THE BATTLE OF BETH-ZUR.
Several months have passed since the scenes described in the last chapter.
During the winter Judas has been increasing and consolidating his army,
and he has now a force both more numerous and better equipped than any
that he had hitherto commanded. Again he has marched to encounter the
Greeks, but he has no easy task before him. Lysias in person commands the
Syrian army. Antiochus has sent him some veteran troops from the capital;
he has raised fresh levies of his own, and he has enrolled in his ranks
the remnants of the armies of Seron and Nicanor. Altogether he has
collected an army of sixty thousand men, and must out-number his
antagonists at least five times. The struggle will be of a critical kind,
and the victory, if won at all, can hardly be won without grievous loss.
The Greeks are fighting for their last stake. If they lose this they are
disgraced.
The experience of a soldier’s wife had not lessened the anxiety with which
Ruth waited for news of the battle. This time all that were especially
near and dear to her had gone with the army—her husband, her brother, and
Azariah—all had run or were even then running deadly peril of their lives.
When the news came it might find her utterly desolate, a widow indeed.
During the night these terrors had had almost undisputed sway. It seemed
impossible to her to recall the holy words which at other times brought
comfort to her soul. Some dreadful picture of her dear ones lying cold and
stark upon the battle-field would rise up before her eyes; and again and
again the hideous laughing of the hyenas, echoed among the hills, seemed
to her like the mocking triumph of the heathen.
The light of morning brought, as it is wont to bring, if not cheerfulness,
at least a more hopeful spirit. Anyhow she had not to lie in forced
inaction. The daily duties had to be done; and she could find in them not
forgetfulness, indeed, but the wholesome invigorating influence of work.
Her first task was to fetch the daily ration of food. Miriam and Judith
accompanied her, and her little boy was now old enough to toddle by her
side. The girls had already begun to bear the burdens of a woman’s cares,
but the child was in happy unconsciousness of trouble, and there was a
certain infection of cheerfulness in his laughter and prattle.
Ruth’s way to the store where the rations were distributed led past the
point from which the best view of the pass could be obtained. She scanned
the prospect eagerly as she went, but could see nothing. On her return she
espied the figure of a man who seemed—for he was still almost too distant
to be distinguished—to be approaching.
“Look, girl,” she cried, “surely some one comes yonder, and he must be
bringing tidings of the battle. Oh! if they are safe——”
As she spoke she dropped the piece of flesh, which she was carrying, from
her hand; and immediately a vulture swooped down and carried it off.
The watchman had now descried the figure of the traveller, and made the
signal which was to indicate to the inmates of the encampment the fact
that tidings from the army was at hand. In an instant all that were able
to move had poured out, and were hurrying to the top of the pass.
The messenger was Micah, whom, as one of the fleetest runners in the army,
Judas had selected to carry the news of his victory. He had traversed the
distance, which could not have been less than thirty miles, at a pace
which had sorely tried even his athletic frame. He flung himself on the
ground, panting convulsively for breath, and unable to speak. One of the
elders poured a few drops of cordial into his mouth, and by degrees he
recovered his powers. His first act was to kneel and with outspread hands
to thank the Lord of Hosts. “We thank thee, God of our fathers, that thou
hast delivered us out of the hand of the enemy, and brought us unto the
haven where we would be.” Then, amidst the breathless attention of the
listening crowd, he told the story.
“Judas the Hammer,” and as he said the name a murmur of blessing could be
heard from the whole assembly—“Judas, the Hammer of God, has smitten the
enemy to pieces. Two days since he met Lysias—for the Governor himself was
in command—at Beth-zur. There by that valley of Elah, where David slew
Goliah of Gath, has the Lord God of Israel proved again that the battle is
not to the strong nor the race to the swift. Judas himself led the right
wing; the left he had given to Seraiah and Azariah, whom I myself had the
privilege of following. The lines of the two armies were about equal in
length; nor, indeed, was there room on either side for more; but they had
their ranks forty deep and more, and we but seven or eight at the most,
for they were many times more numerous. But the Lord showed once again
that He can deliver as surely by few as many. Our captain, than whom no
man has a more generous temper, though he would gladly have been the first
to advance against the enemy, granted that privilege to us. Then we
shouted, as we did in the day of Emmaüs, ‘The Lord is our Help!’ and ran
forward. While we were yet half a furlong from them, we saw them tremble
and waver; and before we could cross our swords with them their line had
broken. That done, their numbers availed them no more, but rather hindered
them, so crowded and crushed together were they. We slew till we were
weary of slaying.”
“And what befell Lysias, the Governor?” asked one of the elders.
“He had posted himself over against Judas himself, judging that there
would be the most need of his presence. And indeed they say—for I myself
did not see him, being, as I have said, on the other side of the
field—that he bore himself as a brave soldier and a good captain. And
Judas, when he saw him, pressed forward, seeking to meet him face to face.
But Lysias was struck with terror and fled. He had not the heart to abide
a stroke from the Hammer. He escaped with some hundred horsemen of his
bodyguard from the field. The prisoners say that he is gone to Antioch to
gather another army. Let him gather it. We will deal with it and him as we
have dealt hitherto with the enemies of the Lord.”
“And what does Judas now?” asked the elder.
With a look of joy and triumph Micah lifted his head and said, “He is in
Jerusalem. The Lord has given back into our hands the Holy City, the City
of David His servant.”
It is impossible to describe the delight with which this announcement was
received. The women, even the men, wept for joy. This was indeed a
glorious gain of victory. Last year they could only see the Holy City from
afar, and weep over its desolation. Now they could pour out their love and
their sorrow within its sacred precincts.
“Yes,” he repeated, “Judas is in Jerusalem, and is making ready to purify
the Temple. And you are to return as speedily as you can. The days of your
exile are over. Our God has recalled His banished unto Him.”
His public mission finished, Micah could give time to private affection.
He went with Ruth and the children to their cave, and then, after sharing
their morning meal, told them all they wanted to hear. Seraiah and Azariah
were both safe, though both had had narrow escapes, Azariah’s helmet
having been broken in by a sword-stroke from a gigantic Gaul, and Seraiah
being saved by a little roll of the Prophecy of Daniel, which he always
carried about with him—it was a gift from his wife—and which had stopped
the point of a javelin that would otherwise have pierced his heart. Ruth
and the children were never satisfied with asking questions and listening
to his answers. Even the little Daniel seemed to understand something of
what was being said, as he listened, with his baby-eyes wide open, to the
talk of his elders.
“And Cleon,” asked Ruth, “the Greek with whom you used to be so friendly
in time past—did you see him? You met him, you told us, in Modin, and
parted in anger; did you meet him again?”
A cloud seemed to pass over Micah’s face at this question, and for a few
moments he was silent.
“Ah! Ruth,” he said, “the Lord be merciful to him, as He has been merciful
to me! And did I not sin against Him tenfold more grievously than any
heathen could have sinned? For was I not a child of the Covenant, and had
I not light and knowledge, whereas he was born in ignorance and knew not
of the mercies and deliverances which I knew, and knowing despised.”
“Is he a prisoner, then?” asked Miriam, “and will Judas spare him?”
“He needs no mercy from man, my child,” said Micah, solemnly. “In the
battle I did not meet him. That was well. I should have been loath to
cross swords with him; and yet I could hardly have failed to do so. But in
the evening, when Lysias had fled eastward with the remnants of his host,
and the victory was won, I saw him on the field of battle. The captain
himself was with me, as we went among the wounded and the dead, looking
for any to whom we could give such help as they needed. He had been
pierced with a ghastly wound through the breast. And when Judas saw him,
he said to me, ‘Ah! that is a brave soldier, and as good a swordsman as
ever I met. I had a hard bout with him this morning, and had he not
slipped in making a blow, it might have gone ill with me. Do you know
him?’ ‘Yes;’ I said, ‘in the old time, when I mingled with the heathen and
walked in their ways.’ ‘See, then, whether you can help him in any way; I
love a brave man, be he heathen or no.’ I was willing enough to do
anything that I could for him, you may be sure; one glance at that pale
face was enough to chase away all the anger with which we had parted.
‘Cleon!’ I said. And he knew me and smiled—a very wan and feeble smile,
but still a smile. Then I tried to stanch the blood that was flowing from
his wound. ‘Nay,’ said he, ‘’tis idle; I am past all help; let it flow,
and I shall be sooner out of my pain. But, dear Menander—nay, pardon me, I
should call you Micah—give me some water to drink, for I have a raging
thirst.’ I had a leathern bottle of water, and gave him a draught. Then I
rested his head upon my shoulder, and bathed his forehead with the water.
Judas meanwhile had gone further, and I saw a party of the Chasidim
ranging the field, and I thought that they could scarcely pass us by
without seeing us, so I said to Cleon, ‘Let me lay you down till these are
past; for if they know you as a friend of Jason they will not spare your
life. ’Tis better to feign death than to meet it at their hands.’ Then he
smiled and said, ‘No need, Micah, to feign death. Your Hammer has smitten
me down, and I shall not need another stroke.’ And almost as he spoke the
words, he died. And just then the captain came back, and we buried him
where he had fallen. The Lord have mercy on him!”
“But will He have mercy on the heathen?” said Miriam, who had begun to
think.
“Nay, child—who knows?” answered Micah. “Surely some of us need His pardon
more than they, who have not known Him, nor have been called by His name.”
[Illustration: _Farewell to the Mountains._]
The next day Micah returned, in obedience to orders, and two or three days
afterwards all the party that had been left in the mountains followed him
to Jerusalem. It was a happy day, but saddened, for the children at least,
by one loss. The jackal, Jael, followed the party awhile, but when they
reached the plain, stood still and watched them disappear, making mournful
cries the while. Even the prospect of seeing their old home could not
quite reconcile the children to the loss of this strange playmate, who had
yet grown so dear to them.
And so the rugged mountains which had afforded a refuge to the faithful
remnant were left again to silence and solitude. But the memory of what
the confessors and martyrs had endured in the evil days was never to
perish. Generation after generation remembered with sympathy and reverence
what men, aye, and weak women and children had borne for conscience’
sake—cold and hunger and nakedness, and that anguish of soul which is
harder to be endured than all bodily pain. Two centuries later, an
inspired Hebrew, writing to Hebrews, commemorated the noble endurance of
this faithful band in his famous roll of the triumphs of faith: “They
wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted,
tormented, of whom the world was not worthy; they wandered in deserts and
mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.”(15)