Ben-Hur Collector's Edition: A Tale of the Christ

By Carol Wallace

As one of the bestselling stories of all time, Lew Wallace’s Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ has captivated and enthralled millions around the world—both in print and on the big screen. Now Lew’s great-great-granddaughter has taken the old-fashioned prose of this classic novel and breathed new life into it for today’s audience.

Coming to theaters in August 2016 as Ben-Hur, a major motion picture from MGM and Paramount studios, the story follows Judah Ben-Hur, a Jewish nobleman whose childhood friend Messala betrays him. Accused of trying to murder the new Roman governor in Jerusalem, Judah is sentenced to the galley ships and vows to seek revenge against the Romans and Messala. But a chance encounter with a carpenter from Nazareth sets Judah on a different path.

Rediscover the intrigue, romance, and tragedy in this thrilling adventure.

Also included: the inspiring story-behind-the-story of Lew Wallace—Indiana lawyer, author, and Civil War general; and nearly 150 images, including color images from the 2016 motion picture, black-and-white images from earlier films, and other images of historical interest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
• Release date: Jul 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781496416339

Book preview

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PART 1

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CHAPTER 1

WONDERMENT

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Was this it?

He sighed and shifted his weight, which the camel took as a signal to stop. Did the camel sigh?

No. It stood still with perfect patience at the top of a gritty rise. The dry, hot wind teased shards of sound from the bells on its harness. As Balthasar sat motionless in the howdah, other noises came to him: the rattle of pebbles from the camel’s last step, the fluttering corner of the howdah’s awning. Anything else?

The wind itself. No more than that.

Balthasar shaded his eyes and squinted into the distance before him. It was inaccurate to say there was nothing there. The ground rose and fell slightly. Thornbushes grew low to the ground. The color of the sandy soil changed from ivory to gray to russet, dyed by the minerals in the rocks that the wind, over thousands of years, had ground down to sand.

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Camels with howdahs

But this was not the place. Once again the camel began to move, obeying a signal Balthasar had not given.

He tried not to sigh again as the camel plodded onward. He tried not to wonder. He tried not to think of solitude in the desert and the hard quality of the sky at noon. He tried not to fret about water. Water had always appeared on this journey. Strange, untouched puddles materialized—once even a leather flask rolling as if just dropped. He had been cautious at first, dismounting and tasting each new supply in case it were brackish or tainted, but the water was always clean and fresh. And cool.

No one knew better than an Egyptian the value of fresh, cool water in the desert.

If there was one form of reassurance on this lunatic voyage, it was the water. Balthasar had prepared as much as possible for the journey, and the camel bore ample provisions for both of them. Water was the insoluble problem, and he had set out with no firm notion of how he would find it. But that was because he did not actually know where he was going. Just . . . north.

Nor did he know now, as the sun began to tilt away from its brazen vertical peak. He only knew that he had felt compelled, and still did. He thought perhaps he was traveling to find something. He only hoped he would recognize it.

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Three days later the vegetation had changed from thorny scrub to the repetitive waves of sand dunes. He and the camel had trudged past a dry riverbed in which a broad band of clear water glittered. There had been one lonely palm tree. After they had passed it, Balthasar had turned around several times to reassure himself it was really there. Men went mad in the desert. Perhaps he was one of them. Yet at the same time he began to feel anticipation. Something would happen, and soon. The desert had been veiled in mist that morning, and now as the sun climbed higher, Balthasar felt something new in the vast currents of air around him. He scanned the horizons—nothing. Though the camel seemed more alert.

When the sun was right overhead, the camel stopped, as it had done every day, and knelt with its usual plunging awkwardness. Balthasar climbed stiffly out of the canopied howdah and walked around the camel, feeling the firm, hot sand shifting beneath his feet as the sun hammered his shoulders. He unstrapped his pack and fed the camel, then used some water from a flask to sponge the camel’s eyes clear of dust. This was another mystery: despite their endless days in the desert, neither he nor the camel seemed to suffer hardship. Balthasar had traveled before; he knew how a thorn could fester, how sun could parch skin. But the camel’s coat was still white, the hump still solid despite inadequate rations. Balthasar himself felt strong and well, though crossing the desert at his age was a ridiculous project.

And now he began to unpack the tent. Until today he had been content with the shelter provided by the howdah. At night he slept at the camel’s side, though he suspected the camel didn’t like it. But the camel had all along seemed immune to his doubts, Balthasar thought. Whatever strange errand he was performing, the camel believed in it wholeheartedly.

Or perhaps that was fanciful. Still he erected the tent. By the time he had the red-and-white fabric stretched over the center pole and pegged into the sand, his shadow followed him like a black rind on the ground. Still he continued working. As the camel watched, he brought out wicker baskets and set them on the carpet laid in the tent’s shade. There were dates and pomegranates, smoked mutton, unleavened bread, and three small flasks of wine.

Three. Food and drink for three. There in the middle of the desert. But that, too, was part of the compulsion. Balthasar had known from the start that he would meet two others. Out here. On the same mission. Or he had believed it, at least. At the beginning. And apparently now.

He stepped out of the tent. Everything was ready. This was the place and, he thought, the hour. He had made his voyage in faith. He shaded his eyes and looked eastward. The sun burned through the patterned kaffiyeh wrapping his head and the white cotton of his long, sashed kameez. He turned away, then looked back at the eastern horizon. There was a nick in it. A dark fleck—oh, tiny!

Then, surprisingly fast, not so tiny. Nor so dark. It was another white camel. Carrying another man. Balthasar’s knees suddenly felt weak, and a chill went through him despite the hot, dry breeze. It was true, then? For an instant he felt shock, even revulsion. Somehow he grasped that his world had just been upset by a wholly new force. True, he had obeyed unreason to set out alone on this undefined mission—but he had retained a thread of skepticism. And fatalism; if he were to die in the desert, so be it. God the most knowing willed it thus.

But the sight of the distant man on the camel felt uncanny. Balthasar turned away, half-hoping to make the man vanish. The touch of God, it seemed, was no comforting thing. And it was insistent, too—for another moving fleck had appeared, this time traveling from the north.

When the two travelers converged at Balthasar’s tent, only the camels were unperturbed. They accepted each other as peers, magnificent ships of the desert. Each one alone would have attracted admiration in any bazaar from Carthage to Damascus; the three, with their princely howdahs and glittering harnesses, were worthy of an emperor. But unlike the camels, each man seemed prey to the same strong emotions: wonder and fear and gratitude, along with the dawning of tremendous hope.

TRADITIONAL NAMES OF THE MAGI

While the Bible does not specify how many magi visited Jesus, nor their names, the tradition of the three men named Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar comes from two early manuscripts: a sixth-century Greek document and an eighth- or ninth-century text of Irish origin, attributed (probably wrongly) to Bede the Venerable.

The first arrival clambered down from his camel, crossed his hands on his chest, and bent his head in obvious prayer before approaching Balthasar. He was a Hindu, it appeared, wearing the turban and red leather slippers of the eastern lands. The two turned to face the third arrival, whose fair skin and golden hair identified him as a Greek. The three embraced formally, and Balthasar led his two guests into the tent, where he washed their feet and hands as good hosts do. Then they sat down, looking at each other. After a moment’s hesitation, all of them bowed their heads to bless the meal, saying, Father God, what we have comes from you. Accept our thanks and bless us to do your will.

Then they looked up and their eyes met in shock. Each man had used his own language, unknown to the others. But they had understood each other perfectly. Again Balthasar felt that icy touch of the truly strange.

The Hindu was named Melchior; the Greek, Gaspar. Each man had the same experience as Balthasar: a spiritual search lasting a lifetime, intense study, and finally the mystical call. As Melchior put it, I saw a light. I heard a voice, and it told me that redemption for mankind was at hand.

Gaspar nodded. And then the voice—which was so sweet!—said that with two others, I would see the Redeemer. The eyes of the three men met. And I was to be guided by the Spirit to find you. He spread out his hands. I have been following a light, and here you are.

Balthasar sat back on his heels and gazed into the gathered fabric surrounding the tent pole, where the afternoon sun glowed through the folds. I believed, but I did not trust. Our Lord is greater even than I knew. He dropped his eyes and added, I wonder . . . we have all spoken of light. Should we travel onward by night? It will be cooler for the camels.

And I believe we will be well guided, Gaspar answered.

Melchior nodded. The star I saw shone bright as the sun.

So after sunset they broke their little camp, and each man mounted his tall, white camel. The beasts seemed glad to be together, pacing faster than ever through the moonlit night. It was exhilarating, Balthasar thought. Fresh, cool air flowed over his face, and the footsteps of the other camels made him joyful. It was such a godsend not to be alone.

Suddenly before him, no higher than a low hilltop, flared an immense flame. Behind him came the shouts of Gaspar and Melchior; then he gasped with them as the flame shuddered and burst. In its place burned an enormous star. And Gaspar said, Truly God is with us.

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CHAPTER 2

THE ROAD TO BETHLEHEM

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The three wise men saw the star. The fifteen-year-old wife of Joseph of Nazareth saw humankind in a variety and quantity that astounded her. She sat on a small, dusty donkey beside the Joppa Gate of Jerusalem, and watched from beneath her veil as Jerusalem’s people went about their business. They called out, they sang, they shouted, they whispered. Men strode or limped or sidled, sometimes passing in muttering pairs. Women carried baskets and jars. Mary could make out few individual voices in the crowd, but she understood only half of them. The others spoke in languages she had never heard.

She shot a glance at Joseph—her uncle. Now her husband. He stood beside the gate, squinting into the sun and leaning on his staff. The donkey’s leading rein hung from his hand.

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Joseph leads Mary to Bethlehem

What were they waiting for? Mary didn’t know. Her eye was caught by a cage of birds, a vast airy structure woven from split willow, carried on the back of a tall man and full of brilliant, flashing scraps of color, birds like none she’d ever seen. She followed the cage as far as she could with her eyes. The donkey moved suddenly beneath her, and she grabbed at its bristly, black mane as a pair of tall Roman soldiers paced by, steps matching unconsciously, their scarlet cloaks billowing behind. Joseph muttered and shortened the leading rein, but there was nothing to be said. The Romans did as they pleased. Mary wondered if she should ask him why they were waiting at the gate. She wasn’t afraid of her new husband. He seemed kind. Talking seemed to pain him, though.

The baby kicked and Mary put a hand to her belly, then forgot about the kick as her eye fell on a peddler across the road. A gap in the crowd had shown her the fruits laid out on his rough square of fabric: figs and dates and grapes and . . . The crowd closed in before she could be sure, but she thought there had been oranges. It was not yet hot, but the sun was getting stronger. Oranges! Her mouth watered. She glanced at Joseph. He was staring into the middle distance, eyes unfocused.

Just as well. There was no money for fruit. And she was indebted to Joseph, now and forever. Who else would have taken on a young girl with child to . . . ? Mary’s mind flinched away. After all these months it was still too strange. Better to simply accept the fact: she was going to have a baby. And Joseph, to whom she had been promised as a virgin bride, would acknowledge the child as his own. A dream, he had said. In a dream he had been told he must do this.

Maybe she had had a dream, too. Maybe that was all it was, that light and that voice and that compulsion to say yes. Yes despite the mystery, yes despite the fear. Yes despite the scandal and her parents’ utter panic. Joseph had said yes too, and though he might be dull and was very old, she loved him for that.

So she would not ask why they were waiting, and she would not look at the fruit seller, and she would smile at Joseph when he looked her way. He had never asked her to explain. She would not ask him to explain either. Eventually she would understand.

And soon enough it turned out that they were waiting for a caravan. It was not a long way to Bethlehem and the road ran directly there. Mary thought they might have gone by themselves. But Joseph was cautious. She already understood that. The tumult of the Joppa Gate made him uneasy, and being uneasy, he would want company on this journey in which so much was already singular. So they stood and waited, and eventually a small group of travelers came through the gate and Joseph moved to join them. These were people among whom her husband was comfortable, country people, plainly dressed and watchful, all on the same errand. Some were resigned. Some were resentful. This requirement from Rome! How dare the Romans order every man in Judea to return to his birthplace to be registered! And then the tax . . . the tax was iniquitous! Jews did not pay taxes. There might be those in Jerusalem who did not belong to the chosen people, but in the country—in villages like Nazareth, for instance—what was Judea but Jews? Which raised the question: was this an intentional slight? Was the tax merely the first gesture in a campaign against the Jews?

There was muttering and voices were raised, but Joseph plodded on steadily, guiding the donkey down the road, which was barely more than a broken track. The donkey picked its way carefully, but even so, Mary was tossed about, lurching from side to side. From time to time Joseph glanced at her with his eyebrows raised. She always smiled back. But increasingly she found her hand going to her belly. There was something new, beyond the usual movement of the baby. Her skin seemed to tighten, like the skin of a horse flicking off a fly. Then it would pass, and she would wonder if it had actually happened.

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A souvenir basket Lew Wallace brought home from a trip to Jerusalem

By the time they reached the khan, she knew. The group had not stopped at midday to rest—there was no shelter anyway. Better to keep moving through the rocky, uneven landscape than to roast beneath the hot white sky. Joseph silently offered Mary a handful of dates, but she refused them. The water he proffered, though, she swallowed. She twisted her hair into a long rope and held it high beneath her veil for an instant, hoping some air might caress the back of her neck. But she had to grab again for the wooden saddle horn and dared not let go after that because a cramp seized her back, and when it released, she understood that the baby was on its way.

She looked ahead for the khan. They had slept in one the previous night on the outskirts of Bethany. It was nothing more than an enclosure around a well, but it provided what travelers needed: water and safety on the road. Now, however, the horizon just dissolved into amber-colored mist ahead. She shielded her eyes with her hand. Then she impatiently pulled the veil from her head and tried to rise in the saddle. All she could see was rock and dust and the occasional thornbush. She settled herself and rearranged her veil. It wasn’t so bad. Only her back hurt a little bit, from time to time. The sun was starting to creep down in the sky. No, it wasn’t so bad.

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Joseph was worrying as they walked. The road was busier than he had expected. More people on the road meant more people in Bethlehem, he supposed. More people in the khan. No room for him and his wife and their little donkey. His eye was caught by Mary’s movement in the corner of his eye and he turned to watch her. She had just pushed back her veil, hoping to see farther ahead, he suspected. Her hair gleamed in the sun. Like some kind of metal, he thought, watching her. She grimaced slightly and reached up to pull her veil over her head again. Her hands were still those of a child. Joseph eyed his own hand on the leading rein, callused and gritty. He had lost half of his thumbnail to a chisel weeks earlier and the place still looked raw. He gazed again at his young wife and saw her close her eyes for a moment. Her hand went to the small of her back. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was watching and she smiled slightly. Bravely.

Not too much longer, he told her, stepping closer to the donkey. Are you . . . ? He paused. Are you uncomfortable?

Yes, she admitted. But not very.

Is it the baby? he blurted out. She had been so stoical until this moment. He had not thought—the baby? Now? Now? he asked.

Mary nodded, eyes on the donkey’s mane. I think perhaps.

He peered forward, squinting along the road as she had. Then he surveyed the people around them, whom he hadn’t observed until that moment. Behind walked a middle-aged man with a staff. Next to him rode a substantial woman on a donkey larger than Mary’s. Everything about the couple was sizable and new: their clothes, the donkey’s saddle, the baskets hanging behind the woman.

Within moments Joseph had arranged it: Mary would stay with the couple while Joseph went ahead to try to arrange a place for them to sleep. As he turned once more to check, he saw the matron leaning over to talk to his wife. He felt reassured.

But when he finally reached the khan, his heart sank.

Joseph of Nazareth was a modest man. He was a carpenter from a small village set in the hills near the Sea of Galilee. He built tables and benches and pens for sheep. He knew the grain of wood and the character of tools but made no claims for his knowledge of people. Yet he admired his young wife. This thing that had befallen her was puzzling. She had sworn she was chaste. He believed her. Still, there was this baby on the way, which was impossible if she was chaste. She said the baby would be the Redeemer. She appeared to believe this. An angel had told her, she said.

He had been instructed by an angel too. That was why he had married her. But these things had been easier to accept at home, among their relatives. Joseph felt unsettled when he left Nazareth. He didn’t like the anxiety of travel. Every day he wondered where he would sleep and whether he would be able to buy food for himself and Mary. All the same, Mary had seemed serene. She accepted what came. She looked eagerly at everything new and asked questions. She was patient as well as brave.

And he did not want to fail her, so he slipped through the crowd that had gathered at the gate of the khan. It was a good one, he could tell. The walls were solid and high. They extended some distance. Normally there would be plenty of room. But the census must have drawn hundreds of families. The closer he got to the gate, the harder Joseph found it to move. There were many donkeys, some mules, even some camels embedded in the crowd.

They’ll never let a camel in there! he heard a woman exclaim as he sidled past.

I hear they aren’t letting anyone in, with or without camels came the answer, but he didn’t see the speaker. People crowded more densely, but there was no forward progress at all. Joseph stepped into some fresh dung and slipped. He grasped at a burly man’s arm so as not to fall, and the man whirled on him fiercely, but Joseph had already moved away with a determination that surprised him.

Finally he reached the gate. A semicircle of dusty gravel lay before it, outlined by a length of rope laid on the ground. A small man with a fringe of beard sat on a massive cedarwood block, staring at the crowd. A dog sat next to him and scratched its ear. A spear lay nearby, its head bright.

With a last wriggle Joseph worked his way into the cleared space and crossed it to the man sitting on the block. He would be the steward, the administrator of the khan. He would be in charge.

He looked at Joseph and said, There’s no room.

Joseph nodded and looked down at his dusty feet. The peace of Yahweh be with you, he said.

What you give, may you find again, answered the steward. And when found, may it be multiplied to you and yours. Ritual greeting over, he repeated, There’s no room.

Joseph nodded again. He would not be diverted from what he had to say. I am from Bethlehem, he stated. The dog left off its scratching and sat up, watching him.

Like all of the people waiting here, the steward replied. He had not moved, but his gaze was bright.

I am a descendant of David. This is the house of my fathers, Joseph went on. He was not boasting. Probably there was not a stone or a brick or a piece of wood in the khan that had been there since the reign of David a thousand years earlier. But a dwelling had been on that spot, and the descendants of David had lived there.

The steward looked at him. Rabbi, he said, we do not turn people away from here. Least of all those of David’s line. But there is no place left to stretch out a pallet. All of these people have come on your errand. They are all here to be registered in Bethlehem. And yesterday the caravan from Damascus to Egypt arrived. With dozens of camels.

We could sleep in the open court, Joseph suggested. We are not grand people; we do not insist on a roof and four walls.

The court is full of the caravan goods. You might like to sleep on the bales of silk, but the camel drivers would not permit it. The steward slid off his block of cedar and said, Come with me, then. I will show you that there is not a place to lay your head.

It isn’t for me, Joseph told him, standing still. I could lie out on the hillside. There are so many of us gathered here, we could set a watch. I’m sure we would be safe. But my wife . . . He struggled for a moment. She is the daughter of Joachim and Anna of Bethlehem. Did you know them?

I did, the steward said. They were good people. That doesn’t change the problem.

My wife is with child, Joseph said with a rush. I think it might be soon. He looked up and met the steward’s eyes for the first time. She cannot give birth out on the hills.

No, the steward agreed. You could have said that first, you know. I can’t turn you away now. Go and get her. I will find something.

So Joseph plunged into the crowd again, unconscious of the muttering as he shouldered his way back to Mary. He feared it would be even harder to return with her and the donkey toward the entrance. The crowd had become thicker. But most of those waiting gave way when they saw the young girl seated on the little beast. She was so young and so obviously pregnant. Her veil had slid down to uncover her hair, and she was too preoccupied to replace it. Joseph noticed that she was gripping the wooden saddle frame with her little girl’s hands. Shadows lay dark beneath her eyes. Resentment and complaint died on people’s lips when they saw her.

The steward was waiting at the gate. The dog, which had ignored Joseph, looked up at Mary and wagged its tail. The steward tried to get it to stay behind and guard the gate, but it trotted behind as the steward set off through the stone-paved passageway into the vast court. The steward looked back, but the crowd at the gate had not moved, staying behind the rope on the ground.

The sun was dropping now, and shadows gathered in the corners and between the bundles on the ground. Scattered fires had been lit, sending resin-filled smoke into the air. A wooden flute sounded several plaintive notes of a melody that cut through the hum and rustle of voices. A donkey brayed, and someone laughed nearby.

It will have to be the cave, the steward told Joseph in a low voice.

We are grateful, Joseph answered. It will be better than the court, considering . . .

Yes, the steward answered, sounding doubtful as he led them past a camel spitting at its owner. I suppose so. We go this way.

Long ago the khan had taken shape as an enclosure propped against a tall limestone cliff. It was an ideal situation for herdsmen, since a reliable spring provided water and the cliff gave shelter from predators. In the thousand years since David’s sheep rested there, the wall had grown higher, the spring was dug into a well, and the caves in the limestone had been masked with facades like the front of a dwelling. They had doors but no windows. The steward pulled open the largest of these and gestured inside with an air of apology. It will be dark soon. Do you have a lantern?

Joseph shook his head as he looked around. The pale stone made the most of the light from the door. It was large and dry. True, there were some cobwebs in corners. But the floor had been swept not long before. The donkey was already straining toward a pile of hay against one of the cave walls.

I’ll send someone with a lantern, the steward said as Joseph lifted Mary off the saddle. And water, he added. There’s plenty of fuel there, kindling and some wood. He pointed. He took a step toward the door, watching Mary as she clung unsteadily to Joseph. I’ll leave the dog, too, he added and slipped out the door. Then he poked his head back around it. I think there’s probably some grain left in the manger as well, he said. The donkey is welcome to it.

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CHAPTER 3

GLORY

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There were still herdsmen in the hills around Bethlehem. They had never been inside the khan and had as little to do with the city as possible. But they knew every track on the hillside. They knew where the scarce rainfall lingered in hollows. They knew when their sheep had grazed and cropped every bit of sustenance from the terrain, and then they hitched their slingshots onto their shoulders, took up their crooks, and set their sandals for new pasturage.

The afternoon that Mary and Joseph arrived at the khan near Bethlehem, a group of shepherds clambered to a level field tucked between folds in the hills. Icy water trickled in a stream, and the sheep clattered over its rocky bed to drink.

The shepherds didn’t talk much. One swept the ashes out of the blackened fire circle. Another crackled through the brush, breaking off dead branches to serve as fuel. A third mounted the rise behind the meadow to watch over the approach to the hollow. By sunset the shaggy men and their shaggy beasts were fed and watered, dogs huddled together just outside the circle of firelight. The watchman wrapped his woolen cloak tight and perched on a boulder to stand guard until the moon began to wane.

But that night, though the air was still, the sky was wild. At first each star stayed in its place, circling slowly and twinkling. The watchman paced back and forth to keep warm. When he heard a jackal yelp, he went to investigate, though he knew the sheep were safe. Finally he approached the fire at the end of his watch. The light, naturally, grew brighter. But it was too bright. A glow was everywhere. He could see the sheep, one by one, clearly as in daylight. The dogs sat up and began to whimper. The watchman felt a chill, the same kind of fear that washed through him when he saw a leopard or an adder. His knees buckled beneath him and he croaked, Wake up! to the other shepherds. The dogs began to bark.

The sheep woke too, and no shepherd sleeps when his sheep are bleating. They sat up, blinking, startled, and seized their slingshots. What is it? A lion? one asked.

The sky is on fire! the watchman cried. The light grew so bright that they had to shield their heads in their hands.

Then the animals all fell silent. The shepherds were crouched together, trembling, when they heard the voice. They never could agree later on what they saw—was there a man? Did he glow? Were there beings in the air?—but they all heard the same words: Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.

No one moved. The voice spoke no more. The glow lingered until the light began to tremble and wink. Then came a chorus of voices that belonged to neither man nor woman: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests. Over and over they sang the message, gradually fading away with the strange light. Finally it was dark again, and the fire flickered orange, and the sheep began to mutter their way back to sleep, though the dogs had come to the fire and sat pressed against the men, still quivering and whining.

One shepherd said, The town of David. What is that?

Bethlehem, answered another. Just over the hill, there.

And there is a manger in the khan! I’ve seen it!

We should go, the watchman whispered, though he hadn’t meant to.

There was muttering, and one shepherd scrambled to his feet. We should.

But . . . leave the sheep?

Leave the sheep, affirmed the man who was standing. This is the work of God. He will mind the sheep.

As the shepherds hurried downhill toward the khan, they noticed that every creature was disturbed. Normally silent birds called out to each other and the brush rustled with the little rodents who usually freeze when man is nearby. Soon the khan was in view, with unaccustomed torches alight in its corners and at its gate. The man on guard challenged the shepherds, barring their way with a spear. What do you want? he asked them roughly.

To see the baby in the manger, one shepherd began.

The baby? the guardsman repeated. What about the light?

Oh, we saw the light! another shepherd exclaimed. We all saw it. And we heard the angel, too. All the angels!

You heard angels? the guard said. There were no angels here. But the light! It was like day, like the sun!

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Shepherds worship the Christ child in the manger

It was, agreed a shepherd. It woke the dogs and the sheep.

And the camels and every man and woman in there, the guard agreed, jerking his thumb toward the courtyard of the khan. But we heard nothing. Someone spoke to you? In the light?

Someone or something, began a shepherd. We all heard it saying, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.’ By the time he finished, the other shepherds were all repeating the message with him.

Let us go in to see the manger in the cave, coaxed a man with a fleecy pelt wrapped around his waist. We will come back and tell you if it’s true.

How will you know? the guard asked. And how can the Redeemer be a baby?

We will know, the shepherds all said confidently. We just saw a vision. We all saw it. It must be true.

So they filed through the courtyard, barely noticing the camels and the crowds. When they reached the cave, Joseph stood leaning against the door, staring into the darkness.

Is the baby here? one of them asked him eagerly.

Joseph looked at him and nodded without surprise. He is. He moved aside and picked up a lantern, then led them into the cave. Mary was resting on a pile of straw covered with a striped cloak. Joseph lifted the lantern and the shepherds saw the manger. And there was the baby.

It was just a baby. It had none of the majesty or the magic they might have expected. It did not glow like the angel who had brought the message. It lay with closed eyes and breathed gently.

The shepherd with the pelt reached down to his waist and untied it. He held the fleece up to Joseph. May I put this over the baby? he asked. It’s from a lamb that died last week. It’s clean and warm.

Joseph glanced at Mary, who nodded and smiled slightly. They all watched as the shepherd’s large, clumsy hands laid the soft curls of wool against the baby, with the skin side up. He bowed his head for an instant before stepping away from the manger. And one by one, each of the shepherds reverently followed suit.

As they filed back out through the doorway into the courtyard of the khan, one of the shepherds exclaimed, Glory to God in the highest! The rest took up the refrain, quietly at first.

Then a camel driver, blowing on the embers of his campfire, said, Why are you so happy? Weren’t you terrified by the light?

The shepherds explained, then explained to the neighbors. Their story spread through the courtyard, from group to group. All through what was left of the night, a growing procession tiptoed to the door of the cave. The baby slept on, cozy in his manger.

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Twelve days later, the three immense white camels arrived at the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem and were immediately surrounded by crowds of the idle and curious. Camels were common, but these were so large and so elaborately harnessed and saddled that everyone had to admire and comment. And though men of every nation passed through Jerusalem daily, they did not usually travel in mixed groups. Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar looked like what they were: an Egyptian, a Hindu, and a Greek, each with the features, coloring, and dress of his race. When they dismounted and spoke to each other, each in his native language, a murmur went through the crowd.

HEROD THE GREAT

Herod the Great was named king of Judea by Rome and ruled from 37 to 4 BC. Though he was part Jewish, and while he could be lauded for rebuilding the Temple in Jerusalem, the Jewish people had little love for the ruthless leader. Herod was constantly worried about losing his position, and his suspicions and jealousy even led to the murders of several of his children and the execution of his wife Mariamne. His actions when hearing from the wise men about their search for a new King are consistent with his character.

The gate was guarded by Roman soldiers, one of whom elbowed his way through the crowd and planted his spear so close to Balthasar’s toes that a puff of dust billowed over them. Who are you? the Roman asked. What do you want here in Jerusalem?

Everyone watching noticed how Balthasar carried himself in contrast to the Roman, though the Egyptian made no effort to look imposing. We are looking for the one who was born king of the Jews, he explained, as if this were an everyday response.

The Roman was confused. Do you mean Herod?

Herod was made king by Caesar. We’re not looking for Herod.

He is the only king of the Jews.

But we three have seen the star of the King we are looking for, Balthasar explained. We want to find him and worship him.

The bluster left the Roman, replaced by doubt and curiosity. I don’t know who that might be. You should enter the city and ask in the Temple. Or maybe even go to Herod himself. If there’s another king of the Jews, Herod should know about him.

By that time, naturally, a crowd had gathered. Balthasar could see heads together and phrases whispered behind hands. Surprise ran through the crowd, and puzzlement. As he turned away from the gate, he said to Melchior and Gaspar, The news will travel fast.

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And so it did. The women scrubbing clothes at the river heard it. The little boys watching goats heard it and forgot everything but the tale of the

Reviews for Ben-Hur Collector's Edition

[nadinec.keels · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I was going to try to come up with a somewhat shorter review for this, but, hey. It's Ben-Hur, folks. Besides, it was a pretty special decision of mine to read Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ by author Carol Wallace.Lover of classic literature that I am, I'm not someone who "worships" classics or who thinks all of them have to be marvelous to me just because they're old and celebrated. But even with its few aspects that I must have read with a lifted eyebrow, I truly appreciated the original Ben-Hur by Lew Wallace, finding it engrossing, thought-provoking, and amazing on more than one level.I'll admit that I don't normally go for contemporary adaptations of classics when the originals are available. It's not my preference to read a reworded or whittled down version that may leave out much of what the first author wrote, since it was written for a reason, and I'm not looking for an easier read. Even if a classic novel may be a challenge, I'd rather set out to rise to that challenge.With that said, I chose to read this 2016 adaptation of a novel from 1880 specifically because the present author is a direct part of her great-great-grandfather's legacy. I was curious to see exactly what she did with his work.And I think Carol Wallace has done a fine job, taking the great material she had to work with and doing justice to it for a new audience. There's action and intrigue, tragedy and triumph on the journey that leads Judah Ben-Hur to a peculiar Nazarene, the one who's rumored to be the imminent king who'll liberate his people from Roman rule.The historical and biblical settings on land and sea are wonderfully realized, and I especially enjoyed Judah's process through disillusionment, rage, determination, and the path that ultimately humbles and gives him a new purpose. I wasn't particularly impressed by the romance here but wasn't expecting it to be one of this story's strongest points anyway. I did miss the omitted opening, some of the dialogue, and Judah's musings that were left out, as I found much of the original novel's richness in those parts, but not everyone will miss them. And I liked the depiction of Christ here better, as the older version of the character came off as overdone and soft to me, too much of an ethereal beauty.My inevitable comparisons of the two novels aside, I still enjoyed this new work from beginning to end. I'm sure many other historical and biblical fiction fans who like epic reads will enjoy it as well.______________Tyndale House provided me with a complimentary copy of this book for an honest review.

[grammy57 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Since I've never read the original Ben Hur nor seen the movie, this review is for this book, and this book alone. It is a very well written story. Very easy to read and flows in a very pleasing manner. You are immediately deep in the story right from the start. It never gets too slow and is never racing along either. It has parts that offer excitement, sorrow and joy sometimes almost in the same scene. It is a story about a boy who becomes a man quickly and over a few years time, learns about what true, Christian love is. He must face his own thoughts and feelings and decide how he will live his life. This is not an easy or fast process for him and others in the story. The characters are all well developed and easy to understand. I was given this book with the promise of an honest review. When I first agreed, I had doubts to my enjoying the book and almost regretted my commitment. I am very pleased to say I was very wrong. I truly enjoyed the book and read it in less than a week in the evenings. You will not be disappointed. Not a preachy book at all, full of drama and action but showing God's love for us. This book was given through bookfun.org

[becky_l-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Carol Wallace has indeed done a remarkable job in adapting her great-great grandfather's classic, Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. The new book retains all the excitement, tension, and suspense of the original. Many have worried the novel would be "dumbed-down," but I did not find that to be the case. The language was both educated and enthralling.Two former friends, barely grown, meet again. This time the gap between the Jew, Judah Ben-Hur, and the Roman, Messala, has become a chasm. Following an accident and betrayal, the unimaginable wrath of Rome descends. Will Ben-Hur and his family recover or be forever eradicated as Messala wishes?I was a little confused about references to the a Nativity scene, which I am not certain I recall from the original,yet allusions seem to indicate it is missing in the new version. Another truly important scene I was sure I recalled from the original, again was MIA. That may be attributed to this being the movie version.However that may be, this is still a great epic not to be missed, whether by first time readers or those who have read the original. Highly recommended!! A book to be read over and over!!I gratefully received an ARC of this book from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

[medievalgirl-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This review begins with an important note. I have not read the original version of Ben Hur, by Lew Wallace, nor have I yet seen the movie adaptation of this one, although I hope to soon. So, I cannot compare this to the original, only remark upon the book itself on its own terms.

Those familiar (as I am) with the old 1950s adaptation starring Charlon Heston from Television repeats each year will be familiar with the basic storyline. This version is, according to the author’s note, updated for our own time by the author’s great-granddaughter. I had never realized how much research went into the original- and how much the author got right (though there may have been a couple of minor errors- I’m sure there were no Lombards in the 1st century).

This version has enough of everything to please the modern reader, action, romance, intrigue, a great injustice to be righted, the iconic chariot race, and all of the original enigmatic characters. I have read a couple of Victorian/ Classic novels in my time, so some of the detailed descriptions of settings are lost in this version, and it’s up to readers familiar with the original to decide which they prefer.

For the more general reader, I would say this was a great introduction to the Classic story of revenge and redemption through The Christ, who is constantly in the background of the story, and of how people of the period may have responded to the coming of The Messiah. That I believe, was what Mr Wallace originally intended to explore in the work.

I received an e-book edition of this title from the Publisher Tyndale House, for the purposes of writing a review. I was not required to write a positive one and all opinions expressed are my own.