was to
last for twenty minutes by the sand-glass, when, unless they had shown
cowardice, those who were left alive of either party were to receive
their freedom. Indeed, by a kindly decree the King Agrippa, a man who
did not seek unnecessary bloodshed, contrary to custom, even the wounded
were to be spared, that is, if any would undertake the care of them.
Under these circumstances, since life is sweet, all had determined to
fight their best.

In another division of the great hall was collected a very different
company. There were not more than fifty or sixty of these, so the wide
arches of the surrounding cloisters gave them sufficient shelter and
even privacy. With the exception of eight or ten men, all of them old,
or well on in middle age, since the younger and more vigorous males had
been carefully drafted to serve as gladiators, this little band was
made of women and a few children. They belonged to the new sect called
Christians, the followers of one Jesus, who, according to report, was
crucified as a troublesome person by the governor, Pontius Pilate, a
Roman official, who in due course had been banished to Gaul, where he
was said to have committed suicide. In his day Pilate was unpopular
in Judaea, for he had taken the treasures of the Temple at Jerusalem to
build waterworks, causing a tumult in which many were killed. Now he
was almost forgotten, but very strangely, the fame of this crucified
demagogue, Jesus, seemed to grow, since there were many who made a kind
of god of him, preaching doctrines in his name that were contrary to the
law and offensive to every sect of the Jews.

Pharisees, Sadducees, Zealots, Levites, priests, all called out against
them. All besought Agrippa that he would be rid of them, these apostates
who profaned the land and proclaimed in the ears of a nation awaiting
its Messiah, that Heaven-born King who should break the Roman yoke and
make Jerusalem the capital of the world, that this Messiah had come
already in the guise of an itinerant preacher, and perished with other
malefactors by the death of shame.

Wearied with their importunities, the King listened. Like the cultivated
Romans with whom he associated, Agrippa had no real religion. At
Jerusalem he embellished the Temple and made offerings to Jehovah; at
Berytus he embellished the temple and made offerings there to Jupiter.
He was all things to all men and to himself--nothing but a voluptuous
time-server. As for these Christians, he never troubled himself about
them. Why should he? They were few and insignificant, no single man of
rank or wealth was to be found among them. To persecute them was easy,
and--it pleased the Jews. Therefore he persecuted them. One James, a
disciple of the crucified man called Christ, who had wandered about the
country with him, he seized and beheaded at Jerusalem. Another, called
Peter, a powerful preacher, he threw into prison, and of their followers
he slew many. A few of these were given over to be stoned by the Jews,
but the pick of the men were forced to fight as gladiators at Berytus
and elsewhere. The women, if young and beautiful, were sold as slaves,
but if matrons or aged, they were cast to the wild beasts in the circus.

Such was the fate, indeed, that was reserved for these poor victims in
the prison on this very day of the opening of our history. After the
gladiators had fought and the other games had been celebrated, sixty
Christians, it was announced, old and useless men, married woman and
young children whom nobody would buy, were to be turned down in the
great amphitheatre. Then thirty fierce lions, with other savage beasts,
made ravenous by hunger and mad with the smell of blood, were to be let
loose among them. Even in this act of justice, however, Agrippa suffered
it to be seen that he was gentle-hearted, since of his kindness he had
decreed that any whom the lions refused to eat were to be given clothes,
a small sum of money, and released to settle their differences with the
Jews as they might please.

Such was the state of public feeling and morals in the Roman world of
that day, that this spectacle of the feeding of starved beasts with live
women and children, whose crime was that they worshipped a crucified
man and would offer sacrifice to no other god, either in the Temple
or elsewhere, was much looked forward to by the population of Caesarea.
Indeed, great sums of money were ventured upon the event, by means of
what to-day would be called sweepstakes, under the regulations of which
he who drew the ticket marked with the exact number of those whom the
lions left alive, would take the first prize. Already some far-seeing
gamblers who had drawn low numbers, had bribed the soldiers and wardens
to sprinkle the hair and garments of the Christians with valerian water,
a decoction which was supposed to attract and excite the appetite of
these great cats. Others, whose tickets were high, paid handsomely for
the employment of artifices which need not be detailed, calculated to
induce in the lions aversion to the subject that had been treated.
The Christian woman or child, it will be observed, who was to form
the _corpus vile_ of these ingenious experiments, was not considered,
except, indeed, as the fisherman considers the mussel or the sand-worm
on his hook.

Under an arch by themselves, and not far from the great gateway where
the guards, their lances in hand, could be seen pacing up and down,
sat two women. The contrast in the appearance of this pair was very
striking. One, who could not have been much more than twenty years of
age, was a Jewess, too thin-faced for beauty, but with dark and lovely
eyes, and bearing in every limb and feature the stamp of noble blood.
She was Rachel, the widow of Demas, a Graeco-Syrian, and only child of
the high-born Jew Benoni, one of the richest merchants in Tyre. The
other was a woman of remarkable aspect, apparently about forty years
of age. She was a native of the coasts of Libya, where she had been
kidnapped as a girl by Jewish traders, and by them passed on to
Phoenicians, who sold her upon the slave market of Tyre. In fact she was
a high-bred Arab without any admixture of <DW64> blood, as was shown by
her copper-<DW52> skin, prominent cheek bones, her straight, black,
abundant hair, and untamed, flashing eyes. In frame she was tall and
spare, very agile, and full of grace in every movement. Her face was
fierce and hard; even in her present dreadful plight she showed no fear,
only when she looked at the lady by her side it grew anxious and tender.
She was called Nehushta, a name which Benoni had given her when many
years ago he bought her upon the market-place. In Hebrew Nehushta means
copper, and this new slave was copper-. In her native land,
however, she had another name, Nou, and by this name she was known to
her dead mistress, the wife of Benoni, and to his daughter Rachel, whom
she had nursed from childhood.

The moon shone very brightly in a clear sky, and by the light of it an
observer, had there been any to observe where all were so occupied
with their own urgent affairs, could have watched every movement and
expression of these women. Rachel, seated on the ground, was rocking
herself to and fro, her face hidden in her hands, and praying. Nehushta
knelt at her side, resting the weight of her body on her heels as only
an Eastern can, and stared sullenly at nothingness.

Presently Rachel, dropping her hands, looked at the tender sky and
sighed.

"Our last night on earth, Nou," she said sadly. "It is strange to think
that we shall never again see the moon floating above us."

"Why not, mistress? If all that we have been taught is true, we shall
see that moon, or others, for ever and ever, and if it is not true, then
neither light nor darkness will trouble us any more. However, for my own
part I don't mean that either of us should die to-morrow."

"How can you prevent it, Nou?" asked Rachel with a faint smile. "Lions
are no respecters of persons."

"Yet, mistress, I think that they will respect my person, and yours,
too, for my sake."

"What do you mean, Nou?"

"I mean that I do not fear the lions; they are country-folk of mine and
roared round my cradle. The chief, my father, was called Master of Lions
in our country because he could tame them. Why, when I was a little
child I have fed them and they fawned upon us like dogs."

"Those lions are long dead, Nou, and the others will not remember."

"I am not sure that they are dead; at least, blood will call to blood,
and their company will know the smell of the child of the Master of
Lions. Whoever is eaten, we shall escape."

"I have no such hope, Nou. To-morrow we must die horribly, that King
Agrippa may do honour to his master, Caesar."

"If you think that, mistress, then let us die at once rather than be
rent limb from limb to give pleasure to a stinking mob. See, I have
poison hidden here in my hair. Let us drink of it and be done: it is
swift and painless."

"Nay, Nou, it would not be right. I may lift no hand against my own
life, or if perchance I may, I have to think of another life."

"If you die, the unborn child must die also. To-night or to-morrow, what
does it matter?"

"Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. Who knows? To-morrow Agrippa
may be dead, not us, and then the child might live. It is in the hand of
God. Let God decide."

"Lady," answered Nehushta, setting her teeth, "for your sake I have
become a Christian, yes, and I believe. But I tell you this--while I
live no lion's fangs shall tear that dear flesh of yours. First if need
be, I will stab you there in the arena, or if they take my knife from
me, then I will choke you, or dash out your brains against the posts."

"It may be a sin, Nou; take no such risk upon your soul."

"My soul! What do I care about my soul? You are my soul. Your mother was
kind to me, the poor slave-girl, and when you were an infant, I rocked
you upon my breast. I spread your bride-bed, and if need be, to save you
from worse things, I will lay you dead before me and myself dead across
your body. Then let God or Satan--I care not which--deal with my soul.
At least, I shall have done my best and died faithful."

"You should not speak so," sighed Rachel. "But, dear, I know it is
because you love me, and I wish to die as easily as may be and to join
my husband. Only if the child could have lived, as I think, all three
of us would have dwelt together eternally. Nay, not all three, all four,
for you are well-nigh as dear to me, Nou, as husband or as child."

"That cannot be, I do not wish that it should be, who am but a slave
woman, the dog beneath the table. Oh! if I could save you, then I would
be glad to show them how this daughter of my father can bear their
torments."

The Libyan ceased, grinding her teeth in impotent rage. Then suddenly
she leant towards her mistress, kissed her fiercely on the cheek and
began to sob, slow, heavy sobs.

"Listen," said Rachel. "The lions are roaring in their dens yonder."

Nehushta lifted her head and hearkened as a hunter hearkens in the
desert. True enough, from near the great tower that ended the southern
wall of the amphitheatre, echoed short, coughing notes and fierce
whimperings, to be followed presently by roar upon roar, as lion after
lion joined in that fearful music, till the whole air shook with the
volume of their voices.

"Aha!" cried a keeper at the gate--not the Roman soldier who marched
to and fro unconcernedly, but a jailor, named Rufus, who was clad in
a padded robe and armed with a great knife. "Aha! listen to them, the
pretty kittens. Don't be greedy, little ones--be patient. To-night you
will purr upon a full stomach."

"Nine of them," muttered Nehushta, who had counted the roars, "all
bearded and old, royal beasts. To hearken to them makes me young again.
Yes, yes, I smell the desert and see the smoke rising from my father's
tents. As a child I hunted them, now they will hunt me; it is their
hour."

"Give me air! I faint!" gasped Rachel, sinking against her.

With a guttural exclamation of pity Nehushta bent down. Placing her
strong arms beneath the slender form of her young mistress, and lifting
her as though she were a child, she carried her to the centre of the
court, where stood a fountain; for before it was turned to the purposes
of a jail once this place had been a palace. Here she set her mistress
on the ground with her back against the stonework, and dashed water in
her face till presently she was herself again.

While Rachel sat thus--for the place was cool and pleasant and she could
not sleep who must die that day--a wicket-gate was opened and several
persons, men, women, and children, were thrust through it into the
court.

"Newcomers from Tyre in a great hurry not to lose the lions' party,"
cried the facetious warden of the gate. "Pass in, my Christian friends,
pass in and eat your last supper according to your customs. You will
find it over there, bread and wine in plenty. Eat, my hungry friends,
eat before you are eaten and enter into Heaven or--the stomach of the
lions."

An old woman, the last of the party, for she could not walk fast, turned
round and pointed at the buffoon with her staff.

"Blaspheme not, you heathen dog!" she said, "or rather, blaspheme on
and go to your reward! I, Anna, who have the gift of prophecy, tell you,
renegade who were a Christian, and therefore are doubly guilty, that
_you_ have eaten your last meal--on earth."

The man, a half-bred Syrian who had abandoned his faith for profit and
now tormented those who were once his brethren, uttered a furious curse
and snatched a knife from his girdle.

"You draw the knife? So be it, perish by the knife!" said Anna.
Then without heeding him further the old woman hobbled on after her
companions, leaving the man to slink away white to the lips with terror.
He had been a Christian and knew something of Anna and of this "gift of
prophecy."

The path of these strangers led them past the fountain, where Rachel and
Nehushta rose to greet them as they came.

"Peace be with you," said Rachel.

"In the name of Christ, peace," they answered, and passed on towards
the arches where the other captives were gathered. Last of all, at some
distance behind the rest, came the white-haired woman, leaning on her
staff.

As she approached, Rachel turned to repeat her salutation, then uttered
a little cry and said:

"Mother Anna, do you not know me, Rachel, the daughter of Benoni?"

"Rachel!" she answered, starting. "Alas! child, how came you here?"

"By the paths that we Christians have to tread, mother," said Rachel,
sadly. "But sit; you are weary. Nou, help her."

Anna nodded, and slowly, for her limbs were stiff, sank down on to the
step of the fountain.

"Give me to drink, child," she said, "for I have been brought upon a
mule from Tyre, and am athirst."

Rachel made her hands into a cup, for she had no other, and held water
to Anna's lips, which she drank greedily, emptying them many times.

"For this refreshment, God be praised. What said you? The daughter of
Benoni a Christian! Well, even here and now, for that God be praised
also. Strange that I should not have heard of it; but I have been in
Jerusalem these two years, and was brought back to Tyre last Sabbath as
a prisoner."

"Yes, Mother, and since then I have become both wife and widow."

"Whom did you marry, child?"

"Demas, the merchant. They killed him in the amphitheatre yonder at
Berytus six months ago," and the poor woman began to sob.

"I heard of his end," replied Anna. "It was a good and noble one, and
his soul rests in Heaven. He would not fight with the gladiators, so he
was beheaded by order of Agrippa. But cease weeping, child, and tell me
your story. We have little time for tears, who, perhaps, soon will have
done with them."

Rachel dried her eyes.

"It is short and sad," she said. "Demas and I met often and learned to
love each other. My father was no friend to him, for they were rivals in
trade, but in those days knowing no better, Demas followed the faith
of the Jews; therefore, because he was rich my father consented to our
marriage, and they became partners in their business. Afterwards,
within a month indeed, the Apostles came to Tyre, and we attended their
preaching--at first, because we were curious to learn the truth of this
new faith against which my father railed, for, as you know, he is of the
strictest sect of the Jews; and then, because our hearts were touched.
So in the end we believed, and were baptised, both on one night, by
the very hand of the brother of the Lord. The holy Apostles departed,
blessing us before they went, and Demas, who would play no double part,
told my father of what we had done. Oh! mother, it was awful to see. He
raved, shouted and cursed us in his rage, blaspheming Him we worship.
More, woe is me that I should have to tell it: When we refused to become
apostates he denounced us to the priests, and the priests denounced
us to the Romans, and we were seized and thrown into prison; but my
husband's wealth, most of it except that which the priests and Romans
stole, stayed with my father. For many months we were held in prison
here in Caesarea; then they took my husband to Berytus, to be trained
as a gladiator, and murdered him. Here I have stayed since with this
beloved servant, Nehushta, who also became a Christian and shared our
fate, and now, by the decree of Agrippa, it is my turn and hers to die
to-day."

"Child, you should not weep for that; nay, you should be glad who at
once will find your husband and your Saviour."

"Mother, I am glad; but, you see my state. It is for the child's sake I
weep, that now never will be born. Had it won life even for an hour all
of us would have dwelt together in bliss until eternity. But it cannot
be--it cannot be."

Anna looked at her with her piercing eyes.

"Have you, then, also the gift of prophecy, child, who are so young a
member of the Church, that you dare to say that this or that cannot be?
The future is in the hand of God. King Agrippa, your father, the Romans,
the cruel Jews, those lions that roar yonder, and we who are doomed to
feed them, are all in the hand of God, and that which He wills shall
befall, and no other thing. Therefore, let us praise Him and rejoice,
and take no thought for the morrow, unless it be to pray that we may die
and go hence to our Master, rather than live on in doubts and terrors
and tribulations."

"You are right, mother," answered Rachel, "and I will try to be brave,
whatever may befall; but my state makes me feeble. The spirit, truly, is
willing, but oh! the flesh is weak. Listen, they call us to partake of
the Sacrament of the Lord--our last on earth"; and rising, she began to
walk towards the arches.

Nehushta stayed to help Anna to her feet. When she judged her mistress
to be out of hearing she leaned down and whispered:

"Mother, you have the gift; it is known throughout the Church. Tell me,
will the child be born?"

The old woman fixed her eyes upon the heavens, then answered, slowly:

"The child will be born and live out its life, and I think that none of
us are doomed to die this day by the jaws of lions, though some of us
may die in another fashion. But I think also that your mistress goes
very shortly to join her husband. Therefore it was that I showed her
nothing of what came into my mind."

"Then it is best that I should die also, and die I will."

"Wherefore?"

"Because I go to wait upon my mistress?"

"Nay, Nehushta," answered Anna, sternly, "you stay to guard her child,
whereof when all these earthly things are done you must give account to
her."



CHAPTER II

THE VOICE OF A GOD

Of all the civilisations whose records lie open to the student, that
of Rome is surely one of the most wonderful. Nowhere, not even in old
Mexico, was high culture so completely wedded to the lowest barbarism.
Intellect Rome had in plenty; the noblest efforts of her genius are
scarcely to be surpassed; her law is the foundation of the best of our
codes of jurisprudence; art she borrowed but appreciated; her military
system is still the wonder of the world; her great men remain great
among a multitude of subsequent competitors. And yet how pitiless she
was! What a tigress! Amid all the ruins of her cities we find none of a
hospital, none, I believe, of an orphan school in an age that made many
orphans. The pious aspirations and efforts of individuals seem never
to have touched the conscience of the people. Rome incarnate had no
conscience; she was a lustful, devouring beast, made more bestial by her
intelligence and splendour.

King Agrippa in practice was a Roman. Rome was his model, her ideals
were his ideals. Therefore he built amphitheatres in which men were
butchered, to the exquisite delight of vast audiences. Therefore, also,
without the excuse of any conscientious motive, however insufficient or
unsatisfactory, he persecuted the weak because they were weak and their
sufferings would give pleasure to the strong or to those who chanced to
be the majority of the moment.

The season being hot it was arranged that the great games in honour of
the safety of Caesar, should open each day at dawn and come to an end an
hour before noon. Therefore from midnight onwards crowds of spectators
poured into the amphitheatre, which, although it would seat over twenty
thousand, was not large enough to contain them all. An hour before the
dawn the place was full, and already late comers were turned back from
its gates. The only empty spaces were those reserved for the king,
his royal guests, the rulers of the city, with other distinguished
personages, and for the Christian company of old men, women and children
destined to the lions, who, it was arranged, were to sit in full view
of the audience until the time came for them to take their share in the
spectacle.

When Rachel joined the other captives she found that a long rough table
had been set beneath the arcades, and on it at intervals, pieces of
bread and cups and vases containing wine of the country that had been
purchased at a great price from the guards. Round this table the elders
or the infirm among the company were seated on a bench, while the rest
of the number, for whom there was not room, stood behind them. At its
head was an old man, a bishop among the Christians, one of the five
hundred who had seen the risen Lord and received baptism from the
hands of the Beloved Disciple. For some years he had been spared by the
persecutors of the infant Church on account of his age, dignity, and
good repute, but now at last fate seemed to have overtaken him.

The service was held; the bread and wine, mixed with water, were
consecrated with the same texts by which they are blessed to-day, only
the prayers were extempore. When all had eaten from the platters and
drunk from the rude cups, the bishop gave his blessing to the community.
Then he addressed them. This, he told them, was an occasion of peculiar
joy, a love-feast indeed, since all they who partook of it were about to
lay down the burden of the flesh and, their labours and sorrows ended,
to depart into bliss eternal. He called to their memory the supper of
the Passover which had taken place within the lifetime of many of
them, when the Author and Finisher of their faith had declared to the
disciples that He would drink no more wine till He drank it new with
them in His kingdom. Such a feast it was that lay spread before them
this night. Let them be thankful for it. Let them not quail in the hour
of trial. The fangs of the savage beasts, the shouts of the still more
savage spectators, the agony of the quivering flesh, the last terror of
their departing, what were these? Soon, very soon, they would be done;
the spears of the soldiers would despatch the injured, and those among
them whom it was ordained should escape, would be set free by the
command of the representative of Caesar, that they might prosecute the
work till the hour came for them to pass on the torch of redemption to
other hands. Let them rejoice, therefore, and be very thankful, and
walk to the sacrifice as to a wedding feast. "Do you not rejoice, my
brethren?" he asked. With one voice they answered, "We rejoice!" Yes,
even the children answered thus.

Then they prayed again, and again with uplifted hands the old man
blessed them in the holy Triune Name.

Scarcely had this service, as solemn as it was simple, been brought
to an end when the head jailer, whose blasphemous jocosity since his
reproof by Anna was replaced by a mien of sullen venom, came forward and
commanded the whole band to march to the amphitheatre. Accordingly, two
by two, the bishop leading the way with the sainted woman Anna, they
walked to the gates. Here a guard of soldiers was waiting to receive
them, and under their escort they threaded the narrow, darkling streets
till they came to that door of the amphitheatre which was used by those
who were to take part in the games. Now, at a word from the bishop, they
began to chant a solemn hymn, and singing thus, were thrust along the
passages to the place prepared for them. This was not, as they expected,
a prison at the back of the amphitheatre, but, as has been said, a spot
between the enclosing wall and the podium, raised a little above the
level of the arena. Here, on the eastern side of the building, they were
to sit till their turn came to be driven by the guards through a little
wicket-gate into the arena, where the starving beasts of prey would be
loosed upon them.

It was now the hour before sunrise, and the moon having set, the vast
theatre was plunged in gloom, relieved only here and there by stray
torches and cressets of fire burning upon either side of the gorgeous,
but as yet unoccupied, throne of Agrippa. This gloom seemed to oppress
the audience with which the place was crowded; at any rate none of them
shouted or sang, or even spoke loudly. They addressed each other
in muffled tones, with the result that the air seemed to be full of
mysterious whisperings. Had this poor band of condemned Christians
entered the theatre in daylight, they would have been greeted with
ironical cries and tauntings of "Dogs' meat!" and with requests that
they should work a miracle and let the people see them rise again from
the bellies of the lions. But now, as their solemn song broke upon the
silence, it was answered only by one great murmur, which seemed to shape
itself to the words, "the Christians! The doomed Christians!"

By the light of a single torch the band took their places. Then once
more they sang, and in that chastening hour the audience listened with
attention, almost with respect. Their chant finished, the bishop stood
up, and, moved thereto by some inspiration, began to address the mighty
throng, whom he could not see, and who could not see him. Strangely
enough they hearkened to him, perhaps because his speech served to while
away the weary time of waiting.

"Men and brethren," he began, in his thin, piercing notes, "princes,
lords, peoples, Romans, Jews, Syrians, Greeks, citizens of Idumaea, of
Egypt, and of all nations here gathered, hearken to the words of an old
man destined and glad to die. Listen, if it be your pleasure, to the
story of One whom some of you saw crucified under Pontius Pilate, since
to know the truth of that matter can at least do you no hurt."

"Be silent!" cried a voice, that of the renegade jailer, "and cease
preaching your accursed faith!"

"Let him alone," answered other voices. "We will hear this story of his.
We say--let him alone."

Thus encouraged the old man spoke on with an eloquence so simple and yet
so touching, with a wisdom so deep, that for full fifteen minutes none
cared even to interrupt him. Then a far-away listener cried:

"Why must these people die who are better than we?"

"Friend," answered the bishop, in ringing tones, which in that heavy
silence seemed to search out even the recesses of the great and crowded
place, "we must die because it is the will of King Agrippa, to whom
God has given power to destroy us. Mourn not for us because we perish
cruelly, since this is the day of our true birth, but mourn for King
Agrippa, at whose hands our blood will be required,