Free Great Lion of God by Taylor Caldwell

sage’s thoughts?”
    Saul blinked his red lashes. He eyed Aristo suspiciously, knowing that the Greek had him in a trap of words. Then he said, “If he were a sage, then he would console himself with the thought that the beggar now had some comfort and money, and he would be content.”
    “If he thought that idiocy, then he was not a sage,” said Aristo. “Nor was he human. Saul, were you that man, what would be your thoughts?”
    Saul stared at him with his strange eyes. Then his freckled, deeply colored face broke into laughter, loud rollicking laughter. “I, myself, would have pursued the beggar, dragged him from the ass, and would have thrashed him soundly!”
    “Saul, Saul, I have hopes for you,” said Aristo, slapping the youth’s sun-reddened bare arm. “But what would Reb Isaac, have done?”
    Saul laughed again. “He would have judiciously counted out an exact tithe from his purse and given it to the beggar, and so would my father.”
    “You have me,” said the Greek. “Still, it is an interesting story, and illustrates what happens when even virtue can become excessive. A man who gives his all is as stupid as a man who gives nothing. You see, I defer to your burdened sense of guilt. I, myself, would consider I would be doing the beggar an evil by encouraging his beggary.” He paused. “There is another thing which bewilders me. I have heard your father, my master, dispute with Reb Isaac as to whether, indeed, your Moses wrote ten of your David’s Psalms, from the number ninety to one hundred. Of what importance is the author? Your father has recited the Psalms to me, and many of them are beautiful if incomprehensible in part, and beauty is all that is important. There are many who say that Homer, being blind, could not have described the burning of Ilium so magnificently, nor discoursed so tellingly of the countenances of men and women, and therefore he was only author in part of the Iliad and the Odyssey. But we do not argue so passionately on the subject as does your father, and your mentor, Reb Isaac, and of what importance is it?”
    “Your Homer was merely telling tales, or the real author was, but we are concerned with the question of truth, Aristo.”
    “Is truth more than beauty? I dispute that. Or, in a more metaphysical way I would declare that they are one. However, is your Moses, from your uninviting heaven, calling on all Jews to defend his authorship, and David also?”
    Saul pursed his wide and sensitive lips and considered. “You still do not understand. To dismiss the question casually is to belittle the Psalms, themselves.”
    You Jews take nothing casually and lightly,” said Aristo, “and therefore you are an irritation to other men. Tell me, do Jews ever enjoy themselves, or is their wailing about Jerusalem their secret pleasure? Must Jews be sorrowful so that they can be happy?”
    Our household is happy,” said Saul, frowning again.
    “Is it, truly? I have never heard much laughter in it, except in the slaves’ quarters, and even there they mute their mirth in deference to the Master. I have seen no gay drinking. I have seen no real feasting, though you have many days in which you declare you are feasting, and rejoicing.” Aristo rolled up his eyes dolefully. “Your father has his guests and after the meal is over they spread scrolls upon the table and pore over them and dispute until midnight and later over the most meager of obscure meanings of some commentator. Is that gaiety, laughter, joy? I have seen no musicians here or singers. I have observed no dancings. Yet, did you not once tell me that your David advocated music and singing and rejoicings in God?”
    “In a spiritual fashion,” said young Saul.
    Aristo sighed elaborately. “I fear you do even your grim Deity an injustice. Observe the world. Is it not beautiful, intricate, majestic, harmonious? Is not the air sweet and salubrious? Are not the skies an awesome wonder at night? Is not the garden of the