THE ESSENES FIND THEIR QUEEN AGAIN
They went on towards the gates of the Temple, but many a long day was
destined to go by ere Miriam reached them. The entrance by which they
were told they must approach if they sought speech of the high priest,
was one of the two Huldah Gates on the south side of the Royal
Cloister, and thither they came across the valley of Tyropæon. As they
drew near to them of a sudden that gate which stood most to the east
was flung wide, and out of it issued a thousand or more of armed men,
like ants from a broken nest, who, shouting and waving swords, rushed
towards their company. As it chanced, at the moment they were in the
centre of an open space that once had been covered with houses but was
now cumbered with hundreds of blackened and tottering walls, for fire
had devoured them.
“It is the men of John who attack us,” cried a voice, whereon, moved by
a common impulse, the little band turned and fled for shelter among the
ruined houses; yes, even Caleb and Benoni fled.
Before they reached them, lo! from these crumbling walls that they had
thought untenanted save by wandering dogs, out rushed another body of
savage warriors, the men of Simon who held the Lower City.
After this, Miriam knew little of what happened. Swords and spears
flashed round her, the factions fell upon each other, slaughtering each
other. She saw Caleb cut down one of the soldiers of John, to be
instantly assaulted in turn by a soldier of Simon, since all desired to
kill, but none cared whom they slew. She saw her grandfather rolling
over and over on the ground in the grip of a man who looked like a
priest; she saw women and children pierced with spears. Then Nehushta
seized her by the hand, and plunging a knife into the arm of a man who
would have stayed them, dragged her away. They fled, an arrow sang past
her ear; something struck her on the foot. Still they fled, whither she
knew not, till at length the sound of the tumult died away. But not yet
would Nehushta stop, for she feared that they might be followed. So on
they went, and on, meeting few and heeded by none, till at length
Miriam sank to the ground, worn out with fear and flight.
“Up,” said Nehushta.
“I cannot,” she answered. “Something has hurt my foot. See, it bleeds!”
Nehushta looked about her, and saw that they were outside the second
wall in the new city of Bezetha, not far from the old Damascus Gate,
for there, to their right and a little behind them, rose the great
tower of Antonia. Beneath this wall were rubbish-heaps, foul-smelling
and covered over with rough grasses and some spring flowers, which grew
upon the slopes of the ancient fosse. Here seemed a place where they
might lie hid awhile, since there were no houses and it was unsavoury.
She dragged Miriam to her feet, and, notwithstanding her complaints and
swollen ankle, forced her on, till they came to a spot where, as it is
to-day, the wall was built upon foundations of living rock, roughly
shaped, and lined with crevices covered by tall weeds. To one of these
crevices Nehushta brought Miriam, and, seating her on a bed of grass,
examined her foot, which seemed to have been bruised by a stone from a
sling. Having no water with which to wash the bleeding hurt, she made a
poultice of crushed herbs and tied it about the ankle with a strip of
linen. Even before she had finished her task, so exhausted was Miriam
that she fell fast asleep. Nehushta watched her a while, wondering what
they should do next, till, in that lonely place bathed by the warm
spring sun, she also began to doze.
Suddenly she awoke with a start, having dreamed that she saw a man with
white face and beard peering at them from behind a rough angle of rock.
She stared: there was the rock as she had dreamed of it, but no man.
She looked upward. Above them, piled block upon gigantic block, rose
the wall, towering and impregnable. Thither he could not have gone,
since on it only a lizard could find foothold. Nor was he anywhere
else, for there was no cover; so she decided that he must have been
some searcher of the rubbish-heap, who, seeing them hidden in the tall
grasses, had fled away. Miriam was still sound asleep, and in her
weariness presently Nehushta again began to doze, till at length—it may
have been one hour later, or two or three, she knew not—some sound
disturbed her. Opening her eyes, once more behind that ridge of rock
she saw, not one white-bearded face, but two, staring at her and
Miriam. As she sat up they vanished. She remained still, pretending to
sleep, and again they appeared, scanning her closely and whispering to
each other in eager tones. Suddenly one of the faces turned a little so
that the light fell on it. Now Nehushta knew why in her dream it had
seemed familiar, and in her heart thanked God.
“Brother Ithiel,” she said in a quiet voice, “why do you hide like a
coney in these rocks?”
Both heads disappeared, but the sound of whispering continued. Then one
of them rose again among the green grasses as a man might rise out of
water. It was Ithiel’s.
“It is indeed you, Nehushta?” said his well-remembered voice.
“Who else?” she asked.
“And that lady who sleeps at your side?”
“Once they called her Queen of the Essenes; now she is a hunted
fugitive, waiting to be massacred by Simon, or John, or Eleazer, or
Zealots, or Sicarii, or any other of the holy cut-throats who inhabit
this Holy City,” answered Nehushta bitterly.
Ithiel raised his hands as though in thankfulness, then said:
“Hush! hush! Here the very birds are spies. Brother, creep to that rock
and look if any men are moving.”
The Essene obeyed, and answered, “None; and they cannot see us from the
wall.”
Ithiel motioned to him to return.
“Does she sleep sound?” he asked of Nehushta, pointing to Miriam.
“Like the dead.”
Then, after another whispered conference, the pair of them crept round
the angle of the rock. Bidding Nehushta follow them, they lifted the
sleeping Miriam, and carried her between them through a dense growth of
shrubs to another rock. Here they moved some grass and pushed aside a
stone, revealing a hole not much larger than a jackal would make. Into
this the brother entered, heels first. Then Nehushta, by his
directions, taking the feet of the senseless Miriam, with her help he
bore her into the hole, that opened presently into a wide passage. Last
of all Ithiel, having lifted the grasses which their feet had trodden,
followed them, pulling the stone back to its place, and cutting off the
light. Once more they were in darkness, but this did not seem to
trouble the brethren, for again lifting Miriam, they went forward a
distance of thirty or forty paces, Nehushta holding on to Ithiel’s
robe. Now, at length, the cold air of this cave, or perhaps its deep
gloom and the motion, awoke Miriam from her swoon-like sleep. She
struggled in their hands, and would have cried out, had not Nehushta
bade her to be silent.
“Where am I?” she said. “Is this the hall of death?”
“Nay, lady. Wait a while, all shall be explained.”
While she spoke and Miriam clung to her affrighted, Ithiel struck iron
and flint together. Catching the spark upon tinder he blew it to a
flame and lighted a taper which burnt up slowly, causing his white
beard and face to appear by degrees out of the darkness, like that of a
ghost rising from the tomb.
“Oh! surely I am dead,” said Miriam, “for before me stands the spirit
of my uncle Ithiel.”
“Not the spirit, Miriam, but the flesh,” answered the old man in a
voice that trembled with joy. Then, since he could restrain himself no
longer, he gave the taper to the brother, and, taking her in his arms,
kissed her again and again.
“Welcome, most dear child,” he said; “yes, even to this darksome den,
welcome, thrice welcome, and blessed be the eternal God Who led our
feet forth to find you. Nay, do not stop to talk, we are still too near
the wall. Give me your hand and come.”
Miriam glanced up as she obeyed, and by the feeble light of the taper
saw a vast rocky roof arching above them. On either side of her also
were walls of rough-hewn rock down which dripped water, and piled upon
the floor or still hanging half-cut from the roof, boulders large
enough to fashion a temple column.
“What awful place is this, my uncle?” she asked.
“The cavern whence Solomon, the great king, drew stone for the building
of the Temple. Look, here are his mason’s marks upon the wall. Here he
fashioned the blocks and thus it happened that no sound of saw or
hammer was heard within the building. Doubtless also other kings before
and since his day have used this quarry, as no man knows its age.”
While he spoke thus he was leading her onwards over the rough,
stone-hewn floor, where the damp gathered in little pools. Following
the windings of the cave they turned once, then again and yet again, so
that soon Miriam was utterly bewildered and could not have found her
way back to the entrance for her life’s sake. Moreover, the air had
become so hot and stifling that she could scarcely breathe.
“It will be better presently,” said Ithiel, noticing her distress, as
he drew her limping after him into what seemed to be a natural crevice
of rock hardly large enough to allow the passage of his body. Along
this crevice they scrambled for eight or ten paces, to find themselves
suddenly in a tunnel lined with masonry, and so large that they could
stand upright.
“Once it was a watercourse,” explained Ithiel, “that filled the great
tank, but now it has been dry for centuries.”
Down this darksome shaft hobbled Miriam, till presently it ended in a
wall, or what seemed to be a wall—for when Ithiel pressed upon a stone
it turned. Beyond it the tunnel continued for twenty or thirty paces,
leading them at length into a vast chamber with arched roof and
cemented sides and bottom, which in some bygone age had been a
water-tank. Here lights were burning, and even a charcoal fire, at
which a brother was engaged in cooking. Also the air was pure and
sweet, doubtless because of the winding water-channels that ran
upwards. Nor did the place lack inhabitants, for there, seated in
groups round the tapers, or watching the cooking over the charcoal
fire, were forty or fifty men, still clad, for the most part, in the
robes of the Essenes.
“Brethren,” cried Ithiel, in answer to the challenge of one who was set
to watch the entry, “I bring back to you her whom we lost a while ago,
the lady Miriam.”
They heard, and seizing the tapers, ran forward.
“It is she!” they cried, “our queen and none other, and with her
Nehushta the Libyan! Welcome, welcome, a thousand times, dear lady!”
Miriam greeted them one and all, and before these greetings were
finished they brought her food to eat, rough but wholesome, also good
wine and sweet water. Then while she ate she heard all their story. It
seemed that more than a year ago the Romans, marching on Jericho, had
fallen upon their village and put a number of them to death, seizing
others as slaves. Thereon the remnant fled to Jerusalem, where many
more perished, for, being peaceable folk, all the factions robbed and
slew them. Seeing, at last, that to live at large in the city would be
to doom themselves to extinction, and yet not daring to leave it, they
sought a refuge in this underground place, of which, as it chanced, one
of their brethren had the secret. This he had inherited from his
father, so that it was known to no other living man.
Here by degrees they laid up a great store of provisions of all sorts,
of charcoal for burning, and other necessaries, carrying into the place
also clothes, bedding, cooking utensils and even some rough furniture.
These preparations being made, the fifty of them who remained removed
themselves to the vaults where now they had already dwelt three months,
and here, so far as was possible, continued to practise the rules of
their order. Miriam asked how they kept their health in this darkness,
to which they replied that sometimes they went out by that path which
she had just followed, and mingled with the people in the city,
returning to their hole at night. Ithiel and his companion were on such
a journey when they found her. Also they had another passage to the
upper air which they would show her later.
When Miriam had finished eating, dressed her hurt, and rested a while,
they took her to explore the wonders of the place. Beyond this great
cistern, that was their common room, lay more to the number of six or
seven, one of the smallest of which was given to Nehushta and herself
to dwell in. Others were filled with stores enough to last them all for
months. Last of all was a cave, not very large, but deep, which always
held sweet water. Doubtless there was a spring at the bottom of it,
which, when the other rain-fed tanks grew dry, still kept it supplied.
From this cistern that had been used for generations after the others
were abandoned, a little stair ran upwards, worn smooth by the feet of
folk long dead, who had come hither to draw water.
“Where does it lead?” asked Miriam.
“To the ruined tower above,” answered Ithiel. “Nay, another time I will
show you. Now your place is made ready for you, go, let Nehushta bathe
your foot, and sleep, for you must need it sorely.”
So Miriam went and laid herself down to rest in the little cemented
vault which was to be her home for four long months; and being worn
out, notwithstanding the sufferings she had passed and her fears for
her grandfather, slept there as soundly as ever she had done in her
wind-swept chamber at the palace of Tyre, or in her house at the
village of the Essenes.
When she awoke and saw the darkness all about her, she thought that it
must be night; then remembering that in this place it was always night,
called to Nehushta, who uncovered the little lamp that burned in a
corner of the vault, and went out, to return presently with the news
that according to the Essenes, it was day. So she rose and put on her
robes, and they passed together into the great chamber. Here they found
the Essenes at prayer and making their reverences to the sun which they
could not see, after which they ate their morning meal. Now Miriam
spoke to Ithiel, telling him of her trouble about her grandfather, who,
if he himself still lived, would think that she was dead.
“One thing is certain,” replied her great-uncle: “that you shall not go
out to seek him, nor must you tell him of your hiding-place, since soon
or late this might mean that all of us would be destroyed, if only for
the sake of the food which we have hoarded.”
Miriam asked if she could not send a message. He answered:
“No, since none would dare to take it.” In the end, however, after she
had pleaded with him long and earnestly, it was agreed that she should
write the words, “I am safe and well, but in a place that I must not
tell you of,” and sign her name upon a piece of parchment. This letter
Ithiel, who purposed to creep out into the city that evening disguised
as a beggar, to seek for tidings, said he would take, and, if might be,
bribe some soldier to deliver it to Benoni at the house of the high
priest, if he were there.
So Miriam wrote the letter, and at nightfall Ithiel and another brother
departed, taking it with them.
On the following morning they returned, safe, but with a dreadful tale
of the slaughters in the city and in the Temple courts, where the mad
factions still fought furiously.
“Your tidings, my uncle?” said Miriam, rising to meet him. “Does he
still live?”
“Be of good comfort,” he answered. “Benoni reached the house of Mathias
in safety, and Caleb also, and now they are sheltering within the
Temple walls. This much I had from one of the high priest’s guards,
who, for the price of a piece of gold I gave him, swore that he would
deliver the letter without fail. But, child, I will take no more, for
that soldier eyed me curiously and said it was scarcely safe for
beggars to carry gold.”
Miriam thanked him for his goodness and his news, saying that they
lifted a weight from her heart.
“I have other tidings that may perhaps make it lighter still,” went on
the old man, looking at her sideways. “Titus with a mighty host draws
near to Jerusalem from Cæsarea.”
“There is no joy in that tale,” replied Miriam, “for it means that the
Holy City will be besieged and taken.”
“Nay, but among that host is one who, if all the stories are true,” and
again he glanced at her face, “would rather take you than the city.”
“Who?” she said, pressing her hands against her heart and turning
redder than the lamplight.
“One of Titus’ prefects of horse, the noble Roman, Marcus, whom in
byegone days you knew by the banks of Jordan.”
Now the red blood fled back to Miriam’s heart, and she turned so faint
that had not the wall been near at hand she would have fallen.
“Marcus?” she said. “Well, he swore that he would come, yet it will
bring him little nearer me;” and she turned and sought her chamber.
So Marcus had come. Since he sent the letter and the ring that was upon
her hand, and the pearls which were about her throat, she had heard no
more of him. Twice she had written and forwarded the writings by the
most trusty messenger whom she could find, but whether they reached him
she did not know. For more than two years the silence between them had
been that of death, till, indeed, at times she thought that he must be
dead. And now he was come back, a commander in the army of Titus, who
marched to punish the rebellious Jews. Would she ever see him again?
Miriam could not tell. Yet she knelt and prayed from her pure heart
that if it were once only, she might speak with him face to face.
Indeed, it was this hope of meeting that, more than any other,
supported her through all those dreadful days.
A week went by, and although the hurt to her foot had healed, like some
flower in the dark Miriam drooped and languished in those gloomy
vaults. Twice she prayed her uncle to be allowed to creep to the mouth
of the hole behind the ridge of rock, there to breathe the fresh air
and see the blessed sky. But this he would not suffer. The thing was
too dangerous, he said; for although none knew the secret of their
hiding-place, already two or three fugitives had found their way into
the quarries by other entrances, and these it was very difficult to
pass unseen.
“So be it,” answered Miriam, and crept back to her cell.
Nehushta looked after her anxiously, then said:
“If she cannot have air I think that she will soon die. Is there no
way?”
“One,” answered Ithiel, “but I fear to take it. The staircase from the
spring leads to an ancient tower that, I am told, once was a palace of
the kings, but now for these many years has been deserted, for its
entrance is bricked up lest thieves should make it their home. None can
come into that tower, nor is it used for purposes of war, not standing
upon any wall, and there she might sit at peace and see the sun; yet I
fear to let her do so.”
“It must be risked,” answered Nehushta. “Take me to visit this place.”
So Ithiel led her to the cistern, and from the cistern up a flight of
steps to a little vaulted chamber, into which they entered through a
stone trap-door, made of the same substance as the paving of the
chamber, so that, when it was closed, none would guess that there was a
passage beneath. From this old store-room, for such it doubtless was,
ran more steps, ending, to all appearance, in a blank wall. Coming to
it, Ithiel thrust a piece of flat iron, a foot or more in length, into
a crack in this wall, lifted some stone latch within, and pushed,
whereon a block of masonry of something more than the height and width
of a man, and quite a yard in thickness, swung outwards. Nehushta
passed through the aperture, followed by Ithiel.
“See,” he said, loosing his hold of the stone, which without noise
instantly closed, so that behind them there appeared to be nothing but
a wall, “it is well hung, is it not? and to come hither without this
iron would be dangerous. Here is the crack where it must be set to lift
the latch within.”
“Whoever lived here guarded their food and water well,” answered
Nehushta.
Then Ithiel showed her the place. It was a massive tower of a square of
about forty feet, whereof the only doorway, as he told her, had been
bricked up many years before to keep the thieves and vagabonds from
sheltering there. In height it must have measured nearly a hundred
feet, and its roof had long ago rotted away. The staircase, which was
of stone, still remained, however, leading to four galleries, also of
stone. Perhaps once there were floors as well, but if so these had
vanished, only the stone galleries and their balustrades remaining.
Ithiel led Nehushta up the stair, which, though narrow, was safe and
easy. Resting at each story, at length they came to that gallery which
projected from its sides within ten feet of the top of the tower, and
saw Jerusalem and the country round spread like a map beneath. Then, as
it was sunset, they returned. At the foot of the stair Ithiel gave
Nehushta the piece of iron and showed her how to lift the secret latch
and pull upon the block of hewn stone that was a door, so that it
opened to swing to again behind them.
Next morning, before it was dawn in the world above, Miriam aroused
Nehushta. She had been promised that this day she should be taken up
the Old Tower, and so great was her longing for the scent of the free
air and the sight of the blue sky that she had scarcely closed her eyes
this night.
“Have patience, lady,” said Nehushta, “have patience. We cannot start
until the Essenes have finished their prayers to the sun, which, down
in this black hole, they worship more earnestly than ever.”
So Miriam waited, though she would eat nothing, till at length Ithiel
came and led them past the cistern up the stairs to the store or
treasure chamber, where the trap-door stood wide, since, except in case
of some danger, they had no need to shut it. Next, they reached the
door of solid stone which Ithiel showed her how to open, and entered
the base of the massive building. There, far above her, Miriam saw the
sky again, red from the lights of morning, and at the sight of it
clapped her hands and called aloud.
“Hush!” said Ithiel. “These walls are thick, yet it is not safe to
raise a voice of joy in Jerusalem, that home of a thousand miseries,
lest, perchance, some should hear it through a cleft in the masonry,
and cause search to be made for the singer. Now, if you will, follow
me.”
So they went up and up, till at last they reached the topmost gallery,
where the wall was pierced with loopholes and overhanging platforms,
whence stones and other missiles could be hurled upon an attacking
force. Miriam looked out eagerly, walking round the gallery from
aperture to aperture.
To the south lay the marble courts and glittering buildings of the
Temple, whence, although men fought daily in them, the smoke of
sacrifice still curled up to heaven. Behind these were the Upper and
the Lower City, crowded with thousands of houses, packed, every one of
them, with human beings who had fled hither for refuge, or,
notwithstanding the dangers of the time, to celebrate the Passover. To
the east was the rugged valley of Jehoshaphat, and beyond it the Mount
of Olives, green with trees soon to be laid low by the Romans. To the
north the new city of Bezetha, bordered by the third wall and the rocky
lands beyond. Not far away, also, but somewhat in front of them and to
the left, rose the mighty tower of Antonia, now one of the strongholds
of John of Gischala and the Zealots, while also to the west, across the
width of the city, were the towers of Hippicus, Phasæl and Mariamne,
backed by the splendid palace of Herod. Besides these were walls,
fortresses, gates and palaces without number, so intricate and many
that the eye could scarcely follow or count them, and, between, the
numberless narrow streets of Jerusalem. These and many other things
Ithiel pointed out to Miriam, who listened eagerly till he wearied of
the task. Then they looked downwards through the overhanging platforms
of stone to the large market-place beneath and to the front, and upon
the roofs of the houses, mostly of the humbler sort, that were built
behind almost up to the walls of the Old Tower, whereon many people
were gathered as though for safety, eating their morning meal, talking
anxiously together, and even praying.
Whilst they were thus engaged, Nehushta touched Miriam and pointed to
the road which ran from the Valley of Thorns on the northeast. She
looked, and saw a great cloud of dust that advanced swiftly, and
presently, through the dust, the sheen of spears and armour.
“The Romans!” said Nehushta quietly.
She was not the only one who had caught sight of them, for suddenly the
battlement of every wall and tower, the roof of every lofty house, the
upper courts of the Temple, and all high places became crowded with
thousands and tens of thousands of heads, each of them staring towards
that advancing dust. In silence they stared as though their multitudes
were stricken dumb, till presently, from far below out of the maze of
winding streets, floated the wail of a single voice.
“Woe, woe to Jerusalem!” said the voice. “Woe, woe to the City and the
Temple!”
They shuddered, and as it seemed to them, all the listening thousands
within reach of that mournful cry shuddered also.
“Aye!” repeated Ithiel, “woe to Jerusalem, for yonder comes her doom.”
Now on the more rocky ground the dust grew thinner, and through it they
could distinguish the divisions of the mighty army of destroyers. First
came thousands of Syrian allies and clouds of scouts and archers, who
searched the country far and wide. Next appeared the road-makers and
the camp-setters, the beasts of burden with the general’s baggage and
its great escort, followed by Titus himself, his bodyguard and
officers, by pikemen and by horsemen. Then were seen strange and
terrible-looking engines of war beyond count, and with them the
tribunes, and the captains of cohorts and their guards who preceded the
engines, and that “abomination of desolation,” the Roman Eagles,
surrounded by bands of trumpeters, who from time to time uttered their
loud, defiant note. After them marched the vast army in ranks six deep,
divided into legions and followed by their camp-bearers and squadrons
of horse. Lastly were seen the packs of baggage, and mercenaries by
thousands and tens of thousands. On the Hill of Saul the great host
halted and began to encamp. An hour later a band of horsemen five or
six hundred strong emerged out of this camp and marched along the
straight road to Jerusalem.
“It is Titus himself,” said Ithiel. “See, the Imperial Standard goes
before him.”
On they came till, from their lofty perch, Miriam, who was
keen-sighted, could see their separate armour and tell the colour of
their horses. Eagerly she searched them with her eyes, for well she
guessed that Marcus would be one of those who accompanied his general
upon this service. That plumed warrior might be he, or that with the
purple cloak, or that who galloped out from near by the Standard on an
errand. He was there; she was sure he was there, and yet they were as
far apart as when the great sea rolled between them.
Now, as they reconnoitred and were passing the Tower of Women, of a
sudden the gate opened, and from alleys and houses where they had lain
in ambush were poured out thousands of Jews. Right through the thin
line of horsemen they pierced, uttering savage cries, then doubled back
upon the severed ends. Many were cut down; Miriam could see them
falling from their horses. The Imperial Standard sank, then rose and
sank again to rise once more. Now dust hid the combat, and she thought
that all the Romans must be slain. But no, for presently they began to
appear beyond the dust, riding back by the way they had come, though
fewer than they were. They had charged through the multitude of Jews
and escaped. But who had escaped and who were left behind? Ah! that she
could not tell; and it was with a sick and anxious heart that Miriam
descended the steps of the tower into the darkness of the caves.