the passageway not being favorable to the clear vision of one who had
emerged from the brilliant light of the open court. The Captain was the
soul of gallantry to all of the fair sex, but the Princess and Deborah
were in such utter contrast in his mind that the discovery of the
unexpected personality in his arms wrought a spasmodic revulsion in his
feeling. He loosened her embrace and flung her from him. This time she
found a more solid anchorage for her fright--in the arms of Thersites,
a Greek common soldier, who held also a mop with which he had been
cleansing the statue of Aphrodite.
Thersites, being just then of less perturbable temper than Dion, or
perhaps being more experienced in catching fleeing women, retained his
captive long enough to grunt his gratitude with a kiss upon her cheek,
entirely oblivious to the fact that such privileges the fair Helena had
often sold as high as three shekels apiece in the market of Antioch.
XXXVII
"IF I WERE A JEW"
The mutual welcome of Deborah and Dion was in briefest words, for each
knew more of its occasion than either cared to express; therefore
the appearance of the Princess upon the scene served as a convenient
diversion for both. Deborah told of the woman's attempt to beguile her
brother, without intimating how she herself had come just in time to
save this human moth from shrivelling his wings in the flame.
"How could she have thought to deceive you, Glaucon," said Dion, "after
she had so completely unmasked her character at the dance? None but a
stupid fool, or one as wicked as herself, would be tempted by her wiles
after that."
The speaker did not notice that the Jew winced under his words.
"You may mistake her," replied Glaucon, as soon as he had ceased to
shrink into himself, and recovered enough outward wit to say anything.
"That she danced is no more against the dignity of a Princess, than it
is for Antiochus to play the buffoon along the streets of Antioch, as
we both saw him do in the great procession."
"Whatever she may be, she goes out of the city very soon," replied
Dion. "The kinsfolk of Apollonius have heard of her claim, and have
denounced her to the Governor Lycias."
Glaucon, having gathered up the scattered jewels, wrapped them each
in its linen covering, and put them into the bag; then withdrew with
mutterings, which it is uncertain if they were against his mistress or
her exposers.
The shell fringes of the curtain had not ceased their jangling as
Glaucon passed through them before Dion cast himself at Deborah's feet.
"Tell me, Deborah, are you human, or a divinity? You are risking your
life to save me from harm. Is this from a woman's misjudgment, or from
a motive which only the gods can understand and give?"
"Dion," replied she, with offended mien, "rise. You shall not assume
such an attitude before a girl of the Jews--a mere child, whose
gratefulness you have chanced to win by your kindness."
"But why, Deborah, why this awful sacrifice you are venturing? Soon
General Gorgias will be here. He is as cruel as an avalanche when his
purpose moves, and he has sworn to leave not so much as a bone of a
Jewish child outside the valley of Hinnom. That you are the daughter
of Elkiah, chief of the Sanhedrin, is sufficient to excite his
vengeance, even without the stories of your escapades as a spy, with
which Menelaos' party are filling all ears. There is no hope for you
here. Vanish again, I beseech you, as mysteriously as you will, for I
cannot endure that you should become a sacrifice for me. I entreat it,
Deborah. Go away again!"
"Why," replied she, "that would make the matter worse, my good friend.
It is known, or soon will be, that I am now here; but if I disappear
again it will bring new accusation against you for being in some
collusion with me."
"I care nothing for such accusation. I would willingly die in the tower
with the sweet thought that you were safe from insult and danger,"
cried the soldier passionately.
"But, my dear Dion, I think there is need of neither of us playing
tragedy. Maybe, as you say, I can vanish at will. If so, I shall always
be safe, and then, when you are in danger, I can reappear, and they
will say, 'Dion has guarded his prisoner faithfully!'"
Deborah became quite merry with her pleasant conceit.
Dion could not help catching some of the lighter manner of his
companion. He took both her hands.
"I pray you, do not vanish quite yet. Tell me what motive led you to do
this desperate deed in my behalf? You will not love me?"
He paused, gazing quizzically at her, but drew from her face not a
flicker of such sentiment as certain past experience had led him to
hope for.
"Then, since you do not love me, your action was prompted only by
humane motives, to save a wretched Greek from some inconvenience; and
for this you risk your life? I cannot understand you."
"Dion," replied Deborah, all mirth now gone from her manner, "Dion,
I am a Jewess. Think not that our people's vows are only to save our
land and nation. We serve these because these stand for Jehovah's law
of righteousness and justice. Would it be right for me to leave you
to suffer unjustly for my sake? I would be unfaithful to Jewry to so
treat even a Greek. Your philosophy may teach you how to evade such
questions, but our Jewish law is simple and plain. It commands us to
'do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God.' We need
speak of no other sentiment."
Her eyelashes did quiver a little as she said this.
Then, looking him fairly in the face and returning the strong grasp
of his hands, she added: "If my sense of duty were not sufficiently
strong, my gratitude to my noble friend and protector would prompt me
so to act, and so to speak.
"Dion, we have been, though of hostile blood, too much to each other
during these terrible days to doubt that we are led by the same hand of
Providence. I cannot see His will. I must not prejudge it. I can only
act upon each duty that I see, and as I see it. But this much is plain
to me--and you will not mistake my meaning, good friend--I can have no
such interests as other women may feel while my people are enslaved. To
this I have vowed before my nation's God. The redemption of Israel from
the hand of him whom you by your soldier's oath have vowed to serve,
that fills my heart. That is my only sentiment; my only passion; but it
is a passion of fire. All else must burn away before it."
"But," replied Dion, speaking very slowly, as if to hear the echo of
each word from the depth of her heart before venturing another, and
watching her eyes for indication, as boys watch the ripples their
pebbles make when dropped into a well, "if--I--were--a--Jew it might
be otherwise? You could love me if I were only a Jew? Deborah, I am a
Jew in my faith--since you have taught me that faith. I am a soldier
of fortune, and have sold my sword to the lord of Antioch, but I
would willingly give it to your people, were it not that I foresee
the hopelessness of your cause. But with your love I could die for
Judaism."
"Noble Dion, these words are ill-considered. The leopard cannot change
his spots, as says our Scripture; nor can a Greek become a Jew. And
surely not so light a thing as a passing fancy for a Jewish girl should
lead you to think to attain the impossible."
"But if--I--were a Jew?" queried he. "If you will tell me that if Dion
were a Jew you could love him, that will be my happiness even as we
part."
"If Dion were a Jew," replied Deborah, "he were worthy of being brother
to the sons of Mattathias, and worthy the love of any woman." With
which words she ran from the room.
Captain Dion stood looking at--nothing, while the sand ran half out of
the glass.
"Am I a Jew or a Greek? I am surely a Jew inwardly, and," glancing into
a polished steel mirror, "my nose is not, as I have often heard it
said, as a good Greek's should be, perfectly straight with my forehead.
By Jove! I could wish that a sabre cut might bend it more. But, Greek
though I am, my sword and my wit are my own, and shall have but one
duty when Gorgias takes the city--to guard this house and the woman
who--would--love--me--if--I--were--a--Jew. So much is clear, clear as
the Jew's law. Let me see if I can be a Jew. First 'to do justly.' Yes,
it will be only downright justice to give my life for hers, since she
has offered hers for mine more than once. Secondly, 'to love mercy.'
Of course I do--in this case. Thirdly, 'to walk humbly with my God.'
Well, if I knew who God is, I would. God of Jew or Greek teach me that!
Amen!"
XXXVIII
THE POISONER
Deborah retired to the roof of the house. She gazed long to the west.
"Caleb, do you hear any sounds far away?"
"None, but there is a great mist rolling up from the Great Sea over
Sharon, and up the mountains toward our city. Now a wind from the east
rushes against the mist. I think it is a wind. Can you see a wind,
sister?"
"One can see the dust it drives."
"That's it; a little cloud of dusty wind. And it drives away the mist.
The mist rolls down the long hills and away--away. Now it is lost in
the Sea. The dusty wind is Judas, I know."
A servant brought to Deborah a basket of fruit. Ripened pomegranates
glowed ruddy beside tawny oranges in a bed of white blossoms which
loaded the air with delicious spicery. Cakes of figs compressed with
almonds were scattered through the tempting heap.
Caleb caught the odor; his face became a resistless appeal, which his
sister answered by putting into his hand the largest of the luscious
fruits.
Deborah recalled the servant to ask the donor of the fruit. Ephraim
could not say, as it was brought to him by one of the Greek guards in
the court who had taken it in at the gate. Deborah examined the basket,
and recognized the pattern of its inwoven withes as one that the
Princess had taught Lydia, the wife of Menelaos, and herself to make.
She quickly turned to Caleb.
"Do not eat, my child."
But the child had eaten. Almost immediately he fell sick. His face
became ashen pale.
Deborah carried the lad to his bed, and laid him there. The physician
Samuel was sent for in eager haste; but that worthy man was beyond the
city, in the labor which absorbed him day and night, as the case of no
single patient could have done--the critical condition of his nation.
To whom could she turn?
"Call Captain Dion," she bade Huldah.
A long time Dion watched the face and felt the hands of the child.
"I know well these signs," he said. "And good reason have I to remember
them. When a lad I fell sick very much as Caleb has done. The physician
of King Philip of Macedonia, at whose court I served as page, declared
my illness to be due to a peculiar poison concocted by Alexandrian
alchemists. For weeks I lay, while the Fates' scissors fretted my life
thread. Again, when I was just a man, a similar disorder came upon me.
This time I was a soldier in King Perseus' guard. But for the skill
of a certain physician, Theron, an adept in the arts of the poisoner,
and on that account retained in the King's household, I had certainly
perished. This second secret attempt upon my life led Theron to counsel
me to forsake Macedonia. This I could not do. I loved my King Perseus,
and stood with him, until some four years ago he was overthrown by the
Romans in that terrible fight at Pydna. But even in this remote region
I seem to be pursued by the poisoner, for I doubt not that this which
Caleb has taken was intended for myself, since it is known that I am
here."
"But," said Deborah, "this basket is like the handiwork of the
Princess."
"Of the Princess!" cried Dion, examining the basket. "You are right;
this is such work as one finds in the bazaars at Antioch. Deborah, this
was intended for neither Caleb nor me, but for yourself."
He noted more closely the fruit. "These fruits are not all such as grow
in these lands. The figs and almonds thus pressed together I have seen
only in the capital, and one place else--in the house of Menelaos. It
is a favorite with the Priest. Deborah, I see through the damnable
plot. Menelaos, to accomplish his purpose on the property of Elkiah,
must leave no scion of the house alive. I swear that this is that
villainous Priest's design, executed too, by a practised poisoner,
and she--Heaven forbid that I make a false charge!--she is none other
than the Princess. Before the sun sets I will probe the secret with my
knife, though it lies at the bottom of this Priest's black heart."
"Give the child tepid water," he added. "Watch him that he does not
sleep; but that I think will not be possible for some hours yet. The
poison rather stimulates wakefulness until the life is burned out with
its fires. I have at the Citadel some of the medicine Theron bade me
always keep with me."
As Dion left the apartment a great uproar rose in the streets. Cries
filled the air.
"The Jews have fled before Gorgias. They are being driven into the
city."
"The Jews are not fleeing, sister," said Caleb. "They have been
pursuing. I see a mighty eagle. He has swirled above a flock of doves,
but, quick as the lightning flashes, a little bird has darted upon him.
He has mounted upon the eagle's back. His beak is sharper than a sword,
and cuts the eagle through. The great bird falls. Surely the little
bird is Judas."
Whether Caleb's vision was the vagary of his fever-heated brain, or
a true prognostication from inner sight granted him in compensation
for his outer blindness, one may not say, since we have not ourselves
passed through the borderland of the world of sense.
XXXIX
BATTLE OF EMMAUS
Meph's simile of the stratagem of the little red ant which bites his
antagonist into two will give our club-footed friend a place among the
wisest critics of military affairs; for this was the plan of the battle
of Emmaus as executed by Judas.
The Greek armies gathered near Emmaus numbered about fifty thousand
men, under leaders who were rendered expert by wars in many lands. The
Maccabæans had not more than one-tenth that number. This little army
was further reduced by Judas' command dismissing all newly married men,
and all whose ripening crops might divide their attention between peace
and war, and all whose lack of zeal made them hesitate or question the
wisdom of the call to battle. Not more than three thousand bowed in
prayer and consecration as the sun went down on Mizpah.
When the night fell General Gorgias executed a movement which would
have increased his already great fame as a strategist, had it not been
countered by an exploit of deeper subtlety and boldness on the part of
his antagonist.
The Greek General did not await the arrival of his full army at Emmaus,
but, making there a formidable camp, well guarded by thousands of
heavy-armed troops, he pushed on with five thousand horsemen and
light-armed foot-soldiers to take the Jews unawares in their camp at
Mizpah. Under the darkness of the night this advanced guard stealthily
and swiftly climbed the heights. Not a solitary spot of the long crest
was found sentinelled. Surely the wily Maccabæan was caught sleeping.
Under order of perfect silence the Greeks glided on toward Mizpah. So
rapidly did the army pass that even wild beasts were caught between the
companies, and prodded to death amid the feet of the soldiers. On the
assailants sped, that they might come within striking distance of the
Jewish camp before daylight should reveal their approach. Thus with
one swoop in the first light of morning, Gorgias, who was known as the
"Hawk of Syria," would annihilate the whole brood of rebels.
At length dawn poured its ruddy lustre upon the high hill of Mizpah.
Rocks and thorny shrubs, here a stunted juniper and there a pile of
stone which had been a camp kitchen, stood clear in the light,--but not
a Jewish tent or soldier was to be seen.
With rage and shame the outwitted Greek gave orders for retreat to
his own camp twenty miles away. The chagrin of the leader became the
disgust of the soldiers as they retraced their steps along the dusty
road. Some, who would be wiser than others, told of the probable flight
of Judas over the hills and beyond Jordan, scared by the very number
of so many valiant feet which would have trampled his little host into
the earth had he awaited their coming. Gorgias professed his conviction
that the war was over, and that the Maccabæans had disbanded. He talked
aloud of turning southward and resting his soldiers within the walls
of Jerusalem. But, mindful that he was dealing with the strange man who
had outgeneraled both Apollonius and Seron, he deemed it more prudent
first to rejoin the armies of Ptolemy and Nicanor, which he assumed
were gathering about his camp at Emmaus.
The day was well spent when, looking down from the great ridge that
might be called the Parapet of Palestine, the Greek General saw in the
distance the smoke of his own burning camp; while far away toward the
fortress of Gezer in the northwest two moving dust clouds indicated the
position of the Greeks pursued and of the Jews in hot chase.
Judas had discovered Gorgias' movement toward his camp at Mizpah as
soon as it was begun.
With greater celerity than that of the Greek, he abandoned his own
stronghold, pushed his band westward, slipped by his antagonist on a
more southerly road, and, in a line as straight as that of a swarm
of bees, and with as little sound in the going, made for the camp of
Gorgias at Emmaus. Here was the slender waist of Meph's big ant, with
Gorgias' advance for its head, and the detachments of Ptolemy and
Nicanor for its legs.
The early dawn which had revealed to the Greek the unoccupied Jewish
camp at Mizpah, showed to Judas a splendid canvas city near Emmaus;
the open plain bossed with tents of various colors, gleaming with the
polished paraphernalia of horses and the burnished armor of still
sleeping men. Here were gathered, not only the stores of Gorgias' army
and those awaiting the great hosts of Ptolemy and Nicanor, still in
the rear, but bales of woollen and silken wares, boxes of jewels and
bags of silver coin; for in sure expectancy of victory the Greeks had
allowed to come with them a great number of merchants who were to make
Jerusalem a second Damascus of trade, when it should be delivered from
the menace of the Jewish insurgents.
The first intimation the Greeks in this splendid camp had of danger was
the sound of the silver trumpets of the Jews, which from the ancient
days of Israel had rung out the battle-call. The notes floated through
the chill morning air with little more speed than Judas' men skimmed
the ground in their agile assault. The Greeks fell on every hand, some
with casque half on, and most having scarcely grasped sword. The mass
of them precipitately fled. Judas had his men so well in hand, and
such was their zeal of patriotic devotion, that no man thought of the
wondrous opportunity for his own enriching, but obeyed the command, "Be
not greedy of spoil, for there may still be battle betwixt us and the
night." The Jews pursued the fleeing Greeks, until news that Gorgias
was returning recalled them.
Judas then so quickly and skilfully placed his men about the unguarded
camp at Emmaus that Gorgias, deeming such an accomplishment the work
of an army many-fold that of the Jews, dared not make attack. His men
became panic-stricken, and scattered in every direction, to gather
only far away to the west within the lines of Ptolemy and Nicanor, and
there to spread consternation by the marvellous stories with which they
accounted for their defeat.
Judas assembled his fellow-religionists amid the heaps of spoil. Before
they laid hand to the reward of their valor, they acknowledged the
favor of Jehovah. Then rang out the words of the old psalm, "Oh, give
thanks unto the Lord, for He is good. His mercy endureth forever."
Laden with the fruits of victory, the patriot army moved over the hills
to their sacred city, and without challenge from the foe, gathered
before the western gate.
As the soldiers deposited their burdens of spoil they took their places
in groups of tens and hundreds according to the ancient arrangement
of the army of Israel--the order in which they had already gone into
the battle. The instant the morning rays touched the Temple walls, the
silver trumpets, which yesterday had sounded the onset, gave out the
time notes of the antiphonal chant of Israel, the Te Deum of victory
during many ages of faith:
"Lift up your heads, ye gates, and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting
doors, and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory?
"The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory."
As the chant died away the great gate by the tower of David was swung
open. In the shadow of the portal stood Deborah. She had arrayed
herself in richest apparel. Her chiton was of glistening white silk and
dropped to her feet. It was girdled high beneath the breasts; opening
deep above, exposing a neck that needed no circlet to adorn it. From
her shoulders fell a purple robe. This was matched by a purple cap that
rose high from her forehead and was banded with pearls. Strings of
these gems were pendent against her black hair, which, unclasped, fell
about her shoulders.
This contrast with the remembrance of her in the cheap attire of the
Fort of the Rocks, and as with bleeding feet she flitted over the stony
fields on her many secret missions, wrought the patriot soldiers to the
highest pitch of enthusiasm.
"The Daughter of Jerusalem! the Daughter of Jerusalem!" The shout was
taken up by one company after another. It echoed from the walls and
floated over the hills.
By Deborah's side was a Greek. He was in full uniform of a Captain
in the King's service. Judas quickly confronted him. The contrast
between the two men was extreme. The Greek was the model for an Apollo,
such was his grace of pose and motion. His muscles were full, yet
long, exquisitely moulded by the practice of the gymnasium and by the
fencer's art. The Jew was a Hercules of gigantic stature; "badly put
together," would have been the comment of a gymnasiarch; long arms,
legs short, muscles knotted. The Greek was clean-shaven, his locks
oiled; the Jew's head covered with reddish hair bleached by exposure.
The Greek was handsome, a woman's ideal. The Jew's face, overhung by
heavy brows, based in a broad, square chin, and covered with short,
untrimmed beard, might have been an unpleasant one, but for the kindly
brightness of his eyes, which would have won the confidence of a child.
The Greek made obeisance to the conqueror.
"Judas, son of Mattathias, I, though esteemed a heathen, have made a
vow before your God, that, if Jehovah granted you victory in this
battle, I would serve Him and you."
"I am not commissioned to receive the service of any but the men of
Israel," replied Judas firmly, but with a courtesy that could awaken no
resentment.
"Then know that Dion, son of General Agathocles of Macedon, forswears
the service of Antioch, and vows loyalty only to the cause of the
Jewish people."
Judas glanced at Deborah. "Is this the friend of the house of Elkiah?
For thy sweet sake, daughter, it shall be as he wills."
He grasped the hand of Dion.
While this scene was transpiring at the western gate a very different
one might have been witnessed at the south gate. The street within was
packed with a motley multitude impeding one another's way in their
eagerness to escape from the city. Men and women, rich and poor, young
and old; some bruising the backs of their neighbors with the chests
they carried upon their shoulders; others with their palanquins forcing
the crowd asunder, commanding, entreating, shouting imprecations, and
crying with hurts, choked the gateway.
"Way! way for the High Priest!" sounded above the din.
A giant Nubian with his gnarled arms threw the people to right and
left and opened a passage for Menelaos and Lydia, whose blanched faces
peered out from the purple curtains of their vehicle.
Amid this scurrying crowd, amid tattered wealth and paupers bedizened
with their stolen finery, went an exquisite carriage, in which, covered
with the robes at the feet of Clarissa, the harlot dancer and poisoner
of Antioch, crouched the form of Glaucon, son of Elkiah.
Jonathan begged permission to dash upon the fugitives and make an end
of them, even as his father had slain the renegade Jew at the gate of
Modin.
But Judas refused. "Let them depart. Let the wound of Israel slough off
its foulness; it will the sooner heal."
XL
"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM"