THE RESCUE OF VASHTI
Tiberius Alexander, the apostate Jew, and Crispus, with four
legionaries attending on them, stood at the foot of the city wall at
the point where masonry, carried aloft to an amazing height, supported
the Colonnade of Solomon.
The night, bright and starry in its earlier part, had now become
clouded and dark, an event that seemed to give satisfaction to
Alexander.
“The darker the night, the more likely am I to discover something,” he
observed, from which remark it was clear to Crispus that Alexander had
some special reason for bringing him to this spot, a spot that was a
sore trial to the olfactory sense, owing to the effluvium arising from
the dead bodies in the ravine of Cedron.
Into that ravine Alexander was now gazing. He could quote the Hebrew
prophets on occasion; usually, however, to ridicule them.
“‘Son of man,’” said he mockingly to Crispus, “‘can these dry bones
live?’”
“My answer is that of the scribes whose teaching you have deserted,”
retorted Crispus. “That which was not, came into being; how much more,
then, that which has been already?”
Tiberius Alexander might perhaps have replied to this celebrated,
rabbinical argument but that his attention was attracted at that moment
by the sudden appearance of a light at a window in one of the castella
or forts on the Roman line of contravallation.
Three times did the light flash, and then it vanished.
“You saw it?” said he to Crispus. “So, too, have I seen it, on other
nights than this. There can be no doubt that it is a signal to the Jews
in the city. We have a traitor in our camp. By remaining here we shall,
if I err not, discover who he is. Keep we in the shadow of this crag.”
“Is not yon castellum the one in which King Agrippa is quartered?”
whispered Crispus.
“Thou hast said,” replied Alexander.
For a long time the little party remained silent and expectant. At last
a sound was heard above their heads like the clanking of metal against
masonry, and looking up they saw coming down through the darkness a
very large basket of strong wicker-work attached to the end of an iron
chain. It touched the ground and there remained.
“Empty,” remarked Alexander, taking a peep into it. “It is as I
suspected. This is lowered by the priests for the reception of
something to be put into it by the man who signaled with the light. And
here comes the traitor himself.”
As he spoke there came stealing along at the foot of the city wall a
man whose garb showed him to be a soldier belonging to King Agrippa’s
troops. He was leading a file of lambs attached to one another by a
cord. Having arrived at his destination the man was about to lift
one of the animals into the basket when he stopped short in guilty
confusion upon seeing Alexander, who chose that very moment for making
his presence known.
“Are you not Sadas, the freedman of the Princess Berenice?”
The soldier admitted that he was. Then did Crispus recognize in him the
man who had denounced Vashti in the Royal Synagogue.
“Ah! that puts a different complexion on this affair, which is not so
grave as I had thought it. These lambs, presumably from Bethlehem, none
others being permissible on the temple-altar, are sent by the Princess
Berenice in order that the morning and the evening sacrifices may not
cease for want of victims. Is it not so, my Sadas? The supply above
is running short, I ween. Now I have a great regard for the princess,
but it seems to me that the fair lady’s zeal for her religion borders
closely upon treason to us Romans. It were foolish of us to permit
sacrifices to Jehovah here, after Theomantes hath so kindly invited
him to take up his dwelling in the Capitol. Therefore, as my men, not
to speak of myself, are very fond of roast lamb, do you, Quintus, lead
these animals to my tent, and place this fellow under ward. To-morrow
we’ll inquire further into the matter.”
The soldiers proceeded to do as bidden.
“I would we had a dozen swine to put into this basket,” continued
Alexander, giving it a contemptuous kick.
At that moment the priests on the cloister above observing that the
lambs were being taken back to the Roman camp by a party of soldiers,
saw that the affair had somehow miscarried and began to haul up the
basket again.
While Tiberius Alexander followed close upon the heels of the soldiers,
Crispus lingered in the vicinity of the walls, his mind tortured almost
to madness at the thought of what might be happening to Vashti in this
long and cruel process of starving the obstinate city into submission.
For all he knew to the contrary, she might be lying at that very moment
among the festering horrors of the glen of Cedron, her body torn by the
beak and claw of obscene birds of prey, to be seen no more by him till
the resurrection morning, when these “dry bones” would live again, to
shame the doctrine of the mocking Alexander.
The air grew darker, so dark that a circle of a few yards only was the
limit of Crispus’ vision; all beyond was blackness.
An ideal night for the enemy if they were minded to attack the Roman
entrenchments!
Scarcely had this thought occurred to Crispus when he heard, or fancied
he heard, a sound proceeding from a point not many yards distant. He
listened intently. Footsteps, not loud, but quiet footsteps; not of one
man but, so it seemed to Crispus, of three or four men, all walking in
a stealthy sort of way, as if wishing to keep their movements a secret.
They were coming slowly through the darkness right towards the place
where he stood. In another moment they would be upon him.
Romans on some errand of espial? or a party of Jewish deserters?
Bracing his buckler upon his arm and drawing his sword Crispus awaited
their approach.
As the men--they were three in number--came into view he bade them
halt, which they did with surprising promptitude. Questioning on
the part of Crispus elicited the fact that they were Jews, passover
pilgrims from Asia, detained by the war: appointed to guard a portion
of the wall in Ophel they had, through despair of the city’s salvation,
resolved to desert; and so, tying a rope to a battlement, they had let
themselves down.
The madness of these men! Though the crucifixions of Jewish fugitives
amounted to five hundred a day, the stream of defection from the city
never ceased, the deserters hoping, in spite of failure on the part of
their predecessors, to steal secretly through the Roman lines, or, if
need be, force a way at the sword’s point.
“How long is it since ye fled?”
“Less than the fourth part of an hour,” replied one whose name was
Asaph.
“Is the rope still hanging there?”
“Surely. How could we, when on the ground, detach it from the
battlement?”
“Think you that your flight is known?”
“We purposely waited till the night-watch had gone by, and left the
moment afterwards; therefore our flight will not be discovered for some
time yet.”
“Is it yours to watch the same part of the wall every night?”
“Till the next Sabbath.”
These questions of Crispus were inspired by a daring idea that had
suddenly darted into his mind.
A rope hanging from the city wall at a part deserted by its watchers!
Why should he not enter the city by the same means as that by which
these men had left it? His object in this enterprise was to find
Vashti, and having found her to bring her out of this city of death,
and to put her into some safe place of concealment, thereby defeating
the wicked scheme of Berenice. But his plan, as he rapidly conceived
it, required the co-operation of these three Jews, and there lay the
difficulty: they might refuse to join him, or, deceiving him by a
pretended assent, turn traitors at the very moment of his seeming
success. Nevertheless, desperate as the plan was, he determined to take
the risks.
“Hearken unto me, Asaph, and ye two,” said Crispus, adopting a Hebrew
phraseology, to make his address the more impressive. “As the Lord
liveth, before whom I stand, if ye attempt to pass the Roman lines
without me ye are dead men. But fear not, I will go with you and save
you. Yet will I not go with you to-night, but to-morrow night. Ye must
return, and resume your post upon the wall. I will go with you, not to
betray the city, but to seek therein a damsel, whose life I would save.
’Tis an easy matter for me to mount the wall by the rope ye have left,
but how am I to return, unless the wall be held by those friendly to
me? Therefore ye must delay your flight by twenty-four hours. To-morrow
night about this time when ye are again playing the part of sentinels I
will come to you bringing the damsel, and that hour shall be the hour
of your departure.
“Know that I am Crispus the Tribune, high in the favor of Titus, and
therefore capable of fulfilling my word. Now, if ye will aid me in
this, my soul’s desire, I will conduct you to the Roman camp, and send
you away in safety; but if ye will not do this thing, then go on your
way alone to meet whatever doom befall you. Now, delay not your answer,
for the success of my scheme depends upon your speedy return to the
city.”
The three men whispered together. They were not long in coming to a
decision.
“Swear in the name of the Lord that you will save our soul alive,” said
Asaph, “and we will aid thee in this matter.”
Under the black sky the strange compact was made, the three men
taking Crispus to be a Hebrew proselyte, a belief in which he did not
undeceive them.
“Let us return at once,” said Asaph, “ere our flight be discovered.”
Accompanied by his new-sworn allies Crispus began the steep ascent
of Ophel, climbing with all silence and caution, and grateful to the
darkness that hid them from the view of the sentinel Zealots above.
Arrived at the foot of the ramparts they crept along, Asaph leading the
way, till a point was reached where the semicircular base of a huge
projecting tower made an angle with the wall. Within this angle, and
scarcely discernible in the dark, hung a rope attached to a battlement
above.
“A good sign, this,” said Crispus in a whisper. “Had these battlements
been visited in your absence this rope would surely have been detected
and drawn up.”
Clambering up hand over hand the three Jews ascended the rope, and
disappearing over the battlements proceeded to haul up their new ally.
The portion of wall allotted to their care proved to be about twenty
yards in length, terminated at each end by two circular towers--the
tower in Siloam, and “the tower that lieth out”--which effectually
screened them from the observation of the sentinels disposed along the
rest of the wall.
“Can you not bring the damsel here within the hour, and so make an end
of the matter this night?” asked Asaph anxiously.
“Right gladly would I do so, but that I fear the finding of her will be
a work of time, and within an hour from now day will be dawning. Can
you hide this, my crested helmet, or ’twill betray me? and if you can
find me a cloak----”
Asaph entered one of the towers and returned with a Jewish cap, and
with a gabardine, beneath which Crispus found effectual concealment for
his military garb.
“At what hour of the night do you begin your vigil?”
“Ours is the third watch and lasts from the sixth hour till the ninth.”
“Look for me a little after the sixth hour. As a sign that all is
well fix a spear erect upon the middle of the rampart. Unless I see
it standing out clear against the sky I will not draw near. And now
farewell for a time. Keep to your oath, and it shall go well with you.”
As Crispus descended the stone stairway that led to the ground he
congratulated himself upon the ease with which he had contrived to
enter the city. Would he be able, however, to quit it with similar
ease? That depended chiefly upon the fidelity of his new associates,
and since they could hardly betray him without betraying themselves he
felt somewhat assured. Turning from the wall of Ophel he set off for
the street of Millo on Mount Zion.
When lying convalescent upon the roof of Miriam’s dwelling Crispus
had had ample leisure to study the topography both of Ophel and Zion;
this knowledge stood him now in good stead, and though, owing to the
darkness, he once or twice missed his way, he finally found himself in
the gray light of dawn before the gate of the house he sought.
He was about to knock at the gate when it suddenly opened, and there
appeared in the entrance the figure of a young woman terribly emaciated
by famine. She was habited as if for a journey.
“Is Vashti, daughter of Hyrcanus, within?” asked Crispus.
The figure gave a smile. _Such_ a smile! One more fearful and weird he
had never seen.
“Don’t you know me, Crispus?”
He started, looked at her again, and could scarcely recognize her, so
fearfully had she changed from the beautiful maiden of other days.
“Vashti, my poor girl, can this be you?”
To see her looking thus caused the tears to come welling to his eyes.
His weeping caused her likewise to weep. Then ever mindful of others,
rather than of herself, she suddenly said, amid her tears:
“Crispus, what do you here in this city of your enemies? Oh, if you
should be discovered!”
“What do I here?” he repeated. “This is the answer to that question,”
he continued, tenderly lifting her hand that she might see how thin it
was. “You are slowly dying of starvation, and yet you ask what do I
here. I have come to snatch you from death by carrying you away to the
Roman camp.”
Vashti looked at him with a fearful joy in her eyes.
“Oh! if you could! if you could! I was just going to Simon of Gerasa to
implore him to let me leave the city----”
“You shall not ask Simon’s leave. That I have entered the city safely,
you can see for yourself. By what means I have entered by that same
means shall you leave.” He smiled cheerfully as he closed and barred
the gate. “To-morrow about this time,” he added, “you shall be feasting
in the Roman camp, you, and your mother, and little Arad.”
But at the mention of this last name Vashti wept like one heartbroken.
“Arad,” she said, “Arad--is--is----”
Crispus guessed the cause of her emotion.
“What! is the poor little fellow dead?”
“If you had but come yesterday!” she sobbed. “Oh! if you had but come
yesterday, my brother might be living.”
Seeing that she had scarcely strength to stand, Crispus lifted her in
his arms, and carried her into the court.
“No, not that side!” said she, shivering, as he was about to enter the
house by way of the room where her dreadful discovery had taken place.
“Not that side!”
So Crispus carried her to a chamber that opened from a different part
of the court, and producing the leathern wallet carried by every Roman
soldier, he drew from it figs and bread and made her eat before he
would let her say another word.
When she had finished the simple repast she told him the terrible story
of a child slain by a famishing mother to satisfy her appetite; and
Crispus listened, knowing from deserters’ tales that deeds equally dark
had been perpetrated in other households besides this.
“And because I have reproached her--was I wrong in so doing?--my mother
has cursed me, and has bidden me leave her and go to my friends, the
Romans. I call her mother,” she added, “for I cannot easily rid myself
of the familiar word.”
“Is she not really your mother, then?” asked Crispus, receiving the
news with the same satisfaction that Vashti herself had felt at the
discovery.
“She has told me--and there was in her manner something that convinces
me she is speaking the truth--that I am her daughter by adoption only.”
“And I believe it,” said Crispus emphatically, “if only for this
reason, that you are so different from her in every way; and you
have another proof of it in this, that your name does not appear in
the public genealogical rolls as the daughter of Hyrcanus. What were
Miriam’s words to you?”
“When I cried, for I could not help crying it, ‘Would to God you were
not my mother!’ she laughed and said, ‘You have your wish; I am not
your mother. You were brought to me when you were a babe of about
twelve months by my husband Hyrcanus, who found you one winter’s night
crying among the crags of Mount Hermon, where you had been purposely
left to perish, and where, but for him, you would have perished. That
is all I know of your origin, save this, that since there hath never
been aught of the Jewess in you, I doubt not that you come of Greekish
parents--nay, it would not surprise me to learn that your mother was a
Samaritan, and hence your perverse nature.’”
A few years earlier the doubt that she was not of the chosen race would
have troubled Vashti, but now baptized into a faith in which there is
neither Greek nor Jew, neither barbarian nor Scythian, neither bond
nor free, she viewed the question of her nationality as a matter of no
moment.
The two for a while talked of Miriam’s revelation; and then, quitting
this theme, Crispus proceeded to tell Vashti of an event that he knew
would interest her, an event the most momentous in his life--namely,
how, during the time of his proscription, the Christians of Pella had
given him harboring, and how he had become a catechumen, receiving
instruction in the faith from the holy bishop Simeon, and from others
who had seen the Lord.
“And when,” concluded Crispus, “I learned that it was Simeon who had
baptized you, I would not let any other perform that rite for me.”
Night and day for nearly four years had Vashti prayed for the
conversion of Crispus, and now came the sweet realization of her
prayer! His words seemed to lift her from earth to heaven--but for a
moment only; like a swift, painful dart came the memory of little Arad,
and she wept. How happy would she now be but for that black deed!
Knowing the cause of her sadness, Crispus tried to divert the course
of her thoughts by talking of the way in which he hoped to remove her
from the city; he made her eat again; and then, learning from her that
she had been out all the previous night, he bade her sleep. So Vashti,
compliant with his will, lay down upon a divan, and though sweet
oblivion was a long time in coming, it came at last.
Miriam remained invisible throughout the day, a fact for which Crispus
felt extremely grateful, since it was not at all unlikely that, if he
were seen by her, she might, in her hatred of Romans, raise an alarm,
and bring the Zealots upon him.
It was much past noon when Vashti awoke. She smiled on learning how
long she had slept; but it was a wan, sad smile; Arad’s end was ever
present to her memory.
That day was the longest Vashti had ever known, but it came to an end
in due course, and shortly before the sixth hour of the night she
got ready for her departure. With tears in her eyes she took a last,
lingering look at the silent star-lit court of the dwelling that had
been her home since childhood, knowing that she would see the place no
more; the flaming torch and the iron crow of the Roman were destined
ere many weeks had passed to bring this and ten thousand other houses
crashing to the ground.
The two closed the gate behind them, and made their way through the
dark streets.
As Vashti drew nigh to the great black wall of Ophel, she looked up and
saw a sight that made her shudder.
Was she never to get away from the sight of death?
There upon the battlements and standing out in ghastly relief against
the dark-blue sky of night was a line of lofty posts, twenty-one in
number, to each of which was nailed a naked human body!
Pacing to and fro upon the rampart was the Jewish trio, Asaph and his
two comrades.
Having caught sight of the prearranged sign, the spear set erect,
Crispus, exercising a spirit of caution, bade Vashti remain where she
was while he went forward to reconnoiter.
Having found all satisfactory, Asaph and his companions receiving
him with unfeigned joy, he returned and assisted Vashti to mount the
stairway ascending to the battlements, where he threw off his Jewish
gabardine, and resumed his crested helmet.
“Who are these?” asked Vashti, shrinking at the sight of the dead
bodies.
“Matthias, alas! the one-time high priest, his three sons, and others
of the priesthood. Accused by Simon of corresponding with the Romans
they were slain to-day by Ananus,[31] the most savage of Simon’s fifty
captains, and their bodies hung here on high for Titus to see.”
Of all the events that had occurred since the beginning of the siege,
there was in Crispus’ opinion scarcely any more mournful or more
significant than this, the death of Matthias, THE LAST OF THE HIGH
PRIESTS--for the irregularly chosen Phannias must be excluded from the
catalogue--stabbed by the hand of a brutal ruffian, his body denied
sepulture, and exposed naked upon the ramparts of the holy city to
become the prey of the fowls of the air.
“_Non hunc, sed Barabbam!_” had been the cry of the chief priests. And
this was how Barabbas had rewarded them!
While thinking thus, Crispus made a sudden dash forward, and then stood
disappointedly peering down the flight of steps.
“What is amiss?” asked Asaph, seeing excitement written on Crispus’
face.
“I saw a black shape rise, and run down these stairs.”
As Crispus spoke, the deep silence of the night was suddenly broken by
the startling scream of a trumpet coming from beneath the very part of
the wall on which he stood. It was the Jewish call to arms.
There was an immediate murmur of voices, swelling into a babel of
excited cries, accompanied by a sudden blazing up of torches in all
directions. By the ruddy light the little party on the ramparts could
see hundreds of dark figures racing towards the wall of Ophel, all in a
tempest of Eastern fury.
“We are lost!” gasped Vashti, her skin, darkened by famine, becoming
white now.
“Have no fear,” responded Crispus cheerily; and, addressing the three
Jews, he said in a rapid, staccato utterance, “Make for the rope--lower
the damsel first--descend yourselves--when the last man is down blow
your trumpet--AWAY!”
With this, Crispus drew his blade; and, taking his station at the head
of the steps, glared down like an eagle upon the coming foe.
In the full belief that Crispus’ end was at hand Vashti would fain have
stayed to die with him, but, heeding not her protests, the three Jews
whirled her off her feet and ran like madmen towards the suspended
rope, their sole means of escape. It was woe to them if they were
caught!
The torch-carrying, saber-brandishing multitude halted at the foot of
the steps, surprised to see but a single armed Roman, surprised still
more that that Roman should be preparing to offer resistance.
The stair at the head of which Crispus stood formed the sole access to
the battlements; of narrow width it did not permit two men to stand
abreast; and, moreover, neither on the one side nor on the other
was it provided with a hand-rail. Strong therefore in his position,
Crispus felt that he could hold the foe in play for a space of time
sufficiently long to enable his confederates to descend the wall; after
which it would be a race between himself and the enemy as to which
would first reach the rope-encircled battlement.
“A Roman! How came he there?” exclaimed one.
“Asaph is playing the traitor,” cried a second. “He is admitting the
enemy into the city.”
“Why, ’tis Crispus the Tribune,” said a third.
_Crispus!_
At the sound of that name, a man--the foremost of the crowd--who had
just put his foot upon the lowest step, immediately withdrew it in
favor of anyone else that chose to mount.
Crispus, during the siege, had added to his former fame gained by his
defense of the Prætorium of Florus; so quick of limb and eye, so deadly
dexterous in fence was he known to be, that it was the confident belief
of almost every Zealot present that the first of their number to reach
the topmost stair would be a dead man the moment afterwards. Their
state of hesitancy was highly favorable to the escaping fugitives. A
quick, backward glance on the part of Crispus showed him that the three
Jews, having lowered Vashti, were themselves preparing to descend.
“Way there!” cried a powerful voice from among the crowd. The throng
parted, and a tall, red-bearded figure, armed with sword and shield,
mounted the lowest stair and began a wary ascent. His example inspired
others to follow.
Crispus looked calmly down upon the first of the ascending file.
“Who art thou?” he asked.
“Ananus, Simon’s chief captain,” was the proud answer.
“Ah! And are all Simon’s captains as ugly as thou?”
With a snarl of rage--for he knew himself to be illfavored, and nothing
touched his vanity more than to be reminded of the fact--the slayer of
the last high priest leaped fiercely up the stairs towards Crispus,
who, at that moment, caught the welcome peal of Asaph’s trumpet.
Then, to the amazement of the gazing crowd, Crispus, stepping
backwards, actually sheathed his sword.
They saw the reason a moment afterwards.
At his feet lay a huge post, similar to those upon which Simon’s
crucified victims hung. Crispus lifted this long beam in his arms,
carefully adjusting its balance; and, as soon as Ananus appeared at the
top of the stairs, he sent the head of this improvised battering-ram
full tilt into the Zealot’s stomach with so tremendous an impact that
not only did Ananus fly backwards, gasping and helpless, but in his
fall he also carried with him the rest of the file that were coming up
behind. The indignant howls of the bruised crew were as music to the
ears of Crispus. Dropping the log, he instantly turned and fled, an act
that naturally made the crowd below dash at once up the stairway in
pursuit.
But never did Grecian runner skim over the Olympic stadium more fleetly
than did the Roman Crispus along that wall of Ophel. Ere the foremost
of the Zealots had come tumbling over the top stair, he had reached the
place where the rope hung, and, pausing for a moment to fling a gesture
of defiance at his pursuers, he swung himself over the battlement, and
made a rapid hand-over-hand descent to the foot of the ramparts, where
stood the three Jews and the trembling Vashti.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“No, but I warrant Ananus is,” laughed Crispus. “For some days to
come he’ll have no stomach for the fight. And now, away! See, they are
opening a gate on our left.”
Lifting Vashti--how thin and light she was!--he sped down the slope of
Ophel with her, and succeeded in safely reaching the Roman lines.
Determined to forestall any attempt on the part of Titus to detain her
he dispatched Vashti that same hour of the night, under the care of two
Christian soldiers, to the saints that dwelt at Pella.