Apart from these, as if fearing to be smothered by the stench and the dust and the noise, small companies of knights, luxuriously caparisoned, riding to conquest and fame, or death.

Attila redivivus! The Scourge of God! More terrible the footsteps of these than the horses’ hoofs of their predecessors! Nevermore shall the grass grow again upon these lands! Ah, Jesus, was it this you meant by ‘love ye one another?’ Was this your conquest; were these the followers you dreamed of; was it for this you allowed yourself to be nailed to the Cross?

Are delicate John and beautiful Mary sitting at your feet, Jesus, and approving of this? Do they exclaim triumphantly to the stars that dance about you forever: ‘Master, you have conquered the Earth.’

“Kotikokura, I cannot rejoice in the defeat of my enemy. It is too terrible, too inhuman…and my heart is still the heart of man! This was a city, Kotikokura, a Christian city. Look at it now, my friend! Look at the ruins, the corpses, the awful devastation wrought in his name! Our horses are splashing through blood, as if a scarlet rainstorm had flooded the place! I cannot laugh or jubilate, Kotikokura… I am not a god!”

“Ca-ta-pha god.”

Slowly the army moved, swaying clumsily like a wounded rhinoceros.

“The army of Christ, Kotikokura,—decimated, but trailing after it still death and torture and disease! The army of Christ! What irony, Kotikokura! How he abhorred soldiers and princes and governors and high priests!”

“High Priests!” Kotikokura exclaimed angrily.

“Don’t be offended, my friend. He never realized that there could be a high priest like Kotikokura.”

Kotikokura smiled, delighted.

A number of women and children were running in our direction, screaming. They were followed by three men on horseback from whose raised swords blood dripped.

We interceded to save them from the wrath of knights who accused them of sniping. The women blessed us in the name of the Saviour.

We had ridden a few minutes, when once again we heard shrieking and shouting. The women we had just saved from the sword were running after an old man, white bearded and almost naked.

“There he is! There he is! The Jew! The cursed Jew! Kill him! Kill him! He brought the wrath of the Lord on us. Kill him!”

I thought it would be too hazardous to try to save the Jew, and I was too weary and too disgusted to help humanity in distress.

“Kotikokura, by saving the life of a human being, we merely endanger the life of another. It is futile to be kind and generous. ‘Homo homini lupus.’ Wolves all,—devouring one another,—and always the Jew the final scapegoat. So be it! We cannot help it. We must laugh or go mad.”

Kotikokura laughed heartily. I joined him.

“Kotikokura, I am weary of splashing through blood and tumbling over ruins. Besides, it is becoming increasingly more dangerous. We can go to Jerusalem by far safer and pleasanter means. The Mediterranean still runs on as calmly as ever.”

Kotikokura grinned, delighted.

“Let us cast off this armor, and become merely prosperous citizens, unconcerned with the Holy Sepulchre, with doing chivalrous deeds, with witnessing this horror, in the name of Jesus. One glance suffices. We need not witness the entire performance.”

XLVI: I REVISIT JERUSALEM—THE PLACE OF SKULLS—IS TIME AN ILLUSION?—THE TEMPEST—THE RED KNIGHT—“DON’T YOU KNOW ME, CARTAPHILUS?”—TREASURE TROVE

“KOTIKOKURA, I do not understand it at all. How did this army, ragged, famished, undisciplined and almost weaponless, defeat the splendid troops of the Mohammedans? What magic did it use? What strange power? Is it true indeed that Jesus wished to free his Sepulchre from the hands of the infidels? Did he strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, or…? But why rack our brains, my friend, to understand a game which seems to have no permanent rules, and whose players—the gods—have no sense of honor?”

Kotikokura grinned.

Jerusalem! Was this Jerusalem indeed? The hills and the sky were unchanged,—but where were the houses, the streets, the cemeteries? I wandered about as in a dream, trying to find something that I recognized, that could serve as a guide. As in a dream, everything dissolved, shrank, united grotesquely together. I drew a map. Like a lost dog, I followed each line carefully, my eyes riveted to the soil.

Where my father’s shop used to be, there was a marsh now. Large frogs croaked, and a million insects buzzed ominously. Where the temple was, moss-covered rocks piled together. The palace of Pilate,—a highway upon which a driver urged a donkey whose ribs were piercing his sides like sharp elbows.

Kotikokura accompanied me silently, like a dog, faithful but puzzled.

I assiduously avoided one spot. Something told me that it had not changed, had remained perfectly intact, expecting my arrival—and perhaps another one’s. And yet, like some magnet that draws metal toward it, draws it and will not relinquish,—so the spot drew me, drew me.

“I must go, Kotikokura. I must go.”

He looked at me, not understanding.

“I must go alone…without you, alone!”

He looked startled. His arms fell and he bent almost in two.

“No, do not fear, Kotikokura. Ca-ta-pha must go only for a day or less…must see something…alone. He will return.”

I walked as a somnambulist walks, choosing neither one road nor another, allowing my legs to find their way. They would lead me to the place, I was certain.

The sun had climbed half way the hill to my right. The moon, like a bit of gray gauze, already torn to shreds, was vanishing quickly; two or three stars winked a few more times in great effort. Now and then my steps echoed noisily, as if to announce my arrival.

Had I whirled about myself many times? Did the earth under my feet rock as a boat? What whirlwind was blowing against my ears? I seated myself upon a rock, my head tightened between my hands. I dared not stir.

Why had I come alone? Why had I not fled away? The hurricane howled on. The earth rocked. If I only dared to raise my head to see where I was…if I only– – What was there to fear? If death, let it be death!

I stood up. What was this? Had I gone insane? Had all these centuries been merely a dream? Was I a captain in the Roman army? Was I no longer Cartaphilus, the wanderer?

“Thou must tarry until I return! Thou must tarry until I return! Thou must tarry until I return!”

“Stop!” I shouted.

The Cross shook. Was it the wind? Was it the earth? His eyes like two long swords pierced my head. I screamed. It was the same agony I had once experienced. A thousand years had not obliterated its memory.

“Tarry until I return!”

“Stop!”

I tightened my head with my hands, and began to run desperately. I fell.

“Tarry– —”

I staggered to my feet again. I looked at my hands. They were covered with blood. I wiped them in the dust.

“Tarry until– —”

I dared not look back.

“Tarry– —”

It was like a far-away echo. I began to run again and did not stop until I reached the city. I seated myself on a curbstone. For a long time, I panted, my mouth open. I rose and walked homeward. My legs were weak and unsteady, like a man’s who had just recovered from a severe illness.

A knight in armor galloped by. Two monks, hiding their hands in their sleeves like Chinamen, were grumbling against the rations of food they were receiving; several crusaders, ragged and thin, were sitting propped against the fence; in the distance, the tinkling of a leper’s bells…

“What a storm we had,” I said to a sentinel on his way to the barracks.

“Storm? When?”

“Just now…a little while ago… I thought the whole city would be shattered to pieces.”