“VÆ VICTIS!”
Early next morning the Zealot chief Manahem, who, with his followers,
had camped during the night upon Olivet, descended that mount, and,
seated upon a chariot, entered the city with an air of pomp and state
that moved the spleen of Eleazar, as he watched the procession from the
roof of the temple-cloisters.
“Is this fellow a king?” said he. “Will he reign at Jerusalem?”
Manahem was welcomed with enthusiastic acclamation by the newly-armed
populace, who demanded that he should at once lead them against
Antonia, fully believing that he who had taken Masada would have no
difficulty in taking a similar fortress. Manahem could not decline this
task without risking his character for bravery; so, after plundering
and burning the deserted palaces of Agrippa and Ananias, he advanced
at the head of a tumultuous and disorderly throng towards the Turris
Antonia, where, having procured silence, he--in very bad Latin--called
upon the commandant to surrender the fortress.
“I am a Roman.”
And the officer, deeming that answer sufficient, disdained to give any
other.
“So was he who held Masada,” replied the Zealot chief, giving the
signal for the attack.
All day long under Manahem’s leadership a fierce fight raged round the
fortress, but when night fell, the Jews had nothing to show for their
fiery valor except their heavy tale of dead and dying.
Manahem’s wrath, arising from his failure, was enhanced by the
remark of Simon, who, out of jealousy, had refrained from helping his
brother-chief.
“You have caused the holy seed to be massacred.”
“Thou shalt captain them thyself to-morrow,” said Manahem.
“Be it so,” replied the Black Zealot calmly.
Next morning when the multitude had again assembled for war Simon thus
addressed them:
“Let him who had father or mother, son or daughter, killed in the day
of Florus come forward.”
Immediately hundreds of men pushed their way to the front.
“Behold the men who killed them!” cried Simon, pointing with his sword
to the fortress.
This lie, for such it was--the garrison having taken no part whatever
in the massacre--had a telling effect upon the crowd, filling them with
new fire and new fury. Led on by Simon in person, they rushed forward
with the scaling-ladders and planted them against the walls, though
it was only to be driven back again. For many hours the battle raged;
nineteen times repulsed, they returned with spirit unabated to the
attack; at the twentieth assault, which took place towards the close of
the day, the Jews succeeded in effecting an entrance.
“Leave not one alive!” was their cry. “Did they spare us and our little
ones?”
The little garrison, faced by overwhelming numbers, bravely maintained
the honor of the Roman name; with never a thought of asking for
quarter, they fought doggedly on, “each stepping where his comrade
fell,” till the blade glimmered in the grasp of the last man.
The standard that on the loftiest tower had so long flaunted before
Jewish eyes the hateful letters S.P.Q.R., was hauled down and torn to
shreds.
Thus fell, after two days’ hard fighting, the great fortress of
Antonia, an event that gave little pleasure to the victor of Masada,
when he heard the people saying that night, “Manahem hath slain his
thousands, but Simon his ten thousands!”
* * * * *
“To the Prætorium!” was the cry of the multitude next morning.
Manahem resumed his command; and, mounted on a prancing horse and
followed by shouting crowds, he advanced to the open space fronting
Gabbatha, and in a loud voice called for the surrender of the palace.
The reply to this was an arrow, which, as intended, went clean through
the crest of Manahem’s helmet.
“Your heart next time,” said Metilius, “if you again propose treason to
a Roman.”
Manahem, swearing by Urim and by Thummim that the defenders of the
Prætorium should meet with the same fate as those of Masada and
Antonia, moved off to a quarter, whence, shielded from the missiles of
the enemy, he could direct the operations of the siege.
The most pitiable object in the Prætorium at this time was Ananias. He
had ventured to look forth from a window, and the crowd, recognizing
him, yelled out their fierce hatred of the Sadducean hierarch, loudest
among the shouters being priests themselves, whose words soon showed
the cause of their fury.
“Who sent his servants round to collect the priests’ tithes, and
bludgeoned those that would not pay? Who but Ananias?”
“Who, when he had got the tithes, kept them to spend upon the harlot
Asenath, so that many priests died for want? Who but Ananias?”
Before his terrified gaze they paraded the gory head of the Antonian
commandant fixed upon the point of a lofty pike.
“Thus shall it be with thy head,” they cried.
From that hour Ananias had the air of a man haunted with the certainty
of coming down. With melancholy countenance, he wandered aimlessly
through the splendid halls of the Prætorium, trembling at the din of
battle outside its walls, and expecting at every moment to witness the
fearful inrush of fierce-eyed, saber-brandishing Zealots, all athirst
for his blood. His cowardice moved even his Jewish friends to contempt.
“Ananias, thy face is like a whited wall,” laughed one.
A whited wall! Those words troubled him for the rest of the day,
reviving, as they did, a saying that had long since passed from his
memory.
“_God shall smite thee, thou whited wall_: for sittest thou to judge me
after the law, and commandest me to be smitten contrary to the law?”[15]
Whence, and from whom, came these words? Evidently from some prisoner
before his judgment-seat, whom he had ordered to be struck.
Yes; he remembered now; it was the indignant utterance of Paul of
Tarsus--that Paul whose life he had sought to take by the daggers of
the Zealots. And now, by the irony of a divine Nemesis, the daggers of
these same Zealots were seeking to take _his_ life!
Were there no secret chambers, he wailed, where one could hide? He had
heard that Herod, in building this palace, had constructed such. Would
no one point them out? But all were too busy with the siege to attend
to his plaint.
That siege was conducted with cool skill on the part of the Romans, and
with undisciplined fury on that of the Jews, who with that fanatical
frenzy peculiar to Orientals, did not hesitate to fling their naked
bodies upon the Roman pikes in the vain attempt to force a way into the
Prætorium.
Every device known to the warfare of that age was tried by the
Jews--escalade and fiery arrows, battering-ram and secret mining--tried
and made of none effect by the vigilance and ingenuity of Crispus. He,
far more than Metilius, was the life and soul of the garrison, even as
Simon proved himself more resourceful and valiant than his captain
Manahem, who chose for the most part to sit still in a safe place,
paying out five golden pieces for every Roman head brought to him.
King Agrippa’s cavalry did excellent service at the first. Sallying
forth at unexpected times they scattered the mob with their furious
charges, and, sweeping the streets clear of the besiegers, they rode
triumphantly round and round the palace. But Simon soon found a remedy
for these tactics by sprinkling the ground with steel calthrops that
lamed the horses and brought down the riders. After this the cavalry
refused to make any more sallies. Simon marked their flagging zeal, and
was quick to turn it to his own advantage. By the mouth of a herald he
proclaimed that the Jewish defenders of the Prætorium should have full
liberty to march out of the city with their arms and effects; some few,
however, were to be exempted from this privilege, Ananias being one
of the number. To his eternal disgrace, Darius, master of Agrippa’s
horse, accepted these terms; Metilius, owing to the paucity of his own
band, was unable to prevent this defection, and accordingly, on the
twenty-first morning of the siege, the Jewish contingent began to file
through the front gate of the Prætorium, amid the jeers and curses of
those whom they were leaving to their fate.
Death had reduced the number of the Romans to two hundred and fifty;
and, as it was impossible with so small a force to defend the whole
circuit of the Prætorium, Metilius seized the opportunity while
the eyes of the Zealots were fastened upon the outgoing Jewish
troops to withdraw quietly and quickly to the three great towers of
Mariamne, Phasaelus, and Hippicus, erected by Herod the Great, and
respectively dedicated to the memory of his wife, his brother, and
his friend--towers situated upon the city-wall, which, at this point,
formed in itself the northern and western sides of the Prætorium.
In the matter of military architecture, antiquity had nothing to show
more marvelous than these three towers. Each stood upon a base of stone
without any chamber or vacuity in it, the base of Mariamne forming
a solid cube of thirty feet, that of Phasaelus forty, and that of
Hippicus sixty. The battering-ram was powerless against these enormous
blocks, compacted with unequaled perfection, and bound together by iron
cramps.
The Zealots, quickly discovering that the Prætorium had been abandoned
by its defenders, entered, and a wild scene ensued. Never remarkable
for discipline or for subserviency to their chiefs, they wrangled
fiercely over the spoil, even to the extent of drawing swords upon
each other. Upon one point, however, all were agreed--namely, that the
beautiful sculptures adorning this old Herodian palace were a violation
of the Second Commandment, and an insult to the Jewish religion.
“Idols!” they screamed.
Making no distinction between the statues of mortals and those of gods,
they called for hammer and mallet, and broke all alike to pieces.
“Vashti’s image among the rest, I suppose,” muttered Crispus, as he
watched the work of destruction. “I would have given much to preserve
it.”
The next day two Zealots, who had been exploring every corner of the
dismantled palace, emerged with a shout, leading captive an old man. It
was Ananias, who had lain during the night concealed in a subterranean
aqueduct.
More dead than alive, the trembling priest, who had once held despotic
sway in Jerusalem, was hauled amid contumely and blows to the presence
of Manahem, who received him with a smile of savage satisfaction.
“What shall be done to this friend of the Romans? this traitor to
his country?” said he, affecting to ask the advice of Simon, whom he
secretly hated, yet dared not hurt.
And herein Simon behaved in very subtle fashion, for wishing Ananias
to die, yet suspecting that if he said as much, Manahem, out of sheer
opposition, would adopt a contrary course, he made answer:
“Let him live.”
It was with a malicious smile that Manahem replied:
“It is my will that he dies.”
And at his nod two Zealots buried their daggers deep in the breast of
the one-time high priest.[16]
An hour afterwards Simon was in the temple-court conversing with
Eleazar.
“Thy sire is dead.”
Eleazar was startled, and to some extent grieved. Filial sentiment
was not altogether dead in him, in spite of his recent quarrel with
Ananias, and on learning how the latter had died, he exclaimed fiercely:
“God do so to me and more also if I make not the end of Manahem as the
end of Ananias!”
The arrogant Manahem, unconscious of the forces secretly working
against him, now entered upon a course that brought him to ruin.
In the sack of the Prætorium he had come across a purple robe and a
golden crown, both belonging formerly to Herod the Great, and, putting
these emblems of royalty upon himself, he began to assume the air of a
king.
Leaving a strong force to watch the towers, Manahem, regally attired,
marched with the rest of his followers to the temple, declaring his
purpose to be a religious one; he came to offer a sacrifice as a means
of obtaining further victories.
But Eleazar, suspecting that his design was to gain possession of
the temple-fortress, without which Manahem could never be master of
the city, closed the gates, set every available Levite on guard, and
refused admission to the Zealot chief.
And now arose a dissension among the followers of Manahem; some were
for obtaining ingress to the temple by force of arms, but others,
sensible that Eleazar was as good a patriot as Manahem, were for
withdrawing.
Then Eleazar, seeing the quarrel becoming great among them, fanned the
flame by a speech that ended with the words:
“Men, zealous for God, you who out of a love of liberty have revolted
from the Romans, do you now betray that liberty? You who have cast off
the yoke of a foreign tyrant, do you now take upon you the yoke of one
home-born?”
Simon, who was standing beside Eleazar, clenched the matter.
“Ten thousand gold pieces to the man who brings me the head of
Manahem,” he shouted.
Thereafter all was confusion.
Some of the Zealots, siding with Eleazar, turned their swords against
their former chief, of whose tyranny they had already begun to weary;
the rest, closing around, endeavored to defend him. Then, beneath the
temple walls, there began a desperate fight, maintained for a short
time with equal fortune on both sides; but when the armed Levites,
under Simon and Eleazar, descended from the temple, the scale of battle
turned. The defeated party fled through Ophel, within whose narrow
and winding streets Manahem contrived to elude capture; but only for
a day or so. Discovered in his hiding-place, he was dragged forth and
slaughtered.
Thus ignominiously perished the last of the sons of the famous Judas,
the Galilean, sons, who, like their untamable father, had spent their
lives among the craggy heights of Judæa, waging guerilla warfare with
the Roman.
Eleazar now took upon himself the captaincy of all the disorderly
elements in the city. Simon was his second in command, and under their
joint direction the siege against the Roman garrison in the three
Herodian towers was pressed forward with vigor. But the fierce attack
was met by a defense equally fierce; ten Zealots died for every Roman,
since the garrison from the cover of their lofty walls could deal far
more hurt to the besiegers than the besiegers could to them.
Yet, in spite of the fact that the advantage was all on his side,
not many days had passed before Metilius, yielding to a strange and
unaccountable spirit of cowardice, suddenly announced his intention
of seeking terms with the enemy. Crispus, thunderstruck at this
weak-mindedness, argued in vain. Metilius held the command, and it was
his to do even as he listed.
Great was Eleazar’s satisfaction to hear himself addressed from the
battlements by Metilius on the question of capitulation.
An immediate armistice was proclaimed; and Eleazar, after a brief
deliberation with Simon, declared that if the Romans would descend from
the towers, and deliver up their arms, they should be permitted to go
forth from the city free and uninjured. To this Metilius assented,
and the compact was ratified by the reception into the towers of
three Jews, distinguished in rank, who, giving their right hand to
the tribune, swore “by the altar of God” to carry out the promised
stipulations.
Placed in a disgraceful position by this coming surrender, Crispus
determined at first that he would remain behind, though he should be
the only one to do so; sword in hand he would die, defending to the
last the Tower of Hippicus. But he soon relinquished this notion as
a piece of splendid but useless heroism; he would be casting away
his life without saving the fortress. It would be wiser and more
satisfactory to live on, and take part in his father’s campaign against
the city, a campaign that would soon reduce the Jews to submission
again.
At the hour fixed for the surrender--it was the Sabbath day--the
Romans descended from the towers, and stood on level ground.
They were received by Eleazar and Simon, who pointed the way the
soldiers should march. Metilius, on looking, saw that his band would
have to pass beneath two spears set obliquely in the ground so as to
form a kind of yoke; the Jews were adopting a Roman ceremony applied
both to slaves and to captives taken in war.
At this sight the blood even of Metilius rebelled.
“This was not included in the compact,” said he.
“Nor excluded,” replied Eleazar with an insulting smile. “March!”
Opposition being, in the circumstances, futile, the Romans were
compelled to submit to the humiliating ceremony. As each passed beneath
the yoke he delivered his sword and buckler to certain of the Zealots
stationed there to receive them.
But when the last Roman had been deprived of his arms, the Levitical
guards of Eleazar, sword in hand, came crowding round the little band.
Their significant looks sent a sudden suspicion to the hearts of the
Romans.
“The end has come, Metilius,” said Crispus. “’Twere better to have gone
on fighting.”
“Prepare for death, ye uncircumcized fools,” cried Eleazar with a
savage laugh.
“Death?” faltered Metilius. “Death, when ye have vowed by a solemn oath
to respect our lives!”
“We swore by the altar of God, and such oath is not binding upon the
conscience of a Jew. Here standeth Gamaliel’s son, Simeon, master of
all the learning of the scribes. Let him say whether I speak falsely.”
And that rabbi, who chanced to be present, stepped forward to justify
Eleazar’s assertion.
“The elders have delivered it,” said he, “that if a man swear by the
gold of the altar he must keep his oath, or dread condemnation; but if
he swear by the altar only, he is not guilty if he break his word.”
But Johanan ben Zacchai, who happened likewise to be present, opposed
this casuistry.
“Simeon,” said he, “which is the greater, the gold, or the altar that
sanctifieth the gold?” And, turning to Eleazar, he said:
“Will ye indeed slay these men?”
“Aye! Did they show us mercy in the day of Florus?”
“You will never get another Roman garrison to submit.”
“Be it so.”
“Defer the deed, for to-day is the Sabbath.”
“A holy day and a holy deed--to exterminate idolaters.”
Simon, although a party to Eleazar’s guilty trick, was nevertheless
willing to make an exception in favor of one of the captives.
“Give me the life of this man,” said he, pointing to Crispus.
“That fellow?” said Eleazar, with a wrathful glance at Crispus. “He is
the one who has done us the most hurt. Why do you seek to spare him?”
“Because at my trial he was the first to rise and rebuke the wicked
Florus.”
“He is the man,” said Simeon ben Gamaliel, “who defied and insulted
us in our own synagogue by snatching a Christian damsel from the
punishment justly due to her.”
“These heathen,” said Eleazar, “when they get the opportunity, try to
make us forswear our faith. Verily, we will do the like by them.”
The bravery exhibited by Crispus throughout the siege of the Prætorium
had created in Eleazar a feeling, not of admiration, but of rage; and
this rage was now enhanced by the serene and fearless bearing of the
captive.
Drawing his sword he walked over to Crispus.
“Cursed polytheist, what is the name of your chief god?”
“He is called Jupiter.”
“Then curse the name of Jupiter, if you would save your soul alive.”
Eleazar’s sneering and insulting menace drove Crispus to a foolish, yet
heroic, defiance.
“Men,” said he, turning to the Romans behind him, “the end has come.
Let us die bravely.” Then, raising his hand aloft to heaven, he cried,
“Sovereign Jupiter, all hail!”
“Swine that thou art!” exclaimed Eleazar; and, grinding his teeth with
rage, he plunged his sword to the very hilt into the side of Crispus,
who sank to the ground as one dead.
Quickened by Eleazar’s example, the Levites and Zealots began a
massacre of the defenseless captives. But Crispus’ words had not
been without effect upon the Romans. How bravely they died let that
historian say who was contemporary with the event.
“They neither defended themselves, nor asked for mercy, but only
reproached their slayers for breaking their oath and the articles of
capitulation. And thus were all these men barbarously murdered, all
excepting”--alas! that it should be written of a Roman!--“all excepting
Metilius; for when he entreated for mercy and promised that he would
turn proselyte and be circumcized, they saved him alive, but none else.”
* * * * *
Thus was Roman rule extinguished in Jerusalem in the year 66 A.D., a
little more than a century after its capture by the great Pompey.
On that same Sabbath, the high priest Matthias, in view of the
great triumph, decreed that the evening sacrifice should partake of
a thanksgiving character; and that, to enhance the dignity of the
occasion, the water used in the service should be taken, not from the
ordinary draw-well in the southern court of the sanctuary, but from the
hallowed Pool of Siloam outside the city wall.
But the Levitical train dispatched on that errand returned with
dismayed faces and empty urns.
Siloam would take no part in the wicked thanksgiving. _Its waters had
ceased flowing!_[17]