"All her hopes and all her happiness are blighted," said Zadok. "Theophilus is no more, and Claudia's heart is widowed."
"The Lord have pity on her!" ejaculated Marcellus fervently. "What disease has carried him off so quickly? But I will go to her, poor girl! She has yet a brother to love and to cherish her, and to mourn with her over what she has lost."
He dismounted, and giving his horse to a servant, he approached the litter in which his sister and Naomi were seated. The curtains were partially withdrawn, and they had seen him conversing with Zadok, and knew that the sorrowful truth was now made known to him. Claudia sprang from the litter, and threw herself wildly into his arms, while tears of bitter grief prevented her utterance. It is needless to dwell on such a meeting. All that was kind and affectionate Marcellus expressed; and then he gently replaced his sister in the litter, and in a voice faltering with emotion of various kinds, addressed himself to Naomi. She tried to hide her feelings of deep interest, and to meet him with the easy freedom of an old friend; but she was not very successful, and Marcellus saw with secret delight the embarrassment of her manner, and the deep flush that rose on her pale cheek. He did not however forget the affliction of his friends in his own happy feelings. He hastened to Judith's litter, and greeted her with a kindness that only reminded her more forcibly of the son she had lost, and who had been a friend and companion to Marcellus when she remembered him in former happy days.
During the rest of the journey Marcellus rode by the side of his sister, and tried to cheer her with such pious suggestions as he believed she could receive and understand; but he did not utter the name of the Redeemer—of him who has promised rest to the weary and the heavy-laden, and is especially the consolation and support of His people under all their trials and all their sorrows. Both Claudia and Naomi felt how ineffectual must be every consolation that is not derived from Him, and more than ever they regretted that Marcellus should still, as they supposed, be ignorant of His mercies and His power; while both resolved to lose no opportunity of endeavouring to give him that knowledge which they found so precious to their own souls. But this was not the time for entering on such discussions; and they reached Joppa under the mutual impression that both parties were yet in ignorance of the only true way to peace, and to eternal life.
Rufus received the whole party with kindness and cordiality. His feelings were not so acute as those of his son, but he entered into the affliction of his daughter as much as he considered that the loss of a Jewish lover could demand; and endeavoured to console her with the hope of finding a more suitable husband among her own countrymen. This was not an effectual source of comfort to poor Claudia; and as it also implied that her father expected she should now return with him to the camp, who entreated Judith, when she was alone with her and Naomi, to request that she might still be permitted to remain with her; and though she could now no longer hope to become her daughter indeed, yet that she might act a daughter's part, and dwell with her, at least until her father had a home to take her to. Judith would have been deeply grieved if Claudia had been taken from her, and she hastened to make her request known to Rufus, who kindly consented that she should accompany her friends to Ephesus, and remain there until he was able to return in peace to Rome. He was delighted with the improvement which had taken place in her since he had last seen her, and with the sweetness and gentleness that was apparent in her manner, in the midst of her deep affliction. She exerted herself to please her father, and to show the pleasure which she felt at seeing him, by repressing her own grief as much as possible in his presence. But when she found herself alone with Marcellus and Naomi, she indulged the feelings of her heart by expatiating on the many virtues and amiable qualities of him who occupied all her thoughts; and then it was that her brother first learned the cause of Theophilus's death.
"O Marcellus," said his sister, "how you would have esteemed and loved him if the Lord had spared him to meet you as a brother! But you could not have valued him as he deserved, for that very constancy and faith which led him to brave death, would have appeared madness and folly in your eyes."
"What can you mean, Claudia?" exclaimed Marcellus, eagerly. "Did not Theophilus die a natural death? I have heard no particulars, for I have been unable to speak to Zadok in private."
"Then you have not heard that he perished a martyr to the name of Jesus of Nazareth! and you do not know that your unhappy sister had learned the way of salvation from him, and now finds all her consolation and all her hope in that faith, which you, alas! despise."
"My dearest sister," cried Marcellus, embracing her with the warmest expressions of joy and affection, "this is a discovery which I had not even hoped for. Then we are united by a tie even stronger and more sacred than that of our own near relationship. I too may glory in the name of Christian; and doubly do I now regret the untimely end of our poor Theophilus, since a union with him would only have strengthened you in this most holy faith, and not have tended, as I feared, to close your heart against the admission of the truth."
Tears of surprise and delight sprang to Naomi's eyes at this unexpected confession on the part of Marcellus; and when he turned a look of anxious inquiry towards her, and read the expression of her lovely and animated countenance, he could not doubt that all for which he had hoped and prayed was already fulfilled, and that the great obstacle which he feared might for ever have separated them, was already removed.
"Naomi," he said, "am I right in indulging the hope that you also share the feelings and the sentiments of my sister? It would be happiness indeed to hear your lips confess the name of Jesus the Messiah."
"Blessed be that name for ever!" replied Naomi with fervour. "I know that there is none other name under heaven whereby we may be saved."
"How merciful has the Lord been to us," said Claudia, "in thus leading us by various methods into the same way of salvation! When, my brother, did you hear of Jesus? and who opened to you the treasures of the Gospel?"
Marcellus related to his attentive auditors all the particulars of his conversion at Rome, and the various events which had since that time strengthened and confirmed his faith. And from Claudia and Naomi he learned the interesting story of their spiritual birth and admission into the church of Christ. Naomi did not dwell on what she had suffered, or the trials to which her faith had once been subjected; but Claudia was eloquent in describing the piety and the firmness of her friend, and the benefit which she herself had derived from her consistent character and holy life and conversation. All this was music to the ears of Marcellus. He had loved Naomi when he was a mere boy, and as he grew to manhood he loved her more and more. And after he had left Jerusalem, and entered into the gaieties and business of life, he still looked back with fond remembrance to the time when she was his constant companion; and her image was ever present to his heart and his memory. Never during his residence at Rome, or his subsequent wanderings, had he seen a being who could compare with the Jewish maiden, and all his hopes of future happiness were connected with her. Many were the fruitless schemes which he had at various times devised for getting admission into Jerusalem and seeing her again, and when he found that he was to have the happiness of meeting her at Joppa, his anxiety and impatience knew no bounds. But still there was one ever-recurring thought that damped his hopes and checked his desire of seeing her. He believed that Naomi was a Jewess in religion as well as by birth. She was the daughter of Zadok, the zealous Pharisee, the sister of the fanatical Javan; and could he ever hope that she would return the affection of a Gentile, and still worse, of a Nazarene? and even if she should yet remember him with the same feelings that she entertained for him in former days, was it probable that her father would consent to bestow her on a Roman soldier; or would his own conscience allow him to seek a union with one who could not share his most sacred feelings, and who would despise what he held most dear and holy? All these reflections rose strongly to his mind when he did again behold her, and almost made him regret that she appeared yet more lovely and more interesting than his memory had depicted her. But now to find that all his worst fears were unfounded, and that Naomi was like himself, a Christian, was greater happiness than he had ever dared to hope.
It was not long before Marcellus had ascertained that his affection for Naomi was returned, and that during his long absence he had been remembered with all the constancy that he could have wished; and he readily obtained a promise that if Zadok's concurrence could be obtained she would consent to be united to him as soon as the war had terminated. Until that period they must be again separated, for Naomi would not hear of leaving her mother under the present circumstances; and indeed she greatly feared that a more insurmountable obstacle would be presented in the opposition of Zadok to their wishes. Marcellus sought an interview with the priest immediately after his conversation with Naomi, and frankly declared to him his attachment to his daughter, and his happiness in knowing that she was not insensible to his love and constancy; and then he requested that all his long-cherished hopes might be crowned by a promise that she should be united to him in marriage as soon as the state of the country would permit him to enter Jerusalem and claim her. Zadok listened to his young and ardent friend with calmness, though with a clouded brow. Once he would have spurned his offers with disdain, and have declared that he would rather consign his child to the grave than bestow her on a Gentile and a Roman; but since her renunciation of her early faith, all his high hopes for her future destiny had faded away. He knew that she would never consent to become the wife of a Jew; and if he were to seek a partner and protector for her out of the pale of that religion which he regarded as the only way to heaven, where could he find one to whom he could confide her with more satisfaction than to Marcellus? All his ancient prejudices rose up to oppose the plan but esteem for the private character of the suppliant, and consideration for Naomi's own wishes on the subject prevailed. He consented, though unwillingly, that if at any future time Marcellus should come to demand his daughter, and be enabled to offer her a happy and peaceful home, he should be rewarded for his constancy by receiving her hand, and the rich dowry which was always intended to be her marriage portion.
Joyfully did Marcellus hasten to communicate this unhoped-for acquiescence to Naomi; and but for the sorrow that weighed so heavily on the heart of Claudia and her friends, and cast a gloom over all their own happiness, the few days that they passed together at Joppa would have been the brightest of their lives.
Judith and Amaziah rejoiced sincerely at the prospect of Naomi's being removed from Jerusalem, and thenceforth permitted to exercise her religion without opposition; and Claudia tried to offer her congratulations; but tears prevented her words of joy from being audible, for her heart recurred with a feeling of desolation to the time so lately past, when all the happiness that now seemed to be presented to Naomi had been so suddenly snatched from her own grasp, and buried for ever in the grave of Theophilus.
Nearly a week had elapsed since the arrival of the travellers, and the vessel that was to sail from Joppa to Ephesus had received her cargo, when a notice was given to Amaziah that she would weigh anchor the following morning, and that he and his party must go on board at sunrise. All his baggage was taken to the ship that same evening; and at the dawn of day Naomi took leave of the friends she loved so well, and stood on the shore to watch with weeping eyes the boat that carried them out to the vessel. It was a sorrowful parting for them all; but Naomi had not time for a long indulgence of her grief, as Zadok announced to her that it would be necessary for him to leave Joppa that same day, and that she must be in readiness to start in a few hours. Letters had just reached him from Javan, to desire his speedy return to the city, as important political arrangements demanded his presence, and therefore, as their friends had departed, there was nothing to detain them any longer from home.
Marcellus and Naomi thought differently, but they did not venture to plead for a further delay; and in the afternoon they left Joppa with Zadok and Rufus, who accompanied his friends as far as Lydda. From thence the priest and his daughter proceeded towards Jerusalem, and Rufus and his son turned their steps in the opposite direction, to join their comrades at Cæsarea. Then did the rough but kind-hearted soldier give vent to all his feelings of indignation at the conduct of Javan, which he had hitherto restrained out of respect for Zadok. He vowed vengeance against the treacherous Jew, who had thus escaped from the Roman army to blast the happiness of his own family, and reduce Claudia to sorrow and desolation. Marcellus sought to check his rage; but he could not wonder that an idolater should thus feel towards one who professed to be guided by a pure religion, and yet disgraced his profession by cruelty and treachery, such as the heathen would have scorned to commit.
Tombs of the KingsTombs of the Kings
Zadok and Naomi were shocked, on their return home, to see how greatly the recent melancholy events had left their traces on the appearance of Salome. For some time past her health and strength had declined, and it was evident that the anxiety she had suffered from so many causes, and the shock which her feelings had undergone at the lamentable termination, had been too much for her delicate constitution to sustain uninjured. Her spirits were broken, and Naomi frequently excited all her powers in vain to animate and interest her. Her mind was filled with gloomy forebodings of coming woe; and though the sweetness of her manner was undiminished, and her affectionate kindness unabated, yet there was ever a pensive sadness in her look and voice, that sank into Naomi's heart with a painful emotion of dread.
Mary of Bethezob repaired to her own dwelling soon after the return of Zadok, and her blooming and intelligent boy accompanied her; but he had become so much attached to Salome and Naomi, that great part of his time was passed with them, and by his innocent playfulness, he greatly helped to chase away their sorrows, while his thoughtless and light-hearted mother plunged again into gaiety and dissipation, and soon forgot all that had so deeply interested her while she was under Zadok's roof.
The priest himself was at this time much from home, for his counsel was sought by those who were most active in the affairs of the city; and as he had lately become a warm supporter of Javan's scheme for bringing Simon to take the supreme command, his son gladly availed himself of his influence and his eloquence in persuading others to join their party. All the necessary arrangements were soon completed; and Javan departed on his mission to invite the son of Gioras and his troops to enter the walls, and rid the oppressed inhabitants of every tyranny but their own. Not many days after he had left the city, alarming news reached the chiefs and leaders: Vespasian had once more set his troops in motion, and was rapidly passing through the toparchies of Gophnitis and Acrabatane. A few more days passed away, during which the inhabitants of Zion looked forth anxiously for the approach of Simon, as the only succour that could avail them if the Roman arms should be turned against their city; but he came not—and instead of his friendly troops, the cavalry of Vespasian appeared at the gates of Jerusalem. A panic seized the populace at this unexpected sight; but their fears were of short duration, for the dreaded horsemen only remained a few days in the vicinity of the city, and having ascertained the distracted and divided state of the inhabitants, withdrew again to head-quarters, and left the devoted place to be yet further weakened by its domestic enemies.
The terrace at the back of Zadok's house commanded a view of the fields beyond the walls, and in that direction the noble equestrian band, the flower of Vespasian's army, passed by, as they retired from the city. They had traversed its whole circumference, and taken observations of its strength, and the capability of its walls and towers. Naomi knew that Marcellus belonged to this troop; and it was not surprising that when she heard the trumpets echoing along the side of Mount Olivet, she should look anxiously from the terrace-wall, and strain her eyes to distinguish him among the rest of the cavaliers. She believed that she succeeded, and perhaps she was right, for one of that band tarried behind his companions, and turned his head long towards the spot where she stood; but if it were Marcellus he did not perceive her, for he rode on without any signal of recognition; and she returned to her mother to lament that she should thus be divided, by all the obstacles of war, from the being who was so well deserving of her affection.
Meanwhile one of the Roman commanders named Cerealis had passed to the south, and entering Idumea, had taken Caphethra, Capharabis, and Hebron. Almost every strong place was now in the hands of the Romans, and nothing remained for their conquering arms to subdue but Herodium, Machærus, Masada, and Jerusalem itself. Simon had secured himself and his forces in his stronghold at Masada while the enemy were reducing Idumea; but when Cerealis withdrew from that district, he again came forth and ravaged the already wasted country. He drove a vast number of the wretched population before his pursuing army towards Jerusalem, where they sought a refuge from his cruelty, and once more he encamped before the walls, to wait for the opening of the gates to admit him.
Javan had joined him at Masada, and now accompanied him to Jerusalem, expecting that he would be joyfully received by the inhabitants. But the Roman cavalry had left the vicinity; and the party who opposed Simon's entrance had gained a temporary ascendancy, so that the gates remained rigorously closed, and the chieftain revenged himself for his disappointment by putting to the sword all the unfortunate stragglers who ventured beyond the protection of the walls. Thus he warred on the unhappy city without, while John of Gischala oppressed it within. The hardy Galileans whom he had brought into Jerusalem with him were entirely corrupted by the pillage and license which he permitted to them. Robbery had become their constant occupation, and murders were daily committed by them in wanton pastime. Disguised in rich and splendid garments which they had acquired by rapine, they paraded the streets in parties; and suddenly drawing their swords, that were always concealed beneath their assumed garb of festivity, they rushed on the thoughtless populace who gazed on them, and fiercely stabbed all who came within their reach. No wonder that the helpless people looked abroad for help and succour, and that even many of the more enlightened believed that the presence of Simon would put a stop to these atrocities. But John was too powerful to permit the execution of the scheme at that moment, and had his rapidly-increasing party remained united together, he would probably have prevented the entrance of his rival.
At length, however, a division arose among his followers. His power excited the jealousy of the Idumeans, and they suddenly attacked the Zealots, and drove them to seek refuge in a palace near the temple, which was used by John as a treasure-house. Into this edifice they followed them, and forced them to fly to the temple itself, while they pillaged the palace of all the rich treasures that John had accumulated and stored up within its walls. But the Zealots assembled in overwhelming force in the temple, and in their turn threatened to attack the Idumeans, who did not so much dread their strength in open fight, as their desperation at being thus cooped up. They feared that they might sally out and set fire to the city, and so accomplish the utter destruction both of themselves and their enemies. Therefore they called together a council of the chief priests to consider what measures should be taken, and by their advice they adopted that plan which gave the final blow to every hope of a return to peace and tranquillity.
The historian Josephus, in relating this circumstance, remarks that "God overruled their wills to that most fatal measure." And most true is it that He does thus overrule every event, and cause all things to work together for the accomplishment of his own most wise purposes. The priests unanimously advised that Simon should be invited to enter. All were now of one mind, and believed that no tyranny could be worse than the violence and license that now distracted the city and filled its peaceable inmates with alarm and horror. Matthias the high-priest, who from his situation rather than his talents exercised great influence over his brethren, supported the proposition, and even offered to go in person and bring in the expected preserver. He went forth, attended by a body of the principal men; and amid the joyful shouts of the misguided populace the son of Gioras marched through the streets, and established himself, without opposition, in the higher parts of the city.
Thus he became lord of Jerusalem in the third year of the war; and having once got an entrance into the city, he lost no time in securing everything that could tend to his own advantage and raise his authority higher over every rival faction. John and his Zealots finding themselves imprisoned in the temple, and totally unable to make their way out, began to fear that their lives would be sacrificed as well as their property, the whole of the effects which they possessed in the city having already been seized and appropriated by Simon and his followers. The new tyrant hastened to make an attack on the temple, assisted by numbers of the populace and had he succeeded in gaining an entrance, doubtless he would have realized the worst fears of the besieged, and put them all to the sword. But the Zealots had posted themselves in the porticoes and among the battlements, and they vigorously repulsed their enemies, killing and wounding many of Simon's men with the spears and darts which they hurled down from these elevated situations with unerring hand. To increase still more this advantage which they enjoyed over their assailants, they erected four lofty towers; and from these they plied their arrows and other missiles with little danger to themselves, and great annoyance to the foe. They brought powerful engines for casting stones into each of these towers, besides the archers and slingers; and so great was the dread with which these machines inspired Simon's adherents, that considerable numbers of them declined the attack. One of these formidable towers was placed on the north-east corner of the temple, the second above the Xystus, the third looked down upon the lower city, and the fourth was built above the Pastophoria, where the priests were accustomed to sound the silver trumpets at the commencement and termination of each sabbath.
Affairs were in this state at Jerusalem, and Vespasian having subdued almost every contiguous place, returned to Cæsarea to await the result of the civil commotions in the capital, when news was brought him that Vitellius had assumed the imperial purple at Rome. This intelligence excited great indignation among Vespasian's officers and soldiers, who assembled in large companies, and declared that they would never submit to be governed by the cruel and licentious Vitellius, and that they had as much right to elect an Emperor as the troops who were dwelling idly at Rome. They therefore resolved to proclaim their general as Emperor, and to support his authority with their swords. For some time Vespasian declined taking on himself the heavy responsibilities of such an exalted station, but the tribunes only insisted the more strenuously on his complying. The soldiers even drew their swords and threatened to put him to death if he refused: when, finding all his repeated remonstrances to be vain, he yielded to their wishes; and after his proclamation, Josephus, who had foretold his exaltation, was set free from his bonds, and rewarded with great honours as a distinguished prophet, and became the friend and adviser of Vespasian. The Emperor's time and attention were for some months necessarily occupied in establishing his dominion, and gaining over the adherence of the governors of the most important provinces of the empire, and Jerusalem was left to her own miseries and distractions. But at the commencement of the ensuing year (A.D. 70) he found himself firmly settled on the imperial throne. Vitellius had been defeated, and his death left the new Emperor at leisure to think of the reduction of the rebellious and obstinate city, which had so long bade defiance to his power. He did not again go in person to attempt its subjugation, but his son Titus was placed at the head of the army, and sent to complete the conquest of Palestine by the reduction of the metropolis.
During this time Marcellus had been obliged to remain at Cæsarea with his regiment, and had vainly sought permission to venture to Jerusalem, and try to gain an entrance, and visit his betrothed Naomi. The strict discipline of the Roman army forbade his running so great a personal risk when it was not called for in the service of the Emperor; and he passed these long months in anxiety and hope, waiting for the renewal of the war as the only event which could lead to the accomplishment of his wishes. He did not doubt that the capital would speedily yield to the efforts of the army, when its combined force should be collected beneath its walls; and then he trusted that no obstacle would remain to his marriage with Naomi. It was therefore with great joy that he hailed the arrival of his friend and commander, Titus, as generalissimo of the Roman forces, and heard the orders for an immediate march towards the capital, as soon as the army could be organized and prepared for the siege.
The news of Titus having assumed the command soon reached the miserable city, and filled the greater part of the inhabitant with dismay. They knew his prompt and warlike character, and the devotion which the whole army entertained for him; and they feared that, at the head of such a force, he would never be repulsed from their walls by the divided and seditious troops who now wasted their strength in useless conflicts with each other. No events could have occurred more favourable to the success of the Romans than those which were taking place at this time in Jerusalem. The city was now divided into three distinct factions, and the streets ran with the blood which was shed in their fierce and continual encounters. Instead of endeavouring to organize a regular and efficient defence against the common enemy, each party was engaged in strengthening its own position, or attacking that of its antagonists.
Eleazar, who had been the first to set himself at the head of the Zealots, and seize on the temple as a garrison, beheld the superiority which was assumed by John of Gischala, with rage and jealousy. He affected a holy indignation at the sanguinary outrages daily committed by his rival; and at length he succeeded in drawing off from his party several of the most powerful and influential of his adherents. With these men and their followers he openly abandoned his former associates who remained faithful to John, and retired into the inner court of the temple, where, on the sacred gates facing the Holy of Holies, these savage men suspended their arms, yet reeking with the blood of their fellow-citizens.
In this most sacred spot, where the sounds of the holy instruments of music were wont to be heard, the jests and songs of the profane soldiery now echoed from the walls, and on the steps of the altar lay the expiring forms of men mortally wounded by their own countrymen. A great number of animals intended for sacrifices, and a quantity of other provisions, were found in the stores of the temple, and seized on by Eleazar and his band, who were therefore well supplied with provisions; but they could not venture to sally out on the main body of the Zealots, who so greatly exceeded them in numbers. The height of their position gave them a superiority over John's party, so long as they remained in their stronghold; but though he suffered greatly in every attack which he made on them, yet his rage and resentment would not suffer him to cease from his attempts.
Meanwhile Simon the son of Gioras kept possession of the whole of the upper city and great part of the lower, and he harassed John continually from without, increasing his efforts when he found that his party was weakened by division. But John had here the advantage over Simon that Eleazar had over John, and he succeeded in repelling his assaults with little loss. The ascent to the temple was very steep, and Simon's troops found it both difficult and perilous, for the Zealots had a large number of scorpions, catapultas, and other engines, and with these they repulsed their assailants from below, and checked the party who looked down on them from above. Frequently it happened that the missiles which they discharged against Eleazar and his band, either slew or wounded those unoffending and pious persons who still continued to repair to the spot so hallowed to their memories, in order to offer their prayers and their sacrifices. Not all the horrors and dangers that surrounded them could deter many of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and even strangers from other provinces, from making their way to the temple where their fathers had worshipped; and passing over the marble pavement, now slippery with gore and strewed with the carcasses of the slain, to lay their offerings on the altar of the God of Jacob.
These persons were freely permitted to pass to and fro, unmolested by the garrison, who merely took the precaution of searching them, to discover whether they carried concealed arms; but often, while they were engaged in fervent prayer, they sank expiring on the pavement, either pierced by an arrow or crushed by a heavy stone that came whizzing from the courts below. The noble and pious Zadok was seen to take his place undauntedly by the side of the altar, and to perform his sacred duties with a composure and dignity that commanded the respect even of the lawless and blaspheming ruffians who looked on in scoffing derision at the superstition (as they regarded it) of the worshippers. Many of his sacred brethren were wounded or slain, but he remained unharmed, and daily returned in safety to his anxious wife and daughter, to tell of greater horrors and fiercer conflicts than had disgraced the preceding day.
ZADOK AT THE ALTAR.ZADOK AT THE ALTAR.
More and more deadly did the contest become. Eleazar's band, excited by drunkenness, ventured to sally forth against John, and when, wearied with bloodshed, they retired again to their garrison, he in his turn assaulted Simon. The whole space around the temple became a fearful spectacle of ruin and carnage; and in these wild conflicts the public granaries, that might have sustained the inhabitants for years, were either set on fire or wantonly destroyed by Simon, to prevent their falling into the hands of John.
Thus was the wretched city afflicted. The very power which the short-sighted people had invoked to free them from the tyranny of John, was turned against them and multiplied their miseries. The old men, the women, the helpless and the timid prayed in secret for the arrival of the Romans. They had dreaded this event as the worst of evils when first they heard it threatened; but now they were driven to desperation by their accumulated sufferings, and earnestly desired a foreign foe, as the only hope of deliverance from their domestic enemies. These wishes were, however, carefully repressed, for all the three factions were united on one point—the persecution and destruction, of every individual whom they even suspected of wishing success to the Roman arms. It was sad indeed to behold the deep but silent misery of the people; and still more dreadful was it to witness the inhuman desperation and hardheartedness to which constant danger and constant suffering had driven all ranks of men. The ties of natural affection were extinguished, the nearest relatives were abandoned, and when death had put an end to their woes, their bodies were left unheeded in the streets, to be trampled on by the troops or torn by the dogs.
Javan had entered the city with the son of Gioras, and was constantly engaged in his service. Simon confided all his schemes to him, and found him a most useful and efficient counsellor, as he was thoroughly acquainted with all the politics that divided the opinions of the inhabitants: and his local knowledge of the many private streets and lanes of the city was also an advantage to his chieftain, and enabled him to waylay and surprise the parties which were sent out by John. Javan devoted all his time and all his energies to the promotion of the cause which he had espoused, for he still believed that Simon was the destined instrument in the hand of Jehovah for the preservation of his people, and the destruction of all their enemies within and without the city. His pious and enthusiastic feelings were highly excited to indignation at the profaneness of the Zealots and Idumeans, and the sight of the Holy Temple desecrated by crime and bloodshed and intemperance, filled him with a restless and inextinguishable desire for vengeance.
Isaac, his former friend, but now most bitter enemy, knew his strong religious feelings, and the almost superstitious veneration with which he regarded the sacred pile, and mourned over its degradation. The counsellor had once affected to share and encourage these devout sentiments, when such a line of conduct seemed to promote his own interests; but now that he had severed himself from the popular party, and joined that of the infidel John, he laid aside the cloak of hypocrisy, and rivalled the worst of his ruffian associates in acts of sacrilege and words of blasphemy. One day, when a party of Simon's troops were led by Javan to the temple wall, in order to assault the Zealots with darts and arrows, he seized on some of the sacred implements used in the service of the temple, and hastened to insult the feelings of the zealous young Pharisee, by profaning them to the most disgusting purposes. On the knives and pronged forks usually employed in preparing and dressing the sacred victims offered in sacrifice, he stuck the mangled limbs of the human bodies that were strewed around him in the court, and the brazen vessels he filled with human blood, and then cast them over the wall, where they fell at Javan's feet, crying out scoffingly that he presented him with suitable sacrifices, and holy instruments for preparing them. The blood of the fiery Jew burned at this sacrilegious affront, and deeply he vowed to be avenged on his insulting foe; but Isaac was now safe from his wrath, and laughed at his futile rage. Perchance it might be Javan's turn to triumph ere long!
That evening he returned to his father's house, gloomy and sad. Since his entry into the city in Simon's train, he had seldom visited his home, even at night. He felt such an irksome restraint in the presence of his family, particularly of Naomi, that any spot was more agreeable to him than the home of his childhood, and he generally dwelt at the palace, of which Simon had taken possession, as his head-quarters. On the night after his religious feelings had been outraged by Isaac, he repaired to Zadok's dwelling, that he might consult with his father on the future plans to be adopted by their party; and having held a private conference with him, he joined the rest of his family, who were walking on the terrace at the back of the house. This terrace, and the small flower-garden which it overlooked, were now the only spots where Salome and Naomi could safely enjoy the open air, except occasionally when they ventured by the retired lane that ran below the garden, to visit Mary of Bethezob, and spend some time with her, in the more extensive pleasure-ground that adjoined her house. Even this short distance they never dared to go unattended by their domestics, who were well armed; and Mary used the same precaution whenever she repaired to the priest's house. She and her little boy were on the terrace when Javan and his father passed through the richly-carved marble portico that opened upon it from the house, and joined the party.
All the cheerfulness of social and domestic intercourse had died away beneath the chilling influence of danger and dread, and when friends and relatives met together it was only to relate fresh horrors and anticipate coming woes. The spirit of Zadok was yet unsubdued, and his confident hopes unchecked, by the misery and distress around him; but his wife did not share his sanguine feelings, and Naomi remembered the doom which had been pronounced on Jerusalem by Him whose every word must be fulfilled. Therefore she could not cheer her desponding mother with the prospect of peace and tranquillity, when she knew that these blessings would no more be bestowed on her nation until the measure of their chastisement should be fulfilled, and the Messiah once more return in glory to rule over his ransomed and repenting people. She looked forward to the approaching crisis with a steady expectation, trusting to the infinite wisdom and love of her Redeemer, to guard his own believing children from the ruin that should overtake his enemies. But she could not think of the probable fate of her beloved father and her mistaken brother without a profound dread. They as yet despised the only way of salvation—and how should they be saved in the day of calamity? She daily wept and prayed before her God that he would mercifully incline their hearts to receive the truth, and in these prayers she found her best consolation. She had now no Christian friend to whom she could confide her anxious cares, or who could share her spiritual feelings and spiritual hopes; but her precious manuscript, the legacy of her beloved Mary, was an unfailing source of comfort and delight, when she could retire to her own chamber and peruse the sacred record.
Much of her time also was passed in private conversation with her mother; for Zadok was seldom able to remain with her for many hours of the day, and Salome's spirits were so depressed that her daughter never left her alone, but exerted her utmost powers to cheer and support her. She entered kindly into all the hopes and fears of Naomi which related to Marcellus, and rejoiced in the prospect of confiding her to the care and protection of one whom she had always loved and esteemed. She was not so much prejudiced against his Roman birth as her husband was; and since Naomi had embraced the Nazarene doctrines, her mother rejoiced for her sake that she was betrothed to one who would respect her sentiments.
It was not however on the subject of her own prospects and her own interests that Naomi chiefly delighted to dwell when conversing with her mother. There was another and a higher theme, towards which she drew Salome's thoughts whenever they were alone; and it was a source of joy and gratitude to her when she found that the subject was no longer shunned. Salome had formerly avoided all discussions and arguments relating to the Christian faith, in compliance with the wishes of her husband, and because she did not desire to be convinced of the truth of what he so entirely despised and disbelieved. Nevertheless, the impression which had once been made on her mind in favour of the doctrines of the Nazarenes, by the conversation of Amaziah, and her daughter, had never been entirely obliterated. The heroic constancy and faith that had been displayed in the conduct of the lamented Theophilus, had also most deeply interested her; and she could not help thinking that there must be some miraculous power in that faith which could thus disarm death and shame of their terrors, and make its disciples more than conquerors over all that naturally binds the heart of man to life.
When, therefore, her daughter resumed the subject after her return from Joppa, she was very willing to listen to her animated discourse. The more she heard of Jesus of Nazareth, the more was her gentle spirit inclined to believe the story of his love to fallen mankind, and to rest upon it for the peace and safety of her soul. During the dreary months of fear and horror that succeeded the entrance of Simon into the city, the necessary seclusion and retirement in which she and Naomi lived, gave her ample time to hear and to reflect on all the wonders that it was her daughter's happiness to relate, and she did not hear in vain. The earnest, the constant prayers of Naomi were heard in her behalf, and the spark of faith at length was kindled in her heart. Faint and flickering it burned, and it seemed that a single blast of opposition would have extinguished it; but he who doth not "break the bruised reed, nor quench the flame of smoking flax," was merciful to this feeble disciple, and spared her those trials which she was not yet able to bear.
Zadok was fully engrossed by his political and his priestly occupations; and during the short intervals which he passed with Salome, he exerted himself to cheer and encourage her spirits, and chase away the fears that oppressed her; and he never questioned her as to the topic of her conversation with Naomi during his absence, nor did she ever mention it to him. She began to feel that the salvation of her soul was concerned in the question of the truth or falsity of Naomi's statements, and she would not run the risk of having a termination put to those discussions that now so deeply interested her.
Some hours had been passed by the mother and daughter in considering and discoursing on the unhappy fate of Theophilus, and the believing hope which had supported him to the end, on the evening when Javan came from the conflict beneath the temple walls, and sought the society of his family. Their conversation had already been interrupted by the arrival of Mary and their little favourite David, who was now bounding along the terrace, and trying to engage Naomi to pursue him and join in his gambols. He ran laughing over the marble pavement, looking back at his young friend, who exerted herself to banish more serious thoughts that she might amuse the lovely child, when his course was arrested by the entrance of Javan and his father. They abruptly crossed his path, and the stern expression of Javan's countenance put a sudden stop to his mirth and Naomi's efforts at gaiety. There was something in the childish look of fear with which David regarded the young Pharisee that touched his heart and grieved him. "Am I," thought he, "an object of terror to all around me? and do even children dread my presence?"
He stooped down, and raised the little boy gently in his arms, while he whispered to him, "Why are you afraid of me, David?"
"Because my nurse tells me that you killed poor Theophilus," replied the child, in a trembling voice.
Javan set him down again on the pavement, and a dark cloud came over his brow. "Then I am looked on as a murderer!" he muttered: "this shall not be."
He approached his mother and Naomi; and though they tried to meet him with affectionate cordiality, yet there was a restraint in their manner, and a quiver on their lip, that told him plainly how his presence recalled the memory of the departed Theophilus, and how entirely the innocent child had spoken their feelings in attributing to him the death of his cousin. He was growing weary of the scenes of strife and bloodshed in which he had lived since his return to the metropolis with Simon. His zeal in the cause of the son of Gioras had not abated, nor his resolution to dedicate his life, if necessary, to the restoration of the peace and prosperity of his beloved city; but when the daily conflict was over, he had often wished that he could retire to his home in the confidence of being received as a welcome visitor. He longed to find in the society of his family, whom with all his faults he sincerely loved, a respite from the cares and anxieties that weighed on his mind, and to forget for a time the spectacles of horror and vice that met his eyes while he was actively engaged in carrying on the siege of the temple, or traversing the streets to prosecute some scheme of his crafty chieftain's. The conviction that he had lost all the esteem which he had enjoyed among his immediate relatives from his cruel persecution of his amiable cousin, had made his home disagreeable to him, and he would have made great sacrifices to regain his former place in his family. Perhaps even now it was in his power to remove a part of the stain that rested on his character, and to make his sister at least look on him more kindly.
While he was absorbed in reflections that seemed in some degree to chase away the gloom that had so long rested on his countenance, Naomi had passed to the other end of the terrace, in compliance with the earnest entreaty of little David; and having descended the marble steps that led into the flower-garden, was occupied in weaving a chaplet of bright and fragrant flowers to adorn his curling hair. Javan followed her, and as he approached the graceful vase from which she was gathering clusters of rich blossoms, and contemplated her sweet countenance, and the animated, joyful face of the little David, a smile of unwonted cheerfulness played on his features. He stood silently by her side until her task was done, and then sent the delighted child back to his mother and Salome to claim their admiration of his flowery crown. How lovely he looked! His bright beaming countenance and joyous spirit seemed to promise years of innocence and happiness. Alas! his beauty was like that of the flowers he wore—so sweet, so delicate, and so short-lived!
Javan and Naomi walked together in the garden below until the daylight had faded away, and the stars of night were glittering in all their splendour in the dark blue vault of heaven. The other members of their family had retired to the house, as they feared the effects of the night-air on the delicate frame of Salome. Their curiosity was greatly excited by the earnest and protracted conference between the brother and sister; and when at length they joined them in the cedar-hall, they were struck with surprise and pleasure at the unusual degree of cheerfulness that reigned on the countenances of both; nor did the concluding words of the conversation which reached their ears, as Naomi and her brother crossed the adjoining vestibule, give them any clue to the cause of the change.
"For six months, Naomi—remember, you have given me your solemn promise."
"I will not break it, Javan," she replied, "though you have put me to a severe trial."
The evening meal passed off with unwonted gaiety, for Naomi, the life and joy of her family, had resumed much of her former spirits, and her parents were happy in seeing her so, though they were ignorant of the cause.
Jerusalem had been left in a state of awful suspense during the interval between the arrival of Titus at Cæsarea and the march of the Roman army. But that suspense soon terminated, when the news was brought by some fugitives that the countless host were moving through Samaria, and ere many days could elapse would be before the walls of the capital.
They advanced slowly towards the city, and encamped in the valley of Thorns, near a village called Gaboth-Saul, on the hill of Saul, about three miles from Jerusalem. One evening, while yet the anxious inhabitants watched from the walls and towers, in expectation of seeing their invincible foes approaching, they perceived a single horseman coming swiftly along the valley of Jehosaphat, bearing in his hand a white flag in token of his pacific intentions. He crossed the brook Kedron, and rode up to the water-gate, where he called to the officer on guard in the Jewish language, and requested a moment's parley with him. The officer complied, and the gate was cautiously opened, when he saw a young man of noble and ingenuous aspect, who courteously saluted him, and begged that he would take charge of a small packet, which he put into his hand, and permit one of his men to deliver it safely according to the superscription. He also presented him with a gold coin of great value, with a request that it might be given to the bearer of the packet, as an inducement to him to be faithful and swift. Then he bowed gracefully to the officer, and retired at full speed from the gate, for he probably knew that he was in a situation of considerable danger, and that he might be assailed by the shafts and spears of the fierce soldiers who thickly covered the wall above him.
The officer retained the gold for himself, for avarice had spread widely among the corrupted troops; and he gave the packet to one of his guard, with an order to carry it as directed. The man thrust it carelessly into his vest, and it was not until the following night that it reached its destination. Naomi was retiring to rest, when Deborah entered her chamber and presented to her the sealed parcel, on which was written, in characters well known to her, "To Naomi, the daughter of Zadok the priest;—with speed." The curiosity of the old domestic kept her in the room while her young mistress tore open the envelope, and hastily perused one of the two letters which it contained. Deborah watched the changing colour of Naomi's cheek, and the tear that started to her eye, but she did not interrogate her, for she knew that the manuscript came from Marcellus; and she retired, leaving the agitated girl to read the letter again and again, and tremble equally for the safety of her betrothed, and that of her parents and herself.
The letter of Marcellus contained repeated assurances of his affection, and his anxiety to rescue his affianced bride from the danger that was so rapidly coming on her countrymen. He detailed the force and numbers of the Roman army, and declared the firm resolution of Titus, to persist in the siege until Jerusalem should be in his power. And then, with all the eloquence of love, he besought her to obtain the permission of her parents to leave the wretched city, and take refuge under his father's protection. He added that if she and her faithful Deborah could escape into the valley of Jehosaphat, he and Rufus would meet her and escort her to the camp, where Titus himself had promised to provide her with a strong guard, and send her in safety to the dwelling of an honourable friend of his own at Cæsarea. Marcellus further expressed an ardent wish that Salome could be persuaded to accompany her daughter; but he knew that no consideration would induce her to leave her husband, and that Zadok would die a hundred deaths rather than desert his post in the city at a time of such peril. He minutely pointed out the spot where he hoped she would meet him, in her father's garden by the brook Kedron, at which place he said that he and his father would wait each night for her appearance, with a litter and swift horses, to bear her and her nurse away in safety; and he besought her to lose no time in making up her mind to the step which he proposed, as the operations of the Roman army would be prompt and decisive, and in a few days all possibility of his rescuing her might be gone. Much more was added, and many arguments used to induce the Jewish maid to leave the home of her fathers, and escape the inevitable doom of her rebellious countrymen: but it was all to no purpose. Naomi shed tears over the expressions of Marcellus's devoted attachment, and she felt he had but too much cause to fear that if she remained in Jerusalem she might share in its destruction; and yet her purpose was unshaken. Her mother was in declining health, and could she leave her? The light of heaven was breaking upon her mother's soul through her means, and could she abandon her? No; she resolved that she would not even mention the proposal of Marcellus to her parents, lest anxiety for her removal from the city should induce them to urge her acceptance of it. She therefore concealed the letter, and opened the other which accompanied it, and which she found to be from her poor friend Claudia, who had sent it to her brother, in the hope that he would find some means of conveying it to Naomi. She did not anticipate that he would run so great a risk as to approach the walls of Jerusalem himself in order to convey the letter, of she would never have given him such a commission. But Marcellus had been too eager to make known to Naomi his plans for her preservation, and to obtain her immediate concurrence, for any thoughts of peril to deter him from the enterprise; and unknown to his commanding officer, he had ventured to the gate, and escaped unharmed.
The letter of Claudia was nearly to the following effect:—
"My beloved Naomi will believe with what satisfaction I avail myself of an occasion to write to her: and she will I know be equally pleased to receive tidings of those who love her dearly. A friend of Amaziah's is about to return to Judea, and will take charge of my letters, and convey them to the Roman camp, from whence doubtless Marcellus will be able to forward this scroll to you. Oh that I could myself be the bearer of the intelligence which it will contain! Dear Naomi, my heart is buried at Jerusalem, and I feel myself a sad exile while I dwell so far from all those scenes that are consecrated to my memory. There have I passed all the happy days of my eventful life. There was I blessed with the affection of my martyred Theophilus; and there did I hear from him of all the things pertaining to salvation. There too I enjoyed your society and friendship, and could strive to imitate, however humbly, the piety and virtue and courage that made me love the religion that you professed. Can I avoid looking back with sorrow and regret to the days that are gone, and wishing that I had been permitted to tarry with you, and share your dangers? My life is now of little value, for all that made life precious is taken away from me; and it would have been a joy to me, if the Lord had suffered me to end my days within the gates of Zion, where he who would have been the happiness of my life was so cruelly torn from me and murdered: but it is wrong, and very ungrateful in me, to speak thus. Bear with my sorrow, dearest Naomi, while for the first time I am enabled to give utterance to all I feel; and do not think that I repine against the dispensations of my God and Father, though I am bowed down beneath the weight of his chastening hand. No; I am enabled to bless that very hand which has wounded me, and to bear testimony to the love and kindness that have inflicted the blow; and I can even pray for mercy and pardon on him who was the cause of all my sorrow. I see now that I had made an idol of my Theophilus. Even the readiness with which I received the faith of Jesus was greatly owing to the interest I felt in all that he taught me, and the conviction that what he believed must needs be true and right. My soul was devoted to him more than to God, and now God has taken him away in mercy as well as justice, and has shown me how I leaned on a broken reed, and neglected the power of His own Almighty arm. I believe I can truly say, that my affliction has been blessed to me; and that I am now, through the unmerited grace of God, a more sincere Christian than when you and Theophilus used to commend my docility and faith. Oh, may the same grace still support me, and carry me forward to the end; that I may enter into the presence of God, clothed in the robe of my Saviour's righteousness, and be admitted to those realms of joy, where now my beloved Theophilus has joined the company of saints and angels, who sing around the throne. Pray for me, Naomi, that my faith may never fail again, and that my light affliction, which is but for a moment, may work for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. I will weary you no more with the detail of my feelings; but it has been a relief to me to express to my earliest and dearest friend both my weakness and my strength. In Judith's presence I always endeavour to restrain my grief, and to cheer her who is more than a mother to me. Both she and Amaziah are unremitting in their kindness; and I must not say that my life is of no value, when I think of their tenderness and affection for me. All the love they bore to their dear son seems now to be bestowed on me; and if I can in any measure console them for what they have lost, I will try to wish that my life may be prolonged. I have other blessings and other privileges here, for which I am grateful. I enjoy the society of many holy disciples of Christ, and am permitted to share their worship and partake of their sacraments; nay more, I have already frequently seen the most blessed apostle John. I have looked on that countenance so full of love and purity and zeal; I have listened to his words, while admiring crowds stood round in breathless silence, to catch the now feeble sound; and I have received his holy benediction, and felt his venerable hands laid kindly on my head. How I have wished for you, Naomi, to share the sacred delight I feel whenever his almost sacred form is before me! I cannot describe him to you, except by saying, that when I look on him I no longer wonder why he was the chosen, the beloved disciple above all the rest who followed their Lord. It is beautiful to see him leaning on his staff, his long white hair and beard flowing down upon his breast, and his eyes sparkling with all the animation of youth, while he pours forth a torrent of eloquence that must pierce the heart of all who hear him. The numbers that are added to the church here through his preaching is very great; and the famous image of Diana is robbed of many of its worshippers. I blush to remember that I was once among the ignorant multitude who believe that this image came down from heaven, and is endued with divine power. It stands in a temple, whose splendour is only surpassed by your own glorious edifice at Jerusalem. Oh, that it was dedicated to the worship of the same only true God!—and that both were likewise consecrated to the service of his Son!
"This is a very beautiful city, and I was greatly struck with the splendour of the buildings on our first arrival. We had a very prosperous voyage from Joppa, and the weather was more favourable than we could have expected at that season. The sun shone brilliantly on the animated scene which was presented to us as we approached the city; and the steady motion of the ship, as we sailed up the river on which Ephesus is built, enabled me to stand on the deck and admire the beauty of the scenery on either side. We ascended the river for a short distance from the place where it falls into the bay, and the banks were covered with villages and noble houses, interspersed with trees of every description. The broad stream was filled with ships and boats; and nothing struck us with such feelings of surprise and delight as the shouts which we heard from some of the boatmen. 'Hallelujah!' was the cry which these Christian mariners used to call their companions to join in their labours; and 'Hallelujah!' was answered by the ploughmen in the adjoining fields, as the boat passed swiftly on. This glorious invitation to sing the praises of Christ is generally uttered by his disciples, in the course of their daily employments, as a signal to their brethren; and we are thankful to be in a land where the invitation is so frequently responded to in the same spirit that dictates it, and not followed by insult and persecution as it would be in Judea.
"Our faithful Hannah is well and happy. She is a great comfort to us, and tries by her activity and zeal to make a return to your uncle and aunt for all their kindness to her: she sends you her most respectful greeting. Judith and Amaziah salute you and your father and mother with sincere affection, and join with me in fervent prayers for your preservation and happiness both here and hereafter. Pray, dearest Naomi, remember and love your attached friend—CLAUDIA."
This letter gave Naomi both pain and pleasure. She regretted to find how severely poor Claudia had been tried, and how much her spirit yearned for the society of the chosen friend of her childhood, as a consolation in her present afflictions; but she rejoiced also to perceive how much of true resignation and submission was evinced in the heartfelt expressions of piety that were mingled with the natural complainings of a wounded spirit. Oh, how would she have rejoiced to have had it in her power to minister comfort to her dear and afflicted friend! But that task she must leave to the God of all comfort; and she could only pray that in His own good time, when sorrow had worked its perfect work, He would pour balm into the wounded heart, and bind up the broken spirit.
Her next concern was to devise some method by which she could reply to Marcellus's letter, and put an end to his anxious expectation of meeting her by the waters of Kedron. The fear that he would nightly repair to the spot, and thus be exposed to great personal danger, determined her to lose no time in endeavouring to convey to him her firm determination to share the fate of her parents, while peril surrounded them on every side. Many were the plans which she devised, but all seemed equally impracticable; and after some hours of useless reflection, she retired to rest, with a resolution to apply to Deborah for counsel and assistance.
In the morning she summoned the good old nurse, and told her all her anxious wishes, and her reasons for concealing Marcellus's letter from her father and Salome. Deborah applauded her disinterested conduct and affectionate devotion to her parents, and entered warmly into all her schemes for conveying a despatch to the Roman camp; but none were suggested that promised any hope of success, until the nurse remembered that while Mary of Bethezob dwelt in Zadok's house, her favourite attendant, Reuben, had made many offers of service to herself and all the family, and had boasted of having held communication with a certain person in the Roman army who had been his friend in former years, by means which were both safe and sure. This deceitful man had endeavoured to ingratiate himself with Deborah, as the best method of discovering any circumstances relative to her young mistress which he could communicate to Javan. So well had he acted the part of a sincere friend to the family, so artfully had he feigned sorrow and indignation at the death of Theophilus, and so judiciously had he mingled the praises of Naomi with all his discourse, that the unsuspicious old woman put perfect confidence in his professions, and now assured her young mistress that she might safely confide her packet to him, with every hope of its speedily reaching its destination.
Naomi knew nothing of Reuben, except that he was a confidential servant of Mary's. She had often remarked him, and thought his countenance singularly unprepossessing; but she was entirely ignorant how much of the affliction and sorrow which had of late visited her family had arisen from the treachery and cunning of this very man. She believed that she must have mistaken his character, and desired Deborah to see him as soon as possible, and ascertain whether he still possessed the power of holding intercourse with his Roman friend, and would undertake to convey her packet to Marcellus, for which service he should receive a handsome reward.
Deborah soon performed her errand, and returned to Naomi with the welcome intelligence that Reuben had promised to go himself to the appointed spot by the brook, and meet Marcellus that very evening, when he would deliver to him the letter. The despatch was soon prepared and given to the artful Reuben by Deborah, with many charges for its safe conveyance. She desired him to come the following morning to claim his reward, and to give an account of his meeting with Marcellus. The traitor swore to be faithful, and departed. But whither did he bend his steps? To the dwelling of Simon the Assassin, a name which he had justly earned from those he came to protect and save.
The son of Gioras was engaged in consultation with Javan and several others of his partisans, when he was informed that a man at the gate desired to speak with him quickly and privately. An expression of doubt and suspicion crossed his dark brow, and he hesitated for a moment whether to comply with the stranger's request or not. He knew that he was hated by many, and feared by all; and he had reason to believe that there were many in Jerusalem who would sacrifice their lives to rid their city of the scourge that their own folly had brought upon them. Yet the man might have tidings for his ear alone, and his crafty policy had often recourse to the employment of spies and informers. He took up a dagger that lay on the table before him, and placed it in his girdle, with a look that told how readily it would find its way to the heart of any one who should attempt to injure him, and left the hall.
Reuben was brought before the tyrant, who waited to receive him in a small private apartment; and guards with naked swords stood ready in the anteroom to do the bidding of their chief. Simon motioned to the informer to remain at a distance, and sternly demanded his errand. Reuben quailed beneath the fierce scowl that met his gaze, as he lifted up his own usually downcast eyes, and showed a countenance as dark and as artful, but not so bold as that of the assassin.
"My Lord," he said, "I come to do you service. Here is a letter that will tell you how to rid Jerusalem of one at least of her bravest enemies."
He laid the sealed packet on a marble slab near him, and retired to the furthest corner of the room, for he had even less desire than Simon to come into close contact with his companion. He had intended to stipulate for a reward of his treachery before he gave up the document: but there was something in the eye of the son of Gioras that made him forget his avarice, and think only of escaping from his presence as quickly as possible.
Simon took up the letter, and with his dagger divided the silken cord that fastened it round, and to which the seals were attached. He retained the weapon in his hand; and while he read the letter he seemed also to keep a watch on the movements of Reuben, who eagerly waited for the moment of his dismissal. The artless epistle of Naomi proved to the chieftain that his informer had not deceived him, for the expressions it contained could not have been the production of cunning or design; but he did not choose to set the stranger free until he had both arranged and executed the scheme which his information had suggested, for he who had betrayed one trust could not be depended on, even in his treachery. He called for his guards, and commanded them to take charge of Reuben, and keep him in security until he should give further orders concerning him in the evening. He desired that he should be well treated, but not allowed to hold communication with any person whatever until that period. The trembling menial now repented of his treachery, and sincerely wished that he had never engaged in the business which had brought him into so perilous a situation; but his faltering entreaties were of no avail: he was led away and carefully secured in a chamber by himself, where he was left to his very disagreeable reflections for many hours.
Meanwhile Simon considered whether he should make known to Javan the information he had received, and consult with him as to the best means of seizing on the unsuspecting young Roman and his brave and distinguished father. Javan had on some recent occasions shown a less sanguinary spirit than he had given him credit for, and had even pleaded for mercy, where fanaticism and prejudice were not excited against the intended victims. But Simon could hardly doubt of his willingness to assist in an enterprise that promised the capture of a Roman officer, who had dared to propose to a Jewish maid that she should forsake her home and her parents, and fly to the camp of her country's foes. Naomi's letter did not enable Simon to discover that the writer of it was the sister of his zealous adherent Javan, for no name was subscribed to it; but it gave him cause to suspect, from some pious expressions of hope and confidence which it contained, that the damsel who thus held a correspondence with the enemy was a Nazarene, and that he whom she addressed was also a member of that detested religion. This circumstance made him decide on entrusting Javan with the secret, and he sent to desire his immediate presence. The letter was put into his hand as soon as he entered the room, with a brief explanation of the manner in which it had been received; and Javan recognised hie sister's peculiarly beautiful handwriting. His colour came and went, and the compression of his lip, and strong contraction of his brow bespoke the painful emotions which were excited by the perusal. Simon watched his countenance, and wondered at the powerful excitement depicted there.
"Ha! my friend," he said, "this effusion of a Jewish maiden's love for a Gentile foe moves you to wrath. It is well; you will the more readily give me your counsel and your assistance in punishing the audacious Roman, and discovering which of the daughters of Zion has been found so weak and criminal as to bestow her affections on an infidel. It is evident that they have long been acquainted, and have carried on their iniquitous attachment for a considerable time; but as yet the girl has resisted the solicitations of the Roman to fly with him from her parents. We must secure him, Javan. We must secure him this very night, and force him by tortures to confess what unhappy maiden he has thus beguiled from her duty as a child of Israel. And mark these concluding passages, Javan—do they not betoken the writer to be a believer in the crucified impostor, and that the man she thus so sinfully loves is of the same obnoxious creed?"
"Yes, Simon, I see and comprehend it all. And this maiden is my sister—my beautiful and once holy sister Naomi, who was then the object of my pride, and the hope and joy of our family. I knew that her soul had been polluted with the vile doctrines of the Nazarenes,—I knew also that the childish attachment that once subsisted between her and the son of Rufus the centurion was not effaced from her memory by his long absence from Jerusalem. But I never dreamed of this shame. She met Marcellus lately when she went to Joppa with my father. I knew it, but I was so much engaged with public affairs that it passed from my thoughts again, and I never inquired whether he had sought to gain her affections. Indeed the very fact that she had embraced the Nazarene heresy made me feel secure, for I knew that she would never bestow her hand or her heart on any one who differed from her in religion. I did not suspect that this Roman infidel would basely pretend to share her creed in order to obtain her love. He shall, however, meet the just punishment of his audacity and his hypocrisy. He has affected to be a Christian, and he shall die the death of a Christian. Thus shall we escape all possibility of the disgrace which he would bring upon us. My father must be informed of this; and doubtless he will take decisive measures to prevent all further correspondence between his daughter and the Gentile youth, even if we should fail to secure him this evening. But, Simon, no injury must be attempted against Naomi. She is my sister, and though I love but few of my fellow-creatures, I do love her. She must be spared, and given time to repent, and to save her immortal soul."
"I care not for the foolish maiden," replied the fierce son of Gioras, "so that we get possession of this bold young soldier and his father. I have heard of Rufus, and I doubt not that his son is as worthy of an enemy's death as the old centurion."
"He always was courageous even to foolhardiness," replied Javan; "but he has no deep subtlety or profound cunning to devise and carry on a plot. I marvel how he has deceived my sister, who has so much quickness and penetration, and made her believe that he has abandoned his heathen idols, and adopted the no less impious worship of the Nazarenes. It is for this that he must die. As an enemy to Jerusalem I scorn him, and the vaunted troop to which he belongs. Let us go forth and organize a chosen band on whom we can depend for our enterprise this evening. They will meet with a gallant resistance unless they can fall on these Romans by surprise."
Javan and the chief captain left the house and repaired to the scene of contest that was almost incessantly maintained beneath the temple walls. There, amidst the noise and carnage that surrounded them, they selected from among the followers of Simon a strong body of resolute and powerful men, whom they commanded to be in readiness at sunset, and to repair at that hour to the water-gate, where they should receive further directions, and be led to the spot where their best services would be required.
The intervening hours were passed as usual in fierce and murderous conflict between the rival factions, in which nothing was gained by either party, and much blood and strength were wasted that should have been reserved for the defence of the city against the common enemy.
Before the blazing sun had sunk behind the western hills the chosen company were assembled at the appointed gate; and ere long they were joined by their commander and Javan. Simon gave the order for the heavy gate to be thrown open, and they all passed through and descended to the thick and fertile gardens that still lay uninjured along the lovely banks of Kedron. There the men were disposed among the dark trees and shrubs in such positions as would enable them to intercept the retreat of any persons who should enter the garden of Zadok. The signal was arranged by which Javan should give them notice to make the attack, and with the last rays of departing daylight the wily son of Gioras returned to the city, leaving the execution of the plot in the hands of his friend.
He passed along the dusky streets, now silent and deserted, for the peaceable inhabitants feared to venture beyond their own doors after sunset; and those of the combatants on either side who were not engaged in keeping a watch on the motions of their opponents, had retired to seek a short repose after the fatigues of the day. The silence was only interrupted by the occasional shouts of those bands of robbers who nightly issued forth to commit fresh acts of violence, and strike fresh terror into the hearts of the wearied and miserable inhabitants. Simon looked around him as he ascended the narrow street that led from the water-gate towards the centre of the town, and when he entered the spacious court in which his own dwelling was situated, he paused to contemplate the desolate scene around him. Not a human being was moving in that magnificent area which was wont to be thronged with a gay and busy populace; but on the pavement lay many a mangled and unburied corpse, slain by the swords and the daggers of their own countrymen, and left a prey to the hungry and ferocious dogs that prowled day and night through the city, and contended fiercely for the unnatural meal. Scarcely a light glimmered forth from the windows of the magnificent dwellings that composed the square. Every gate and every door was closed and strongly barred, to guard against the intrusion of robbers and assassins; while the inhabitants sought, in the most retired of their apartments, a temporary cessation of suffering and alarm.