"When," exclaimed Simon, as he contrasted the present and the past conditions of the glorious city, "when shall Zion again resume her throne, and sit as the queen of nations! Her crown is in the dust—her children are in sadness and in shame—her enemies roar against her as a young lion. But they shall not prevail. The lion of the tribe of Judah shall yet appear in time to succour her, and her foes shall be driven away as the chaff before the wind. Why, O great Messiah! is thy coming so long delayed?"
The son of Gioras was interrupted in the loud expression of his wild and visionary hopes by the sudden apparition of the mysterious prophet. He emerged from the dark shadow of a neighbouring portico, and attracted perhaps by the voice of Simon, he crossed the square and approached him, chanting, in his usual sad, unearthly tone:
"Woe to the bloody and rebellious city;And woe to those who dwell therein!Woe to thee, Simon! Woe to the great assassin!A voice against Jerusalem and against the temple;A voice against the whole people!Woe, woe, woe!"
Simon's feelings were excited by his own lofty expectations to which he had just given utterance; and the boding note of the prophet sounded discordantly on his ear. Many times had he heard his voice before, and once he had cruelly commanded him to be scourged, in order to silence his melancholy cry, though without the least effect; but never had his burden of woe sunk into his own spirit, with a feeling of awe and dread until night, and he resolved that it should move him thus no more.
"Thy woes be to thyself, thou false prophet," he cried, "and thy curses light on thine own head! There, I send thee to the prince of darkness, whose messenger thou art; and tell him that Zion defies him, and all the powers he can send against her. The Lord of Hosts is with us."
As he uttered this daring and ill-founded boast, he cast a spear at the son of Ananus, who stood calmly listening to his words of wrath. The weapon flew with violence, and Simon expected to see his victim fall on the ground transfixed. But it passed harmless by, as though the prophet were gifted with a charmed life. Simon drew his sword, and rushed on the wasted form before him; but with a speed that mocked his utmost efforts at pursuit, the son of Ananus fled away, and even in his flight continued to exclaim:
"Woe to the great assassin!Woe, woe, woe!"
Breathless and exasperated, Simon returned and entered his house, with vows of vengeance on the man who had thus denounced him and then eluded his arm. He issued strict orders that very night that the wild prophet should be diligently searched for the next day, and brought in fetters to his presence.
"I will silence his ominous croaking," he continued, "nor suffer him any longer to go about our city adding to the terrors of the people, and shaking their faith in the coming deliverance that is so surely revealed."
The Roman army was encamped in all its strength and glory in the Valley of Thorns. From the neighbouring heights the towers and walls of Jerusalem were distinctly visible, and many times did Marcellus ascend to the highest summit and gaze with intense anxiety towards that part of the city where the dwelling of Zadok was situated. Oh! what dangers would he not have encountered to find himself under that well-known roof, and thus be permitted to protect and save his beloved Naomi, or perish with her in the destruction which he well foresaw was rapidly approaching! It was impossible for him, under any pretext, to enter the city, and therefore he had ventured—though with fears and doubts as to the reception of his proposition—to address to Naomi the letter which has already been mentioned, and which did not reach her hand until the day after it was delivered by him to the officer on guard at the gate.
It has been seen what was the nature of her reply, and how, by the treachery of Reuben, it came into the possession of the cruel Simon, instead of reaching him for whom it was intended. Marcellus hardly hoped that Naomi would be able to send him any answer, but he failed not to repair to the appointed spot, accompanied by his kind-hearted father and a chosen band of soldiers on the evening of the same day on which he had carried the packet of letters to the city gate. Of course he waited in vain for any communication from Naomi that night, for his letter was then lying unheeded in the folds of the careless soldier's garment, and the same disappointment met him the following evening also. Nevertheless he was not discouraged, but he resolved to go again and again to the garden of Zadok, so long as it was possible for the object of his anxious care to come forth from the dangers that surrounded her, and claim his protection. Rufus also attended his son each night, that if the maiden should venture to meet them, she might have the comfort and the sanction of his presence.
The third evening arrived; and again Marcellus and his companions left the camp, and proceeded by a secluded path over the hills to the valley of Jehosaphat. The short twilight had almost faded away when they crossed the brook and entered the garden, and the overhanging trees, now thick with luxuriant foliage, effectually concealed them from the observation of the guard who patrolled along the wall of the city. They remained silently watching for some time, when at length they heard the sound of footsteps softly approaching, and the name of Marcellus uttered in a low whisper. The young soldier paused not to ascertain from whose lips the welcome sound proceeded; he did not doubt that it was either Naomi or her attendant who called him, and he sprang forth to meet her. The night was cloudy and dark, and for a moment Marcellus did not discover the deceit that had been practised upon him. He saw indistinctly a group of persons among the shrubs and flowers, and he believed that his beloved was in the midst of them, awaiting his approach. He hurried forward, exclaiming,
"Where are you, my Naomi? Haste, haste, and let us bear you away to safety."
"Audacious Roman!" replied Javan, fiercely; "Naomi is safer than with heathens and idolaters. You shall soon be within the same proud walls that guard her from danger, but you shall no more have power to tempt her by your arts to forget her father's house and her father's God!"
So saying, Javan rushed upon the astonished young Roman, while his attendants commenced a furious conflict with Rufus and his followers. The Jewish party were the most numerous; but the Romans were superior in their weapons, and they fought with a desperate resolution to defend their officers, to whom they were devotedly attached. Several were wounded on both sides, and the noise of the combat attracted the attention of the guard who were stationed at the nearest gate. They quickly assembled in a strong body, and sallied forth to the assistance of Javan, and in a few minutes the brave company of Romans must have been surrounded and defeated, had not Clodius, who was one of the number, perceived the glancing of the Jewish army through the trees, and guessed that fresh enemies were approaching. The moment he had discovered that Javan was the leader of their antagonists, he had rushed towards him, in the hope of revenging the breach of faith of which the Jew had been guilty towards him, when he escaped so treacherously from his custody while a prisoner in the Roman camp. All his efforts were directed against him alone, and he would gladly have sacrificed his life if he could have slain Javan also. Probably he would have succeeded in his desperate attempt, had he not observed the coming reinforcement; but then his attachment to Marcellus outweighed his private animosity, and leaving the scene of conflict, he flew back to the spot beyond the brook where the horses and the litter had been placed ready for the expected removal of Naomi beyond the reach of pursuit.
He seized the horses of Rufus and Marcellus, and in an instant returned to the spot where they were contending for liberty and life, calling loudly to them at the same time to mount and fly before the Jewish guard should arrive and overpower their small band. They disengaged themselves from their antagonists, and sprang on their gallant steeds; but they did not then desert their devoted followers. With desperate valour they covered their retreat, and by the strength of their well-trained chargers drove back their assailants and kept them at bay, until they were joined by the band who came to their aid. By that time all their own men were mounted, when, as the Jews rushed forward with their combined force, Rufus gave the word of command, and the undaunted troop of Roman cavalry were in a moment scouring down the valley, far beyond the reach of their enemies' swords or lances.
Javan's rage and disappointment knew no bounds. All regard to his sister's feelings—all the compassion that had once been excited by the fate of Theophilus and the sorrow of his relatives—were forgotten, and he burned to plunge his sword to the heart of the Roman who had won the affection of Naomi, and escaped the chastisement which such presumptuous boldness deserved at the hands of every true son of Abraham. He returned with his discomfited followers to the city, and immediately repaired to the house of Simon, to inform him of the ill-success of their enterprise. The chieftain was almost as much disappointed as his colleague, for he had ardently desired to get the brave centurion and his noble son into his power. But his expectations, and those of Javan, had failed; and now they could only endeavour to keep the attempt a secret from Naomi. Reuben was summoned from his place of confinement, and made to swear that he would never reveal the occurrences which had taken place; and then Javan commanded him to go to Deborah in the morning, as had been agreed, and claim the promised reward for his faithful performance of the commission entrusted to him. He directed him to assure her that he had himself seen Marcellus in the garden, and given her young mistress's letter into his own hand, and witnessed his grief and disappointment at reading its contents. The wily Reuben promised to use great discretion and subtlety in preventing the suspicions of Deborah, and left the house, rejoiced to find himself again at liberty and safe from the custody of the terrible Simon.
He told his well-invented story to the credulous old Deborah, who instantly gave him the liberal reward that was intended as a recompense for his fidelity, and hastened to communicate to Naomi the supposed success of her mission. Naomi was satisfied. She grieved for the sorrow which she had caused to Marcellus, but she felt that she had acted according to the dictates of her own conscience and her strong sentiments of filial piety; and she tried to banish all selfish regrets, by hastening to the apartment of her beloved mother, and devoting herself as usual to her comfort. In the effort to cheer her spirits, which had lately become most deeply depressed, she forgot all her own peculiar causes of anxiety, and found a reward for every personal sacrifice in observing that while she conversed with her, and cautiously spoke of her own hopes in her Redeemer, and her own consolation in every trial, the countenance of Salome became more animated, and her sadness gradually passed away. Oh if the interest which her mother already appeared to feel in the wondrous scheme of redemption through Jesus Christ might be deepened and strengthened, and at length, by the grace of God, become a steadfast and a saving faith—what joy would be hers! How gladly, to further that all-important object, would she forego all hopes of earthly happiness for herself, and patiently wait for a glorious reward in Heaven, where all her cares and sorrows would end, and where she might be permitted to meet him who now possessed her affections, to be separated no more for ever!
She looked on the pale cheek and wasted form of Salome, and blessed God that she had refused to leave her or even to let her know that an asylum of perfect safety had been offered to her. Salome expected and dreaded the result of the attack of the Roman army; and often she shuddered to think what might be the fate of her cherished and beloved child if the Gentile conquerors became masters of the city. She felt that her own strength was declining rapidly, and she believed that ere that terrible event took place her eyes would be closed in death, and behold not the destruction that ever attended a Roman conquest. But how much more peacefully would she have awaited death if she could have known that Naomi was safe with those who had power to protect her and make her happy!
All these anxious fears were not concealed from Naomi, and therefore it was that she refrained from telling her mother of the letter she had received from Marcellus. But she read to her the epistle of Claudia; and from the expressions of Christian faith and resignation which it contained, she took occasion to speak of the blessed peace that was to be found in the Gospel doctrines, and the support which they afforded to every sincere and humble believer, under all the most trying dispensations of Providence.
"Naomi, my child," said Salome, with an expression of anxious doubt on her countenance, "it is from listening too much to your discourse on those subjects that I have lost the peace that once possessed my soul. While my faith in the holy religion which we have received from our fathers, and which was taught by God himself, was unshaken, I was tranquil and satisfied. I fulfilled all the requirements of the law as far as I was able, and trusted to the merit of the appointed sacrifices to atone for my deficiencies in the eyes of a holy and a merciful Jehovah. But now that trust is gone. I have begun to feel that the blood of lambs and goats cannot wipe away my many and grievous sins, and my soul is tossed with fear and doubt. I cannot put my confidence in the crucified Jesus so fully as you would have me do; I cannot cast myself, and all the burden of my sin, on him, in full assurance of pardon, for my faith in him is very weak. Oh that I could surely know that he was indeed the promised Messiah!"
"My dearest mother," replied Naomi, "I bless my Heavenly Father for the words you have spoken. Surely He hath begun the work of salvation in your soul, and He will accomplish it to the end. Your very doubts and fears are an evidence that his Holy Spirit is striving with you; and I shall yet see you among his believing people, enjoying that peace which was the gift of Jesus to his disciples, and which nothing in this world can either give or take away."
"May God grant it, Naomi," said Salome, in a dejected tone, "but I never expect to feel perfect peace on earth. I have lived for many years in contempt of the Saviour whom you would have me to worship, and serve, and love as a God. And if he is indeed the Christ, how can I hope that he will pardon my past neglect, and accept a faith so poor and weak as mine? I shall not live to prove whether it is sincere or not; and I dare not say that if I met with persecution or even opposition for his sake, I should have strength to confess him and to maintain my belief. Oh no, Naomi; my heart is not like yours or our poor Theophilus's—and Jesus must despise it."
"Oh say not so, dear mother," said Naomi: "you have more faith in your Redeemer than you allow yourself to believe. Were it not so, you would not be so anxious to be pardoned and accepted by him. And were your doubts tenfold more powerful than they are, Jesus would not turn his face from you, for he has promised to receiveallwho come to him in sincerity, and in no wise to cast them out."
"While I hear you tell of his condescending mercy and love to sinners, I always feel comfort, Naomi: but when I am alone and remember my own utter unworthiness, then I doubt whether that mercy and love can extend to me. I have sinfully neglected him, and even striven to banish from my mind the impression that long ago your conversation and that of Amaziah made on me. I feared to displease your father more than the God of my salvation; and preferred a blind confidence in the superiority of that religion which he professed, to a diligent inquiry into the truth of the Christian doctrines. I did not even at that time pray that I might be led into the right way, for I wished to remain in the Jewish faith; and can I hope that such perverseness should be forgotten, and such hardness of heart pardoned? O Naomi, I have suffered much in the last few months. I do believe that the Lord has been striving with my spirit, though I resisted his influence; but day by day that influence has become stronger, and my desire to know the truth more urgent. While you and your father were absent at Joppa, I gave much time to meditation; and I believe I was sincere in asking my Heavenly Father to bring me to himself, and make me his own accepted child, however trying to flesh and blood might be the means which his love and wisdom should see necessary to wean my soul from all its false dependencies, and its attachment to the things of earth. I prayed also that the true way of acceptance with him might be made known to me; and that I might be taught to renounce all that was erroneous in the manner in which I had hitherto worshipped Him, and enabled to discover and embrace that faith which would make me pure in his eyes, and meet for the kingdom of Heaven."
"Then I no longer wonder, my dearest mother, that you have taken such an increased interest in the truths of our holy religion since that time. God has heard your prayer, and graciously inclined your heart to receive the light of the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ. I have greatly rejoiced ever since my return home, to find that you not only permitted me to speak unreservedly of my Lord and Saviour, but that you took delight in the subject, and always seemed to be cheered and enlivened by it; but I did not know that this was in answer to your own supplications. Oh, I thank our merciful God who gave you the spirit to ask so humbly and sincerely, and then in his love and mercy granted your request."
"Yes, Naomi, it is all his work. If at last I am saved through Jesus Christ, what a monument of his goodness shall I be!"
"And is it not equally a miracle of grace, that any one of us should be saved?" replied Naomi. "Are not all of our fallen race by nature dead in trespasses and sins, until the Spirit of the Lord takes away our stony heart and gives us a heart of flesh? What pride, and presumption, and self-righteousness once defiled my whole soul; and yet did my Saviour call me to believe in him, and enable me to trust wholly and unreservedly to his merits for pardon and salvation! I have never known a single believer in Jesus who did not look on his own salvation as a wonder of grace and mercy, and those who have attained to the greatest degrees of holiness, and have been enabled in some degree to imitate the perfect example set forth by their Divine Master, have ever been those who have also most deeply felt their own natural depravity, and most gratefully acknowledged that all their attainments here, and all their hopes hereafter, were the free gift of God. Do not then, dear mother, doubt his power and willingness to save you: 'If the blood of bulls and goats, and the ashes of an heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctify to the purifying of the flesh, how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works, to serve the living God!'"
"Yes, my child, I believe indeed that Jesus has the power, and I will try also to believe that he has the will, to save and pardon even me. It is a wonderful thing that God should give his Son to die for us: and if that be really true, nothing is too great to expect from his love towards his sinful creatures."
"Oh, eternal thanks be to God," exclaimed Naomi, fervently, "for this confession of your faith in Jesus, as his Son, and your own Saviour, my mother! May he strengthen that faith day by day, and enable you to triumph in his great salvation."
"Naomi," replied Salome, "it is not in my nature to feel all that holy trust and confidence that seems to inspire your more ardent soul. While I remain in this world, I shall ever be subject to fears and timorous doubts. But pray for me, that my faith may not altogether fail—that I may be enabled to take comfort in it when the hour of death approaches, as it surely will ere long."
Naomi turned away to hide the rising tear that dimmed her eye at her mother's prophetic words. she was well assured that they were words of truth; and she had for some time past endeavoured to prepare herself for the bereavement that was rapidly approaching her; but she could not contemplate it without deep emotion, or watch the silent change that was taking place in that beloved mother's pallid countenance and wasting form, without feeling that all her trust in God would be required to enable her to bear the separation.
She paused a moment to regain her composure, and then replied,
"If it pleases our God and Father to take you to himself, he will support your faith, my mother, and give you victory over every fear and every temptation. Trust in Him, and Him alone, and he will be your guide ever unto death. His rod and his staff they shall comfort you; and while you lean on Him for support, he will not suffer your foot to slide."
"Bless thee, my child," said Salome affectionately; "what a comfort has God given me in you! Nothing has so strongly shown me the power and the holiness of the religion which you now profess, as the change which it has worked in your character, and the spirit of joy and consolation and meekness and gentleness that it has imparted to you. When we meet hereafter before the throne of God, it will be my pride to remember that you, my Naomi, pointed out to me the way thither, and your bright example allured me into it."
"Cease, cease, dear mother!" cried Naomi: "oh, do not thus rob God of the honour that is all his own, to give any part to a sinful creature like me. If he has been pleased to make me the humble instrument of revealing to you the way of salvation by faith in Jesus Christ, to Him be all the glory and all the praise. Throughout eternity I will bless Him for the privilege, and declare my own unworthiness. Oh that I had grace and strength to act up to the spirit of those doctrines which I so feebly endeavour to impart to you! But I have need of teaching on every point; and were it not for the grace of my Redeemer, and the power of his Holy Spirit, I should fall into sin each hour of my life. How many are my provocations of Him every day, notwithstanding all his mercy to me! It is only by constant prayer that my sins may be blotted out afresh, and washed away in his atoning blood, that I can in any degree preserve my confidence that I am pardoned and accepted by Him. Let me entreat you to use the same humble means, and you too, my mother, will find rest to your soul, and be enabled to glory in the hope of your free forgiveness and everlasting glory."
"I have already found some consolation in prayer, Naomi, since I have offered it in the name of Jesus. I can feel more confidence that God has pardoned me, when I am enabled to believe that his only Son has shed his blood to take away my sins, than when I trusted in the blood of sacrifices to make a propitiation for them. I see now that those sacrifices could never take away sin."
"They were but the types and shadows of the good things to come," answered Naomi, "and served to point out the one great sacrifice which should at length be offered. I would to God that our deluded nation would now see the worthlessness of all those forms and ceremonies that belonged to the old covenant, and would heartily embrace the new covenant which the blessed Son of God has revealed to mankind. It is a grief to my heart, a bitter grief, to see my dear and honoured father and my zealous brother yet in the bondage of the law, and despising the glorious liberty of the disciples of Christ. Their souls are in subjection to things which cannot profit them; and the zeal and devotion that would do honour to the cause of Him who died to save them, are devoted to the support of vain traditions and customs that are derived from men. They think to glorify Almighty God by their obedience to these customs of our fathers, but how much more acceptably would they honour Him by casting off their prejudices and receiving Jesus of Nazareth as his anointed Son. O my dearest mother, will not you exert your influence to bring both my father and Javan out of the way of error?"
"I dare not speak to them on such a subject, Naomi. The words would die away unuttered. I am too weak in body and in spirit to contend with them, and they would but despise my feeble voice. Perhaps also their arguments would shake my own faith, which is so little established. I will pray for them, my child, as you have prayed for me; and may God give the same success to my petitions."
Naomi forbore to urge her mother to attempt the conversion of Zadok and her son, for she saw how unequal she was to such an effort. Indeed the conversation which she had just held with her had exhausted her strength and excited her feelings more than she was well able to bear; and her daughter entreated her to seek repose on a couch which was always placed for her upon the terrace. This was a favourite situation with Salome, as it enabled her to enjoy the pure air that blew over the mountains of Olivet and the lovely view that extended beneath them. The terrace also was adorned with many a marble vase, in which grew beautiful and aromatic plants; and these were carefully tended by Naomi, and arranged near her mother's resting-place. It was a peaceful spot in the midst of that turbulent city; but even there the distant shouts of violence and conflict were heard, and Naomi brought her harp, that by its music and her own sweet voice she might draw away her mother's attention from the sounds of discord that always excited her fears and her grief.
She continued to sing in a low, gentle tone, until Salome, soothed by the sound and refreshed by the breeze, sank into a quiet sleep; when Naomi laid aside her harp, and indulged in grateful meditation on the discussion which she had just held with her mother. It is true the faith which she had heard her express was both weak and wavering—clouded with doubts and obscured by prejudices. Yet it was evident that she was sincere in her inquiry after the truth, and really desirous of knowing the will of her Heavenly Father, that she might do it. Therefore Naomi was very confident that her mother would not be long left in uncertainty as to the way in which she should seek the salvation of herself; for Jesus himself had said, "If any man will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God." What comfort did the remembrance of this promise bring now to the heart of Naomi; and how earnestly did she thank her merciful Redeemer, who had left such words for the encouragement of all who seek him in sincerity, however small their knowledge or weak their faith! She trusted that her beloved mother would yet be spared for some time, and enabled, before she should be called hence, to make a full profession of her trust and confidence in the merits of her Saviour. She hoped that when her last hours should arrive they might be cheered and illumined by such a sense of pardon and acceptance as should deprive death of all its terrors, and make her more than conqueror over all that now she greatly dreaded; and that then, when life was fading away, and eternity appeared in all its awful reality, she might be able to lay aside her fears and scruples, and tell to Zadok on what her soul was trusting, and whence she derived her peace and joy. But should it please the Lord of life and death to hasten her mother's departure, and deny her the privilege of bearing a triumphant testimony in her dying hours to his power and will to save sinners, yet Naomi felt that she should have no fears for her salvation—no doubts that when her flesh and her heart failed, God would be the strength of her heart and her portion for ever.
"O God!" she softly ejaculated, "I thank Thee for this blessed hope! May I but hold my own faith steadfast unto the end of my pilgrimage; and then, when I stand before Thy throne, I shall see my mother, my own beloved mother, among the countless throng that shall assemble there, having washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb! But where, oh, where will my father be found in that great day? and where shall Javan stand? Can it be, O Lord Almighty! that their blindness shall exclude them from Thy presence? Shall they suffer the wrath of the Lamb if they continue to despise his mercy? O Lord God, Thou knowest. Thou knowest how much of their blindness is wilful, and whether their hearts are upright in Thy sight; and Thou art very merciful."
Naomi buried her face in her hands, and wept. She could pray and hope for the conversion of those she loved so dearly, but the present state of their souls made her shudder. She knew that a heavy judgment was coming speedily upon Jerusalem—the hand of the avenger was already stretched forth to smite the city and her inhabitants; and there was but one way opened for escape—but one refuge into which sinners might flee and be safe for ever. That way was despised by Zadok, and hated and blasphemed by Javan—how could it then avail to save them? Naomi could not look into the decrees of God, or foresee what His providence should ordain concerning her father and brother. She could not look into their hearts and discover the degree of their responsibility and their guilt. She could only bow in trembling submission to His just decrees, and pour out her soul in fervent supplication that they might yet repent and be converted, ere the days of destruction should come, and there should be none to help them. She was still engaged in deep and anxious thought when Salome awoke, and looked up at her daughter with a smile of greater contentment and peace than Naomi had seen on her countenance for several months.
"I have been dreaming of former happy days," she said, "when you and Javan and our poor Theophilus were merry children playing together on this terrace; and Claudia and Marcellus were with us too. I was thoughtless, and well pleased to be so, at that time, Naomi; but I am happier now, in my present weak, declining state, with sorrows, and cares, and miseries around me, than I ever was while I was ignorant of what Jesus has done for my soul. I dreamed just now that I saw you all in childish mirth, playing among the flowers at the end of the terrace; and while I looked at the joyous group, a bright and glorious being descended from above, and called to Theophilus to come out from the rest of his companions and prepare for Heaven. How joyfully the boy complied! and how gratefully he looked up to Him who had thus chosen him for himself! Then the heavenly visitant summoned you, my Naomi; and with equal readiness you left your childish sports, and I saw the light that shone from the divine countenance of him who called you reflected in your own. Marcellus and Claudia were both afterwards summoned: and I looked to see my son also placed in the chosen band; but no—he stood aloof, and though the same voice of mercy called to him, he did not move. The glorious being turned from him with a look rather of sorrow than of anger, and then he spoke to me. I did not heed his words at first, and many times he called me ere I even tried to rise and obey; but at length he came and took my hand and drew me forward, and placed me by your side. O then my eyes were opened, and I saw a multitude of angelic creatures around us, clothed in white; and they sang a song of triumph, because the Lord of their salvation had looked in mercy upon us also, and had joined us to their happy company. I looked for Javan and for Zadok that I might call them to join us, and share our felicity, but I could not see them—the terrace and all that I had seen before had vanished away; and then I woke with a feeling of peace that I have never known before. O Naomi, I believe that I shall soon realise that happy vision, and that all I love best on earth will be partakers of the same joy. If I did not trust that Zadok would surely be of the number, I fear that even the prospect of Heaven would not now make me feel satisfied. And Javan too—my poor mistaken son! His errors of faith have led him into grievous sins. May the Lord pardon him the death of Theophilus! Your father's life has been one of devoted obedience to what he believed to be the will of God, and of unwearied benevolence to his fellow-creatures. Surely he will be accepted of the Lord, though he may die in ignorance of Him for whose sake alone his sins are pardoned and his obedience rewarded. But Javan gives me far more anxiety. His zeal is so mixed up with cruelty—his temper is so unhumbled—and his conduct so fearfully opposed to the love and mercy and charity that ought to characterize all pardoned sinners, that I cannot think of him without fear and dread. Oh, in what part of God's revealed will did he learn to persecute his own brethren? Where did he read that it was an acceptable offering to the Lord of all goodness to shed the blood of one who dwelt at peace with him, and worshipped the same God, and hoped for the same Heaven, though he differed from him as to the foundation of those hopes?"
"May his spirit be enlightened to see his errors," replied Naomi; "and may he yet find pardon. He was less cruel to Theophilus than you believe, mother. He thought he was making a last effort to save the soul of our poor cousin from the devices of Satan. I fear that much of personal animosity was mingled with that feeling, and urged him to execute his fatal enterprise against his liberty; but I do believe that his anger was softened and his hatred subdued after Theophilus was in his power. And when he saw his noble conduct, and witnessed his unshrinking courage, I do believe that he pitied and admired him, and regretted the step into which his own misguided zeal had hurried him."
"Then why did he not save his life, Naomi? Surely he had power to obtain his release."
"Alas, mother, pride and fanaticism forbade his openly pardoning a Nazarene, even if his hard-hearted colleagues would have consented to it. But speak to him on the subject, and hear his own feelings and his own thoughts; and you will pity him more, and perhaps blame him less."
As Naomi spoke Javan himself appeared on the terrace. His father had met him, actively engaged in the business of the civil warfare, and had told him with deep sorrow that his mother was far less well than when he had last seen her, and that he began to entertain very serious alarm about her. Javan was shocked at this announcement, for he really loved his mother; and though he had seen her look pale and feeble for some time past, he had not admitted the idea that her life was in danger. He eagerly inquired of Zadok whether the rabbi Joazer, who acted the part of a physician as well as of a spiritual adviser, in the family, considered her illness in so serious a light, and whether any further medical aid could be obtained in the city.
His father assured him that everything was done for the invalid that human skill could devise, but that he feared her naturally delicate constitution had suffered so much from sorrow and anxiety, that she would never rally again, though she might yet linger for a considerable time. This, he added, was also the opinion of the rabbi. Javan's heart smote him, for he remembered how much he had contributed, by his conduct towards Theophilus, and also by his harshness to Naomi, in harassing the mind of his gentle and affectionate mother, and laying on her a heavy burden of woe, which she had not strength to bear. He hastened homewards, and when he reached his father's house, of late so seldom visited by him, he felt a degree of remorse while he thought how he had been a cause of constant sorrow to its inmates, instead of being their support and joy. He proceeded to the terrace with softened feelings, and approached his mother with a kindness and gentleness of manner that were very unusual. Encouraged by this, Salome conversed freely with him; and Naomi, seeing that sha looked tranquil and happy, left her with her son, while she retired to attend to some domestic arrangements with Deborah.
The conversation that ensued on her departure, between Javan and his mother, was extremely interesting; and whatever was the subject of it, it tended in a great degree to remove the gloom that hung on Salome's spirits; and Naomi found her more cheerful on her return than she had ever been since the apprehension of Theophilus, and all the sad scenes which had followed that unhappy event.
Vaults of the HaremVaults of the Harem
Marcellus and his father reached the Roman camp in safety on the preceding night, when they escaped from the plan laid by Simon and Javan for their destruction. As they descended the hill that lay between Jerusalem and the Valley of Thorns, the vast encampment lay before them like a fortified city. A large space had been cleared and levelled by the pioneers; and there, in an incredibly short time, the camp was formed according to the usual plan of the Roman army. It was an exact square, and surrounded on every side by a strong rampart about twelve feet high, the top of which was armed with a line of almost impenetrable palisades; and a ditch, twelve feet wide and twelve deep, also ran at the foot of the rampart as a further security. These prodigious works were executed by the soldiers themselves, who were accustomed to use a spade or a pickaxe with almost as much readiness as a sword or spear, and were always kept employed in some useful manner by their commanders when not engaged in the actual duties of warfare. A vacant space of two hundred feet in width was left inside the ramparts, and the tents were pitched in the remaining portion of the vast enclosure. They were arranged so as to form broad and straight streets, and in the centre of the whole rose the lofty and magnificent pavilions of Titus, ornamented with the emblem of the eagle, so sacred in the eyes of every Roman soldier. A strong tower had been already erected at each corner of the camp, and the intervening space withinside the rampart was lined with scorpions, catapultas, balistas, and other ponderous and dreadful engines of destruction. A handsome gate was placed in the rampart on each side of the encampment, sufficiently wide to admit the broad and heavy waggons and military carriages that attended the movements of the army; and also of strong detachments of troops sallying forth with unbroken ranks.
The strictest order and decorum were preserved throughout this populous camp, which were rigidly enforced by the general and his subordinate officers. The soldiers were summoned by the sound of trumpets to their regular meals, and the same signal warned them when it was time to retire to rest, or to arise and begin the business of the day. The clear blast of the evening trumpet was sounding through the camp when Rufus and Marcellus entered the gateway; and ere they reached the quarters of Titus the wide streets were almost deserted, and none remained abroad except those whose duty it was to patrol the different districts, and keep watch while their comrades slept.
The expedition in which Marcellus had that night been engaged was known and permitted by the general, with whom he was a great favourite. Titus had listened with considerable interest to the story of his attachment to the young Jewess, and would willingly have done anything in his power to rescue her from the dangers to which she must soon be exposed; but no open measures could be of any avail, and he could only hope that the scheme of his young friend might be crowned with success. He allowed him to take from the ranks of his own troop such a number of men as he might think sufficient for his purpose, and gave orders that he and his attendants should be permitted to pass unquestioned through the gates of the camp at any hour, either of the day or night. He had sympathized in the disappointment of Marcellus, when on the two preceding evenings he had repaired to the garden in the Valley of Jehosaphat, and returned without any tidings of Naomi; but he encouraged him in his determination to visit the appointed spot on each following night, and wait in patient hope for better success. All that hope was now gone, and Marcellus hastened to his kind commander to communicate to him how all his expectations had been frustrated, and his fears that Naomi might even be subjected to oppression and restraint, in consequence of the discovery which had been made by her brother of his unsuccessful attempt to rescue her from impending evil.
The young soldier and his veteran father were immediately admitted into the presence of Titus, who was busily engaged in looking over plans and maps of Jerusalem and the surrounding country, and revolving in his mind the plans of future proceedings, and the best mode of commencing an attack on the rebellious city. He ceased from his employment on the entrance of his visitors, and heard the account of their meeting with Javan with attentive interest, and sincere commiseration with the mortified feelings of Marcellus. The only consolation which he could offer him was in the prospect of a speedy vengeance on the crafty Jew, and the possibility of saving and rescuing Naomi when the Roman arms should have conquered Zion, and a way should be opened for their entrance within her proud walls. But Marcellus knew that much of danger and suffering might befall his beloved Naomi long ere the courage and obstinacy of the Jews should be subdued, and the eagles glitter on the conquered towers of Jerusalem. He knew the unyielding and determined character of their opponents better even than Titus did, and he anticipated a long and desperate resistance to all their efforts. He shuddered at the idea of Naomi being exposed to all the privations and miseries, all the horrors and excesses of a besieged and vanquished city; and he retired to his own tent for the night, with feelings of anxiety and dread that effectually banished sleep from his eyes.
The signal for rising and engaging in active employment was welcome to him; and after the first and most solemn occupations of the day had engaged his attention in the retirement of his tent, he gladly went forth among his comrades, and tried to forget his own personal anxieties in the zealous performance of those duties which fell to his lot in the discipline of the camp. It was the custom in the Roman army for all the soldiers to repair in the morning to the centurions of their respective bands, and offer to them a respectful salutation. The centurions paid the same compliment to the tribunes, and they in their turn waited on the general or commanding officer, to proffer their services, and receive from him the watchword for the day, and the orders which they were to deliver to their inferior officers. These forms were attentively observed in the camp of Titus, and the tribune who presided over that part of the army to which the equestrian troop was attached, was commanded to prepare six hundred horsemen for an expedition to reconnoitre the wall of the city that morning. He was also desired to inform Marcellus that his attendance was required in the general's tent. He gladly obeyed the summons, for he hoped to be allowed to take a part in the intended movement; and any occupation of that kind was preferable to passing his time idly in the camp, and indulging his own painful reflections.
THE ESCAPE OF TITUS.THE ESCAPE OF TITUS.
He was not disappointed, for Titus immediately communicated to him his plans, and desired him to be in readiness to accompany him, as his personal attendant, in an hour's time. They sallied forth at the hour appointed, a gallant band of horsemen, splendidly mounted and equipped, and soon appeared on the summit of the heights that looked on the walls of Jerusalem. As they wound down the last declivities that sloped at the foot of the walls they gazed in astonishment at the turbulent city. Not a man appeared upon the battlements—not a sound of preparation for resistance or attack was heard; even the gates seemed to be deserted, and that scene of violence to be hushed in perfect peace and repose. Titus led his squadron to the right, and passing the angle of the wall which was guarded by the Women's Tower, to the north-east of the city, he filed off towards the Tower of Psephina, which occupied an important situation on the north-west side, near the upper fountain. Suddenly the gates behind him were thrown open, and a vast multitude rushed tumultuously forth, and threw themselves upon the troop of cavalry. Some succeeded in passing the squadron, and placed themselves across the road by which it was advancing, and others burst violently through their ranks and separated their enemies into two parties. Titus was cut off from the remainder of his troop, with Marcellus and a few other brave followers. He could not advance, for the ground before him was divided into orchards and gardens, fenced round with walls and deep ditches, besides broad watercourses that reached to the walls of the city. To retreat was almost as impossible, for thousands of his assailants crowded between him and his troops, to intercept his movements in that direction. Titus saw that the only chance of escape lay in a desperate effort of strength and courage. He called loudly to his men to keep close to him, and with Marcellus at his side he urged forward his noble steed and charged fiercely on those who opposed him. Hundreds of javelins and arrows were discharged at him, and every effort was made to obstruct his passage and secure his person; but though he wore neither helmet nor breastplate,—for he had not anticipated that he was going forth to battle,—yet he did not receive a single wound, but passed through the cloud of missiles unharmed. With his sword he cleared a passage before him, while his well-trained charger crushed beneath his feet the wounded enemies who fell around. Marcellus bravely seconded him, and thus did they cleave their way through the dense mass that surrounded them and shouted for their destruction. The undaunted courage of Titus and his young companion excited the admiring wonder of the Jews. They exhorted one another to rush forward and secure the inestimable prize that seemed within their reach; yet still they shrank away from the rapid strokes of his bloody sword and the irresistible force of his fiery steed, as he slowly and steadily made his way through the crowd. His band of devoted followers formed around him as well as they could, and with a trifling loss the party at length reached the Valley of Thorns, and escaped from their pursuers. Two only were missing from this brave company—one had been surrounded, and with his horse pierced with countless arrows and javelins—the other dismounted incautiously, and was instantly overpowered and slain, and his horse led away in triumph into the city.
The exultation and joy of the Jews at this event were unbounded. It is true but a small advantage had been gained, yet they regarded it as the happy presage of future victory. Titus himself, the noble and all-conquering Titus, had been forced to fly, and nothing now seemed too great for their hopes and expectations. The news ran through the city with the speed of lightning, and the superstitious inhabitants hailed it as a token that the Lord would give them the victory, and that His arm would now be stretched out to save them. Javan shared the general enthusiasm, and with his pious father gave thanks to the God of Israel for this token of his favour and protection; and Simon thought it politic to encourage the same feeling among his troops. In his own cold calculating heart he trusted more to the strength of his army than to the invisible arm of Jehovah; but he knew that the Jews, however sunk in sin, and regardless of the laws of the God and their fathers, yet looked on themselves as his own peculiar people, whom he would save and defend from all those who sought their ruin. Therefore he joined with Zadok and his ardent son in openly ascribing the late signal success to the special interposition of their Heavenly Father, and in exhorting his men to courage and perseverance, under the assurance that the Divine aid would attend all their efforts, and enable them to baffle every attempt of their foes to deprive them of their freedom or their inheritance.
Zadok returned to his home that evening full of bright hopes and holy confidence, and he endeavoured to inspire Salome and his daughter with the same feelings, but in vain. Naomi ever remembered the sad prophetic words once uttered by her Lord and Saviour, and she knew that the ruin of Jerusalem was drawing nigh. Salome too had learnt from her to believe that not one jot or tittle of what he had pronounced should ever pass away unfulfilled; and her own naturally timid and desponding disposition had made her more readily assent to the truth of his declarations of punishment and woe, than to his promises of pardon and acceptance. She could easily believe that her nation should be brought low and her beautiful city destroyed, for the wickedness of them that dwelt therein; but she could not so easily apply to herself the equally clear assurance that those who put their trust in the Lord should be safe under the shadow of his wings—that those who believed in the Son of God should be cleansed from all sin—pardoned, justified, saved, and glorified, without any merit of their own, or any claim on the mercy of an offended God, but a simple reliance on the atonement of his Son Jesus.
Salome's heart was weak, and when Zadok looked to see her pallid countenance lighted up with joy at the account which he gave her of her people's triumph, he was grieved to observe her turn away and weep. Gladly would she have told him all her fears and all her anxieties, but her courage failed her, and she could only show by her dejection that she was insensible to the hopes of temporal glory and prosperity that animated her husband's breast, and unable to reveal to him the eternal hopes that, however dimly and faintly, cheered her own spirit and lightened her earthly sorrows. Zadok attributed her depression of spirits entirely to her present weak state of health, and he gently reproached Naomi for not using better endeavours to amuse her mother's mind, and at the same time regretted that he was so much occupied in the discharge of his sacred duties, and in the affairs of the city, as to have but little leisure to devote to his wife. Had he suspected the subject which formed the chief and constant theme of discourse between Salome and his daughter during his absence from home, he would still more deeply have regretted the state of public affairs that had compelled him to leave them so much alone, and expose his beloved wife to a danger which he regarded as far more to be dreaded than any temporal evils.
He had contented himself with the conviction which he entertained of Salome's pious attachment to the religion in which she had been brought up, and her implicit submission to his judgment in all spiritual matters. He also felt assured that her mind was not of that active and inquiring nature that would lead her, like Naomi, to investigate any new opinions or receive the truth of any new doctrines. He knew that she had a great veneration for the rabbi Joazer, and had always considered his opinion as a rule of faith; and when he requested him to watch over her bodily sickness, he also charged him to lose no opportunity of strengthening and establishing her spiritual health. Thus he believed that he had no cause to fear that the heresy he so much dreaded would ever be communicated to her, and he was well satisfied that the devoted affection of Naomi should watch over her, and provide for her every comfort and attention that her present precarious state of health required. Little did this priest of the Most High God understand the power of that faith which he despised. Little did he know of those influences of the Holy Spirit which can change the whole nature of the soul, and infuse a thirst after the truth that nothing else can satisfy. Little did he know of that strength of the Lord Jesus, which is made perfect in our weakness, and which was then silently and gradually working in the soul of Salome, transforming her weakness into strength—her fears into holy confidence—and inspiring her with such an assured hope of pardon and eternal bliss as should at length shine forth resplendent amid the struggles of departing life, and make her triumphant over all that hitherto she had trembled to contemplate.
As yet this power from on high was not perfected in her soul, and she was in bondage to the fears of death and the occasional dread of God's wrath; and notwithstanding all the efforts which Naomi made again and again to chase away her fears and fill her with humble trust in the promised support of her Heavenly Father, and the atonement once offered on the cross to wipe away all her sins, she was subject to frequent temptations and doubts, that clouded her views and marred her peace.
Zadok knew nothing of all her spiritual trials, and he frequently talked to her of the joys that would be her portion, if it pleased the Lord to remove her from this world of care, and the reward that would follow her constant obedience to His laws, and her humble trust in His mercy towards His chosen people. But the ground of his hopes was not that on which Salome had learned to rest, and the humility which she had acquired at the foot of the cross made her shudder at the spirit of self-confidence that tarnished the piety even of the upright Zadok. Night and morning he prayed with her, and repeatedly he read the Scriptures to her: but the form of his supplications, however earnest, now sounded imperfect in her ears, and his comments on the word of inspiration grieved her heart. Oh, could she but have heard him, who was dearer to her than all the world besides, pouring forth the desires of his heart in the name of Jesus of Nazareth—could she have heard him acknowledge the "Man of sorrows" to be Him of whom Moses and the prophets did speak, how joyfully could she have borne every other trial, and even, she thought, have encountered death with a smile, in the assured hope of his following her to those mansions which Christ has prepared for his disciples! And yet she could not at that time command her faltering tongue to declare in whom she believed, and entreat her husband to seek refuge in the ark provided for the day of calamity.
The evening passed away in the usual unsatisfactory manner; and the following day brought with it events that occupied Zadok's attention even more than before, and engrossed even more of his time.
Titus had returned to his camp in the Valley of Thorns, greatly exasperated at the unexpected attack which had been made on him, and determined to lose no time in commencing the siege of the offending city. During the night he was joined by one of the legions which he had left at Emmaus, and orders were immediately issued for the removal of the camp to a place called Scopus, within a mile from the outer wall, and so situated as to afford a fine view of the city, and of the level plain which extended to the base of the fortifications.
At break of day the business of removing the army and all its ponderous equipments commenced, and was performed with all that astonishing expedition and order that distinguished every movement of the well-trained Roman armies. Orders had been given the night before for the men to be in readiness; and soon after the sun rose, all the tents were taken down and packed in the waggons, with the rest of the heavy baggage. Then the first signal-trumpet blew, and at its sound the troops all fell into their ranks, each carrying their arms, their kitchen furniture, and their instruments for constructing fortifications. The second trumpet sounded, and instantly fire was set to temporary bulwarks and towers that had surrounded the encampment, and quickly they formed a blazing mass of ruin. The third and last signal sounded loud and long, and then the herald, who stood by the side of Titus, raised his voice, and demanded whether the troops were prepared for battle; and he was answered by a cheerful and universal shout of assent. Three times he repeated the same demand, and each time the deafening shout of the armed multitude replied to him, while the hands of the troops were raised on high to express their readiness and zeal.
The word of command was given, and that glorious array of invincible men marched simultaneously forward. Alas! that such a goodly assembly should be moving in all their pride and pomp towards the slaughter of millions of their fellow-creatures, and the destruction of the noblest and most sacred city that ever adorned the earth! The army advanced in the usual order of march: the allies led the way attended by the company of pioneers, and then the baggage of the officers, escorted by a strong guard. Titus himself followed with a select guard of spearmen and the cavalry belonging to the legions. The military engines, strongly guarded, formed the next detachment; and to these succeeded the sacred standards, attended by the trumpeters; then the legionaries in their phalanx, ten deep; the slaves with the baggage; and, last of all, the mercenary troops, with a strong rear-guard to keep order.
The equipment of this fine army was as admirable as the order and discipline that marked its movement. Nothing vain or superfluous was to be seen in the dress or ornaments of either the men or their officers; while at the same time it was evident that the Romans knew the value of a certain degree of show, and endeavoured to produce an imposing effect upon their adversaries. The accoutrements of the officers were superb and costly: their helmets, cuirasses, and swords were inlaid with silver and gold, and their beautiful and spirited steeds were richly caparisoned; while the common soldiers prided themselves on their well-polished shields and helmets. The numerous gilded banners which attended the army, in addition to the glittering eagles, increased the brilliance of the scene; and the whole of that numerous army looked rather as if they were attired and equipped for a public feast, than as if carnage and desolation were their only objects.
The Romans formed a second encampment near Scopus, two legions being in front, and a third at some distance in the rear; and while they were erecting their walls and towers of defence, the tenth legion, which had taken its route by Jericho, also arrived, and received immediate orders to pitch their tents at the foot of the Mount of Olives, facing the lofty temple walls and pinnacles.
Each of the leaders of the rival factions in the city beheld the hostile camps forming under their walls. Eleazar looked from the summit of the temple, John from the porticoes of the outer courts, and Simon from the heights of Zion; and for the first time they all became aware that their only chance of safety lay in a united effort to repel their formidable enemies. They entered into negociations of peace; and at length agreed to lay aside their mutual animosities, and combine their now divided forces for a simultaneous attack on the common foe. Zadok and Javan hailed this tardy reconciliation as a second omen that the Lord was on their side, and that he had inclined these fierce and hitherto implacable enemies to forget their personal hatred, and only contend with a valiant emulation who should be foremost in rushing on their assailants. Joyfully did the son of Zadok obey the call to arms, and hasten to join his leader. He was at his father's house when the summons reached him. He had returned to his home in search of a part of his armour for the expected sally; and Salome heard with trembling fear the call for her son to join his comrades. She gave him a mother's parting blessing; and when he was gone from her sight, she passed the anxious hours that succeeded in fervent prayers for his safety. How earnestly did she beseech her Heavenly Father to spare his life, and not suffer him to be hurried into eternity while his soul was a prey to evil passions and baneful prejudices! Naomi united in her mother's supplications; and while they were thus engaged, a fierce and bloody scene was going forward in the Valley of Jehosaphat.
The combined forces of Jerusalem had sallied out by the eastern gates, and rushing along the margin of the Kedron, had fallen with unexpected and irresistible fury upon the tenth legion, then busily occupied in constructing their camp. The soldiers were at work in their intrenchments, and many of them were unarmed. They retreated before the sudden attack of the Jews, and several of them were killed before they could regain their arms. Fresh swarms of their assailants still poured from the city, and in their consternation the Romans yet further multiplied their numbers. Accustomed as they were to fight in battle-array, they knew not how to resist the wild desultory attacks of the Jews, who rushed upon them with a blind impetuosity. Sometimes they turned and faced their pursuers, and succeeded in repulsing them for a moment and slaying the foremost; but such overpowering numbers followed to take their places, that the brave legionaries were on the verge of a total defeat, when Titus, who had heard of their danger, came suddenly to their relief. He was attended by a few picked men, and fell so unexpectedly on the Jews that he drove them up the valley with considerable loss.
The tenth legion now rallied, and united with the troops that followed Titus in pursuing the enemy along the valley; but notwithstanding the disadvantage to which the Jews were exposed, from the steepness and inequality of the ground, they yet had the courage to turn and face their pursuers after they had crossed the brook. In this situation they maintained the battle till noon, when Titus placed a part of his forces at the end of the valley, and sent the rest to occupy a strong position on the heights above, in order to secure the valley. This movement was mistaken by the Jews for a retreat; and a sentinel who had been posted on the walls, made a signal to those within the city that the Romans had fled. Instantly a fresh multitude issued from the gates with the undisciplined fury of wild beasts, and bore down the ranks of their enemies by the impetuosity of their charge. They fled to the mountains, and once more Titus and his chosen band of attendants were left exposed to the attack of the infuriated multitude. He was posted on the declivity of the hill, when he found himself deserted by the main body of his forces; but taking advantage of his commanding situation, he defended himself resolutely, while Marcellus and his comrades endeavoured to ward off the blows that were aimed at him on every side.
One of the Jews, who had distinguished himself throughout the engagement by his intrepid courage, advanced through the crowd of his countrymen to the spot where Titus and his brave company stood like lions holding the inferior animals at bay. With a desperate effort he broke through the Roman band, and aimed a deadly blow at their general. So wild and sudden was his attack, that he would probably have succeeded, at least in wounding Titus, whose attention was directed another way, but for the courage and activity of Marcellus. He saw the descending blow, and quick as thought he sprang between his commander and the fierce Jew, and arrested the weapon ere it reached the destined object. The flashing eyes of the Jewish soldier fell upon him who had thus robbed him of the triumph so nearly won, and Marcellus saw that he was again brought hand to hand in conflict with the brother of Naomi. Revenge was a passion that lurked deep in Javan's heart, and now it rose up to animate him against the young Roman. He forgot his eagerness to rush upon the general, in the hope that now he had found an opportunity of obtaining vengeance for all the injuries that his prejudiced mind laid to the charge of Marcellus.
With a bitter curse on his lips, he turned to aim his sword at the heart of the Christian soldier, and was astonished at the strength and dexterity with which his attack was met by his opponent. Marcellus would not for worlds have slain the brother of his beloved Naomi, and he contented himself with warding off the fierce blows of Javan. Had this single combat been permitted to continue for any length of time, Marcellus must have been driven either to seek the life of his antagonist, or to save his own by a retreat, for Javan was resolved to die or to conquer. But happily they were forced asunder by the rush of combatants on either side, and they met no more in that day's battle.
Those of Titus's troops who had gained the summit of the hill, and saw the enemy come pouring up on either side, and attacking their noble general and his faithful band with determined fury, were struck with horror at the critical situation to which they had abandoned him. By a loud outcry they raised an alarm among the whole legion, and spread the information that Titus was surrounded and in danger of being massacred. Bitterly they reproached one another for their desertion of their brave commander; and with the resolute courage of men ashamed of their conduct, and resolved to make amends for it, they rallied their scattered numbers, faced their pursuers, and by their determined valour at length succeeded in driving them down the hill. Every foot of ground was well contested by the Jews, but they could not long stand against the force of the Romans bearing down upon them from above in a solid phalanx, and they were compelled to retreat, entirely discomfited. Titus remained to establish a strong and efficient line of outposts, and then retired to his camp, and dismissed his wearied men to seek repose after the lengthened struggle which they had been compelled that day to maintain.
Attack of the First WallAttack of the First Wall
It was now the time of the passover; and though the festive joy that was wont to pervade the once happy and favoured city at that sacred season was gone for ever, yet even in these days of calamity the hallowed festival still retained its hold on the hearts of the people of Judah. Formerly the whole population of the land used to repair with joyful feet to their holy and beloved city, where they found every house open to receive visitors with a free and cheerful hospitality. This thronging of the sons of Israel to offer up their united praises for the deliverance of their forefathers from the bondage of Egypt could now no longer be effected; yet great numbers still repaired at the accustomed period to the metropolis, undeterred by fears or obstacles from attempting to accomplish what they regarded as a solemn duty and privilege. They found an entrance into the city, but to retire from it was impossible, and this vast addition to the population of the place only increased the misery of the besieged, by hastening the consumption of the provisions that were yet stored up for the day of want.
The recurrence of this holy feast at such a time of civil disorder was also the occasion of other calamities, by causing the rupture of the recently established peace between the factious leaders of the city. The great day of sacrifice arrived. The priests were at their stations, and all was ready for the celebration of the sacred rite. Eleazar commanded the gates of the inner temple, where he still kept his quarters, to be opened for the of the worshippers; when a party of John's most desperate adherents stole in unperceived among the crowd with swords and other weapons concealed beneath their cloaks. No sooner were these ruffians within the gates than they cast aside their cloaks, and brandishing their swords, fell upon the defenceless multitude, who expected that a general massacre would follow. The Zealots suspected that the stratagem was designed entirely for their destruction, and leaving the gates undefended, they all fled away and took refuge in the subterranean chambers beneath the temple. The helpless crowd who had assembled to worship the Lord God of Israel now gathered around the sacred altars for protection; but even the sanctity of those hallowed spots was insufficient to preserve the fugitives from the violence of the Zealots. Many were trampled to death, and a still greater number slain either in mere wantonness and cruelty, or to gratify private hatred. The altars flowed with blood, but it was not the blood of the appointed victims shed for the expiation of the sins of the people. It was the blood of human beings, poured forth by the hands of murder and sacrilege, to fill up the measure of Zion's iniquity, and call down the vengeance of an insulted God!
At length the fierce partisans of John of Gischala were glutted with robbery and carnage; and having taken possession of the inner apartments of the temple, they made terms of peace with their enemies who were concealed beneath. They permitted them to come up from their places of refuge, and even to resume their arms, and remain under the nominal command of their leader Eleazar; but in fact they became a subordinate part of the faction attached to John, and thus the sedition which before was divided into three parties was reduced to two.
Meanwhile Titus was slowly and cautiously advancing towards the city. He posted in the camp at Scopus a sufficient body of horse and foot to guard against the incursions of the enemy, and then he employed the rest of the army in levelling the whole space between the place of encampment and the Tomb of Herod, near the pool called the Fishpond of Serpents. All the fences and verdant hedges that enclosed the orchards and gardens were torn up; and those beautifully luxuriant spots where the inhabitants of Jerusalem had enjoyed so many hours of recreation, were swept away by the merciless hand of war. The trees were cut down, and the clear fountains filled up with rubbish, that a broad and level road might be constructed from Scopus to within a short distance of the outer wall of the city.
Simon was not idle during this interval; and as he was unable to meet the advancing foe in a pitched battle, he had recourse to stratagems, by which he hoped to obtain some advantage, however small. He placed the enterprise under the conduct of Javan, as the most daring and faithful of his officers; and the zealous young Jew readily accepted the command. To the astonishment of the Romans they one day beheld a considerable body of the Jews issue rapidly from a gate near the Women's Tower, as if forcibly driven out by a stronger party within. They supposed that this band consisted of the fiercer insurgents, and that they were expelled by the party who desired peace. This idea was confirmed by a number of Jews appearing on the wall, holding out their hands, and making every sign that they would willingly receive the Romans, and open their gates to them. At the same time they cast down stones upon those whom they had driven out, and who were cowering beneath the wall as if dreading the approach of the enemy, and supplicating mercy from their countrymen.
The Roman soldiers who beheld this transaction were about to charge in a body, but they were restrained by Titus, who suspected some artifice, and commanded them to remain at their posts. A small detachment, however, who were in front of the rest, employed under the inspection of their centurion Rufus, seized their arms and rushed towards the wall. Rufus, himself, in the ardour of the moment, forgot the attention to discipline for which he was usually remarkable. He recognised the hated and perfidious Javan among those who now seemed exposed to destruction; and with a strong desire of vengeance for all his cruelty and want of faith, he sprang forward with his unsuspecting men. The Jews, who had advanced to meet them at some distance from the wall, now fled to the gates, and were followed by the inconsiderate Romans, until they found themselves within the flanking towers. The artful Javan and his companions then turned upon them, while others sallied forth and surrounded the little band, and those on the walk hurled down stones and other missiles on their heads. They suffered a considerable loss in killed and wounded; but some of them escaped, with Rufus, fighting a valiant retreat, and pursued by the enemy as far as the monument of Helena. The Jews then retired, exulting in their victory, and when they reached their walls they insulted the vanquished Romans by clashing their shields and loading them with every ludicrous and opprobrious name, for their folly in being so easily deceived.
The proud spirit of Rufus was roused to the uttermost at these taunts, and he fiercely cast them back at Javan, with threats of future vengeance. For the present, however, that vengeance was beyond his reach, and he was forced to lead back the remnant of his men to the camp, greatly discomfited at their defeat and loss. Nor was this all, for they were received with severe reproofs by their tribune for their breach of discipline; and so great was the displeasure of Titus that he threatened to execute upon the offenders the martial law, which punished even such breach of orders with death. This announcement caused great sorrow throughout the army, for Rufus and his brave men were deservedly loved and respected by their comrades; and all the officers immediately gathered round the general to implore his mercy. For some time he sternly refused to listen to their entreaties, and it is probable that he might have carried his harsh sentence into effect, as a warning to the rest of the army, had it not been for the earnest intercessions of Marcellus. The grief of his young friend and favourite, and the high opinion which he had always entertained of Rufus, at length appeased his anger; and he pardoned the offence of the centurion and his band upon their pledging themselves to atone for the error by a strict attention to regularity and discipline for the future.
This act of lenity increased the popularity of the general, and the devotion of the army to his service. With fresh vigour they proceeded to carry his schemes into execution, and in four days the whole space from Scopus to the wall was levelled, for the conveyance of the baggage and removal of the camp. The army took up their position among the northern and western walls; the infantry in front, the cavalry in the rear, and the archers between them. With this impenetrable line between the city and the camp, they removed in perfect safety all the heavy baggage, and Titus encamped within a quarter of a mile from the outer wall, near the Tower of Psephina. Another detachment of the army was posted near the Tower of Hippicus, at some distance from head-quarters, and the tenth legion kept its position near the Mount of Olives.
At this period Jerusalem was divided into different quarters, which might almost be termed distinct cities, each inclosed in its own walls, and all surrounded by the great outer wall, which was guarded with towers of solid masonry, of the same kind as that which composed the rest of the fortifications. The first or outer wall encompassed the northern quarter called Bezetha. It was built of stones thirty-five feet long, and so massive as to offer an almost impenetrable obstacle even to the powerful battering-rams and other formidable engines of the Romans. It was erected by King Agrippa the First, and though it fell far short of his original design, it was yet a work of great power and strength, being upwards of seventeen feet in height, and the same in thickness. The Jews had carried it up to the height of thirty-five feet, but not with the same stability as that part which was built by Agrippa, and the summit was furnished with battlements and pinnacles, which gave it a still greater elevation.