The King’s brows knitted deep. Though scarce past mid-life, he bent with the impotence of fate too powerful for him to master.
“Princess, I cannot risk the General’s anger if we disobey his orders. There is truce to-day. It is the Jewish Sabbath. The Emperor is for mercy and letting famine force surrender. We have the city hemmed on every side. They must surrender or starve. But the army will not hear of another day’s delay! It will hurt our Emperor’s prestige! We shall marshal all our strength this day to show the Jews inside, there cannot escape one living soul from our circle of fire and sword. If they surrender not to-night, neither old nor young, nor man nor woman, shall escape the sword; and when the sword is dulled of slaughter, all others will be sold as slaves. The soldiers are now down in the burning moat stealing coins from the dead to buy slaves at the price of a dog, and not a man in rank dare break the truce on pain of death! The General and his young lieutenant, Trajan, are in the turrets of Antonia’s Tower next to the Temple. Titus has not left off to lead for one hour from Passover Week. Till victory perches on his eagle, he does not know that woman exists; and if he did, he’d bid his soldiers knock her on the head!”
“Pah!” she laughed. “You know not woman’s power on man.”
“But this is no man—Titus is iron, my Sister—I occupy his tent alone! Not one night for seven months has he slept in his bed; or known rest; or taken off his armor. He is soldier now, and not lover dangling on a woman’s whim. He fights hand to hand with Jews. Last night we had mined from Antonia’s Tower under the Holy of Holies, and if the Jews do not surrender this eventide, we break through. The orders are to slay and slay. The Jews suspect. They must have heard our pickaxes below the Temple breaking a hole in the wall of the foundation. Their soldiers crowd all the upper galleries of the Temple to pour down boiling pitch and set fire if we enter. Our spies tell us even now these swine Zealots lie in stupor drunk with the holy wine mixed with Roman blood all over the sacred Temple floor. One, son of Lazarus of Bethany, escaped from the walls by rope last night, and told us the rotting dead pile the streets, and the living pace pale shadows faint from famine; and when the Zealots broke into the houses of the prisoned women to search for food one Jewess of Arabian Petra fed these ravening beasts her own child boiled for flesh; and then laughed and told them, and stabbed herself to death raving vengeance.”
Sister and brother paused and gazed desperately in each other’s eyes.
“There is no hope but to trust the Roman Emperor’s mercy,” repeated King Agrippa.
“Rome’s mercy!” Princess Bernice laughed, and her voice was hard as sword striking metal. “Sheep for hungry wolves! Would Herod the Great have hesitated and whined ‘mercy, mercy,’ to wolves, as we pause now, Brother of mine?”
“Herod the Great dealt not with Titus. He dealt with a cringing Senate. This Titus is a man.”
“Then, if he is man, I—am—woman. Know you what that means? Take me to Titus, though we wade in blood to our waists! Be not less than man, yourself. Shall my power be less because he is man? Do you remember your mad jealousy when we were younger? Do you think I’ll fail with him because he is man? I have had two weak kings for husbands! Now I aim for an Emperor.”
“Bernice—are you mad? Do you know the price you’ll have to pay?”