Pearl-Maiden: Chapter 18

Chapter 18

THE DEATH-STRUGGLE OF ISRAEL

Now the light began to grow, but that morning no sun rose upon the sight
of the thousands who waited for its coming. The whole heaven was dark
with a gray mist that seemed to drift up in billows from the sea,
bringing with it a salt dampness. For this mist Miriam was thankful,
since had the sun shone hotly she knew not how she would have lived
through another day. Already she grew very weak, who had suffered so
much and eaten so little, and whose only drink had been the dew, but she
felt that while the mist hid the sun her life would bide with her.

To others also this mist was welcome. Under cover of it Caleb approached
the gateway, and although he could not ascend it, as the doors were
locked and guarded, he cast on to its roof so cleverly, that it fell
almost at Miriam's feet, a linen bag in which was a leathern bottle
containing wine and water, and with it a mouldy crust of bread,
doubtless all that he could find, or buy, or steal. Kneeling down,
Miriam loosed the string of the bag with her teeth and devoured the
crust of bread, again returning thanks that Caleb had been moved to this
thought. But from the bottle she could not drink, for her hands being
bound behind her, she was able neither to lift it nor to untie the thong
that made fast its neck. Therefore, as, notwithstanding the dew which
she had lapped, she needed drink sorely and longed also for the use of
her hands to protect herself from the tormenting attacks of stinging
gnats and carrion flies, she set herself to try to free them.

Now the gilt spike that crowned her pillar was made fast with
angle-irons let into the marble and the edge of one of these irons
projected somewhat and was rough. Looking at it the thought came into
Miriam's mind that it might serve to rub through the cord with which her
hands were bound. So standing with her back to the pillar she began her
task, to find that it must be done little by little, since the awkward
movement wearied her, moreover, her swollen arms chafing against the
marble of the column became intolerably sore. Yet, although the pain
made her weep, from time to time she persevered. But night fell before
the frayed cord parted.

In the mist also the Romans came near to the gate, notwithstanding the
risk, for they were very curious about her, and called to her asking
why she was bound there. She replied in the Latin language, which was
understood by very few of the Jews, that it was because she had rescued
a Roman from death. Before they could speak again those who questioned
her were driven back by a shower of arrows discharged from the wall, but
in the distance she thought that she saw one of them make report to an
officer, who on receipt of it seemed to give some orders.

Meanwhile, also under cover of the mist, the Jews were preparing
themselves for battle. To the number of over four thousand men they
gathered silently in the Court of Israel. Then of a sudden the gates
were thrown open, and among them that of Nicanor. The trumpets blew a
signal and out they poured into the Court of Women, driving in the Roman
guards and outposts as sticks and straws are driven by a sudden flood.
But the legionaries beyond were warned, and locking their shields
together stood firm, so that the Jews fell back from their iron line as
such a flood falls from an opposing rock. Yet they would not retreat,
but fought furiously, killing many of the Romans, until at length Titus
charged on them at the head of a squadron of horse and drove them back
headlong through the gates. Then the Romans came on and put those whom
they had captured to the sword, but as yet they did not attempt the
storming of the gates. Only officers advanced as near to the wall
as they dared and called to the Jews to surrender, saying that Titus
desired to preserve their Temple and to spare their lives. But the Jews
answered them with insults, taunts, and mockery, and Miriam, listening,
wondered what spirit had entered into these people and made them mad, so
that they chose death and destruction rather than peace and mercy. Then
she remembered her strange visions of the night, and in them seemed to
find an answer.

Having repulsed this desperate sally the Roman officers set thousands
of men to work to attempt to extinguish the flaming cloisters, since,
notwithstanding the answer of the Jews, Titus still desired to save the
Temple. As for its defenders, beyond guarding the walls of the Court
of Israel, they did no more. Gathering in such places as were most
protected from the darts and stones thrown by the engines, they crouched
upon the ground, some in sullen silence, some beating their breasts and
rending their robes, while the women and children wailed in their
misery and hunger, throwing dust upon their heads. The Gate of Nicanor,
however, was still held by a strong guard, who suffered none to approach
it, nor did any attempt to ascend to its roof. That Caleb still lived
Miriam knew, for she had seen him, covered with dust and blood, driven
back by the charge of Roman horse up the steps of the gateway. This,
indeed, he was one of the last to pass before it was closed and barred
to keep out the pursuing Romans. After that she saw no more of him for
many a month.

So that day also, the last of the long siege, wore away. At nightfall
the thick mist cleared, and for the last time the rich rays of sunset
shone upon the gleaming roof and burning pinnacles of the Temple and
were reflected from the dazzling whiteness of its walls. Never had it
looked more beautiful than it did in that twilight as it towered, still
perfect, above the black ruins of the desolated city. The clamour and
shouting had died away, even the mourners had ceased their pitiful
cries; except the guards, the Romans had withdrawn and were eating their
evening meal, while those who worked the terrible engines ceased from
their destroying toil. Peace, an ominous peace, brooded on the place,
and everywhere, save for the flames that crackled among the cedar-wood
beams in the roofs of the cloisters, was deep silence, such as in tropic
lands precedes the bursting of a cyclone. To Miriam who watched, it
seemed as though in the midst of this unnatural quiet Jehovah was
withdrawing Himself from the house where His Spirit dwelt and from the
people who worshipped Him with their lips, but rejected Him in their
hearts. Her tormented nerves shuddered with a fear that was not of the
body, as she stared upwards at the immense arch of the azure evening
sky, half expecting that her mortal eyes would catch some vision of
the departing wings of the Angel of the Lord. But there she could see
nothing except the shapes of hundreds of high-poised eagles. "Where the
carcase is there shall the eagles be gathered together," she muttered to
herself, and remembering that these four birds were come to feast upon
the bones of the whole people of the Jews and upon her own, she shut her
eyes and groaned.

Then the light died on the Temple towers and faded from the pale slopes
of the mountains, and in place of the wheeling carrion birds bright
stars shone out one by one upon the black mantle of the night.

Once again, setting her teeth because of the agony that the touch of the
marble gave to her raw and swollen flesh, Miriam began to fret the cords
which bound her wrists against the rough edge of the angle-iron. She was
sure that it was nearly worn through, but oh! how could she endure the
agony until it parted? Still she did endure, for at her feet lay the
bottle, and burning thirst drove her to the deed. Suddenly her reward
came, and she felt that her arms were free; yes, numbed, swollen and
bleeding, they fell against her sides, wrenching the stiffened muscles
of her shoulders back to their place in such a fashion that she
well-nigh fainted with the pain. Still they were free, and presently she
was able to lift them, and with the help of her teeth to loose the ends
of the cord, so that the blood could run once more through her blackened
wrists and hands. Again she waited till some feeling had come back into
her fingers, which were numb and like to mortify. Then she knelt down,
and drawing the leather bottle to her, held it between her palms, while,
with her teeth, she undid its thong. The task was hard, for it was well
tied, but at length the knots gave, and Miriam drank. So fearful was
her thirst that she could have emptied the bottle at a draught, but this
she, who had lived in the desert, was too wise to do, for she knew that
it might kill her. Also when that was gone there was no more. So she
drank half of it in slow sips, then tied the string as well as she was
able and set it down again.

Now the wine, although it was mixed with water, took hold of her who for
so long had eaten nothing save a mouldy crust, so that strange sounds
drummed in her ears, and sinking down against the column she became
senseless for a while. She awoke again, feeling somewhat refreshed and,
though her head seemed as though it did not belong to her, well able
to think. Her arms also were better and her fingers had recovered their
feeling. If only she could loose that galling chain, she thought to
herself, she might escape, for now death, however strong her faith, was
very near and unlovely; also she suffered in many ways. To die and
pass quick to Heaven--that would be well, but to perish by inches of
starvation, heat, cold, and cramped limbs, with pains within and without
and a swimming sickness of the head, ah! it was hard to bear. She knew
that even were she free she could not hope to descend the gateway by
its staircase, since the doors were locked and barred, and if she passed
them it would be but to find herself among the Jews in the vaulted
chambers beneath. But, so she thought, perhaps she could drop from the
roof, which was not so very high, on to the paving in front of the first
stair, and then, if she was unhurt, run or crawl to the Romans, who
might give her shelter.

So Miriam tried to undo the chain, only to find that as well might she
hope to pull down the Gate Nicanor with her helpless hands. At this
discovery she wept, for now she grew weak. Well for Miriam was it that
she could not have her wish, for certainly had she attempted to
drop down from the gateway to the marble paving, or even on to the
battlements of the walls which ran up to it on either side, her bones
would have been shattered like the shell of an egg and she must have
perished miserably.

While she grieved thus, Miriam heard a stir in the Court of Israel, and
by the dim starlight saw that men were gathering, to do what she knew
not. Presently, as she wondered, the great gates were opened very softly
and out poured the Jews upon their last sally. Miriam was witnessing the
death-struggle of the nation of Israel. At the foot of the marble steps
they divided, one-half of them rushing towards the cloister on the
right, and the other to that upon the left. Their object, as it seemed
to her, was to slay those Roman soldiers, who, by the command of Titus,
were still engaged in fighting the flames that devoured these beautiful
buildings, and then to surprise the camp beyond. The scheme was such as
a madman might have made, seeing that the Romans, warned by the sortie
of the morning, had thrown up a wall across the lower part of the Court
of Women, and beyond that were protected by every safeguard known to the
science of ancient war. Also the moment that the first Jew set his foot
upon the staircase, watching sentries cried out in warning and trumpets
gave their call to arms.

Still, they reached the cloisters and killed a few Romans who had not
time to get away. Following those who fled, they came to the wall and
began to try to force it, when suddenly on its crest and to the rear
appeared thousands of those men whom they had hoped to destroy, every
one of them wakeful, armed and marshalled. The Jews hesitated, and, like
a living stream of steel, the Roman ranks poured over the wall. Then, of
a sudden, terror seized those unhappy men, and, with a melancholy cry of
utter despair, they turned to flee back to the Court of Israel. But this
time the Romans were not content with driving them away, they came on
with them; some of them even reached the gate before them. Up the marble
steps poured friend and foe together; together they passed the open
gate, in their mad rush sweeping away those who had stayed to guard it,
and burst into the Court of Israel. Then leaving some to hold the gate
and reinforced continually by fresh companies from the camps within and
without the Temple courts, the Romans ran on towards the doors of the
Holy House, cutting down the fugitives as they went. Now none attempted
to stand; there was no fight made; even the bravest of the Jewish
warriors, feeling that their hour was come and that Jehovah had deserted
His people, flung down their weapons and fled, some to escape to the
Upper City, more to perish on the Roman spears.

A few attempted to take refuge in the Holy House itself, and after these
followed some Romans bearing torches in their hands. Miriam, watching
terrified from the roof of the Gate Nicanor, saw them go, the torches
floating on the dusky air like points of wind-tossed fire. Then suddenly
from a certain window on the north side of the Temple sprang out a flame
so bright that from where she stood upon the gate, Miriam could see
every detail of the golden tracery. A soldier mounted on the shoulders
of another and not knowing in his madness that he was a destroying
angel, had cast a torch into and fired the window. Up ran the bright,
devouring flame spreading outwards like a fan, so that within some few
minutes all that side of the Temple was but a roaring furnace. Meanwhile
the Romans were pressing through the Gate Nicanor in an unending stream,
till presently there was a cry of "Make way! Make way!"

Miriam looked down to see a man, bare-headed and with close-cropped
hair, white-robed also and unarmoured, as though he had risen from
his couch, riding on a great war-horse, an ivory wand in his hand and
preceded by an officer who bore the standard of the Roman Eagles. It was
Titus itself, who as he came shouted to the centurions to beat back the
legionaries and extinguish the fire. But who now could beat them back?
As well might he have attempted to restrain the hosts of Gehenna burst
to the upper earth. They were mad with the lust of blood and the lust of
plunder, and even to the voice of their dread lord they paid no heed.

New flames sprang up in other parts of the vast Temple. It was doomed.
The golden doors were burst open and, attended by his officers, Titus
passed through them to view for the first and last time the home of
Jehovah, God of the Jews. From chamber to chamber he passed, yes, even
into the Holy of Holies itself, whence by his command were brought out
the golden candlesticks and the golden table of shrewbread, nor, since
God had deserted His habitation, did any harm come to him for that deed.

Now the Temple which for one thousand one hundred and thirty years had
stood upon the sacred summit of Mount Moriah, went upwards in a sheet of
flame, itself the greatest of the sacrifices that had ever been offered
there; while soldiers stripped it of its gold and ornaments, tossing the
sacred vessels to each other and tearing down the silken curtains of the
shrine. Nor were victims lacking to that sacrifice, for in their blind
fury the Romans fell upon the people who were crowded in the Court of
Israel, and slew them to the number of more than ten thousand, warrior
and priest, citizen and woman and child together, till the court swarm
with blood and the Rock of Offering was black with the dead who had
taken refuge there. Yet these did not perish quite unavenged, for many
of the Romans, their arms filled with priceless spoils of gold and
silver, the treasures of immemorial time, sank down overcome by the
heat, and where they fell they died.

From the Court of Israel went up one mighty wail of those who sank
beneath the sword. From the thousands of the Romans went up a savage
shout of triumph, the shout of those who put them to the sword. From the
multitude of the Jews who watched this ruin from the Upper City went
up a ceaseless scream of utter agony, and dominating all, like the
accompaniment of some fearful music, rose the fierce, triumphant roar of
fire. In straight lines and jagged pinnacles the flames soared hundreds
of feet into the still air, leaping higher and ever higher as the white
walls and gilded roofs fell in, till all the Temple was but one gigantic
furnace, near which none could bide save the dead, whose very garments
took fire as they lay upon the ground. Never, was such a sight seen
before; never, perhaps, will such a sight be seen again--one so awesome,
yet so majestic.

Now every living being whom they could find was slain, and the Romans
drew back, bearing their spoil with them. But the remainder of the Jews,
to the number of some thousands, escaped by the bridges, which they
broke down behind them, across the valley into the Upper City, whence
that piercing, sobbing wail echoed without cease. Miriam watched till
she could bear the sight no longer. The glare blinded her, the heat of
the incandescent furnace shrivelled her up, her white dress scorched and
turned brown. She crouched behind the shelter of her pinnacle gasping
for breath. She prayed that she might die, and could not. Now she
remembered the drink that remained in the leathern bottle, and swallowed
it to the last drop. Then she crouched down again against the pillar,
and lying thus her senses left her.

When they came back it was daylight, and from the heap of ashes that
had been the Temple of Herod and the most glorious building in the whole
world, rose a thick cloud of black smoke, pierced here and there by
little angry tongues of fire. The Court of Israel was strewn so thick
with dead that in places the soldiers walked on them as on a carpet,
or to be rid of them, hurled them into the smouldering ruins. Upon the
altar that stood on the Rock of Sacrifice a strange sight was to be
seen, for set up there was an object like the shaft of a lance wreathed
with what seemed to be twining snakes and surmounted by a globe on which
she stood a golden eagle with outspread wings. Gathered in front of it
were a vast number of legionaries who did obeisance to this object. They
were offering worship to the Roman standards upon the ancient altar of
the God of Israel! Presently a figure rode before them attended by
a glittering staff of officers, to be greeted with a mighty shout of
"Titus _Imperator_! Titus _Imperator_!" Here on the sense of his triumph
his victorious legions named their general C�sar.

Nor was the fighting altogether ended, for on the roofs of some of
the burning cloisters were gathered a few of the most desperate of the
survivors of the Jews, who, as the cloisters crumbled beneath them,
retreated slowly towards the Gate Nicanor, which still stood unharmed.
The Romans, weary with slaughter, called to them to come down and
surrender, but they would not, and Miriam watching them, to her horror
saw that one of these men was none other than her grandfather, Benoni.
As they would not yield, the Romans shot at them with arrows, so that
presently every one of them was down except Benoni, whom no dart seemed
to touch.

"Cease shooting," cried a voice, "and bring a ladder. That man is brave
and one of the Sanhedrim. Let him be taken alive."

A ladder was brought and reared against the wall near the Gate Nicanor
and up it came Romans. Benoni retreated before them till he stood upon
the edge of the gulf of advancing fire. Then he turned round and faced
them. As he turned he caught sight of Miriam huddled at the base of her
column upon the roof of the gate, and thinking that she was dead, wrung
his hands and tore his beard. She guessed his grief, but so weak and
parched was she, that she could call no word of comfort to him, or do
more than watch the end with fascinated eyes.

The soldiers came on along the top of the wall till they feared to
approach nearer to the fire, lest they should fall through the burning
rafters.

"Yield!" they cried. "Yield, fool, before you perish! Titus gives you
your life."

"That he may drag me, an elder of Israel, in chains through the streets
of Rome," answered the old Jew scornfully. "Nay, I will not yield, and I
pray God that the same end which you have brought upon this city and its
children, may fall upon your city and its children at the hands of men
even more cruel than yourselves."

Then stooping down he lifted a spear which lay upon the wall and hurled
it at them so fiercely, that it transfixed the buckler of one of the
soldiers and the arm behind the buckler.

"Would that it had been your heart, heathen, and the heart of all your
race!" he screamed, and lifting his hands as though in invocation,
suddenly plunged headlong into the flames beneath.

Thus, fierce and brave to the last, died Benoni the Jew.

Again Miriam fainted, again to be awakened. The door that led from
the gate chambers to its roof burst open and through it sped a figure
bare-headed and dishevelled, his torn raiment black with blood and
smoke. Staring at him, Miriam knew the man who Simeon--yes, Simeon,
her cruel judge, who had doomed her to this dreadful end. After him,
gripping his robe indeed, came a Roman officer, a stout man of middle
age, with a weather-beaten kindly face, which in some dim way seemed to
be familiar to her, and after him again, six soldiers.

"Hold him!" he panted. "We must have one of them to show if only that
the people may know what a live Jew is like," and the officer tugged so
fiercely at the robe that in his struggles to be free, for he also hoped
to die by casting himself from the gateway tower, Simeon fell down.

Next instant the soldiers were on him and held him fast. Then it was for
the first time that the captain caught sight of Miriam crouched at the
foot of her pillar.

"Why," he said, "I had forgotten. That is the girl whom we saw yesterday
from the Court of Women and whom we have orders to save. Is the poor
thing dead?"

Miriam lifted her wan face and looked at him.

"By Bacchus!" he said, "I have seen that face before; it is not one that
a man would forget. Ah! I have it now." Then he stooped and eagerly read
the writing that was tied upon her breast:

"Miriam, Nazarene and traitress, is doomed here to die as God shall
appoint before the face of her friends, the Romans."

"Miriam," he said, then started and checked himself.

"Look!" cried one of the soldiers, "the girl wears pearls, and good
ones. Is it your pleasure that I should cut them off?"

"Nay, let them be," he answered. "Neither she nor her pearls are for any
of us. Loosen her chain, not her necklet."

So with much trouble they broke the rivets of the chain.

"Can you stand, lady?" said the captain to Miriam.

She shook her head.

"Then I needs must carry you," and stooping down he lifted her in
his strong arms as though she had been but a child, and, bidding the
soldiers bring the Jew Simeon with them, slowly and with great care
descended the staircase up which Miriam had been taken more than sixty
hours before.

Passing through the outer doors into the archway where the great gate by
which the Romans had gained access to the Temple stood wide, the captain
turned into the Court of Israel, where some soldiers who were engaged
in dividing spoil looked up laughing and asked him whose baby he had
captured. Paying no heed to them he walked across the court, picking his
way through the heaps of dead to a range of the southern cloisters which
were still standing, where officers might be seen coming and going.
Under one of these cloisters, seated on a stool and employed in
examining the vessels and other treasures of the Temple, which were
brought before him one by one, was Titus. Looking up he saw this strange
procession and commanded that they should be brought before him.

"Who is it that you carry in your arms, captain?" he asked.

"That girl, C�sar," he answered, "who was bound upon the gateway and
whom you have orders should not be shot at."

"Does she still live?"

"She lives--no more. Thirst and heat have withered her."

"How came she there?"

"This writing tells you, C�sar."

Titus read. "Ah!" he said, "Nazarene. An evil sect, worse even than
these Jews, or so thought the late divine Nero. Traitress also. Why, the
girl must have deserved her fate. But what is this? 'Is doomed to die as
God shall appoint before the face of her friends, the Romans.' How are
the Romans her friends, I wonder? Girl, if you can speak, tell me who
condemned you."

Miriam lifted her dark head from the shoulder of the captain on which it
lay and pointed with her finger at the Jew, Simeon.

"Is that so, man?" asked C�sar. "Now tell the truth, for I shall learn
it, and if you lie you die."

"She was condemned by the Sanhedrim, among whom was her own grandfather,
Benoni; there is his signature with the rest upon the scroll," Simeon
answered sullenly.

"For what crime?"

"Because she suffered a Roman prisoner to escape, for which deed," he
added furiously, "may her soul burn in Gehenna for ever and aye!"

"What was the name of the prisoner?" asked Titus.

"I do not remember," answered Simeon.

"Well," said C�sar, "it does not greatly matter, for either he is safe
or he is dead. Your robes, what are left of them, show that you also are
one of the Sanhedrim. Is it not so?"

"Yes. I am Simeon, a name that you have heard."

"Ah! Simeon, here it is, written on this scroll first of all. Well,
Simeon, you doomed a high-born lady to a cruel death because she saved,
or tried to save, a Roman soldier, and it is but just that you should
drink of your own wine. Take him and fasten him to the column on the
gateway and leave him there to perish. Your Holy House is destroyed,
Simeon, and being a faithful priest, you would not wish to survive your
worship."

"There you are right, Roman," he answered, "though I should have been
better pleased with a quicker end, such as I trust may overtake you."

Then they led him off, and presently Simeon appeared upon the gateway
with Miriam's chain about his middle and Miriam's rope knotted afresh
about his wrists.

"Now for this poor girl," went on Titus C�sar. "It seems that she is
a Nazarene, a sect of which all men speak ill, for they try to subvert
authority and preach doctrines that would bring the world to ruin. Also
she was false to her own people, which is a crime, though one in this
instance whereof we Romans cannot complain. Therefore, if only for the
sake of example it would be wrong to set her free; indeed, to do so,
would be to give her to death. My command is, then, that she shall be
taken good care of, and if she recovers, be sent to Rome to adorn my
Triumph, should the gods grant me such a thing, and afterwards be
sold as a slave for the benefit of the wounded soldiers and the poor.
Meanwhile, who will take charge of her?"

"I," said that officer who had freed Miriam. "There is an old woman who
tends my tent, who can nurse her in her sickness."

"Understand, friend," answered Titus, "that no harm is to be done to
this girl, who is my property."

"I understand, O C�sar," said the officer. "She shall be treated as
though she were my daughter."

"Good. You who are present, remember his words and my decree. In Rome,
if we live to reach it, you shall give account to me of the captive
lady, Miriam. Now take her away, for there are greater matters to be
dealt with than the fortunes of this girl."

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