by Angela Hunt
His upper lip curled in a snarl. “Do your worst, Hebrew dog.”
With both hands I brought my sword down and cut off his right arm. He turned to look for his blade, now lying useless on the ground, and as he shifted his position in bewilderment, I swung the sword again, lopping off his head.
The men around me cheered. One pulled the golden helmet away and lifted Nicanor’s head by its long hair. “Victory for Jerusalem!” he cried, and with that phrase on our lips we chased the remainder of the army until they had all abandoned the plain.
The next day we returned to Jerusalem. The priests, who had been fearing our defeat and the burning of the Temple, were ecstatic. Now the entire city could celebrate Purim with light hearts. They offered sacrifices and waved palm branches while singing songs of praise. Wine flowed freely, and the people declared that the fourteenth of Adar would henceforth be known as the anniversary of two great deliverances—the repeal of Haman’s murderous edict and the saving of the Temple from Nicanor.
Someone mounted Nicanor’s head on a post opposite the Temple, along with his right hand, which he had raised as he uttered a blasphemous oath against the Temple of Adonai.
With the visible evidence of HaShem’s victory on full display, my family and the people of Jerusalem celebrated long into the night. After wishing my men well, I went in search of Leah and found her sitting with a group of children and their mothers, holding them spellbound with her story: “And on that day, on a hillside in Lebonah, Judah and his men defeated the mighty warrior Apollonius. . . .”
I was not the only one created for a purpose.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Leah
I danced as freely as anyone when Judah and his men returned to Jerusalem. Nicanor’s mounted head and hand were not merely tokens from a slain enemy, but proof of HaShem’s miraculous care and protection. Judah had declared his faith in Adonai’s strength, and the Lord had used one thousand men to rout nine thousand, even sending elephants into a panicked trot over the plain.
My heart had never felt so light. My husband was a warrior, a fierce protector of Adonai’s people. I saw him with new eyes, and in my view he had never appeared more handsome, more manly, or more perfect.
Oh, how I loved him. With everything I had in me, with all the ardor and devotion I had yearned to feel as a girl. I asked HaShem for a man who would keep me safe, and I received a husband who would fight for me and everything he loved. Oh, how much Adonai had given me, and oh, how blind I had been in the beginning.
We returned to Modein after Adasa, though I understood it would be for only a little while. Alcimus and Bacchides were still in Judea and still fomenting unrest, so I knew we would soon be camping again with the army. But for a few days, or even a few weeks, Judah and I wanted to sleep in our little house, feed our goats, and ignore the world outside our walls.
While we were in Modein, two young men came to meet with Judah and Simon. Jason and Eupolemus seemed like good men, respectful and pious, and they made a great fuss over meeting Judah Maccabaeus. But when pressed for their real reason for seeking him, they glanced at each other before speaking.
A cold breath of foreboding shriveled my skin in the instant of that hesitation.
“We have heard talk of a people,” Jason said, glancing from Judah to Simon, “who live across the Great Sea. They are not Greek—in fact, most of them seem to disdain Greeks. They are fierce and have defeated every army they faced.”
“Yet they have no king,” Eupolemus added. “They rule themselves because they are enlightened, tolerant, and highly civilized.”
“They are governed by a group of leaders they call a senate,” Jason said. “They vote on important matters, and the opinion with the most votes carries the day.”
Eupolemus leaned forward in eagerness. “They have conquered many nations, yet in their gracious tolerance they allow nations to worship their own gods. These people—the Romans—do not force their beliefs on other people.”
Judah and Simon did not speak as the two newcomers described the Romans, but when they had finished, Simon looked at Judah. “I have heard of these people,” he said. “They are indeed fierce, and were once intimidating enough to force Antiochus Epiphanes out of Egypt. Egypt had a treaty with the Romans, and a single threat from a Roman ambassador was enough to make Antiochus return to his own capital.”
“Intimidating, you say.” Judah fingered his beard. “These Romans . . . what do they demand of the countries who make treaties with them?”
Eupolemus pressed his hands together. “Egypt, of course, produces grain, so Rome wanted preferential access to it. Rome pays for the grain, and handsomely, but they will not let anyone attack Egypt and threaten the grain supply.”
Judah’s brow furrowed. “If we made a treaty with these Romans, what might they ask of us?”
Jason cleared his throat. “I do not know,” he admitted. “But usually a treaty states that each nation will help the other if it is attacked by an enemy. Each side makes beneficial promises to the other, and then representatives from each sign the document.”
Eupolemus smiled. “Many nations have treaties with Rome. And Israel has signed treaties in the past—remember how the people of Gibeon established a treaty with Joshua when our people entered the Promised Land?”
“The Gibeonites were liars,” Simon said, smirking. “Not the best example you could give.”
“We will not be deceived.” Eupolemus lifted his chin. “We would like to present you with this proposal: If you agree, and if you think it a good idea, send the two of us to Rome. We will address the Senate and explain how King Demetrius has sent soldiers against us without cause. We will tell them about how our people have been threatened, tortured, and killed.”
“We will make certain any proposed treaty is fair,” Jason added. “And when it is signed, Israel will have access to the forces of Rome for her defense. If Demetrius sends another army against us, he will pay the price.”
“He wouldn’t dare send an army to Jerusalem.” Eupolemus laughed. “Demetrius knows better than to interfere with a nation supported by the Roman Senate.”
Judah nodded slowly, then stood. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “My brother and I will discuss what you have said. And sometime tomorrow we will give you an answer.”
“Do not wait too long,” Jason said. “Nicanor’s forces have fled to Gazara, but Demetrius could easily send a commander to lead them back to Jerusalem.”
Judah nodded again. “Thank you.”
When the two men had gone, Judah and Simon sat opposite each other at our table. For a long while they said nothing, and I knew they were pondering everything they had heard.
I set a cup of honey water before each man, then cleared my throat. “May I speak, husband?”
“Of course.”
I shifted my weight, not certain how to phrase what I needed to say. “You have won many victories without the help of Rome. You won because you called on Adonai. So why do you need help from a foreign nation?”
The corner of Judah’s mouth twisted. “The situation is not so simple, Leah. The world is changing, and every year we seem to face a new king. We keep fighting the same battles.”
“On the same territory,” Simon added. “The faces change, but the battles . . .”
“How many times have we fought near Beth-horon?” Judah chuckled. “We ought to build houses there.”
“But,” I said, “on his deathbed, your father told you to trust in no man, but in HaShem alone.”
Judah’s brow furrowed, yet he did not speak.
“Rome could be a great help to us.” Simon rested his chin on his hand. “They have skilled soldiers, equipment, massive weapons, and great ships.”
“We could allow one of their ships to anchor off the coast at Joppa.” Judah crossed his arms. “Men could disembark and travel to Jerusalem in days.”
“Their system of government might even work for us. We could create a senate of leaders f
rom the priesthood and experts in religious law. Like the judges of old, they could provide judgments when a man is accused of some crime or sin. Establishing a senate or council might prevent the sort of corruption and blasphemy we’ve seen with the Hellenes.”
I retreated into the shadows as Judah and Simon shared their ideas. Enthusiasm filled their voices while they talked of things that might be possible, and I knew they had already made their decision. Jason and Eupolemus had dangled a new toy before their eyes, and they had been distracted by it.
But nothing had been decided yet. Even if those young men left for Rome within a week, surely it would take a great deal of time for things to change.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Judah
The years of struggle taught us a lesson we should never have learned. We had seen the Gentiles’ ruthlessness and the destruction of our Temple. Every time we rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem, the enemy arrived to knock them down again. We learned that as long as a pagan king ruled our land, our cities might not stand and our families might not survive.
As the commander of the army of Israel, I had to weigh our present victories against future threats. I began to think we might need human help to vanquish the Gentiles permanently. When I heard about the military might of the Romans, I wondered if Israel might benefit from having an ally. The Romans had no king, so their king would not rule over us, and they permitted their allies to worship their own gods. What harm could possibly come from an alliance with such a nation?
With every passing day I saw that the world had greatly changed since Joshua took possession of the Promised Land. He had been charged with ridding the land of the Gentiles, and though he achieved many victories and conquered many pagan cities, he had never been able to completely clear the land. Judea was still occupied by groups of Gentiles, and our world had grown smaller, making us keenly aware of the strong nations outside our borders. These empires were not content to remain in their places, but kept trying to subjugate and tax us. If we could not chase all the Gentiles from our land, how could we possibly subdue the nations who sought our land, revenue, and people?
If we did not find a friend among the nations, one day we might be completely overrun.
Simon and I agreed—we would send Eupolemus and Jason across the Great Sea. They would go to Rome to procure a treaty to bind the people of Rome to Israel as friends and allies.
With that matter settled, I turned to the enemy at hand. Bacchides and Alcimus had returned from Antioch and attacked settlers living in caves around the Sea of Galilee. The traitorous priest was now on his way to Jerusalem with a large number of soldiers and was expected to arrive in time for Passover.
I sent Jonathan to blow the shofar and gather our army. Three thousand men joined me at a place called Eleasa. By the time we were ready to move out, we had learned that Bacchides was traveling with twenty thousand foot soldiers and two thousand horsemen. We determined to intercept them.
As we marched over the rough terrain, I realized we would not enjoy the benefit of surprise. Bacchides had to know we were coming, just as we knew he was traveling through the valley at Berzetho. Our smaller force would travel more quickly, so Bacchides would probably find a sheltered area and camp there while he waited for us.
We reached the valley at the end of the day where we built fires and hobbled our animals. Before lying down to sleep, I walked the perimeter of our camp and prayed over the three thousand men of Israel who had joined me for yet another battle.
I woke in the early hours of morning and shivered with a chill that did not come from the air. I sat up, looked at Johanan and Simon, who slept beside me, then stood to survey the camp. The sight stole my breath. Last night, three thousand men had crowded the slopes and curves of this spot. At dawn, less than one-third remained. Entire companies had vanished in the night.
I heard footsteps and knew Simon stood behind me. “Well, then,” he said, his voice dry. “We are not what we were.”
I tucked my hands into my armpits to warm them. “No.”
“Remember what you told the men at Beth-horon? That what mattered was not the size of the army but the strength of our God?”
Shivering, I nodded.
“Don’t forget that, brother.”
Simon walked away, whistling, and I stood alone to face the men, who were waking in a vastly depleted army.
I walked back to wake Johanan and Jonathan, then pulled a small loaf from a leather pouch Leah had sent with me. The women had remained behind on this trip, and I was glad my wife did not have to see that so many in the army of Israel had lost their faith . . . in me.
Why? We had been outnumbered before. We had faced far worse generals than Bacchides. We had always depended on Adonai for our victory. What had changed? The question troubled me as I climbed a pile of rocks and looked over the valley. In the foreground, my men were stirring; many looked around with astonished faces.
“Gather round, men,” I called as more of them awoke. I tried to sound confident, but I couldn’t escape a sense of despair.
They came toward me, and the same thought seemed to be uppermost in every soldier’s mind. “Judah,” one man called, “we can’t fight today.”
His voice was the forerunner of many more to come.
“Not like this—we are too small a number.”
“We can easily retreat into the mountains. Travel farther south and attack Bacchides closer to Jerusalem.”
“Where’s the enemy going to go? He won’t reach Jerusalem for days. We can go back and gain the high ground.”
“We should retreat.”
“Not today, Judah. We are only a few hundred.”
“Eight hundred.” Jonathan’s authoritative voice silenced the others. “I count eight hundred men.”
I drew a deep breath. “Brothers,” I began, “far be it from us to do such a thing as to flee from the enemy. We came here to fight the Gentiles, and that is what we will do. And if our time has come, let us die manfully for our brethren, and let us not stain our honor. We will not retreat. We will not shrink back from the task before us. We have never given up, so how could we begin now?”
We had never given up, and we had never asked for outside help. Despite this fact, I sent two men to Rome looking for help, trusting in the Romans, a pagan people who neither knew nor worshiped HaShem, the Creator of all.
Leah had tried to point out my folly and I had not listened.
I sank to my knees, my head bowed beneath the crushing weight of guilt. “Adonai, forgive me for looking to anyone but you. I confess that I am guilty of placing my trust in the armies of Rome when you are all we have ever needed. Forgive me, Adonai, and do not judge these faithful men for my sin.”
Rising to face the morning sun, with resignation I drew my sword and pointed to the hills where the enemy waited on the high ground.
The army of Bacchides marched out from their camp and took its stand for the encounter. The general had divided his cavalry into two companies, one on the east and one on the west. His slingers and archers stood at the front of the line, as did his chief warriors.
My men and I studied the opposing formation as we had many times before. My swordsmen knelt as our archers—only about seventy-five men, by my count—nocked their arrows and raised their bows. Behind them, our horsemen studied the field, alert to any movements at the flanks. Bacchides had enough riders to send an entire company to our rear, if he chose to do so. If they managed to get behind us, we would be trapped between two opposing lines, leaving us no way of escape.
I sat astride my favorite stallion. The horse pawed the ground and nickered. “Easy, boy,” I murmured, patting his flank. “We’ll move soon enough.”
From his position on his right wing, Bacchides sat astride a handsome horse. He wore heavy black armor and a helmet on which purple plumes fluttered with every movement.
“I’d wager he’s coming straight for you,” Johanan said, nodding toward Bacchides.
“And A
lcimus?”
“He’s in his tent praying, of course.” Johanan’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I don’t expect him to spend much time in the actual fight. He’s all glory and no guts, right?”
I snorted. “Right.”
The morning quiet shattered as the trumpeters sounded the charge. Flanked by two companies, Bacchides’s phalanx began to advance. The general drew his sword and pointed it at us.
“That’s it!” I yelled, looking down the line. “Move out!”
My stallion leapt forward at the touch of my heels. I remained steady on his back, my eyes focused on the armored general. Hundreds of riders thundered toward us, churning the dusty earth, and I knew we were at a distinct disadvantage. But our spearmen knew how to unseat a rider by aiming at his mount, so we ought to have those riders on the ground within a few moments.
Since Bacchides and his best warriors were on the right, I rode in that direction, bringing my stouthearted men with me. Fighting with all we had in us, we crushed the right wing and pursued them as far as Mount Azotus of the Great Sea. When those on Bacchides’s left wing realized that the right wing had been decimated, they changed directions and followed me and my men.
The battle became desperate, and many on both sides were wounded and fell.
I remained focused on Bacchides, but he had surrounded himself with skilled men. Clutching my reins with my left hand, I wielded my sword with my right, thrusting and blocking, slicing and blocking. I had to eliminate many before I could reach the general.
I was fighting a one-eyed warrior with a long blade when I felt a rope around my neck. I released the reins and struggled to keep pressure off my throat, but someone at the other end jerked me backward, neatly unseating me. I found myself on the ground as my stallion galloped away. I threw the rope off almost immediately, then whirled around to see who had taken me by surprise.