"Know you the numbers of the Syrians?" inquired Simon, whose quiet, sedate manner formed a strong contrast to that of the fiery young Eleazar.
"Nicanor has forty thousand footmen and seven thousand horse," was the reply; "to say nothing of those who hang round his camp, as vultures who scent the carnage from afar."
"More than seven to one," observed Simon, slightly shaking his head.
"Hebrews have encountered worse odds than that," cried the young man.
"Ay, when all were stanch," his elder brother rejoined.
"Do you then doubt our men!" exclaimed Eleazar.
"Many of them will be faithful unto death; but I know that in some quarters there are misgivings—I may call them fears," was the grave reply of Simon. "Not all our troops are tried warriors; some in the camp have spoken of submission."
"Submission!" cried Eleazar, clenching his hand; "I would lash the slaves up to the conflict as I would lash dogs that hung back in the chase."
"On the contrary," said Maccabeus, who had hitherto listened to the conversation in silence, "I shall proclaim that whoso is fearful, has my free permission to depart from us in peace."
"Were that well?" asked Simon, doubtfully, "we are already so greatly outnumbered by the foe."