THE TRIUMPH OF SIMON
Night melted into the golden light of a lovely morning.
The Jewish multitude, pale-eyed and anxious, trooped to the city walls.
To their surprise the encircling lines of legionaries that had been
posted to the east, and to the west, and to the south, of the city were
all in motion, taking their way to the camp at Scopus.
Conjecturing what this new movement should mean, the Jews came to
the conclusion that Cestius was massing all his troops for the final
assault, to be delivered from the north.
This was likewise the opinion of Crispus; his father was purposely
leaving three sides of the city unguarded in the belief that the Jews
would fight with less desperation, as knowing that a way of retreat was
open to them both on flank and rear.
By noontide all the various sections of the Roman army were seen to be
concentrated upon the northern heights of Scopus. Not a cohort, not
a maniple, not a single legionary, was visible elsewhere. Even those
strategic points which on the previous day had been won at the cost of
so much toil and blood were all relinquished, the troops that held them
having withdrawn to join the common host.
This last movement was, in the eyes of the Jewish multitude, a very
mysterious one. What did it mean? They looked on in silent and
breathless wonder.
Suddenly, the shrill note of a trumpet rang out upon the morning
air. The distant notes were borne by the breeze in faint cadence to
the ears of Crispus. With a sudden thrill at his heart he listened,
doubtful as to whether he could have heard aright. Again the trumpet
sang out. The same strain as before. There was no mistaking its
meaning, and Crispus sank back with a groan of despair.
_It was the signal for retreat!_
The great army that had set out from Antioch burning to redeem Roman
honor by recovering Jerusalem was now actually moving off again, at
the very moment when it might have successfully accomplished its work;
moving off--to quote the contemporary historian--“without any reason in
the world!”[18]
Silently the people stared, scarcely able to believe their eyes. Then,
as each successive evolution made the truth more and more plain, there
burst from a hundred thousand voices a yell that seemed to rend the
very firmament.
“THE ROMANS ARE RETREATING!”
“It’s a stratagem to lure the Jews from the city,” said the bewildered
Crispus, trying to delude himself with false hopes. “They will follow,
and he will fall upon them.”
He was right in saying that the Jews would follow.
The gates of the city clanged wide, and an armed multitude, Simon at
their head, poured forth with intent to harass the retreating foe.
Crispus, watching with mournful and rueful visage, took his last look
at the soldiers of the Roman rearguard as they stood in glittering
splendor upon the sky-line. They had faced about on the very summit of
Scopus to discharge a flight of arrows at the foremost column of the
pursuing Jews; a few moments afterwards and they had disappeared behind
the heights.
Their parting shots had no effect upon the advance of the Jews, who in
a wild, tumultuous mass swept forward up the broad, white, dusty road
and over the brow of the hill; in course of time they, too, like the
Romans, became lost to view.
Crispus fully expected to see them ere long come surging back in
headlong flight; but no! Sounds as of tumult and fighting reached his
ears, but these sounds becoming more and more distant showed that it
was _not_ the Jews who were fleeing.
Sorrowfully he lay down, and while vainly trying--for he would not
accept Vashti’s explanation of the matter--to devise some theory to
account for a retreat so strange, he fell asleep. Vashti seized the
opportunity to steal quietly off, and making her way to the temple
turned into the Eastern Cloister or Solomon’s Colonnade. Here the
Christians of Jerusalem were wont to meet, drawn thither by the
knowledge that this place had been a favorite resort of their Lord
while upon earth. As Vashti made her way along this arcade she came
upon a little group--men, women, and children--whom she recognized
as adherents of the faith, the holy band that had survived the
persecutions alike of Jewish Sanhedrim and Roman procurator. Their
air, sad yet sweet, and the character of their attire--for they were
habited as if for a long journey--told her that they were taking their
last farewell of the temple. Some were gazing wistfully around, as well
knowing that they would see the place no more; a few knelt reverently
upon the pavement, and kissed the stones that had once been trodden by
the hallowed feet of the Saviour.
Among them, exercising a mild and paternal authority, there moved one,
dignified and saintly in aspect, Simeon, son of Cleophas, revered as
being the cousin, according to the flesh, of the crucified Master. A
pillar of the church, and a witness of the truth, he had already lived
seventy years, and was destined, either from the pure and temperate
character of his life or from being specially favored by heaven,
to live yet fifty more, terminating his long life by a glorious
martyrdom.[19]
It was his hand that had baptized Vashti, whom he now greeted with a
gentle smile.
“You are quitting the city?” said she, sorrowfully.
“Even so,” returned Simeon; “at intervals, and in small groups, that
we may not attract the attention of our enemies. We have seen the sign
foretold by the Lord while He was yet with us: ‘Jerusalem compassed
with armies.’ Therefore do we obey His voice and hasten our departure,
lest the Zealots should return to intercept our flight. The door is
open; who can tell how soon it may be shut? We have a further sign in
the Messianic fountain of Siloam that has withdrawn its waters from
this wicked city.”
“And whither are you going?”
“Beyond Jordan to the city of Pella among the mountains. My daughter,
are you not going with us, seeing that upon this city, that hath shed
the blood of the saints, there is coming utter destruction?--yea,
‘_Tribulation such as was not since the beginning of the world to this
time; no, nor ever shall be._’”
There was in the bishop’s words that which set Vashti’s heart thrilling
with a nameless fear. She yearned to accompany the little band to
Pella, but durst not run contrary to the will of her mother, who, she
well knew, would never be persuaded to quit the city. And there was
little Arad. And the good but heathen Crispus, for whose conversion she
daily prayed, occupied also a place in her heart. No! she could not
bear to part from these, and so she resisted the persuasive words of
her new-found friends.
“Why will you make me weep?” said she. “If it be the will of the Lord
can He not protect me here equally as well as at Pella?”
“Daughter, thou hast well said,” returned Simeon. “Is it not written:
‘Who ever perished, being innocent? or when were the righteous cut
off?’ We leave thee in His hands. Be sure that we shall not fail to
pray for thee daily.”
“Your blessing, father,” said Vashti as she knelt upon the pavement.
“You have it, my daughter,” replied the good bishop, laying his hands
upon her head.
The little band now turned sorrowfully away, casting many a lingering
look behind. Vashti, gazing from the pillared arcade, watched them as
they quitted the Shushan or Beautiful Gate, and made their way down the
hillside to the brook Cedron. Crossing the dark stream by a bridge they
ascended the leafy slope of Olivet; arrived upon its summit they paused
to take one long, last look at the city, and then, disappearing one by
one over the brow of the mount, they became lost to view.
With a sense of desolation at her heart, such as she had never before
known, Vashti went home again to find Crispus awake and chafing because
the Jews had not yet returned in headlong flight.
But the Jews did not return that day; no, nor yet the next! A whole
week passed, a week filled with strange rumors of Roman defeat and
Jewish success.
On the eighth day the Jewish multitude reappeared, chanting songs of
victory.
Their entry into the city took the shape of a triumphal procession,
made resplendent with chariots and horses, with arms and standards, all
captured from the enemy!
When Simon, the hero of the fight, appeared riding in an ivory
car, whose front and sides were decorated with the gory heads of
slain Romans, the delighted citizens greeted him with the waving of
palm-branches, as though he were the very Messiah. Young maidens flung
flowers before his chariot, and men cast down purple mantles.
“Hosanna to the son of Giora!”
“Hail to the Scourge of the Romans!”
It was a great day for the Zealot chief, too great in the eyes of the
jealous Eleazar, who was beginning to fear that Simon had ambitions
inconsistent with his own supremacy.
“We must clip the wings of this eagle ere he fly too high,” he muttered
darkly.
As for Crispus, the procession seemed to him like some hideous dream.
Could it be that a fine Roman army, commanded by his own father, had
suffered defeat at the hands of an undisciplined horde of Oriental
barbarians?
It was even so; Vashti that evening told him the whole story as she had
gathered it from others.
Simon’s followers, keeping to the heights that overhung the Pass of
Beth-horon, had followed the Romans day by day, attacking them in
front, flank and rear, but never venturing an open engagement. The
Roman legionaries, demoralized by the retreat, seemed to lack even the
spirit to defend themselves. At last, when more than five thousand of
his men had fallen in this guerilla warfare, Cestius, to avoid further
disaster, was compelled to resort to a stratagem of despair. Having
with studied pomp and display formed and fortified a camp, he stole
off quietly in the dead of night, leaving the tents standing and the
watch-fires burning, so as to deceive the enemy for a time. The trick
answered; and Cestius, gaining a few hours’ start, succeeded by forced
marches in bringing his panic-stricken troops to Antipatris, behind
whose ramparts he was secure from attack. As for the camp with its
standards, furniture, and military stores, this was, of course, seized
and plundered by the delighted Jews.
Not since the day when the German barbarians, under Arminius, had cut
to pieces the legions of Varus in the depths of the Teutoburg forest,
had a disaster so great befallen the Roman arms.
Had this defeat happened under any other commander, the shame of it
would have touched to the quick the patriotic pride of Crispus, but
that this defeat should have been brought about by the bad generalship
of his own father----!
Filial affection seemed for the moment to die within Crispus.
“Doth my father still live?” he muttered moodily. “Had he no sword to
fall upon? He hath made the name of Cestius synonymous with coward.”
That day, the first time for several weeks, Crispus was able to rise
from his bed and assume his Roman garb.
And now came the momentous question as to how he should get safely out
of Jerusalem, a question that was settled in a very remarkable manner.
Miriam’s house, like all the larger houses in Jerusalem, was built
around a square court paved with tiles, and adorned in the middle with
a fountain.
One afternoon, Vashti was sitting alone in this court, and thinking,
as she was always thinking, of Crispus, when a heavy footstep caused
her to look up. The thing that she had been fearing during many weeks
had come to pass at last. There, a few paces distant, stood Simon
of Gerasa! Only by a great effort was she able to keep herself from
fainting at sight of the dark and terrible Zealot.
“Interpret me this riddle,” said he. “Into the house was seen to go
that which never came forth again.”
She knew that he was alluding to Crispus, and her heart almost ceased
beating.
“To be more plain, doth not Crispus the Roman abide here?”
In defiance of the teaching of Simeon the bishop, that a falsehood is
never justifiable even when its purpose is to save human life, Vashti
was tempted to deny all knowledge of Crispus.
“Why should you think that?” she replied in a trembling voice.
“You do not deny it? Take me to him.”
Vashti did not stir.
“Come, girl,” exclaimed Simon, growing impatient, “delay not, or I
summon my Zealots to search the house, and if these patriots once
enter,” he continued with a grim smile, “they’ll leave little of value
behind. I seek the Roman to do him not evil but good. I swear it.”
“_You_ swear!” flashed out Vashti, her indignation getting the better
of her fear. “You, who broke your oath and massacred the Roman
garrison! What is _your_ word worth?”
The Zealot laughed unashamedly.
“When a man, desirous of hanging a dog, lures the creature to him by
a tempting bait, do you call him wicked? And what are the Romans but
dogs, unfit to live.”
“Then Crispus, being a Roman, is a dog?”
“He is; but he is the best of the dogs, and therefore am I minded to do
him a service.”
Compelled to yield, Vashti led the way, wondering what Crispus would
think of her action in bringing the Zealot upon him.
She found him in an upper chamber, sitting at a table, reading a Greek
scroll of one of the gospels, and frowning at what he considered its
bizarre style. Upon the same table lay a drawn sword.
“‘_And they shall lay thee even with the ground_,’” read Crispus. “Now,
I trust that this man may prove a true prophet, for--ah! who comes
here?”
His eye, lifting, had caught sight of Simon. Familiarized with sudden
perils, Crispus kept an unmoved countenance.
“How fares the noble patient?” said Simon, sardonically.
“Why, as to that, you may test his strength, if you will,” replied
Crispus, laying his hand upon the sword.
But though he spoke thus boldly, and longed to slay the man who had
helped to massacre his fellow-Romans, he felt himself, in his present
state of convalescence, to be as weak as a babe. It was all over with
him if the Zealot took him at his word.
“Tush!” responded Simon, with folded arms. “Do you not see that I am
unarmed. I come as a friend. Were I thy enemy and desired thy death
should I have sought to save thee from the hand of Eleazar?”
“And why that attempted grace on your part?” asked Crispus, laying down
his weapon.
“Were you not the first to rise at my trial and condemn the dastardly
Florus?”
“My condemnation of Florus was not meant as the justification of Simon.”
“Be that as it may. Let me state my errand. You are surrounded by
enemies, who, if they did but know that you are abiding here, would
break in and slay you. Be it mine to save you. I am here secretly to
offer you a safe conduct to your Roman friends at Antipatris.”
“’Tis scarcely credible,” said Crispus.
He was amazed, as well he might be, at the offer. Why should Simon be
willing to undertake this enterprise, which, if detected, would put him
at feud with Eleazar and the whole body of the Zealots?
“My reason for this course I reserve till to-night,” was the only
answer Simon would give to Crispus’ questioning.
“But if you are willing that I should get safely from Jerusalem, why
not let me arrange my departure in my own way?”
“Do so, and die. You cannot escape in the daytime, and at night no one
can leave the city without a signed order from Eleazar. But should you
succeed in evading the sentinels at the gates you will find the public
roads leading from Jerusalem patrolled by armed Zealots, who slay all
whom they detect escaping from the city. ‘Jerusalem,’ they say, and
rightly, ‘hath need of all her sons, and he who deserts her at this
crisis shall receive a traitor’s doom.”
How Vashti rejoiced that the Christians had seized the first
opportunity to escape!
“Your safety,” continued Simon, addressing Crispus, “lies in my
escorting you; apart from me you will be stopped, interrogated, slain.”
“I will avail myself of your offer,” said Crispus. “But I forewarn you
that when the Roman army comes again from Cæsarea, as come it will, I
shall be found within its ranks, and if we meet in battle look to no
sparing from me.”
“Be it so,” said Simon coldly. “To-night at the sixth hour be ready for
the journey. I will bring two steeds with me. But a word of caution.
Exchange that Roman costume for the Hebrew caftan and abba, if you
would be safe.”
With that Simon took his departure, directing his steps to the temple,
where he found to his surprise that the Sanhedrim were holding a
meeting in the hall Gazith, a meeting to which they had not thought fit
to invite him.
The object of their deliberations, so it seemed, was to appoint
military governors for the various toparchies or districts, of not only
Judæa, but also of Galilee, Idumæa, and Peræa, these three provinces
having decided to throw in their lot with the Jewish cause.
As the Sanhedrim, having dispatched this business, were departing,
Simon encountered Eleazar on the threshold of the hall.
“A council, and I not invited?” he said in an injured tone. “But there,
let be! How have matters sped?”
“Joseph ben Gorion and Ananus have been appointed rulers of Jerusalem.”
“Priests both,” commented Simon.
“_I_ am a priest,” returned the other.
“Were these two like thee I would rejoice,” replied the Zealot, who
recognized the military abilities of Eleazar.
“Rejoice, then, that I am made ruler of Idumæa.”
“Why, so I do. What more?”
“Josephus hath rule over the two Galilees.”
“Another priest, and a smooth-tongued, double-faced Pharisee; not to be
trusted.”
Eleazar proceeded to enumerate other appointments, few of which met
with Simon’s approval.
“It seems,” said the Zealot, when the other had finished his list,
“that the Sanhedrim hath no need for my services.”
“Your name was not brought forward in connection with any office.”
“Not even by you?” Eleazar was silent. “Who was the first to enter
Antonia? Not a Sanhedrist, I trow. Who promised to free Jerusalem from
its siege, and did so? Not a Sanhedrist. Who was foremost in the attack
on the retreating legions of Cestius? Not a Sanhedrist. And now do they
pass me by, and distribute the rewards of victory among themselves?
Verily, you have not done well, Eleazar, son of Ananias.”
And Simon stalked wrathfully away.
* * * * *
As night drew on Crispus’ feelings became a curious mingling of
pleasure and regret--pleasure at the thought of freedom, regret at
having to part from Vashti, whose companionship had grown dear to him.
In this hour of parting as they sat in the upper chamber by the light
of a silver lamp, Vashti gently sought, as she had frequently sought
before, to bring him over to her faith.
Crispus shook his head.
“Your creed is an impossible one,” said he. “A religion that tells us
to love our enemies would be the ruin of states. Where would the Roman
empire have been had we followed that doctrine? The world will never
be ruled by love, but by _this_.” Taking his sword by the point he held
it aloft.
“Look!” said Vashti, gently.
Crispus looked where she pointed, and lo! upon the chamber wall was a
shadow cast by the light of the lamp, and that shadow had _the shape of
a cross_!
He who had not started at Simon’s sudden advent started now. He lowered
the sword and sheathed it with a thoughtful air. Upon him who was
so much disposed to catch at omens that little incident made more
impression than all Vashti’s discourses.
“The time of your departure is at hand,” she said sorrowfully. “You
must kiss little Arad before you go, and say farewell to my mother.”
When the sixth hour of the night had come, Crispus, disguised in Jewish
garb, descended to the door of Miriam’s dwelling. Vashti was with him,
and looked cautiously forth. Under the radiance of the full moon the
street of Millo was half in silver light and half in ebon shadow. Out
of the latter emerged the tall form of Simon leading two horses by the
bridle.
As Crispus beheld Vashti’s eyes eloquent with the sorrow of parting, he
longed to take her within his arms and press her lips to his. He knew
that this maiden loved him, as well as he knew that he loved her. But
between them there lay the shadow of the unknown Athenaïs; and even
should Crispus, invoking the law, repudiate his consort, he would be no
better off as regards Vashti, whose Christian faith, dearer to her than
earthly love, forbade her to marry one that had put away his wife.
With the words “Farewell, sweet Vashti; may we soon meet again!” he
mounted the horse, and, in company with Simon, rode slowly away,
pausing for a moment at the street corner to wave with his hand a final
adieu.
They drew nigh to the gate Gennath, where a guard was stationed.
Simon’s well-known face procured a ready passport both for himself and
his companion.
“Who is he that rides with thee?” asked the captain of Simon.
“In his way as good a patriot as myself,” was the answer.
The two passed through the gate and galloped off in the moonlight, the
sense of freedom and the rapid motion through the night air causing
Crispus to tingle with exhilaration.
It was well that Simon remained with him. Twice they were stopped by
bands of Zealots, who speedily withdrew on recognizing the “Scourge of
the Romans.”
Crispus, though in a way grateful for Simon’s protection, did not feel
much disposed to talk with him; the Zealot, on his part, was moody and
taciturn, and so the strangely-assorted pair rode side by side with
scarce a word till in the first faint light of an Eastern dawn the
distant towers of Antipatris rose to view.
At about a hundred yards from the gate Simon drew rein.
“We part here.”
“Good! And now why this friendly act on your part?”
“My bringing you here is a proof that Simon the Black can sometimes
keep faith. I pledged my word to your father, Cestius, to conduct you
safely to Antipatris. He will tell you the story,” added the Zealot,
turning as if about to ride off.
“I prefer to hear it now, and from you,” said Crispus, a suspicion of
the truth beginning to dawn upon his mind.
“Well, since thou art curious, listen. On the night following Cestius’
investment of the city, a youth was seen descending the wall by a rope.
I dispatched a party, who brought him back. Upon him I found a letter,
whose contents I kept to myself. On the sixth night of the siege our
affairs being, as you may remember, a little desperate, I went to the
Roman camp, and was admitted to the presence of Cestius. ‘Your son
is alive,’ I said, ‘as this letter plainly shows; but he shall die,
unless you immediately withdraw your troops.’ He threatened to hang
me for daring to come with such a message. ‘As you will,’ I answered,
‘but know this, I have left behind me the order that if I am not back
in the city within three hours Crispus is to be brought forth upon the
battlements and crucified.’
“That stayed his hand. He fell to thinking, and the end of it was that
love for his son triumphed over his duty to the state. But I made it
my condition not to surrender you till he had entirely withdrawn to
Cæsarea.”
“And you broke your promise. My father pledged his word to retreat, and
you attacked him during that retreat.”
“Nay, I broke no promise, for I warned Cestius that if he retired
I should be unable to check the Zealots from following. ‘Let them
follow,’ were his words. He welcomed the idea of pursuit, thinking to
give us over to the sword, but he found he had to deal with men that
could fight.”
“Aye, from the safe covert of the hill-tops. Your courage stopped with
the open plain.”
“I may not talk longer with you, for I see soldiers issuing from
the city-gate, and I have no desire that my head shall decorate the
battlements of Antipatris. I have fulfilled my word to Cestius, and now
I return. We shall meet again under the walls of Jerusalem.”
So saying, Simon turned his steed and galloped off by the way he had
come.
Looking towards Antipatris, Crispus saw a small body of foot soldiers
advancing from the gate; at their head was a mounted officer, none
other than Terentius Rufus, who came spurring forward with all speed,
as if bent on learning the business of the two Jewish-looking horsemen.
“Hold, fellow!” he cried, reining in his steed, as he drew abreast
of Crispus. “Who art----?” And then, his voice suddenly changing, he
exclaimed, “By the gods, ’tis Crispus.”
His quick look of delight was instantly succeeded by one of gravity.
“Turn from the city,” said he, “and ride back a little way, lest you
should be recognized by my men. Five thousand aurei are a strong
temptation to mercenary natures.”
“How mean you?”
“There is a price on your head.”
“Ah! what have I been doing to deserve it.”
“’Tis said that when Cestius had invested Jerusalem you wrote a craven
letter imploring him to raise the siege, or your life would be forfeit.”
“I would that I had my hand on the throat of the man that invented that
lie.”
“Think not that _I_ ever believed it. Unfortunately, however, this
slander hath reached the ears of Nero, who, in his rage, hath decreed
that the lives of the two Cestii, father and son, are forfeit to the
state.”
Confounded by this tidings, Crispus could do nothing for a few moments
but stare blankly at his friend.
“What has become of my father?” said he, finding his voice.
Rufus’ hesitation told its own tale.
“Speak!” said Crispus, growing pale. “How did he die?”
“Like a Roman; he fell on his sword.”
Crispus paid to his father’s memory the tribute of a brief and pitying
silence. It was a bitter thought to him that if he had not written
that letter Cestius might now be living, the conqueror of Jerusalem,
to be greeted at Rome like a second Pompey with the title, “Noster
Hierosolymarius.”
“Go not to Antipatris, or to any town where you are known,” said Rufus,
“since any man may lawfully slay you. The streets of Cæsarea are posted
with tablets offering five thousand aurei for the head of Crispus.”
“I need scarcely ask what has become of my father’s estates?”
“Confiscated,” replied Rufus, laconically.
That he had toppled down in a moment from his high office of Secretary
to the Legate of Syria; that he had lost his patrimonial estates--nay,
even the fact that he had been doomed to death--was to Crispus as
nothing in comparison with the thought that he was now deprived of all
opportunity of returning to Jerusalem in company with legions to avenge
the massacre of the Roman garrisons.
Gone, too, was his hope of a kingdom. The doom pronounced upon him
was a proof that Nero had revoked his purpose of ratifying Polemo’s
intended disposal of his crown. And his wife, the mysterious Athenaïs?
Was it likely that she would remain faithful to him on learning that
the Roman noble whom she had wedded was now a pauper, and that a
proscribed one?
“Who commands in this war, now that my father has gone?”
“Old Flavius Vespasian, with his son Titus as second in command.
Titus,” continued Rufus, with a wry mouth, “our equal once. Now he’ll
hold his head high above us both. Perhaps my lady Berenice will smile
on him now, seeing what a great man he has become.”
“Berenice? ah!” said Crispus in a curious tone. “Of course she hath
heard of my disgrace. How doth she take it?”
“One of the proscriptive tablets directed against you hangs upon her
palace-wall at Cæsarea, whence it may be inferred that your fall is not
a matter of much concern to her.”
Crispus wondered whether Vashti would suffer a placard dooming him to
death to remain upon the wall of _her_ house.
“You must live in concealment,” advised Rufus, “till Nero be persuaded
to revoke his unjust decree; or, it may be, that your freedom will
come in another way, for if all the rumors circulated be true, our
present Cæsar is like ere long to lose his throne, if not his life,
so outrageously doth he shock public sentiment; in which case all his
acts will be annulled by his successor, and thus your patrimonial
estates may return to you. The question is, where will you hide in the
meantime?”
“I will go,” replied Crispus, his mind still under the singular
impression evoked by the shadow of the cross, “I will go to a people
that will suffer death rather than betray a suppliant; I will go to the
Christians of Pella.”