The whole Roman army encamped that day in the sacred precincts of the temple, and planted their victorious eagles among the smoking ruins. A sacrifice was offered to their false deities in the sanctuary of the Lord of Hosts, and loud acclamations proclaimed the victory of Titus. The immense value of the spoils with which each soldier was enriched, greatly increased their joy: so vast was the amount of the treasures they had obtained, that gold became as brass among these soldiers. In the midst of their loud rejoicings, their attention was attracted by the sight of a small party of priests and others on the top of a wall to which they had escaped. For five days these miserable beings remained in that situation, until starvation induced them to come down and implore for mercy. Isaac, the cruel, hard-hearted Isaac, was among them; and he entreated for life with an abject fear that excited the scorn of the Romans. It was unavailing, Titus would not listen to their supplications, and they were immediately executed.
A number of the Zealots had escaped to the upper city with their leader, and there they still defied the Romans. There were numerous and extensive subterranean passages beneath that part of the city; and the hopes of the insurgents rested in these for their preservation. It would be a repetition of scenes already described to narrate the sufferings of those who were cooped up within the walls of Sion. All the miseries of a second siege were endured; and it was not until the 7th of September that the Romans ascended the wall with shouts of triumph, and rushed through the streets, slaying and destroying as they went. But little plunder was found in this quarter: the houses were filled with putrid bodies of whole families who had died of hunger; and after gazing on the massy towers and walls of which he was now the master, Titus gave orders that the whole city should be razed to the ground and utterly destroyed, except three towers, which were left standing as monuments of the conquest.
The multitude of prisoners was embarrassing to the conquerors; and after a selection had been made of the tallest and most powerful-looking of the insurgents, to grace the triumphal return of Titus to the capital, a vast number of these rebels were put to death. The old and infirm, both of men and women, shared the same fate; and of the rest of the prisoners, many thousands were sent to the mines in various parts of the empire, or distributed among the provinces to fight as gladiators for the amusement of the populace. The number of the captives amounted to ninety-seven thousand; of those who were slain or died of famine throughout the siege the number has been computed at no less than our million one hundred thousand!
Still the chief objects of search to the Roman soldiers, and those on whom they especially thirsted to glut their vengeance, seemed to elude their pursuit. Neither John of Gischala nor the son of Gioras was to be found amid the ruins of the city. John had sought refuge in the subterranean caverns, with a multitude of his adherents. The Romans discovered the entrance to some of these caves, and endeavoured to penetrate them, but the pestilential effluvia that proceeded from the putrid corpses that choked the passages drove them back. At length John, and his brothers who had followed him to his retreat, came forth, reduced by starvation, and surrendered to the victors on a promise of mercy. This promise was performed, and the atrocious John was spared, but condemned to perpetual imprisonment.
It was supposed that Simon had expired in one of the caverns, and the search was suspended. Titus prepared to leave the ruined city, and Marcellus rejoiced that at length he might remove his beloved Naomi from a scene where every object that met her view was a memorial of former happiness and recent calamity. The fate of her brother weighed heavily on her mind; there was no hope of his being yet alive; but every search that Marcellus had caused to be made for his body had proved ineffectual, and Naomi was forced to leave the place in uncertainty whether he had perished or been sent off to the provinces as a captive. She was treated by Rufus with the kindest attention, and everything was done by those around her to reconcile her to her situation; but her heart had been too severely wounded to recover its natural strength and elasticity thus early. She had much to lament, as well as much to be grateful for; and Marcellus did not love her less because she was frequently so much absorbed in her melancholy reflections as to be insensible even to the pleasure of his society. She remained entirely secluded with Deborah in Rufus's tent, or travelled, concealed in a litter, until the army arrived at Cæsarea, on the coast, where Titus paused for some time before he proceeded to Cæsarea Philippi. Marcellus then applied for leave of absence for himself and his father, that they might escort Naomi to her friends at Ephesus, and the permission was readily obtained. Happily a vessel was in the port, bound for Ephesus, and in this they all embarked, and sailed away from the desolated land of Judea, towards the spot where Naomi and Theophilus hoped to meet all their surviving relatives, and to be once more united to those so dear to them both.
After their departure a messenger arrived at Cæsarea from the ruined metropolis, with intelligence that Simon and one of his officers had been discovered. A party of the Roman soldiers who were left encamped in the ruined city had been startled one day as they were reposing amid the blackened and tottering walls of the temple, by seeing a man of dignified appearance, and clothed in a rich robe of purple, over a white garment, rise suddenly among them, as if from the earth. At the first moment their superstitious fears led them to believe that it was a spectre, but on their demanding the name of the apparition, he replied, "Simon, the son of Gioras."
He had descended a secret passage on the total defeat of his party, and with several others had remained concealed ever since that time. The provisions which they had taken with them had failed, and none of his companions remained alive except Javan, who followed his chief from their retreat, and they both surrendered themselves into the hands of Terentius Rufus, who held the command of the troops remaining at Jerusalem. Simon had hoped to overawe the guard by his sudden and mysterious appearance, and thus to effect his escape; but in this hope he was disappointed and found himself a captive in the hands of his enemies. This news was most welcome to Titus, and he dispatched immediate orders that the son of Gioras should be sent with his comrade to join him at Cæsarea, and assist to swell the honour of his triumph.
The domes and pinnacles of Diana's far-famed temple were glowing in the ruddy beams of the setting sun, when the white sails of a vessel were descried from the watch-towers of Ephesus, bearing swiftly and steadily towards the port. It was known by the signals hoisted from the masthead to be a merchant-ship returning from Syria, and numbers of the inhabitants of the city assembled on the quays and the banks of the river to witness the arrival of the goodly vessel, and hear from the passengers the latest intelligence of the war in Judea. Among those who waited most anxiously for the approach of the ship to the landing-place, were Amaziah and his wife, with their adopted daughter Claudia. They hoped to receive some communication from their beloved friends in Jerusalem, or at least a letter from Marcellus, telling of the state of the metropolis. Possibly some of their countrymen might have escaped from the beleaguered city, and from them they should hear of the welfare of those so deeply interesting to them all.
A favourable breeze filled the sails of the vessel, and it cut through the yielding waters with the grace and rapidity of a water-bird, and yet the motion seemed too slow for the anxious impatience of the Jewish exiles. They wandered to and fro along the margin of the river, to the point of land where the broad stream fell into the bosom of the ocean, and again returned to the landing-place. The daylight died away before the ship had entered the mouth of the river, and ere it reached the quay its tall mast and lofty prow could hardly be distinguished in the increasing darkness. But lights were hoisted from the rigging, and gleamed on the crowded deck, and the rush of the parting waters told that the noble bark was coming gallantly against the stream. Many torches were brought down to the shore, and their waving and flickering light fell on the anxious and strongly-marked Jewish features of Amaziah and Judith, and the fairer countenance of their young companion. The anchor was cast out, the ropes were thrown on shore, and the vessel lay steadily against the marble steps of the quay. What voice was that so wild and shrill that sounded from the shore above all the murmuring of the assembled crowd? That pale and delicate girl who stood by the side of Amaziah, and leant upon his arm, had cast her tearful eyes upon the deck of the vessel, and in the midst of the groups of passengers she had discerned a form that seemed the vision of one long dead and deeply mourned.
She clung to the arm of Amaziah, and pointed convulsively to the deck, while her large blue eyes were dilated with astonishment and fear, and her parted lips refused to utter the name so dear and so familiar to them. Judith and her husband looked in vain for the cause of Claudia's agitation. The form which had conjured up such wild emotions had disappeared among the crowd, and gradually she became convinced that it had been a creature of her imagination, and that the image for ever present to her heart had caused the startling fancy. Her extended hand fell down again, and with a deep drawn and shivering sigh she faintly whispered,—