“All are safe—they are in the hands of Septimius, who will deal with them in honor. He solicited the command, that he might provide for their security. They comfort themselves with the hope that you will return. But return you never will. They will be happy in the hope—until sorrow is too long shut out to find room when it comes; they love you, and will love you long, but there is an end of all things. And now, farewell!”
“And now, onward,” said I. “But every spot is crowded with the Roman columns. How am I to pass those spears?”
He laughed wildly, flung his arm round me, as of old, and ran, with the speed of a stag, round the foot of the hill to an unobstructed side. The ascent was nearly perpendicular; but he bounded up the crags without drawing a breath, placed me on a battlement, and was gone!
The Mark of Ruin
Below me war raged in its boundless fury. The enemy had forced their way, and the exasperated Jews, contemptuous of life, fought them with the rage of wild beasts. When the lance was broken, the knife was the weapon; when the knife failed, they tore with their hands and teeth. Masses of stone, torches, even dead bodies, everything that could minister to destruction, were hurled from the roofs on the assailants, who were often repulsed with deadly havoc. But they still made way; the courts of the Gentiles, of the Israelites, and of the priests were successively stormed; and the legions at length established themselves in front of the Sanctuary. A howl of wrath, at the possible profanation of the Holy of Holies, rose from the multitude. I rushed from the battlement, and showing myself to the people, demanded “who would follow me?” The crowd exulted at the sight of their well-known chieftain; and in the impulse of the moment we poured on the enemy, and drove them from the court of the Sanctuary. Startled by the sudden reverse, the Roman generals renewed their proposal for a surrender, and Titus himself, at the most imminent hazard, forced his way to the portal, and besought me to surrender and save the Temple.
But Jerusalem was marked for ruin. While I was in the very act of checking the shower of spears, I heard the voice of one of those extraordinary beings who, by mad predictions of the certain succor of Heaven, kept up the resistance while there was a man to be slaughtered. He was standing on the roof of a vast cloister, surrounded by a crowd of unfortunate men, whom his false prophecies were infuriating against the offer of life. I recognized the impostor, or the demon, by whom the Roman mission had been destroyed. The legionaries pointed in vain to the flames already rising round the cloisters. The predictions grew bolder still, and the words of truth were answered by showers of missiles. The flames suddenly burst out through the roof, and the whole of its defenders, to the number of thousands, sank into the conflagration. When I looked round after the shock, this fearful being, without a touch of fire on his raiment, was haranguing in a distant quarter, and whether man or fiend, urging the multitude to their fate!
This was the day of days, the ninth day of the month Ab, the anniversary of the burning of the Temple by the king of Babylon. One thousand one hundred and thirty years, seven months, and fifteen days were past, from its foundation by our great King Solomon! My attack had repelled the legionaries, and Titus, exhausted and dispirited, began to withdraw the routed columns from the front of the Temple. It was the fifth hour; the sun was scorching up their strength, and I looked proudly forward to victory and the preservation of the Temple!
The Enemy—Fire
As I was standing on the portal of the court of the Sanctuary, and gazing at the rout of the troops toward the tower of Antonia, I heard a voice close to my ear: “I told you that this day would end in nothing without me.” I turned, but he was already far away among the crowd; and before I could even speak, I saw him, torch in hand, bound into the Golden window, beside the veil of the Holy Place. The inner Temple was instantly in a blaze. Our cries and the sight of the flames brought back the enemy at full speed. I saw that the fatal hour was come, and collecting a few brave men, took my post before the veil, to guard the entrance with my blood.
But the legions rushed onward, crying out that “they were led by the Fates,” and that “the God of the Jews had given His people and city into their hands.” The torrent was irresistible. Titus rushed in at its head, exclaiming, that “the Divinity alone could have given the stronghold into his power, for it was beyond the hope and strength of man.” My devoted companions were torn down in an instant. I was forced back to the veil of the Holy of Holies, fighting at random in the midst of the legionaries, who now saw no enemies but each other. In the fury of plunder they deluged the Portico and the Sanctuary with blood.