CHAPTER XIX.
Jerusalem had been left in a state of awful suspense during the interval between the arrival of Titus at Cæsarea and the march of the Roman army. But that suspense soon terminated, when the news was brought by some fugitives that the countless host were moving through Samaria, and ere many days could elapse would be before the walls of the capital.
They advanced slowly towards the city, and encamped in the valley of Thorns, near a village called Gaboth-Saul, on the hill of Saul, about three miles from Jerusalem. One evening, while yet the anxious inhabitants watched from the walls and towers, in expectation of seeing their invincible foes approaching, they perceived a single horseman coming swiftly along the valley of Jehosaphat, bearing in his hand a white flag in token of his pacific intentions. He crossed the brook Kedron, and rode up to the water-gate, where he called to the officer on guard in the Jewish language, and requested a moment's parley with him. The officer complied, and the gate was cautiously opened, when he saw a young man of noble and ingenuous aspect, who courteously saluted him, and begged that he would take charge of a small packet, which he put into his hand, and permit one of his men to deliver it safely according to the superscription. He also presented him with a gold coin of great value, with a request that it might be given to the bearer of the packet, as an inducement to him to be faithful and swift. Then he bowed gracefully to the officer, and retired at full speed from the gate, for he probably knew that he was in a situation of considerable danger, and that he might be assailed by the shafts and spears of the fierce soldiers who thickly covered the wall above him.
The officer retained the gold for himself, for avarice had spread widely among the corrupted troops; and he gave the packet to one of his guard, with an order to carry it as directed. The man thrust it carelessly into his vest, and it was not until the following night that it reached its destination. Naomi was retiring to rest, when Deborah entered her chamber and presented to her the sealed parcel, on which was written, in characters well known to her, "To Naomi, the daughter of Zadok the priest;—with speed." The curiosity of the old domestic kept her in the room while her young mistress tore open the envelope, and hastily perused one of the two letters which it contained. Deborah watched the changing colour of Naomi's cheek, and the tear that started to her eye, but she did not interrogate her, for she knew that the manuscript came from Marcellus; and she retired, leaving the agitated girl to read the letter again and again, and tremble equally for the safety of her betrothed, and that of her parents and herself.
The letter of Marcellus contained repeated assurances of his affection, and his anxiety to rescue his affianced bride from the danger that was so rapidly coming on her countrymen. He detailed the force and numbers of the Roman army, and declared the firm resolution of Titus, to persist in the siege until Jerusalem should be in his power. And then, with all the eloquence of love, he besought her to obtain the permission of her parents to leave the wretched city, and take refuge under his father's protection. He added that if she and her faithful Deborah could escape into the valley of Jehosaphat, he and Rufus would meet her and escort her to the camp, where Titus himself had promised to provide her with a strong guard, and send her in safety to the dwelling of an honourable friend of his own at Cæsarea. Marcellus further expressed an ardent wish that Salome could be persuaded to accompany her daughter; but he knew that no consideration would induce her to leave her husband, and that Zadok would die a hundred deaths rather than desert his post in the city at a time of such peril. He minutely pointed out the spot where he hoped she would meet him, in her father's garden by the brook Kedron, at which place he said that he and his father would wait each night for her appearance, with a litter and swift horses, to bear her and her nurse away in safety; and he besought her to lose no time in making up her mind to the step which he proposed, as the operations of the Roman army would be prompt and decisive, and in a few days all possibility of his rescuing her might be gone. Much more was added, and many arguments used to induce the Jewish maid to leave the home of her fathers, and escape the inevitable doom of her rebellious countrymen: but it was all to no purpose. Naomi shed tears over the expressions of Marcellus's devoted attachment, and she felt he had but too much cause to fear that if she remained in Jerusalem she might share in its destruction; and yet her purpose was unshaken. Her mother was in declining health, and could she leave her? The light of heaven was breaking upon her mother's soul through her means, and could she abandon her? No; she resolved that she would not even mention the proposal of Marcellus to her parents, lest anxiety for her removal from the city should induce them to urge her acceptance of it. She therefore concealed the letter, and opened the other which accompanied it, and which she found to be from her poor friend Claudia, who had sent it to her brother, in the hope that he would find some means of conveying it to Naomi. She did not anticipate that he would run so great a risk as to approach the walls of Jerusalem himself in order to convey the letter, of she would never have given him such a commission. But Marcellus had been too eager to make known to Naomi his plans for her preservation, and to obtain her immediate concurrence, for any thoughts of peril to deter him from the enterprise; and unknown to his commanding officer, he had ventured to the gate, and escaped unharmed.
The letter of Claudia was nearly to the following effect:—
"My beloved Naomi will believe with what satisfaction I avail myself of an occasion to write to her: and she will I know be equally pleased to receive tidings of those who love her dearly. A friend of Amaziah's is about to return to Judea, and will take charge of my letters, and convey them to the Roman camp, from whence doubtless Marcellus will be able to forward this scroll to you. Oh that I could myself be the bearer of the intelligence which it will contain! Dear Naomi, my heart is buried at Jerusalem, and I feel myself a sad exile while I dwell so far from all those scenes that are consecrated to my memory. There have I passed all the happy days of my eventful life. There was I blessed with the affection of my martyred Theophilus; and there did I hear from him of all the things pertaining to salvation. There too I enjoyed your society and friendship, and could strive to imitate, however humbly, the piety and virtue and courage that made me love the religion that you professed. Can I avoid looking back with sorrow and regret to the days that are gone, and wishing that I had been permitted to tarry with you, and share your dangers? My life is now of little value, for all that made life precious is taken away from me; and it would have been a joy to me, if the Lord had suffered me to end my days within the gates of Zion, where he who would have been the happiness of my life was so cruelly torn from me and murdered: but it is wrong, and very ungrateful in me, to speak thus. Bear with my sorrow, dearest Naomi, while for the first time I am enabled to give utterance to all I feel; and do not think that I repine against the dispensations of my God and Father, though I am bowed down beneath the weight of his chastening hand. No; I am enabled to bless that very hand which has wounded me, and to bear testimony to the love and kindness that have inflicted the blow; and I can even pray for mercy and pardon on him who was the cause of all my sorrow. I see now that I had made an idol of my Theophilus. Even the readiness with which I received the faith of Jesus was greatly owing to the interest I felt in all that he taught me, and the conviction that what he believed must needs be true and right. My soul was devoted to him more than to God, and now God has taken him away in mercy as well as justice, and has shown me how I leaned on a broken reed, and neglected the power of His own Almighty arm. I believe I can truly say, that my affliction has been blessed to me; and that I am now, through the unmerited grace of God, a more sincere Christian than when you and Theophilus used to commend my docility and faith. Oh, may the same grace still support me, and carry me forward to the end; that I may enter into the presence of God, clothed in the robe of my Saviour's righteousness, and be admitted to those realms of joy, where now my beloved Theophilus has joined the company of saints and angels, who sing around the throne. Pray for me, Naomi, that my faith may never fail again, and that my light affliction, which is but for a moment, may work for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. I will weary you no more with the detail of my feelings; but it has been a relief to me to express to my earliest and dearest friend both my weakness and my strength. In Judith's presence I always endeavour to restrain my grief, and to cheer her who is more than a mother to me. Both she and Amaziah are unremitting in their kindness; and I must not say that my life is of no value, when I think of their tenderness and affection for me. All the love they bore to their dear son seems now to be bestowed on me; and if I can in any measure console them for what they have lost, I will try to wish that my life may be prolonged. I have other blessings and other privileges here, for which I am grateful. I enjoy the society of many holy disciples of Christ, and am permitted to share their worship and partake of their sacraments; nay more, I have already frequently seen the most blessed apostle John. I have looked on that countenance so full of love and purity and zeal; I have listened to his words, while admiring crowds stood round in breathless silence, to catch the now feeble sound; and I have received his holy benediction, and felt his venerable hands laid kindly on my head. How I have wished for you, Naomi, to share the sacred delight I feel whenever his almost sacred form is before me! I cannot describe him to you, except by saying, that when I look on him I no longer wonder why he was the chosen, the beloved disciple above all the rest who followed their Lord. It is beautiful to see him leaning on his staff, his long white hair and beard flowing down upon his breast, and his eyes sparkling with all the animation of youth, while he pours forth a torrent of eloquence that must pierce the heart of all who hear him. The numbers that are added to the church here through his preaching is very great; and the famous image of Diana is robbed of many of its worshippers. I blush to remember that I was once among the ignorant multitude who believe that this image came down from heaven, and is endued with divine power. It stands in a temple, whose splendour is only surpassed by your own glorious edifice at Jerusalem. Oh, that it was dedicated to the worship of the same only true God!—and that both were likewise consecrated to the service of his Son!
"This is a very beautiful city, and I was greatly struck with the splendour of the buildings on our first arrival. We had a very prosperous voyage from Joppa, and the weather was more favourable than we could have expected at that season. The sun shone brilliantly on the animated scene which was presented to us as we approached the city; and the steady motion of the ship, as we sailed up the river on which Ephesus is built, enabled me to stand on the deck and admire the beauty of the scenery on either side. We ascended the river for a short distance from the place where it falls into the bay, and the banks were covered with villages and noble houses, interspersed with trees of every description. The broad stream was filled with ships and boats; and nothing struck us with such feelings of surprise and delight as the shouts which we heard from some of the boatmen. 'Hallelujah!' was the cry which these Christian mariners used to call their companions to join in their labours; and 'Hallelujah!' was answered by the ploughmen in the adjoining fields, as the boat passed swiftly on. This glorious invitation to sing the praises of Christ is generally uttered by his disciples, in the course of their daily employments, as a signal to their brethren; and we are thankful to be in a land where the invitation is so frequently responded to in the same spirit that dictates it, and not followed by insult and persecution as it would be in Judea.
"Our faithful Hannah is well and happy. She is a great comfort to us, and tries by her activity and zeal to make a return to your uncle and aunt for all their kindness to her: she sends you her most respectful greeting. Judith and Amaziah salute you and your father and mother with sincere affection, and join with me in fervent prayers for your preservation and happiness both here and hereafter. Pray, dearest Naomi, remember and love your attached friend—CLAUDIA."
This letter gave Naomi both pain and pleasure. She regretted to find how severely poor Claudia had been tried, and how much her spirit yearned for the society of the chosen friend of her childhood, as a consolation in her present afflictions; but she rejoiced also to perceive how much of true resignation and submission was evinced in the heartfelt expressions of piety that were mingled with the natural complainings of a wounded spirit. Oh, how would she have rejoiced to have had it in her power to minister comfort to her dear and afflicted friend! But that task she must leave to the God of all comfort; and she could only pray that in His own good time, when sorrow had worked its perfect work, He would pour balm into the wounded heart, and bind up the broken spirit.
Her next concern was to devise some method by which she could reply to Marcellus's letter, and put an end to his anxious expectation of meeting her by the waters of Kedron. The fear that he would nightly repair to the spot, and thus be exposed to great personal danger, determined her to lose no time in endeavouring to convey to him her firm determination to share the fate of her parents, while peril surrounded them on every side. Many were the plans which she devised, but all seemed equally impracticable; and after some hours of useless reflection, she retired to rest, with a resolution to apply to Deborah for counsel and assistance.
In the morning she summoned the good old nurse, and told her all her anxious wishes, and her reasons for concealing Marcellus's letter from her father and Salome. Deborah applauded her disinterested conduct and affectionate devotion to her parents, and entered warmly into all her schemes for conveying a despatch to the Roman camp; but none were suggested that promised any hope of success, until the nurse remembered that while Mary of Bethezob dwelt in Zadok's house, her favourite attendant, Reuben, had made many offers of service to herself and all the family, and had boasted of having held communication with a certain person in the Roman army who had been his friend in former years, by means which were both safe and sure. This deceitful man had endeavoured to ingratiate himself with Deborah, as the best method of discovering any circumstances relative to her young mistress which he could communicate to Javan. So well had he acted the part of a sincere friend to the family, so artfully had he feigned sorrow and indignation at the death of Theophilus, and so judiciously had he mingled the praises of Naomi with all his discourse, that the unsuspicious old woman put perfect confidence in his professions, and now assured her young mistress that she might safely confide her packet to him, with every hope of its speedily reaching its destination.
Naomi knew nothing of Reuben, except that he was a confidential servant of Mary's. She had often remarked him, and thought his countenance singularly unprepossessing; but she was entirely ignorant how much of the affliction and sorrow which had of late visited her family had arisen from the treachery and cunning of this very man. She believed that she must have mistaken his character, and desired Deborah to see him as soon as possible, and ascertain whether he still possessed the power of holding intercourse with his Roman friend, and would undertake to convey her packet to Marcellus, for which service he should receive a handsome reward.
Deborah soon performed her errand, and returned to Naomi with the welcome intelligence that Reuben had promised to go himself to the appointed spot by the brook, and meet Marcellus that very evening, when he would deliver to him the letter. The despatch was soon prepared and given to the artful Reuben by Deborah, with many charges for its safe conveyance. She desired him to come the following morning to claim his reward, and to give an account of his meeting with Marcellus. The traitor swore to be faithful, and departed. But whither did he bend his steps? To the dwelling of Simon the Assassin, a name which he had justly earned from those he came to protect and save.
The son of Gioras was engaged in consultation with Javan and several others of his partisans, when he was informed that a man at the gate desired to speak with him quickly and privately. An expression of doubt and suspicion crossed his dark brow, and he hesitated for a moment whether to comply with the stranger's request or not. He knew that he was hated by many, and feared by all; and he had reason to believe that there were many in Jerusalem who would sacrifice their lives to rid their city of the scourge that their own folly had brought upon them. Yet the man might have tidings for his ear alone, and his crafty policy had often recourse to the employment of spies and informers. He took up a dagger that lay on the table before him, and placed it in his girdle, with a look that told how readily it would find its way to the heart of any one who should attempt to injure him, and left the hall.
Reuben was brought before the tyrant, who waited to receive him in a small private apartment; and guards with naked swords stood ready in the anteroom to do the bidding of their chief. Simon motioned to the informer to remain at a distance, and sternly demanded his errand. Reuben quailed beneath the fierce scowl that met his gaze, as he lifted up his own usually downcast eyes, and showed a countenance as dark and as artful, but not so bold as that of the assassin.
"My Lord," he said, "I come to do you service. Here is a letter that will tell you how to rid Jerusalem of one at least of her bravest enemies."
He laid the sealed packet on a marble slab near him, and retired to the furthest corner of the room, for he had even less desire than Simon to come into close contact with his companion. He had intended to stipulate for a reward of his treachery before he gave up the document: but there was something in the eye of the son of Gioras that made him forget his avarice, and think only of escaping from his presence as quickly as possible.
Simon took up the letter, and with his dagger divided the silken cord that fastened it round, and to which the seals were attached. He retained the weapon in his hand; and while he read the letter he seemed also to keep a watch on the movements of Reuben, who eagerly waited for the moment of his dismissal. The artless epistle of Naomi proved to the chieftain that his informer had not deceived him, for the expressions it contained could not have been the production of cunning or design; but he did not choose to set the stranger free until he had both arranged and executed the scheme which his information had suggested, for he who had betrayed one trust could not be depended on, even in his treachery. He called for his guards, and commanded them to take charge of Reuben, and keep him in security until he should give further orders concerning him in the evening. He desired that he should be well treated, but not allowed to hold communication with any person whatever until that period. The trembling menial now repented of his treachery, and sincerely wished that he had never engaged in the business which had brought him into so perilous a situation; but his faltering entreaties were of no avail: he was led away and carefully secured in a chamber by himself, where he was left to his very disagreeable reflections for many hours.
Meanwhile Simon considered whether he should make known to Javan the information he had received, and consult with him as to the best means of seizing on the unsuspecting young Roman and his brave and distinguished father. Javan had on some recent occasions shown a less sanguinary spirit than he had given him credit for, and had even pleaded for mercy, where fanaticism and prejudice were not excited against the intended victims. But Simon could hardly doubt of his willingness to assist in an enterprise that promised the capture of a Roman officer, who had dared to propose to a Jewish maid that she should forsake her home and her parents, and fly to the camp of her country's foes. Naomi's letter did not enable Simon to discover that the writer of it was the sister of his zealous adherent Javan, for no name was subscribed to it; but it gave him cause to suspect, from some pious expressions of hope and confidence which it contained, that the damsel who thus held a correspondence with the enemy was a Nazarene, and that he whom she addressed was also a member of that detested religion. This circumstance made him decide on entrusting Javan with the secret, and he sent to desire his immediate presence. The letter was put into his hand as soon as he entered the room, with a brief explanation of the manner in which it had been received; and Javan recognised hie sister's peculiarly beautiful handwriting. His colour came and went, and the compression of his lip, and strong contraction of his brow bespoke the painful emotions which were excited by the perusal. Simon watched his countenance, and wondered at the powerful excitement depicted there.
"Ha! my friend," he said, "this effusion of a Jewish maiden's love for a Gentile foe moves you to wrath. It is well; you will the more readily give me your counsel and your assistance in punishing the audacious Roman, and discovering which of the daughters of Zion has been found so weak and criminal as to bestow her affections on an infidel. It is evident that they have long been acquainted, and have carried on their iniquitous attachment for a considerable time; but as yet the girl has resisted the solicitations of the Roman to fly with him from her parents. We must secure him, Javan. We must secure him this very night, and force him by tortures to confess what unhappy maiden he has thus beguiled from her duty as a child of Israel. And mark these concluding passages, Javan—do they not betoken the writer to be a believer in the crucified impostor, and that the man she thus so sinfully loves is of the same obnoxious creed?"
"Yes, Simon, I see and comprehend it all. And this maiden is my sister—my beautiful and once holy sister Naomi, who was then the object of my pride, and the hope and joy of our family. I knew that her soul had been polluted with the vile doctrines of the Nazarenes,—I knew also that the childish attachment that once subsisted between her and the son of Rufus the centurion was not effaced from her memory by his long absence from Jerusalem. But I never dreamed of this shame. She met Marcellus lately when she went to Joppa with my father. I knew it, but I was so much engaged with public affairs that it passed from my thoughts again, and I never inquired whether he had sought to gain her affections. Indeed the very fact that she had embraced the Nazarene heresy made me feel secure, for I knew that she would never bestow her hand or her heart on any one who differed from her in religion. I did not suspect that this Roman infidel would basely pretend to share her creed in order to obtain her love. He shall, however, meet the just punishment of his audacity and his hypocrisy. He has affected to be a Christian, and he shall die the death of a Christian. Thus shall we escape all possibility of the disgrace which he would bring upon us. My father must be informed of this; and doubtless he will take decisive measures to prevent all further correspondence between his daughter and the Gentile youth, even if we should fail to secure him this evening. But, Simon, no injury must be attempted against Naomi. She is my sister, and though I love but few of my fellow-creatures, I do love her. She must be spared, and given time to repent, and to save her immortal soul."
"I care not for the foolish maiden," replied the fierce son of Gioras, "so that we get possession of this bold young soldier and his father. I have heard of Rufus, and I doubt not that his son is as worthy of an enemy's death as the old centurion."
"He always was courageous even to foolhardiness," replied Javan; "but he has no deep subtlety or profound cunning to devise and carry on a plot. I marvel how he has deceived my sister, who has so much quickness and penetration, and made her believe that he has abandoned his heathen idols, and adopted the no less impious worship of the Nazarenes. It is for this that he must die. As an enemy to Jerusalem I scorn him, and the vaunted troop to which he belongs. Let us go forth and organize a chosen band on whom we can depend for our enterprise this evening. They will meet with a gallant resistance unless they can fall on these Romans by surprise."
Javan and the chief captain left the house and repaired to the scene of contest that was almost incessantly maintained beneath the temple walls. There, amidst the noise and carnage that surrounded them, they selected from among the followers of Simon a strong body of resolute and powerful men, whom they commanded to be in readiness at sunset, and to repair at that hour to the water-gate, where they should receive further directions, and be led to the spot where their best services would be required.
The intervening hours were passed as usual in fierce and murderous conflict between the rival factions, in which nothing was gained by either party, and much blood and strength were wasted that should have been reserved for the defence of the city against the common enemy.
Before the blazing sun had sunk behind the western hills the chosen company were assembled at the appointed gate; and ere long they were joined by their commander and Javan. Simon gave the order for the heavy gate to be thrown open, and they all passed through and descended to the thick and fertile gardens that still lay uninjured along the lovely banks of Kedron. There the men were disposed among the dark trees and shrubs in such positions as would enable them to intercept the retreat of any persons who should enter the garden of Zadok. The signal was arranged by which Javan should give them notice to make the attack, and with the last rays of departing daylight the wily son of Gioras returned to the city, leaving the execution of the plot in the hands of his friend.
He passed along the dusky streets, now silent and deserted, for the peaceable inhabitants feared to venture beyond their own doors after sunset; and those of the combatants on either side who were not engaged in keeping a watch on the motions of their opponents, had retired to seek a short repose after the fatigues of the day. The silence was only interrupted by the occasional shouts of those bands of robbers who nightly issued forth to commit fresh acts of violence, and strike fresh terror into the hearts of the wearied and miserable inhabitants. Simon looked around him as he ascended the narrow street that led from the water-gate towards the centre of the town, and when he entered the spacious court in which his own dwelling was situated, he paused to contemplate the desolate scene around him. Not a human being was moving in that magnificent area which was wont to be thronged with a gay and busy populace; but on the pavement lay many a mangled and unburied corpse, slain by the swords and the daggers of their own countrymen, and left a prey to the hungry and ferocious dogs that prowled day and night through the city, and contended fiercely for the unnatural meal. Scarcely a light glimmered forth from the windows of the magnificent dwellings that composed the square. Every gate and every door was closed and strongly barred, to guard against the intrusion of robbers and assassins; while the inhabitants sought, in the most retired of their apartments, a temporary cessation of suffering and alarm.
"When," exclaimed Simon, as he contrasted the present and the past conditions of the glorious city, "when shall Zion again resume her throne, and sit as the queen of nations! Her crown is in the dust—her children are in sadness and in shame—her enemies roar against her as a young lion. But they shall not prevail. The lion of the tribe of Judah shall yet appear in time to succour her, and her foes shall be driven away as the chaff before the wind. Why, O great Messiah! is thy coming so long delayed?"
The son of Gioras was interrupted in the loud expression of his wild and visionary hopes by the sudden apparition of the mysterious prophet. He emerged from the dark shadow of a neighbouring portico, and attracted perhaps by the voice of Simon, he crossed the square and approached him, chanting, in his usual sad, unearthly tone:
"Woe to the bloody and rebellious city;
And woe to those who dwell therein!
Woe to thee, Simon! Woe to the great assassin!
A voice against Jerusalem and against the temple;
A voice against the whole people!
Woe, woe, woe!"
Simon's feelings were excited by his own lofty expectations to which he had just given utterance; and the boding note of the prophet sounded discordantly on his ear. Many times had he heard his voice before, and once he had cruelly commanded him to be scourged, in order to silence his melancholy cry, though without the least effect; but never had his burden of woe sunk into his own spirit, with a feeling of awe and dread until night, and he resolved that it should move him thus no more.
"Thy woes be to thyself, thou false prophet," he cried, "and thy curses light on thine own head! There, I send thee to the prince of darkness, whose messenger thou art; and tell him that Zion defies him, and all the powers he can send against her. The Lord of Hosts is with us."
As he uttered this daring and ill-founded boast, he cast a spear at the son of Ananus, who stood calmly listening to his words of wrath. The weapon flew with violence, and Simon expected to see his victim fall on the ground transfixed. But it passed harmless by, as though the prophet were gifted with a charmed life. Simon drew his sword, and rushed on the wasted form before him; but with a speed that mocked his utmost efforts at pursuit, the son of Ananus fled away, and even in his flight continued to exclaim:
"Woe to the great assassin!
Woe, woe, woe!"
Breathless and exasperated, Simon returned and entered his house, with vows of vengeance on the man who had thus denounced him and then eluded his arm. He issued strict orders that very night that the wild prophet should be diligently searched for the next day, and brought in fetters to his presence.
"I will silence his ominous croaking," he continued, "nor suffer him any longer to go about our city adding to the terrors of the people, and shaking their faith in the coming deliverance that is so surely revealed."