Nathan turned to the lieutenant, who, with a blanched face, had shrunk back against the wall.
"Do you intend to stay here?" he demanded sternly. "Draw your sword and lead us. We must cut our way out. My prisoners are for Darius and not for these."
"They are too many," the lieutenant whined, with chattering teeth.
"Then give him your sword, since you are afraid to use it," Nathan said, pointing to Chares. The Theban snatched the weapon from the young man's hand.
A javelin hissed through the air, cast by some soldier in the throng, and stood quivering in the beams behind their heads. Clearchus pulled it out and took possession of it.
The mob still held back, agitated by conflicting currents. The idlers who had instigated the attack in a spirit of wantonness had no stomach for fighting, and were struggling backward through the press, seeking a safe distance. Their places were taken by reckless and half-drunken soldiers, who had grown weary of inactivity in the city and were eager for any excitement, even though they obtained it at the risk of their lives. Many of them were little more than savages whose innate ferocity was aroused by the mere sight of blood. Some had received cuts and bruises when the rush was made. The voice of the mob changed from a tone of banter to a menacing cry for revenge.
Nathan saw that the non-combatants had succeeded in extricating themselves, and that the men who now faced them carried weapons in their hands and were preparing to use them. The situation was perilous. His handful of soldiers were outnumbered by more than a hundred to one. The mob was momentarily being reënforced from the wine-shops and the alleys that honeycombed the district. It was plain that there was no escape unless rescue should come quickly.
He raised himself on his horse and anxiously scanned the faces of the crowd that had pressed back out of harm's way and now stood in expectant silence. He knew that through the years that had passed since the Captivity, many thousands of his race had continued to dwell in Babylon and that the trade of the city was chiefly in their hands. He saw their keen dark eyes looking on indifferently from beneath the awnings that shaded the entrances of their shops. To them he determined to appeal.
"Israel! Israel!" he shouted, raising his open palm above his head. "In the name of Jehovah, I call upon thee! To the rescue!"
His cry rang clear in the momentary hush of expectation and reached the ears for which it was intended. Upon the outskirts of the mob men turned to their neighbors. "He is one of us! We must save him!" they said, one to another. "Israel! Israel!" The rallying shout spread through the dense masses of men into streets where Nathan's voice had not penetrated. It ran like a spark in a field of dry corn. Bearded men and dark-skinned youths left their occupations and sprang forward, snatching up such weapons as they found nearest to their hands. There was a second shifting of the crowd as they pushed their way toward the front, pressing in a great circle upon the ring of soldiers who were hemming Nathan in.