Free Great Lion of God by Taylor Caldwell Page B

his Greek body was still lithe and thin, and his narrow face was dark with the sun, and his nose was sharp and inquisitive and his eyes ever seeking.
    He looked at Saul, and recalled that Deborah bas Shebua considered her son hideous. Aristo shook his head in silent denial. The boy might not be of impressive stature but his body was strong and well sculptured and broad, and even the bowed legs added to that impression of vigorous strength. To Aristo, he was like some primitive fire god, with that raised and crested mane of intensely red hair, with those red eyebrows almost meeting above his eyes, and the virile low forehead and the pointed ears. A young Vulcan, perhaps, thought Aristo, or Heracles, though certainly not a Hermes, for there was no lightness about Saul ben Hillel, no soft grace or elegance, but only an aura of power. Power, above all, was to be reverenced, for it had in it a terrible beauty of its own, reflected the Greek, an appalling magnetism, something which could inspire fear but was also irresistible. Even Saul’s features, the wide thin lips, the great nose, the hard firm chin, spoke of power, though the boy, at this moment, was stuffing his mouth with handfuls of grapes and licking his fingers which ran with winey juices.
    When Saul spoke, one listened even if not desirous of listening, for he had a deep and vigorous voice, with a curious weight and emphasis to the syllables, an emphatic pronunciation and an echoing timbre. One could not call it a. musical voice, but never, even when he was excited, did it resemble a girl’s. Nor had it been a girl’s voice even before it had changed to the deeper sound of a man’s.
    Though Saul, in a very plain tunic of gray linen with no embroidery on it, sat apparently at his ease in his chair and was engrossed in devouring the fruit with gusto, he did not give the appearance of being composed or at peace. All his unruly and impetuous nature asserted itself in the ever-changing contour of his face, in the jerking of his eyebrows, in the quickness of his hands, and the tightness of his shoulder muscles. His hands were browned by the sun, and the nails pale on the short broad fingers—the fingers of a soldier—and his arms were large and muscular and sunburned. He wore the ring his father had given him when he had “become a man” according to the Jewish traditions, and it was set with a ruby as fiery as his hair, and the gold was plain and unornamented. Hillel had known his son, thought Aristo, and had chosen what best expressed him. To the Greek, Saul had a forceful and cogent beauty of his own, which in full maturity might become frightful and intimidating. He set down his strong arched feet with purpose and certainty, and he could move rapidly.
    Had he height, thought Aristo—who had more affection for his pupil than anyone ever suspected except Hillel—he would be a veritable Titan. Then an odd following thought came to him: Saul of Tarsus was indeed a Titan, though but fourteen as yet, and the superstitious Greek—who denounced all superstition as unworthy of an enlightened man—seemed to glimpse the future when Saul would walk among men with authority and even with terror, hurling that voice of his into the face of multitudes. In what obscure cataract and caves and mountains of heredity had this prodigy wrought and drunk his being? The gentle and handsome Hillel, the lovely Deborah, were very unlikely parents of this man-child, and Deborah was very petulant on the subject even before the youth, himself.
    If he was violent, he was never savage or mean or vengeful. He was disputatious but he was never insulting nor did he gibe at his adversary. He took an idea and elaborated on it, or figuratively mangled and tore it apart, but always objectively, with no malice and no scorn. Ideas of others might exasperate him, but never to denunciations of the other’s intelligence. He was always, he declared, being misunderstood. It seemed to him that it was not too