XITHE PRIEST'S KNIFE
Towardnoon of the next day the party came near to the little city of Modin. They paused to take in the view from an adjacent hilltop. Far to the west glistened the waters of the Great Sea, bordered by the blazing yellow of the sand-dunes that divide that vast blue waste from the rich plains of Sharon. The brief chill of winter had not despoiled this fertile tract of the beauty in which the other seasons had arrayed it. Yonder glowed the white walls of Lydda, like a pearl in a setting of emerald. Many quiet villages looked out from beneath their brows of dusky olive-trees, and gardens sent their challenge of life to the gray limestone rocks which seemed to bind the hills in sterility.
At length Deborah's gaze was diverted from this fascinating view by a strange sight. A conical knoll rises before Modin. This was crowded with an excited multitude. The gay attire of some of the people proclaimed a festival, while the movements of others upon the outskirts of the crowd were rather suggestive of an angry mob than of a happy concourse. Upon the summit of the knoll stood an altar. It was made of wood, but painted to resemble ivory ornamented with bands of gold. Its graceful shape supported a basin or brazier of burning coals.
The altar was surrounded by a detachment of Greek soldiers mingled with a small group of civilians. These latter were of various races: Phœnicians from the coast, who happened to be detained in Modin by their business as traders; men of Moab and other strolling tribesmen from beyond the land of Judea, who had less contempt for the frivolous rites of the Greek than hatred of the severer worship of the Jews, which they were willing to see supplanted; Samaritans, whose kinsmen at Shechem had already obeyed the commands of Antiochus, and offered heathen sacrifice upon their temple heights of Gerizim; and renegade Jews, only too willing to believe that the new religion was favored of heaven, since its observance on their part brought them immunity from confiscation of goods and bodily harm. In the crowd were a score or more women, the camp-followers of the Greeks, whose tawdry finery afforded a rather pleasing contrast with the polished metal and stiff forms of the soldiers. All were crowned with sprigs of ivy, for the rite now in progress was in honor of Bacchus. Female flute-players, with skirts split to their thighs, led the dance, and were followed about by companies of half-drunken men and youths, who observed so much of the steps as their unsteady legs permitted.
Avoiding this crowd, Jonathan brought Deborah and Caleb near to the gate of the town. Here was a very different scene. The native populace swarmed under the shadow of the wall. It was evident that these people were of a temper utterly hostile to that which swayed the devotees about the altar of Bacchus. In the centre of this crowd stood an officer of the King. By his side was the herald, who hadjust completed reading a proclamation commanding all persons above twelve years of age to make an offering to Bacchus before the sun should set, under penalty of being put to death.
The cruel mandate evoked cries of fright and fury from the people. Some shrieked wildly with alarm, well knowing the terrible alternative of apostacy or death, and knowing also that in almost every household there were those who would deliberately choose the latter. Some cursed deeply, and glared upon the officials with eyes not unlike those of wild beasts answering the challenge of their captors. Then uprose that strange lamentation in which Eastern people are accustomed to express their grief—agonized outcries accompanied by tearing the hair, rending garments, and flinging handfuls of dust in the air.
In the throng was an old man. Though many years had whitened his locks, his form was erect and evidenced the strength and vigor of well-kept manhood. His face was strikingly beautiful, its lineaments such as are formed only by the habit of lofty thinking and gentle impulses. Deborah could not but recall the faces of her two guides from Mizpah, which this one resembled.
"Venerable sir," said the Greek officer, "you are ruler here, and as their priest high in honor among this people. Your words they obey. Your example they follow. You are their shepherd. Why should you lead them into needless calamity? Come, then, and fulfill the King's demand. It is but a little thing required of you; not to disobey your nation's God, but to recognize the gods of others. Surely, some power beyond our own makes the vine grow, and fills its clusters with wine. Call that powerBacchus, or think of it by the nameless name of your own God—what matters it? Recognize that power by casting a pinch of incense upon the altar. Pray as you please in the depths of your soul; only do this little act. Will you lead the people to slaughter for so simple a thing as a crushed berry of spice, or drop of oil from a pressed olive? The great King Antiochus would delight to favor with riches the noble Mattathias, of whose devotion to Jewry he has heard so much; and he longs to have such faithful servants as you and your stalwart sons to promote his own generous rule over these lands which the gods have given him."
The King's officer would have proceeded further, but the impatience of the old man prevented him. Raising his voice, he cried out:
"Let Antiochus know, that, though all nations that are now under the King's dominion obey him, and fall away every one from the religion of their fathers, yet will I, and my sons, and my brethren walk in the ancient covenant. We will not hearken to the King's words, to go from our religion, either to the right or to the left."
"The priest is mad with bigotry, and would destroy us. Let us go and sacrifice," said one, moving from the crowd toward the altar on the knoll.
Mattathias gazed upon the renegade. A look of unutterable pity overspread his features.
"Thou shalt not sin thus against the Lord our God, brother Laban," said he, as he laid his strong hand upon the other's shoulders.
"Is Mattathias still a priest to kill as if we were sheep for sacrifice? Unhand me, lest I smite thee in spite of thy years," said Laban.
"Aye, a priest still," cried the old man, suddenly transported with rage, "priest still to sacrifice. It is better that the dust of the ground of our Holy Land receive the blood of Laban than that the altar of the heathen receive his offering."
He drew from his robe a priest's knife and drove it into the heart of the traitor.
As the body fell the venerable man broke out into lamentation, "Oh, my brother Laban, why didst thou drive me so mad? O my God, forgive me, save me! Save Thy people!"
The King's officer sounded an alarm, and soldiers hastened from the adjacent knoll. But these were soon overpowered by the infuriated mob of Jews; and from the mêlée was dragged forth the dead body of the Greek Commandant himself.
Mattathias stood a moment and gazed upon the bruised and bleeding form of the officer. Then he raised his hands and, with face uplifted to the white clouds that floated above, he cried:
"O God of Israel, forgive Thy priest! Forgive Thy people if they have this day been led into sin. But Thou, Lord, knowest our hearts. The zeal of Thine house hath eaten us up!"
Then he turned to the people. All fury suddenly died from his features. Instead there came a look of wonderful compassion and solicitude. It was as the clear azure following the thunder-storm.
"To your homes, friends! To your closets! Let no one eat this day, but with fasting let us spread our woes before the Lord. I know, I know that He will appear for us. For we are His people and the sheep of His pasture. But alas! who shall be the Avenger?"