play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand in
the cockatrice's den.' But that is to be when Jerusalem is redeemed by
a new David. God grant that your safety from these reptiles may mean
that glorious days are near at hand. The Deliverer must come. He must
come. Maybe we shall see Him, Caleb."
So they talked in whispers while the aperture grew dim with approaching
night.
Caleb and Deborah did not venture to come out of the old city quarry
until darkness had fully fallen, and the ray of a star shot its
salutation to them through the crevice. When they emerged they stood
for a long time close to the wall, screened by the bushes.
"How large the stars look!" whispered Deborah. "They hang as in
mid-air; the constellations like ear-rings and necklaces on the
invisible angels. They seem nearer than the camp-fires and tent
lanterns of the Greeks on the hills yonder. So let us trust Heaven's
help is nearer to us than our enemies."
"Amen!" rejoined Caleb.
Deborah glanced upward at the majestic march of what Caleb said were
"God's Helmets," and then along the line of the Greek encampment, as
she exclaimed, "O stars that fought in their courses against Sisera,
fight against Apollonius!"
Caleb started, pressing his sister's hand. "Are the stars moving,
sister?"
"No, child; it is but the night winds warring against the high walls of
the city. The stars hear no command of the Lord as yet."
"But listen!" again interposed the excited child.
"No, that is only the wind among the olives in the old garden of
Kedron," replied Deborah.
"But was there not once the 'sound of a going in the tops of the
mulberry trees' that told David the Lord went before him to battle?"
quoted the child.
"Oh, if God would be to us as thy faith, my child!" and Deborah
stooped to kiss his forehead as they hurried away.
It was not difficult to avoid the soldiers, for, with the exception of
an occasional sentry posted along the high road, the companies kept
within their various camps. The Greeks had learned lessons in caution
during their brief occupancy of Palestine such as had not been needed
in the other countries they had subjugated. It was quite a common
thing in the neighborhood of Jerusalem for sentinels never to return
from their beats. Small companies of guards sometimes disappeared
mysteriously, as if swallowed by earthquakes which made no rumble and
closed their lips in silence. Even close to the camps men dropped in
their tracks, while a stone, the size of one's fist, went clattering
over the ground, leaving its mark in a broken skull or a mangled
face; for the Jewish herdsmen were still as expert with the sling as
they were in the days of David. Rumor attributed many of these daring
exploits to a single family, five young men, the sons of a priest in
Modin, chief of whom in this outlawry was Judas, reputed a giant.
Deborah and Caleb were comparatively safe, for they did not attempt the
highways, nor even the beaten footpaths, but passed hastily across the
stony fields, and glided crouching between the vine-rows on cultivated
terraces. Now they paused to listen in the deeper shadows, by some
gnarled olive whose dusky branches made the night darker; again, they
hid behind the broad-bottomed cypresses if noise were heard; then,
utterly wearied, they rested quietly for a few moments under the
fig-trees.
Their course brought the fugitives beneath the frowning palisades of
solid rock into which were cut the tombs of the Judges. These had no
terrors for Deborah. Indeed, she lingered as if to commune with those
departed spirits who might be near to the gates of Sheol listening for
tidings from the upper world. Did these heroes of old still live? Were
they unconscious of the awful fate that had fallen upon their land?
Were there no powers among them which could return to the visible
world and avenge the sorrows of those who are still forced to endure
existence in the flesh? She remembered that once she had been poisoned
by passing a noxious plant. Now she wondered if the other world had no
destroying breath with which to slay the Greeks. Would not the soul of
Elkiah, the righteous, stir up the abode of the dead by his coming, and
by the story of his wrongs? Was Jehovah dead, too?
She condemned such thoughts as blasphemous and pushed on.
Only the stumbling of their feet against the stones broke the night
silence.
At length dawn began to pour over the mountains of Moab. The jagged
peaks far to the east, like prisms, unwound the white light and
twisted its threads into robes of purple and orange, and transformed
snowy points here and there into diamond and pearl. Deborah felt the
inspiration of the scene. Surely the chariots and horses of God must
charge from the sky, if Jehovah were indeed the "Lord of Hosts."
A noble hill rose before the fugitives; this was Mizpah. Here, as
Deborah related, was where Samuel gathered the faithful to smite the
Philistines, and down these very slopes God pursued the enemies of
Israel with His thunders. Some one of these great stones might be the
very stone Samuel had set up and called "Ebenezer," to commemorate the
Lord's help. Oh, if she knew which it was, that she might kneel beside
it, and repeat aloud the vow to serve her country's God!
On the hill gleamed the white, flat roofs of the houses of the little
city of Mizpah, just showing themselves above the brown walls. Should
she hasten onward? The fatigue of the long, excited tramp, the chill
of the night, which the warm glow in the distant east seemed to drive
deeper into their aching flesh, the human longing for companionship,
and the hope of help urged her forward. She would enter Mizpah. There
must be many there who had known Elkiah, and would protect his children.
But what was that which the dawning light made suddenly visible against
the background of the walls? Alas! Deborah was too familiar with the
ubiquitous banner flying from the spear-head. Mizpah, like Jerusalem,
was occupied by the enemy. To go nearer was to court the very danger
from which they were fleeing. But to flee again was too much for
exhausted flesh. The shock of this discovery paralyzed her remaining
energy. She tried to cling to the side of the rock against which she
had been leaning. She fell fainting at its base.
Then the brain, too much excited, and unchecked by will, wrought its
usual work. Memory and imagination became confused. The hill of Mizpah
appeared to her repeopled with its ancient inhabitants. Old scenes of
which she had read took the place of those she had just witnessed.
The Greek tents became those of the ancient Philistines. Who should
deliver Israel? She thought that the tall form of Saul, son of Kish,
strode again along the slope of Mizpah, looking for his father's asses.
Where was Samuel with the horn to anoint him king?
A full flash of the sun bursting over the eastern mountains revived
her. Did it awaken her, or merely vitalize and make real her dream? She
could not tell, for though this was Caleb sleeping by her side, surely
yonder was Saul. His herdsman's dress could not disguise his kingly
bearing. It needed not the prophetic gift of Samuel to distinguish the
Lord's anointed. So stalwart was he, a head taller than most men; so
majestic of mien; so noble of countenance. The apparition came near.
It stood over her, taller than the rock, and seeming stronger. It bent
down to her, and then it spoke:
"My children, why are you here?"
The voice aroused Caleb. His movement and the quick grasp of his
sister's hand brought Deborah fully back from her dream. She pressed
her eyes, if possible to press out any mere illusion; but the figure of
Saul was still there.
He repeated his question, "Why are you here, children?"
Kindly he gave a hand to the startled girl. She grasped it, partly to
discover whether it were real or a phantom; partly because she was so
weak in flesh and will that she would have grasped any human hand that
did not strike her or wear the mail of the hated Greek. She rose to
her feet. The stranger started as if he, too, were uncertain whether
this were not an apparition; for Deborah was not a child, as her face
asleep had betokened, but now a woman. Into her youthful features the
sharp suffering of a few days had put those lines which ordinarily come
only of mature years and slow corroding care. Her black eyes had sunken
deeper into their sockets. Their gleam seemed to be a reflection from
some inner mirror of the soul, rather than a direct outlook,--that
resilience of intense introspection which martyrs have in their eyes
when they gaze upon those who have come to see them die.
The stranger's manner became that of reverential sympathy.
"My good woman, how came you here? And who are you? Where is your home?"
Deborah's uncertainty as to her own identity was at that moment nearly
as great as that of her inquirer. She gazed intently into his face
until she could assure herself that she was waking.
"My home, sir, is nowhere and everywhere. When the nest is destroyed
the birds' home is on any tree or rock, and God provides for them. Such
is our only refuge. I am a daughter of Jerusalem. We are children of
Elkiah, son of Reuben."
"Then the news I have heard is true," exclaimed the man excitedly. "God
of Israel, avenge thy murdered saints!"
The face of the stranger underwent a contortion that transformed it.
Had Deborah seen this aspect first she had not dared to trust the man;
so wrathful, so cruel he looked. But instantly his expression reverted
to kindliness. There came into it a wonderful benignity. His eye was as
clear a fountain of honesty and affection as the sun is of light. Every
lineament also spoke of courage that matched the tremendous strength
which his stalwart frame and protruding muscles displayed.
Deborah briefly narrated the events of recent hours.
"And you, sir? Who are you that dares speak kindly to one whom even God
seems to have forgotten?"
"I am Judas, son of Mattathias, the priest of Modin. But it is enough
that I am a son of Israel and your protector," showing a stout sword
beneath his herdsman's goatskin shirt. "A few of us have given
ourselves during these dangerous times to the help of the fugitives
from the Sacred City, and I thank our Lord that He has directed me to
this spot where I may serve the house of Elkiah. But here, my children,
you cannot remain; nor can you enter the town yonder. You must go with
me. I will see you safely among those who revere your father's name,
and are brave enough to defend his children as they would their own."
He took the lad into his strong hands, and placed him astride his
shoulder.
Avoiding the open places, and as much as possible keeping the rocks
between them and Mizpah, he led the way down the hill, skirting its
northern base. At length they struck the bed of a brook, which, though
torn by the winter freshets, was now dry. Scarcely had they begun to
follow its water-whitened stones when they were challenged. A Greek
sentinel strode out before them.
"The password!"
Judas leisurely placed Caleb upon the ground. His bowed attitude was
that of a lion when he is about to spring upon his prey, and, swift
as the king of beasts, the Jew was upon the sentinel. Bending him
backward, his iron grip was about the challenger's throat. In another
instant the Greek's skull was shattered against a stone.
Judas stood a moment, grim as a fiend, contemplating his work. Then his
lips moved:
"Forgive me, O my God! But was not my frenzy Thine, O Avenger of
Israel?"
Gradually his harsh features relaxed. He glanced at his helpless
charge, then at the dead body. He sat down and burst into tears.
"Demon or angel, into whose hands have I fallen?" murmured Deborah, for
her rescuer seemed either less or more than man.
A moment later the opening between the rocks where they stood was
shadowed. A Greek armor blocked the way.
Deborah uttered a cry of horror. Surely they were entrapped. But
her guide advancing familiarly embraced the intruder. The stranger,
removing his broad-brimmed Greek hat, showed a head marvelously like
the other's; the same bristling red hair, broad forehead and decidedly
aquiline nose. Though not so tall as Judas, the newcomer was equally
broad-shouldered and as compactly built; his arms longer in proportion
to the body; his calves more knotty. If Judas were a lion, this man was
of a panther's build.
"The attempt succeeded, brother Jonathan?" inquired Judas.
"Perfectly," replied the seeming Greek. "I spent the night within the
walls of Mizpah, and learned that Apollonius has about twenty thousand
between Jerusalem and the sea."
"So many? And we are a brood of partridges before the hawks."
"But Elijah's God is left, brother Judas."
"Aye, but there is no Elijah."
"Say not so. Elijah was not Elijah until God called him, and made him
feel the truth his name signified,--Elijah, 'whose God is Jehovah.' And
God can call whom He will, and whom He calls, He will empower. Gideon
was hiding his wheat from the Philistines, when the Lord said, 'Go,
in this thy might, and thou shalt save Israel.' To whom may He not
speak? And woe to the man unto whom the Lord speaks, if he shall not
obey, though he be a Simon or a Judas. Our father's house is not like
Gideon's, least in the tribe; nor are you, Judas, least in our father's
house."
"Enough of this talk, Jonathan," replied Judas. "Our swords are only
sharp enough to drink the blood of the enemies of the Lord; not bright
enough to lead the host. Such words as yours savor of blasphemy. I
will have none of them further. But these children of Jerusalem are in
need. Take care of them. I must away. You have all the lads of Modin
accounted for?"
"Every one at his station."
"No Greeks on Bethhoron?"
"Not out of the town walls, or their souls would flee their bodies as
soon as their bodies left the covert."
"It is well."
Judas donned the Greek armor which his brother Jonathan had taken off.
"The Lord watch over you, my lady!"
His farewell was spoken with that mixture of humility and dignity
which only men who are conscious of their own exaltation, either of
rank or character, can exhibit in rendering service.
"Your father is Mattathias?" asked Deborah of Jonathan, when Judas was
gone. "Is he not very old? Surely he has often been with my father in
Jerusalem."
"Alas, Mattathias is old, or our cause would not lack a leader. But
these events are too much for him. His life burns rapidly with the
excitement, and the news of good Elkiah's death will make it burn the
faster; for Mattathias is as old as Elkiah was, though less broken. Yet
I well know that his life is only a breath of the Lord. Our father has
five sons. Simon is the eldest and wisest; but there is that about our
Judas which marks him for the leader. To his care is due the fact that
these hills are so guarded that not even a little waif of Judaism like
that blind child can lose his way. But Judas does not yet believe in
himself. The Lord open his eyes, or send us another leader, else the
people will perish. But you should rest."
Jonathan sought for his charge a little nook in the side of a ravine.
Even the hard ground was inviting, for Deborah's limbs ached sorely
from the unaccustomed strain of the past few hours. The quiet of the
dell, and the knowledge that eyes as friendly as they were sharp
watched over her, came as a sweet relief from the incessant fright
of their journey. Long time she lay endeavoring to catch some of the
calm out of the white clouds that floated above her; or listening to
the hum of insects and the calls of birds, while she thanked God that
there were creatures less savage than man. At length nature asserted
its claim, and, with Caleb in her arms, she fell asleep. Jonathan came
and threw over them a coarse outer garment such as the better class
of peasants wore; but the fugitives were as unaware of their friend's
deeds as of the thoughts which passed through his mind when from time
to time he came and stood awhile beside them. Darkness fell. Their
guardian let them sleep.
It was past midnight when he roused them, and the journey was resumed.
Over hills and across ravines, avoiding the usual footpath, they toiled
on, Jonathan carrying Caleb on his shoulder, and Deborah borrowing
strength of limb from her indomitable spirit, until the stars faded in
the dawning light.
XI
THE PRIEST'S KNIFE
Toward noon of the next day the party came near to the little city of
Modin. They paused to take in the view from an adjacent hilltop. Far
to the west glistened the waters of the Great Sea, bordered by the
blazing yellow of the sand-dunes that divide that vast blue waste from
the rich plains of Sharon. The brief chill of winter had not despoiled
this fertile tract of the beauty in which the other seasons had arrayed
it. Yonder glowed the white walls of Lydda, like a pearl in a setting
of emerald. Many quiet villages looked out from beneath their brows of
dusky olive-trees, and gardens sent their challenge of life to the gray
limestone rocks which seemed to bind the hills in sterility.
At length Deborah's gaze was diverted from this fascinating view by a
strange sight. A conical knoll rises before Modin. This was crowded
with an excited multitude. The gay attire of some of the people
proclaimed a festival, while the movements of others upon the outskirts
of the crowd were rather suggestive of an angry mob than of a happy
concourse. Upon the summit of the knoll stood an altar. It was made of
wood, but painted to resemble ivory ornamented with bands of gold. Its
graceful shape supported a basin or brazier of burning coals.
The altar was surrounded by a detachment of Greek soldiers mingled
with a small group of civilians. These latter were of various races:
Phœnicians from the coast, who happened to be detained in Modin by
their business as traders; men of Moab and other strolling tribesmen
from beyond the land of Judea, who had less contempt for the frivolous
rites of the Greek than hatred of the severer worship of the Jews,
which they were willing to see supplanted; Samaritans, whose kinsmen
at Shechem had already obeyed the commands of Antiochus, and offered
heathen sacrifice upon their temple heights of Gerizim; and renegade
Jews, only too willing to believe that the new religion was favored
of heaven, since its observance on their part brought them immunity
from confiscation of goods and bodily harm. In the crowd were a score
or more women, the camp-followers of the Greeks, whose tawdry finery
afforded a rather pleasing contrast with the polished metal and stiff
forms of the soldiers. All were crowned with sprigs of ivy, for the
rite now in progress was in honor of Bacchus. Female flute-players,
with skirts split to their thighs, led the dance, and were followed
about by companies of half-drunken men and youths, who observed so much
of the steps as their unsteady legs permitted.
Avoiding this crowd, Jonathan brought Deborah and Caleb near to
the gate of the town. Here was a very different scene. The native
populace swarmed under the shadow of the wall. It was evident that
these people were of a temper utterly hostile to that which swayed
the devotees about the altar of Bacchus. In the centre of this crowd
stood an officer of the King. By his side was the herald, who had just
completed reading a proclamation commanding all persons above twelve
years of age to make an offering to Bacchus before the sun should set,
under penalty of being put to death.
The cruel mandate evoked cries of fright and fury from the people.
Some shrieked wildly with alarm, well knowing the terrible alternative
of apostacy or death, and knowing also that in almost every household
there were those who would deliberately choose the latter. Some cursed
deeply, and glared upon the officials with eyes not unlike those of
wild beasts answering the challenge of their captors. Then uprose that
strange lamentation in which Eastern people are accustomed to express
their grief--agonized outcries accompanied by tearing the hair, rending
garments, and flinging handfuls of dust in the air.
In the throng was an old man. Though many years had whitened his locks,
his form was erect and evidenced the strength and vigor of well-kept
manhood. His face was strikingly beautiful, its lineaments such as are
formed only by the habit of lofty thinking and gentle impulses. Deborah
could not but recall the faces of her two guides from Mizpah, which
this one resembled.
"Venerable sir," said the Greek officer, "you are ruler here, and as
their priest high in honor among this people. Your words they obey.
Your example they follow. You are their shepherd. Why should you
lead them into needless calamity? Come, then, and fulfill the King's
demand. It is but a little thing required of you; not to disobey your
nation's God, but to recognize the gods of others. Surely, some power
beyond our own makes the vine grow, and fills its clusters with wine.
Call that power Bacchus, or think of it by the nameless name of your
own God--what matters it? Recognize that power by casting a pinch of
incense upon the altar. Pray as you please in the depths of your soul;
only do this little act. Will you lead the people to slaughter for
so simple a thing as a crushed berry of spice, or drop of oil from a
pressed olive? The great King Antiochus would delight to favor with
riches the noble Mattathias, of whose devotion to Jewry he has heard
so much; and he longs to have such faithful servants as you and your
stalwart sons to promote his own generous rule over these lands which
the gods have given him."
The King's officer would have proceeded further, but the impatience of
the old man prevented him. Raising his voice, he cried out:
"Let Antiochus know, that, though all nations that are now under the
King's dominion obey him, and fall away every one from the religion of
their fathers, yet will I, and my sons, and my brethren walk in the
ancient covenant. We will not hearken to the King's words, to go from
our religion, either to the right or to the left."
"The priest is mad with bigotry, and would destroy us. Let us go and
sacrifice," said one, moving from the crowd toward the altar on the
knoll.
Mattathias gazed upon the renegade. A look of unutterable pity
overspread his features.
"Thou shalt not sin thus against the Lord our God, brother Laban," said
he, as he laid his strong hand upon the other's shoulders.
"Is Mattathias still a priest to kill as if we were sheep for
sacrifice? Unhand me, lest I smite thee in spite of thy years," said
Laban.
"Aye, a priest still," cried the old man, suddenly transported with
rage, "priest still to sacrifice. It is better that the dust of the
ground of our Holy Land receive the blood of Laban than that the altar
of the heathen receive his offering."
He drew from his robe a priest's knife and drove it into the heart of
the traitor.
As the body fell the venerable man broke out into lamentation, "Oh, my
brother Laban, why didst thou drive me so mad? O my God, forgive me,
save me! Save Thy people!"
The King's officer sounded an alarm, and soldiers hastened from the
adjacent knoll. But these were soon overpowered by the infuriated mob
of Jews; and from the mêlée was dragged forth the dead body of the
Greek Commandant himself.
Mattathias stood a moment and gazed upon the bruised and bleeding form
of the officer. Then he raised his hands and, with face uplifted to the
white clouds that floated above, he cried:
"O God of Israel, forgive Thy priest! Forgive Thy people if they have
this day been led into sin. But Thou, Lord, knowest our hearts. The
zeal of Thine house hath eaten us up!"
Then he turned to the people. All fury suddenly died from his features.
Instead there came a look of wonderful compassion and solicitude. It
was as the clear azure following the thunder-storm.
"To your homes, friends! To your closets! Let no one eat this day, but
with fasting let us spread our woes before the Lord. I know, I know
that He will appear for us. For we are His people and the sheep of His
pasture. But alas! who shall be the Avenger?"
XII
THE FORT OF THE ROCKS