The Gladiators. A Tale of Rome and Judæa

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

  CHAPTER X

  A ZEALOT OF THE ZEALOTS

  The man who has resolved that he will shake himself free from those humanaffections and human weaknesses which, like the corporeal necessities ofhunger and thirst, seem to have been given us for our enjoyment ratherthan our discomfort, will find he undertakes a task too hard for mortalcourage and for mortal strength. Without those pleasant accessories, likewater and sunshine, the simple and universal luxuries of mankind,existence may indeed drag on, but it can scarcely be called life. TheGreat Dispenser of all knows best. His children are not meant to standalone, independent of each other and of Him. While they help theirfellows, and trust in His strength, they are strong indeed; but no soonerdo they lean on the staff themselves have fashioned, than they stumble andfall. It wounds the hand that grasps it, and breaks too surely when it ismost needed at the last.

  Eleazar believed, when he quitted the Paved Hall in which the Sanhedrimpronounced their sentence, that the bitterest drop was drained in the cuphe had forced himself to quaff. He had not anticipated the remorsefulmisery that awaited him in his own home--the empty seats, where _they_ werenot--the tacit reproach of every familiar object--worst of all, the meetingwith Mariamne, the daughter of his affections, the only child of hishouse. All that dreary Sabbath morning the Zealot sat in his desolatehome, fearing--yes, he who seemed to fear nothing; to whom the battle-cryof shouting thousands on the wall was but as heart-stirring and inspiringmusic--fearing the glance of a girl's dark eye, the tone of her gentlevoice--and that girl his own daughter. There was no daily sacrifice in theTemple now; that last cherished prerogative of the Jewish religion hadbeen suspended. His creed forbade him to busy himself in any furthermeasures of defence which would involve labour on the Sacred Day. He mightnot work with lever and crowbar at the breach. All that could be done inso short a space of time had been done by his directions yesterday. Hemust sit idle in his stately dwelling, brooding darkly over his brother'sfate, or traverse his marble floor in restless strides, with clenchedhands, and gnashing teeth, and a wild despair raging at his heart. Yet henever yielded nor wavered in his fanatical resolve. Had it all to be doneonce more, he would do the same again.

  One memory there was that he could not shake off--a vague and dreary memorythat sometimes seemed to soothe, and sometimes to madden him. The image ofMariamne would come up before his eyes, not as now in her fair and perfectwomanhood, but as a helpless loving little child, running to him withoutstretched arms, and round cheeks wet with tears, asking him for theprecious favourite that had gone with the rest of the flock to one ofthose great sacrifices with which the Jews kept their sacred festivals--thekid that was his child's playfellow--that he would have ransomed, had hebut known it in time, with whole hecatombs of sheep and oxen, ere itshould have been destroyed. The child had no mother even then; and heremembered, with a strange clearness, how he had taken the weeping littlegirl on his knee and soothed her with unaccustomed tenderness, while sheput her arms round his neck, and laid her soft cheek against his own,accepting consolation, and sobbing herself to sleep upon his breast.

  After this there seemed to grow up a tacit confidence--a strong thoughunspoken affection--between father and daughter. They seldom exchanged manywords in a day, sometimes scarcely more than a look. No two human beingscould be much less alike, or have less in common. There was but this oneslender link between them, and yet how strong it had been! After a whileit angered him to find this memory softening, while it oppressed him,whether he would or no. He resolved he would see Mariamne at once and facethe worst. She knew he had avoided her, and held him in too great awe torisk giving offence by forcing herself upon him. Ignorant of Esca'sarrest, the instinctive apprehension of a woman for the man she loves hadyet caused her to suspect some threatened danger from his prolongedabsence. She watched her opportunity, therefore, to enter her father'spresence and gain tidings, if possible, of his brother and the Briton.

  The hours sped on, and the fierce Syrian noon was already glaring downupon the white porches and dazzling streets of the Holy City. The hush ofthe Sabbath was over all; but it seemed more like the brooding, unnaturalhush that precedes earthquake or tempest, than the quiet of a day devotedto peaceful enjoyment and repose. Her father was accustomed to drink a cupof wine at this hour, and Mariamne brought it him, trembling the while tolearn the certainty of that which she could not yet bear to leave indoubt. She entered the room in which he sat with faltering steps, andstood before him with a certain graceful timidity that seemed to deprecatehis resentment. His punishment had begun already. She reminded him of hermother, standing there pale and beautiful in her distress.

  "Father," she said softly, as he took the cup from her hand and set itdown untasted, without speaking, "where is our kinsman, Calchas? and--andEsca, the Briton? Father! tell me the worst at once. I am your owndaughter, and I can bear it."

  The worst, had she allowed herself to embody her vague fears, would haveapplied to the younger of the absent ones. It would have assumed that hewas gravely wounded, even dangerously. Not killed--surely not killed! Heturned his eyes upon her sternly, nay, angrily; but even then he could nottell her till he had lifted the cup and drained it every drop. His lip wassteady now, and his face was harder, gloomier, than before, while hespoke--

  "Daughter of Ben-Manahem!" said he, "henceforth thou hast no portion withhim who was thy kinsman but yesterday, neither with him the Gentile withinmy gate, who has eaten of my bread and drunk from my cup, and stood withme shoulder to shoulder against the Roman on the wall."

  She clasped her hands in agony, and her very lips turned white; but shesaid true--she was his own daughter, and she neither tottered nor gave way.In measured tones she repeated her former words.

  "Tell me the worst, father. I can bear it."

  He found it easier now that he had begun, and he could lash himself into aspurious anger as he went on, detailing the events of the previous day;the charges brought forward by John of Gischala, the trial before theSanhedrim, his own narrow escape, and the confession of the two culprits,owning, nay, glorying in their mortal crime. He fenced himself in with thesophistry of an enthusiast and a fanatic. He deluded himself into thebelief that he had been injured and aggrieved by the apostasy of thecondemned. He poured forth all the eloquence that might have vindicatedhim before Matthias and his colleagues, had John's accusation been everbrought to proof. The girl stood petrified and overpowered with hisviolence: at last he denounced herself, for having listened so eagerly tothe gentle doctrines of her own father's brother, for having consorted onterms of friendship with the stranger whom he had been the first toencourage and welcome beneath his roof. Once she made her appeal on Esca'sbehalf, but he silenced her ere she had half completed it.

  "Father," she urged, "though a Gentile, he conformed to the usages of ourpeople; though a stranger, I have heard yourself declare that not awarrior in our ranks struck harder for the Holy City than your guest, thebrave and loyal Esca!"

  He interrupted her with a curse.

  "Daughter of Ben-Manahem! in the day in which thou shalt dare again tospeak that forbidden name, may thine eye wax dim, and thy limbs fail, andthy heart grow cold within thy breast--that thou be cut off even then, inthy sin--that thou fall like a rotten branch from the tree of thygeneration--that thou go down into the dust and vanish like water spilt onthe sand--that thy name perish everlastingly from among the maidens ofJudah and the daughters of thy father's house!"

  Though his fury terrified it did not master her. Some women would havefled in dismay from his presence; some would have flung themselves ontheir knees and sought to move him to compassion with prayers and tears.Mariamne looked him fixedly in the face with a quiet sorrow in her ownthat touched him to the quick, and maddened him the more.

  "Father," she said softly, "I have nothing left to fear in this world.Slay me, but do not curse me."

  The vision of her childhood, the memory of her mother, the resignedsadnes
s of her bearing, and the consciousness of his own injustice,conspired to infuriate him.

  "Slay thee!" he repeated between his set teeth. "By the bones ofManahem--by the head of the high-priest--by the veil of the Temple itself,if ever I hear thee utter that accursed name again, I will slay thee withmine own hand!"

  It was no empty threat to a daughter of her nation. Such instances offanaticism were neither unknown to the sterner sects of the Jews, norregarded with entirely unfavourable eyes by that self-devoted andenthusiastic people. The tale of Jephthah's daughter was cherished ratheras an example of holy and high-minded obedience, than a warning from rashand inconsiderate vows. The father was more honoured as a hero than thedaughter was pitied for a victim. And in later times, one Simon ofScythopolis, who had taken up arms against his own countrymen, andrepented of his treachery, regained a high place in their estimation byputting himself to death, having previously slain every member of hisfamily with his own hand.(19) It would have only added one more incident,causing but little comment, to the horrors of the siege, had the life ofMariamne been taken by her own father on his very threshold. She looked athim more in surprise than fear, with a hurt reproachful glance thatpierced him to the heart. "Father!" she exclaimed, "you cannot mean it.Unsay those cruel words. Am I not your daughter? Father! father! you usedto love me, when I was a little girl!"

  Then his savage mood gave way, and he took her to him and spoke to her ingentle soothing accents, as of old.

  "Thou art a daughter of Manahem," said he, "a maiden of Judah. It is notfit for thee to consort with the enemies of thy nation and of thy father'shouse. These men have avowed the pernicious doctrines of the Nazarenes,who call themselves Christians. Therefore they are become an abominationin our sight, and are to be cut off from amongst our people. Mariamne, ifI can bear unmoved to see my brother perish, surely it is no hard task forthee to give up this stranger guest. It is not that my heart is iron tothe core, though thou seest me ofttimes so stern, even with thee; but themen of to-day, who have taken upon themselves the defence of Jerusalemfrom the heathen, must be weaned from human affections and humanweaknesses, even as the child is weaned from its mother's milk. I tellthee, girl, I would not count the lives of all my kindred against one hourof the safety of Judah; and Mariamne, though I love thee dearly, ay,better far than thou canst know--for whom have I now but thee, mydaughter?--yet, if I believed that thou, too, couldst turn traitor to thycountry and thy faith--I speak it not in anger--flesh and blood of mine ownthough thou be, I would bury my sword in thy heart!"

  Had Eleazar's looks corresponded with his words, such a threat, in herpresent frame of mind, might have caused Mariamne to avow herself aChristian, and brave the worst at once; but there was a weight of care onher father's haggard brow, a mournful tenderness in his eyes, that stirredthe very depths of her being in compassion--that merged all other feelingsin one of intense pity for the misery of that fierce, resolute, anddesolate old man. For the moment she scarcely realised Esca's danger inher sympathy for the obvious sufferings of one usually so self-reliant andunmoved. She came closer to his side, and placed her hand in his withoutspeaking. He looked fondly down at her.

  "Abide with me for a space," said he; "Mariamne, thou and I are left alonein the world."

  Then he covered his face with his hands, and remained without speaking,wrapped, as it seemed, in gloomy reflections that she dare not disturb. Sothe two sat on through the weary hours of that long hot Sabbath day.Whenever she made the slightest movement, he looked up and signed for herto remain where she was. Though it was torture, she dared not disobey; andwhile the time slipped on and the shadows lengthened, and the breeze beganto stir, she knew that every minute, as it passed, brought her lovernearer and nearer to a cruel death. Thus much she had learned too surely;but with the certainty were aroused all the energies of her indomitablerace, and she resolved that he should be saved. Many a scheme passedthrough her working brain, as she sat in her father's presence, fearingnow, above all things, to awake his suspicion of her intentions by word ormotion, and so make it impossible for her to escape. Of all her plansthere was but one that seemed feasible; and even that one presenteddifficulties almost insurmountable for a woman.

  She knew that he was safe at least till the morrow. No execution couldtake place on the Sabbath; and although the holy day would conclude atsundown, it was not the custom of her nation to put their criminals todeath till after the dawn, so that she had the whole night before her inwhich to act. But, on the other hand, her father would not leave his homeduring the Sabbath, and she would be compelled to remain under hisobservation till the evening. At night, then, she had resolved to make herescape, and taking advantage of the private passage, only known to herfather's family, by which Calchas had reached the Roman camp, to seekTitus himself, and offer to conduct his soldiers by that path into thecity, stipulating as the price of her treachery an immediate assault, andthe rescue of her kinsman, Calchas, with his fellow-sufferer. Girl as shewas, it never occurred to her that Titus might refuse to believe in hergood faith towards himself, and was likely to look upon the whole schemeas a design to lead his army into an ambush. The only difficulty thatpresented itself was her own escape from the city. She never doubted butthat, once in the Roman camp, her tears and entreaties would carryeverything before them, and, whatever became of herself, her lover wouldbe saved.

  It was not, however, without a strong conflict of feelings that she cameto this desperate resolve. The blood that flowed in her veins was loyalenough to tingle with shame ever and anon, as she meditated such treacheryagainst her nation. Must she, a daughter of Judah, admit the enemy intothe Holy City? Could the child of Eleazar Ben-Manahem, the boldest warriorof her hosts, the staunchest defender of her walls, be the traitor todefile Jerusalem with a foreign yoke? She looked at her father sittingthere, in gloomy meditation, and her heart failed her as she thought ofhis agony of shame, if he lived to learn the truth, of the probabilitythat he would never survive to know it, but perish virtually by her hand,in an unprepared and desperate resistance. Then she thought of Esca, tiedto the stake, the howling rabble, the cruel mocking faces, the bare armsand the uplifted stones. There was no further doubt after that--no morewavering--nothing but the dogged immovable determination that proved whosedaughter she was.

  When the sun had set, Eleazar seemed to shake off the fit of despondencythat had oppressed him during the day. The Sabbath was now past, and itwas lawful for him to occupy mind and body in any necessary work. He badeMariamne light a lamp, and fetch him certain pieces of armour that haddone him good service, and now stood in need of repair. It was a task inthe skilful fulfilment of which every Jewish warrior prided himself. Menof the highest rank would unwillingly commit the renewal of these trustydefences to any fingers but their own; and Eleazar entered upon it withmore of cheerfulness than he had shown for some time. As he secured onerivet after another, with the patience and precision required, everystroke of the hammer seemed to smite upon his daughter's brain. There shewas compelled to remain a close prisoner, and the time was gliding away sofast! At length, when the night was already far advanced, even Eleazar'sstrong frame began to feel the effects of hunger, agitation, labour, andwant of rest. He nodded two or three times over his employment, worked onwith redoubled vigour, nodded again, let his head sink gradually on hisbreast, while the hammer slipped from his relaxing fingers, and he fellasleep.