NICANOR.
The complaints which Alcimus carried to the Syrian King at Antioch were
eagerly listened to. Demetrius was eager, as new rulers frequently are, to
reverse the policy of his predecessor. Eupator had yielded to the
persistency of these obstinate Jews, but he would show them that it was he
and not they who was master. A new expedition should be sent, and this
pestilent rebel, who, after all, had been shown not to be invincible,
should be extinguished for ever. There was some doubt as to who should be
put in command; but ultimately the King’s choice fell upon Nicanor, the
same that had been associated with Gorgias in an earlier campaign. He had
been since promoted to the exalted office of “Commander of the Elephants,”
and was in high favour with Demetrius.
Once more Judas found himself obliged to retire from Jerusalem, where he
could not command the liberty of movement that was necessary for his
safety; but he remained in the neighbourhood, and watched the development
of events.
Nicanor’s first idea was to repeat the treachery of Bacchides, and to get
Judas and his brothers into his power. A letter, written in studiously
friendly terms, was sent to the Jewish captain, suggesting a conference,
at which the matters in dispute might easily be settled. Judas was not
likely, especially after recent experience, to fall into the trap; but
nevertheless he did not refuse the invitation. He came to the conference,
but he came with a strong guard, and not till he had secured such
conditions as seemed to make a treacherous surprise impossible. The
meeting took place. Side by side, on two chairs of state, sat the two
generals, each with their armed guard within call. On either side was a
barrier, beyond which no one that did not belong to the stipulated number
of attendants was allowed to pass. The conversation between the two was
friendly and animated. Nicanor’s treacherous purpose did not prevent him
from having a genuine admiration for the character and achievements of his
great adversary; and the praises which he heaped upon him were perfectly
sincere. But this feeling did not make him at all less anxious to get this
formidable hero into his power.
Negotiations had not proceeded very far, in fact had not got beyond the
initial stage, when a preconcerted signal warned Judas that there was
danger at hand. Self-possessed as ever, he showed no sign of having
penetrated his companion’s intention. A point of some importance was
raised by Nicanor, and Judas intimated that he could not deal with it
until he had consulted his council. Rising from his seat, without allowing
the least indication of disturbance to be seen in his manner, he bade the
Greek general a courteous farewell, rejoined his guard, and was soon out
of the reach of danger. But when he was again among his friends, he did
not conceal his feelings. “He is a false liar,” he said, “and, so long as
he lives, I will see his face again no more.” The words were to have a
singularly close fulfilment.
Nicanor, finding his attempted fraud unsuccessful, resolved to try force.
He marched against Judas, who, for military reasons, had retired as far as
Samaria, and gave him battle at Capharsalama. But the plans of Nicanor
were conceived with more haste than prudence. He delivered his attack
under unfavourable conditions, and received a crushing defeat in which he
lost fully five thousand men.
Thus baffled for a second time, he returned to Jerusalem in a frenzy of
rage. On the day after his arrival he went, followed by an armed guard, to
the Temple, and forced his way into the Great Court. It was the time of
the morning sacrifice, and the trembling priests came down from the altar
to salute him.
“Rebels,” he cried, “you are praying to your God that the enemies of the
King may prosper.”
“Not so, my lord,” said the presiding priest, “we have but this moment
offered the customary sacrifice for the health and welfare of the most
excellent Demetrius.”
“These are but words, and I ask for deeds. Let this pestilent fellow, this
Judas, be delivered into my hands. Thus and thus only shall I know that
you are faithful to my lord the King.”
“But, my lord, you ask that which is impossible. How can we, that are men
of peace, have power to lay hands upon this man of war?”
“Ask me not how, but do the thing that I command, or it shall go ill with
you and your city.”
“Nay, my lord, speak not so. Ask that which is possible, and it shall be
done to the uttermost of our power.”
“Fair words! fair words! But I know well that, after the manner of your
race, for you are the enemies of all men, you curse me behind my back. Now
listen unto me. You will not deliver this traitor into my hands——”
The priests attempted to speak, but he silenced them with an imperious
gesture.
“So be it. Then I will take him by force. And when I have taken him, and
dealt with him after his deserts, then——” he paused for a moment, and held
out his right hand with a threatening gesture towards the altar—“then I
will burn this house with fire; even as the Chaldæans burnt it in the days
of your fathers, so will I burn it. All the gods of heaven and hell
confound me, if I do not burn it, as a man burns a brand in the fire.”
So speaking he turned away, and without deigning to salute the terrified
priests, quitted the precincts of the Temple.
When he was gone the priests stood weeping and praying before the altar.
“O Lord,” they said, “for the blasphemies wherewith Thine enemies
blaspheme Thee, reward Thou them sevenfold into their bosom. Thou didst
choose this house to be called by Thy name, and to be a house of prayer
for Thy people. Avenge Thyself, therefore, of this man and his host, and
cause them to fall by the sword.”
Nicanor had sent to Antioch for reinforcements, for he would not fail
again for lack of strength or due preparation, and marching out of
Jerusalem, he awaited their arrival at the western end of the Pass of
Beth-horon. Judas, who, after his victory near Samaria, had followed his
beaten enemy, took up his position at Adasa, an elevated position about
four miles to the north of Jerusalem. He thus put himself between Nicanor
and the Holy City. But he had only three thousand men to match against a
force three times as numerous.
The fate of the Sanctuary of Israel now seemed to be trembling in the
balance. If Nicanor was victorious its doom was sealed. He had vowed, with
all the emphasis of an awful curse upon himself, that if he came again in
peace he would utterly destroy it. Day after day the women and the old men
left behind were continually in the Temple, which, perhaps, they might in
a few days see destroyed before their eyes. And when at night the Temple
gates were shut they sought their homes to fast and to renew in private
their prayers for the deliverance of the Holy Place, and the victory of
the armies of the Lord.
By a notable coincidence the anniversary of a great danger and a great
deliverance was approaching. Within a few days the Feast of Purim would be
celebrated. Would the time bring with it a fresh cause for thanksgiving,
or a disaster so terrible that all the deliverances of the past would seem
to be of no avail?
“Tell us, mother,” said little Daniel, one evening when they had returned
from their daily visit to the Temple—“tell us about Mordecai and the
wicked Haman.” He knew the story well, but, after the manner of children,
liked it better the oftener he heard it.
So Ruth told the familiar tale again—how the wicked Haman, wroth that the
honest Mordecai would not pay him reverence, slandered the whole nation to
the King till he obtained a decree for their slaughter, how Mordecai went
to Esther the Queen, a Jewess herself, and bade her save her people,
though she risked her own life to do it, how the wicked Haman was hanged
on the gallows which he had made for his enemy, and the Jews had license
given them by the King to slay their adversaries in every city of the
kingdom of Persia.
“And this Nicanor,” she went on, when she had finished her story—“this
Nicanor is a new Haman. May the God against whom he has uttered his
blasphemies cast him down and destroy him.”
Meanwhile the hour of battle was drawing near. Judas and his little army
were bivouacking on the hills of Adasa. It was the 12th day of the month
Adar—about equivalent to the beginning of March—and on that high ground
the night air was cold and piercing. Seraiah, Azariah, and Micah were
sitting by a camp-fire, and talking over the chances of the coming
struggle.
It was the eve of the great Purim feast—the memorial which had been kept
now for three hundred years of the great deliverance which God had wrought
for His people by the hands of Mordecai and Esther. The thoughts of the
comrades naturally turned to this memorable day.
“Where and how,” said Micah to his companions, “shall we keep the Purim
feast?”
“Shall we keep it at all?” said Azariah, always somewhat disposed to take
a gloomy view of their prospects. “A Mordecai we have, none more
steadfast; and there is a Haman against us even more cruel and wicked than
he of Persia. But Ahasuerus is against us, nor do I see who shall turn him
from his purpose.”
“Well,” said Seraiah, with a smile, “at least we can use our swords
without his license.”
While they were talking they observed a figure emerge from out the
darkness into the circle of light made by the flames. They rose to their
feet, for it was the captain himself.
“Sit down, my friends,” he said, “we shall be on our feet enough
to-morrow.” And as he spoke, he took his seat on the ground by their side.
He went on, after a few minutes of silence, “So Azariah doubts what sort
of a Purim festival we shall keep. As for myself I doubt not. But I have
been thinking not so much of Mordecai and Haman—though it seems to me a
happy thing that we shall fight on the day of that deliverance—as of
Hezekiah and Rabshakeh. Did not the king his master send him to blaspheme
the Holy City? And did not Hezekiah lay the letter before the Lord? And
what was the end? In one night the host of the Assyrians was as if it had
not been. So shall it be, I am persuaded in my heart, with this
blaspheming Nicanor and his host. He and they shall be utterly destroyed.
Yes, Azariah, we shall keep our Purim right joyously, after the manner of
our fathers. But as for our enemies, the wine that they shall drink(25)
will be the wine of the wrath of God.”
He rose with these words, and passed away to spend the rest of the night
in meditation and prayer. His face next morning, when in the early dawn he
stood in front of his slender line, was as the face of one who has talked
face to face with God. Not less rapt than his look was the tone of his
voice as he poured out the words of his prayer—“O Lord, when they that
were sent from the King of the Assyrians blasphemed, Thine angel went out
and smote an hundred fourscore and five thousand of them. Even so destroy
Thou this host before us this day, that the rest may know that he hath
spoken blasphemously against Thy Sanctuary, and judge Thou him according
to his wickedness.”
A murmur of assent passed through the little army as he uttered these
words in that clear, thrilling voice which was one of his many gifts as a
born leader of men. The next moment the line advanced, for Judas followed
again the successful tactic of attack. Never had his Ironsides advanced
with a more determined courage; never did they deal fiercer blows. The
enemy were scattered by their impetuous onset, as the dust is scattered
before the wind. For all his brutality and falsehood, Nicanor was no
coward. He stood in the very van of his army, giving such cheer as he
could to his men, and though the lines behind him reeled and shook with
that movement which is the sure presage of defeat to a soldier’s eye, at
the approach of the Chasidim, he stood his ground with a dauntless
courage. He was almost the first to fall, Azariah striking him to the
ground with a sweeping blow of his sword. It was an appropriate ending to
the blasphemer that he should receive his death-stroke from the weapon
that bore the talisman of the Holy Name.
The Greek line had been already beginning to break, but the death of the
leader completed the rout.
It was no common victory that Judas won that day. The pursuit was long and
bloody. The beaten army fled in wild disorder over the country, only to
find enemies on every hand. Before the sun set it was simply annihilated.
The tradition of that awful slaughter still lingers in the place, and the
valley is called “The Valley of Blood.”
Their work done, the conquerors entered the city. The news of the great
deliverance had already reached it, and the Feast of Purim was being kept
in earnest. During the earlier part of the day the suspense and anxiety
had been too great to admit of anything more than formal rejoicing. The
customary sacrifices were offered, the customary prayers put up; but the
thoughts of all were with Judas and his men on the battle-field of Adasa.
Then came rumours, at first wholly vague and even fictitious—rumours first
of victory, then of defeat, then of victory again. An hour or so after
noon a swift runner came in with some authentic tidings. But he could not
tell of all that happened. This was gradually learnt, and then, long after
the darkness had closed in, came the advanced guard of the conquering
army, and, close upon midnight, Judas himself. In spite of the darkness,
multitudes thronged to meet him. With extravagant manifestations of
delight, with shouting and singing, with mingled tears and laughter, they
welcomed him home, the deliverer of the city and the Temple. Never before
had he been so enthusiastically received. And it was well that it should
be so, for this was his last return as a conqueror.
The feast was continued with yet more hearty rejoicing into the next day.
And indeed from thenceforth the two deliverances were to be celebrated
together—the salvation which Judas had wrought for his people on the
battle-field of Adasa, and that which Esther and Mordecai had accomplished
in the presence-chamber of the Persian King.
Ruth would gladly have stayed at home and expressed thankfulness in
private, but the children were urgent with her that she should take them
into the streets that they might see the people keep holiday. It was a
request that, as the wife and sister of patriots, she could not refuse;
and in the depth of her mother’s heart was the proud thought that the
little Daniel was not an unworthy scion of the race, and that not a few
would look with admiration on the son of Seraiah, the nephew of
Azariah.(26) And indeed she did hear as she passed along not a few
whispered praises, which made her pulses beat quick with thankfulness and
joy.
As they came in their rambling into the neighbourhood of the Temple, they
found their way blocked by a dense crowd, which seemed eagerly pressing
forward to see some spectacle of surpassing interest. “What is it?” she
asked of one who had been, it seemed, successful in the struggle for a
glimpse of this interesting sight, and was now turning away. She could not
help shuddering at his answer, and called to the children to come away.
But the quick ears of little Daniel had also caught the man’s reply, and
he loudly objected.
“Nay, mother,” he said, “I must see. Such things are not for women to
see”—the little fellow of five or six had already caught the masculine
tone of superiority—“but I am a soldier’s son, and shall not be afraid to
look. And when I am a man I shall fight for God and for His Holy Temple.”
“You are a brave lad, and if I mistake not, and you are the nephew of
Azariah, there is no one here that has a better right to look at yonder
sight than you. For ’twas your brave uncle, I am told, that slew that son
of Belial with his sword.”
So saying he lifted the child from the ground, and raised him till he
could stand upon his shoulders. And what did the little Daniel see that
made him shout and clap his hands? It was the head and hand of Nicanor
nailed against the Temple wall. There were the pallid, distorted lips that
had uttered such proud blasphemies against the Sanctuary of the Lord;
there was the shrunken, bloodless hand that had been lifted up with
threats and scorn against His Holy Place. The Lord had indeed punished the
proud doer.