well up the ascent by the winding road, in exactly the order which
Judas had anticipated. For miles the army stretched away, almost to
Lydda; the glare of clustered spear-heads showing like the golden spots
on a python. In places detachments which were far removed from one
another in the marching order were brought close together by the loops
of the road, while intervening fields of boulders separated them, so
that they were not in helpful proximity.
But no danger was visible to the Greeks. Helmets were thrown off and
piled on wagons with the baggage. There were songs in which the men
from one province tried to drown the voices of men from other parts of
the King's realm with their strange melodies. The only precaution shown
was by the very foremost of the army of invaders, who, obeying their
General's order of discipline, sent out scouts. These threaded their
way slowly between the boulders near the crest of Bethhoron; leisurely
feasting themselves upon the berries which glowed blue and red at their
fingers.
One closely watching these scouts and pickets would have noted that
when a Greek soldier surmounted the crest he neither returned nor made
sign to those following. He simply disappeared, his comrades supposing
that he had passed in safety. But an eagle flying over the spot would
have paused to hover, with beak parted for the carrion feast that
awaited him there; for behind the ledge were masked the deadliest
shots among the Jewish bowmen, and those most expert with the short
lance, having from boyhood used it in hunting. Men who could elude the
sagacity of the fox, and pin the wary beast to the ground with a throw
of threescore paces, made quick finish of a Greek armed with a long and
heavy sarissa, which was fit only for close prodding.
Behind the van came the staff of Seron, men bemedalled for exploits in
many battles. Then followed squadrons of horse, crowding their sweaty
flanks, and rubbing the greaves from their riders' legs in the attempt
to keep full number abreast on the narrow road. So the python's head
reached the Heights of Bethhoron.
Suddenly the crest of the hill burst as with an earthquake. A roar
as of thunder articulated the war cry, "Mi-camo-ca-ba!" Every rock
scintillated with spear-heads. Arrows clouded the air, and fell in
deadly showers upon the unshielded Greeks, leaving scarcely a man or
a horse standing on the near roadway. Hundreds of these shafts, as if
borne by wings, so far was their flight, dropped amid Seron's suite,
and the gayest plumes first nodded beneath the deadly challenge.
Under cover of this storm of missiles, and before the enemy could
sufficiently recover from consternation to clearly discern the meaning
of the attack, the armored Jews dashed over the crest. As when a dam
bursts, the living flood poured down the slope, carrying everything
before it. Mi-camo-ca-ba! the wild cry from a thousand throats, drowned
all shouts of command. But one sound was heard above the din. It was
the lion voice of Judas, as with the sword of Apollonius he hewed his
way through the half-formed phalanges. The first stretch of road was
not cleared of the foe before those on the second bend were hemmed in
by the patriot archers, who had gained the covert of rocks on either
side, and swept the highway with unerring aim. For the Greeks to
advance was impossible; orderly retreat equally vain. Those who stood
their ground were huddled together as for quicker slaughter. Those in
the rear turned backward in flight. The splendid squadrons, blinded by
panic, became like herds of riderless horses, spurred by the sting of
arrows. Cavalry dashed back upon the infantry following, carrying these
foot soldiers along as a freshet its débris. In less than two hours the
army of Seron was in hopeless rout over the white hills and across the
green cornfields of the plain of Sharon.
The Maccabæans did not follow in pursuit. To have done so would have
revealed to the enemy the fewness of their assailants. Should the
Greeks regain their wits and resume the fight, Judas foresaw that his
men, away from their coverts of rocks and copses and in the open
plain, would be readily annihilated by superior numbers. He let the
panic do its work.
"It's the angel of the Lord," he said, "though his wings are black with
God's curse."
So Judas was content to watch the writhing of the python whose head he
had crushed.
Seron and the survivors of his staff displayed their genius by
escaping in the opposite direction to the retreat of the mass of the
army. They turned off from the highway, and crossed the fields toward
the southeast in the direction of Jerusalem, their only covert now.
Several of the horses of his suite were abandoned, having broken their
legs as they slipped between the rocks; others refused to enter the
thickets of underbrush which had already torn their flesh, until they
were unmercifully prodded by the spurs of their riders. A handful of
officers at length struck a hoof path that with many windings debouched
into the highway near the summit of Bethhoron, whence they made their
way toward the city.
XXII
A PRELUDE WITHOUT THE PLAY
The day had been one of intensest excitement in the city of Jerusalem.
From earliest morning the population had poured out of the gates, and
gathered on the high ground to the north that they might welcome Seron
and his host.
It was remembered that on this spot years ago, according to the stories
the rabbis told, Alexander the Great had been received by the people of
the city. He, too, had ascended from Sharon by the pass of Bethhoron.
Now, in the steps of the mightiest of world-conquerors, as Cynthia
proudly noted, was to come the great Seron.
The High Priest, Menelaos, had arranged a ceremony copied as nearly as
might be from the legends of Alexander's visit. He himself was dressed
in full pontifical robes of purple and gold, as were the ancient
priests of Israel, except that the name of Jehovah no longer shone
on the gold plate of his turban. The supreme pontiff was followed by
scores of men, most of them Greeks, dressed for the occasion as common
priests in white robes, which glistened as if the bright morning light
were itself a part of the pageant. There were musicians with trumpets
and cymbals to beat the very atmosphere into melodious salutation,
and clacquers to shout and cheer the oration which Menelaos should
pronounce as he invoked the blessings of all the gods upon the head of
the advancing chieftain.
After this official procession came a double palanquin, bearing the
wives of Menelaos and Seron; and upon their persons, if one might judge
by the gorgeousness of the display, was much of the movable wealth of
their spouses.
The Princess Helena, too, shone radiantly. Her complexion, the triumph
of cosmetics, rivalled the white but ruddy skin of the children who
ran beside her and gazed at her beauty. Her light hair was star lit
with jewels, and wrought into a high coiffure not unlike a miniature
sheaf of wheat with a binder of gold. She reclined upon the cushions
in graceful lassitude, and nodded her head at each stride of the
carriage-bearers with the dignity of one who felt that she had already
made her conquest of the world, and would graciously encourage the
coming warriors in making theirs.
Yet there was on the face of the Princess a shadow of disappointment as
she gave her patronizing recognition to one and another of the élite
passing by. She was reserving her graciousness for Glaucon, one of
whose ancestral gems shone brilliantly upon her bosom. The announced
illness of Berenice left her coquetry this day an open field; for, in
spite of her flattery, she had conceived a distrust of the sister of
her paramour. There was to her mind a strangely familiar look about
Berenice's face, a flitting suggestion of something she had seen and
ought to remember, but could not. Helena believed in the transmigration
of souls, or sometimes thought she did. Was Berenice's spirit one that
had crossed her path in some previous state of existence? She could
not determine whether the shadowy reminiscences were real or fanciful;
nor, if real, whether they were pleasant or otherwise. She said to
herself, "This feeling is foolish," but Berenice's presence always
awakened the feeling. So she fell back upon a bit of philosophy she had
once heard from a noted rhetorician, "There is an instinctive hostility
between some souls, and an instinctive love between other souls, with
either of which the intelligent judgment has little to do."
But Glaucon did not join the gay throng. Did his sister's illness so
concern him? The Princess felt a flash of jealousy mantle her face, and
knowing from the frequent lesson learned at her mirror that it did not
make her handsome, she toyed with Glaucon's gem until more pleasing
thoughts came.
Toward midday the crowd of watchers on the hill noted a cloud of dust
rising above the road from Bethhoron. It swirled like that raised by a
whirlwind. It came rapidly nearer and larger. At length the cry broke
from the crowd:
"The army comes! Seron! Seron!"
Forth moved the multitude. The company of priests led, the white linen
garments of the old régime marred by garlands worn in imitation of
the revellers at the Bacchanalian rites. Men bore an altar of the war
god Ares, and a jar of wine, with a great goblet of gold from which
the oblation should be poured. Behind these marched the city guards,
in glistening helm and breastplates and greaves, the least among whom
seemed to emulate the war god himself with his pompous tread. Then
came the palanquins of the noble women, each a gorgeous display of
silken colors, suitable to set off the glory of the occupants. Behind
followed, as they could find way, the multitude, whose gay attire
rivalled in its variegation the plumage of an aviary of birds caught
among the reeds of the Red Sea shore.
The crowd halted when they clearly detected a group of Greek horsemen
spurring hard along the road. Why were they riding so hard? As they
came near they were seen to be without helmet or spear or heavy sword;
dust-covered and bleeding; on jaded beasts whose flecks of sweaty foam
interlaced the tatters of their once gorgeous harness. On they sped in
blind flight, trampling their way through the crowd.
"Back! Back to the city!" shouted the officers. "The Maccabæans are
close upon us!"
"Stop, my lord! Stop, my lord Seron!" cried Cynthia, as the General was
hurrying by.
The sight of his wife revived the remnant of this great man's wits,
which the panic had sadly dissipated. Making himself the special
attendant of her palanquin, he set an example of celerity by heading
the scurrying crowd. He commanded Dion with his handful of soldiers to
guard the rear.
That officer quite leisurely performed his duty, lingering alone far
behind the multitude, and anon riding back as if seeking again to join
the battle. This was not because he was enamored of the fight; but as
he was climbing Bethhoron Dion had caught sight of a woman in peasant
garb bending over a wounded Jew. He had nearly ridden them down. The
woman, seeing the danger, rose and with uplifted hand warned him
away. A woman's hand only, but the steed would have refused to leap
against it had the rider plunged the spurs to their depth. There are
some gestures and attitudes that belong to the soul, and express its
dominance over all things of flesh and blood. Dion could not catch the
woman's face, but that very pose with the uplifted hand had awed him
before this. He had seen it at the gateway of the house of Elkiah, and
again amid the ruins of the house of Ben Isaac.
But he had no time to connect his thoughts, for at the moment a sling
stone struck his helmet, and drove it down upon his neck. When he had
adjusted his headpiece his horse had carried him far beyond the spot.
Then he said: "It was only imagination; when one's head rings as mine
did with that stone, the thoughts inside are apt to rattle too."
Dion remembered that he had often had visions of that same woman in
some form. In all the march down the plain of Sharon he had thought
of her as somewhere among those hills. When in the battle he felt the
sharp sting of an arrow which grazed his thigh, he found himself asking
the question, "Would she care if I fell?" Now, as he looked back toward
Bethhoron, he said: "This was only a spectre of my imagination." Yet
he would risk his life to see that spectre again. But Dion obeyed his
General's orders, and plodded slowly after him. His head dropped upon
his breast, and he scarcely noticed a boy with a crutch who struck at
his horse's flank and hobbled away.
XXIII
THE GREED OF GLAUCON
Glaucon had not gone out with the crowd to welcome General Seron. His
curiosity for the pageant and his fascination by the Princess were just
then secondary to his cupidity. This native trait in his character
had been excited into spasmodic activity by a certain discovery. He
had spent the day before searching the mansion of Ben Shattuck, that
grand house by the Tower of David. With the avidity of an old-clothes
dealer he had ransacked chests of the cast-off wearing apparel of dead
generations of Shattucks, now and then perforating with his fingers the
moth-eaten linings of pockets and pouches. He had tested drawers for
false bottoms, and pried into secret closets between walls which the
mortar, cracked by sinking beams, had exposed. He had been rewarded by
a handful of forgotten gems, but more by a crumpled bit of papyrus in a
leathern wallet which he found in the bosom pocket of the shirt which
Ben Shattuck must have discarded the very day of his departure from
Jerusalem, the journey from which he never returned. This was a letter
and read:
"To HOSEA BEN SHATTUCK, greeting:
"The business committed to my care has been, I believe, both
faithfully and wisely adjusted. It were better for the trade between
Sidon and this port if you resided either here or there. There is
another reason for your speedy visit, if not abiding sojourn, in
Alexandria. The lady to whom I hold that you were legally wedded has
given birth to a son. The little lad is sound of limb, of comely face,
and, if the midwife's experience pronounce good judgment, the child is
of soul as bright as the star that shone the night of his birth.
"I beg that you endeavor to be in Alexandria the eighth day hence,
when the child will be circumcised according to our sacred rite.
"I am the faithful servant of the house of Shattuck,
"GIDEON BEN SIRACH."
The discovery that an heir of Shattuck had been born complicated the
matter of title to his estate in Jerusalem. Was this child living? If
so, he would now be about the thirtieth year of life. Glaucon spent
the day in instructing a faithful envoy, and commissioning him to
Alexandria to ferret out the facts.
This messenger had scarcely gained the south road leading to Gaza when
the crowds of panic-driven citizens burst through the northern and
western gates, some going to their houses, but many hastening to the
citadel, deeming the city walls too weak to withstand the Maccabæan
deluge they imagined to be pouring after them.
The bewilderment of Seron, and his declaration that his defeat was
brought about by unearthly agencies, which neither generalship nor
numbers could resist, while designed to save his own reputation, added
to the consternation of the people. Renegade Jews began to repent of
their apostacy. They increased the alarm of the foreigners by the
sudden revival of their own faith in the marvels of Jewish history, and
their Scriptural accounts of the waves of the Red Sea, and the magic
in the hands of Aaron and Hur when they upheld the arms of Moses.
Frightened credulity saw the afternoon shadows that day grow shorter
instead of longer, as they did at the battle of Ajalon in Joshua's
time. Some averred that at nightfall the sun, as if to make up for lost
time, made a sudden plunge to his setting, splashing the waves of the
Great Sea until like billows of blood they mingled with those of fire
along the horizon.
The disastrous issue of the battle led Glaucon to seek the secret
closets in his own house, to conceal in them his riches of coins and
jewels, and certain papers which would be more honored in Antioch than
in Jerusalem, if the Maccabæans should enter. One such hiding-place
he knew was in the cellar. He had never opened it. From a lad he had
avoided dark places. Yet he thought he knew how to distinguish the
spot. It was the fourth stone from the corner nearest the steps. He
had often heard it spoken of as the "trap." He felt his own pallor as
he descended the steps; but a chill that made his flesh sensitively
shrivel seized him when he lifted this stone, for a damp air like the
breath of ghosts issued from the opening. Summoning all his courage,
he thrust his trembling hands down, feeling for alcoves or shelves in
the hollow dark space. Suddenly his timid nerves failed him. There was
a subterranean sound; a rustling as of winding-sheets; footfalls soft
and muffled, such as ghosts might make. He would probably have fainted
had not his greed given him strength. Clutching his bags he glided away
like a frightened lizard.
A few moments later voices came out of the hole.
"It is strange," said Caleb, "I smelt a light."
"I, too, thought I saw a gleam," said Deborah. "But, surely, I lowered
the stone when I came down the other day. Have you raised it since?"
"I was down but once while you were away," replied the lad, "and I know
I closed it, for see! here I pinched my finger in setting the great
stone back."
"It was too heavy for you, child. You should not have come down here,"
replied Deborah.
"But I could not stay in the house, and you out of it, sister; so I
went through the quarries and whistled for Meph at the wall, but he
didn't come; I played all day in the caverns."
"What a place to play, my child."
"Well, I couldn't see how bad it was, so I didn't care."
Caleb led the way up from the cellar. Huldah, who had waited and
listened for signs of her coming, held Deborah in her motherly arms,
and dropped upon her face some tears well salted with memories of
by-gone years.
XXIV
LESSONS IN DIPLOMACY
In the excitement of the great disaster no one had inquired for
Deborah, except Glaucon, who received from the cautious Huldah evasive
replies regarding her illness. The day following the battle her brother
insisted upon seeing her, since it might be necessary to make sudden
flight in the event of the Maccabæans attacking the city.
Deborah came from her chamber, walking with difficulty. One would have
said that she had received a hurt or a wound from a fall. She, however,
spoke slightingly of the pain in the sinews which sometimes came to
her, an inherited disorder; at least she had heard that her mother was
at times similarly attacked; but a few days' rest always cured her. She
now listened with surprise to the story that a great battle had taken
place, and upbraided Glaucon and Huldah and Ephraim for not telling her
of it. She questioned every new-comer with the eagerness of fright.
Each fresh outcry in the street seemed to deepen the blanch of her
cheeks, so that even Glaucon, though his face was pale and his lips
trembled, rebuked her timidity, and swore great heathen oaths, such as
befitted so valiant a protector.
"What shall we do if the rebels really take the city?" she asked.
"We will flee to Antioch."
"But the Jews hold all the country to the north, do they not?"
"If the worst comes we can take ship at Gaza. I have got as much gold
as my belt will hold, and our asses are ready to start at daybreak, if
the news then warrants our flight. But who comes?"
Through the uproar in the street were heard cries of the name of Dion.
The curtains moved, and the young Captain stood at the opening.
Glaucon's welcome was enthusiastic. He embraced his friend, and kissed
him upon both cheeks. The Greek did not return the salutation. He
seemed dazed, and stared steadily over Glaucon's shoulder. Had he
indeed gone daft? After gazing at a sunset one is apt to see golden
spots resembling the orb wherever one looks at the sky. Had Deborah
wrought a similar illusion on his imagination? He had seen her in his
dreams, both waking and sleeping; among the women of the Greek camp
at the Wady; and only yesterday in peasant garb amid the dying on
Bethhoron--yet she was here in her home! He was beginning to question
his own mental condition. His hand came to his head as if to certify
that it was still upon his shoulders. Deborah quickly proved that
this time at least she was no sprite out of the foam of fancy. With
a suppressed cry of surprise and gladness she sprang to meet him. He
would have been less than a man if he had not extended both hands to
embrace her. To her glorious womanhood was added the frank joyousness
of a child. Her face caught the flash of her soul, and was illumined by
it.
This was, however, but for the instant. The next moment she drew back.
Her face flushed, then became of marble pallor. Dignity, hauteur,
offence, almost scorn were written upon her brow and lips. It was as if
a bursting rose-bush were suddenly encased in wintry ice.
Deborah realized that the surprise of Dion's coming had thrown her off
her guard. Had she not solemnly determined, that night at the Wady,
that henceforth they two could have nothing in common? This had been
a conviction of her judgment and of her sense of duty. That hour when
she had used a woman's wiles to accomplish a higher purpose she had
classed among her other practices of deceit as a spy. She had scorned
herself for it. Now that her debt for his risking life in her behalf
had been fully paid--paid off by her risking her loyalty to her country
to save him--she had accustomed herself to think of him only as an
enemy; a Greek, either hating the Jews and therefore persecuting them,
or else a mere soldier of fortune, indifferent to all right and truth,
as unfeeling as the point of his sword. In the one case he was a man
whom she, as a Jewess, must treat as a foe; in the other case, he was
a man of such character that she, as a woman, must despise him. She
had resolved that if ever they did meet--and she prayed God that they
might not--it should be with such frigid courtesy on her part that
former relations could not be resumed. She had thought, too, that she
could readily play this part. Had she not schooled herself to absolute
self-control? Who could see through any mask she pleased to wear? Not
the shrewdest of the Greek generals in whose tents she had been; not
the suspicious eyes of these women in Jerusalem. She had prided herself
that, whatever feeling might linger in her heart, her personality was
buried within her patriot purpose.
Yet just now her impulse on seeing this man had been as uncontrolled as
that of a child. What had she done? She said: "I have betrayed myself."
Then she asked a deeper question on this line than she had ever asked
before: "How could I betray myself? Am I not my own very self? Is
there, then, some deeper self with which I am not fully acquainted?
And is it true that that deeper, stranger self, having never been
consulted, has never consented to the judgment I had formed regarding
Dion?"
She began to feel, what the Princess believed, that there is a
mysterious sense of kinship between certain souls which asserts itself
in spite of conditions, which heeds no warning of judgment, and refuses
submission to other passions. If it were not so, why had Dion's sudden
coming made her do that which no other surprise could have led her to
do--make her forget herself?
But in a moment more she had recovered her self-possession. She bowed
Dion to a seat as coldly as any stranger might have done, and bade him
tell the story of the battle.
Captain Dion addressed himself solely to Glaucon, for each glance at
Deborah seemed to interrupt his memory of events. Once and again he
stopped midway a sentence as he looked at her, until Glaucon recalled
him by repeating his last words.
At length, fixing his eyes steadily upon her face, he said:
"We were defeated because we had on our side no--prophetess--to inspire
us to more than human valor."
But Deborah was now on her guard. That play on Dion's part belonged to
diplomacy, not sentiment, and she rewarded his ruse by not so much as a
quivering eyelash or the shadow of a changing hue.
"Do the armies take prophetesses to their battlefields?" she asked.