CHAPTER XVIII

THE PRELIMINARIES OF A GREAT SIEGE

It was the spring of the year A.D. 70, nearly nine months after the elevation of Vespasian to the imperial throne, and still the Roman legions, now under the sole command of Titus, tarried in their encampment at Cæsarea-by-the-sea.

The self-confident Zealots of Jerusalem began to doubt whether the enemy ever _would_ come within sight of the city again.

In the intervals of their internecine warfare they were much interested in watching the progress of a new planet or comet, fiery red in color.

It first appeared in Pisces, the constellation which, in the astral lore of that age, was supposed to be connected with the fortunes of Judæa. Night after night it mounted higher, and ever higher, in the sky, seeming to be making for a point directly above the holy city.

At the very first sight of it the multitude had cried with one voice, “_The star of the Messiah!_” Ere long it became so distinct and bright as to be plainly discernible in the daytime, and crowds gathered at street corners to stare at what they devoutly believed to be a heaven-sent sign.

The glorious day foretold by the prophets was at hand when the Jews, with the assistance of the heavenly powers, should reign supreme over all the nations of the earth. And when the star, growing more plain, was seen to take the shape of a sword[24] with its blade pointing in the direction of the Roman Camp at Cæsarea, who could doubt that it portended the doom of those who were threatening the holy city?

“There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel.”

Such was the text upon which Rabbi Simeon ben Gamaliel proposed to give a midrash or sermon, an announcement that attracted to the Royal Synagogue a congregation larger than any previously seen within its walls.

Devout joy was at first the prevailing keynote of the assembly; but, after the preliminary prayers, a strange uneasiness fell upon them when it was discovered that the prescribed parashoth or lesson for the day--and there could be no omitting it!--was that section of the Pentateuch containing the solemn and thrilling words addressed to the nation by the great Hebrew lawgiver on the eve of his death.

As the chazan began his reading the sunlight without became clouded, and a gloom pervaded the edifice, a gloom that seemed to deepen with each successive moment.

It was, of course, customary to receive the reading of the Law in reverential silence, but a silence so tense as the present had never been known in this synagogue. With bated breath and with eyes fastened on the chazan’s face they listened to the voice of the divine lawgiver sounding down to them through the corridors of time.

“The LORD shall bring a nation against thee from far, from the end of the earth, as swift as the eagle flieth; a nation whose tongue thou shalt not understand. A nation of fierce countenance, which shall not regard the person of the old, nor show favor to the young.... And he shall besiege thee in all thy gates, until thy high and fenced walls come down, wherein thou trustedst.... And thou shalt eat the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons and of thy daughters, in the siege and in the straitness, wherewith thine enemies shall distress thee.... In the morning thou shalt say, Would God it were even! and at even thou shalt say, Would God it were morning! for the fear of thine heart wherewith thou shalt fear, and for the sight of thine eyes which thou shalt see.”

At this point the assembly, hitherto as motionless and as silent as the dead, impulsively started to their feet, with fear stamped upon their faces.

It was not, however, the words of the Law, awful though they were, that had moved the worshipers, but a tumult coming from the streets in the vicinity of the synagogue.

During the previous few moments the air had resounded with the running of feet intermingled with the sound of voices.

Those voices, confused at first, had now become clearly audible. Rolling upward to the skies in accents of surprise and fear there pealed again and again the startling cry:

“THE ROMANS! THE ROMANS!”

The sight of the Roman vanguard, glittering upon the northern heights of Scopus, though it might put fear into the hearts of the common people, served only to evoke the scorn of the Zealots. Their astonishing victory over Cestius, and the fact that for three years no attempt had been made to recover the city, had given them an exaggerated notion of their own prowess.

The Zealots of Galilee might yield; those of Jerusalem were invincible!

“They are the same sheep,” scoffed Simon, “but with a new shepherd.”

For a long time the Zealots and the people, massed upon the northern wall of the city, continued to watch the distant host, who seemed to be occupied in forming an encampment. Suddenly a shout arose. Something was seen to separate itself from the common body, and to move forward quickly towards the city amid a cloud of dust. That something on a nearer approach proved to be a detachment of cavalry, six hundred strong, led by Titus in person, who, coming not to fight but merely to reconnoiter, rode bareheaded, having left both helmet and breastplate behind. By his side rode that Jewish apostate, Tiberius Alexander, who, having at one time been procurator of Judæa, was in a position to explain to Titus the topography of the city.

A sea of faces glared at them along the whole extent of the northern wall; the battlements of Antonia, the porticoes of the temple, the distant ramparts of Mount Zion were similarly crowded; in all the wide city there was neither wall nor tower, neither roof nor window, but showed a cluster of human beings. Their excited cries blending together came to the ears of Titus like the restless murmur of the sea.

“How many people doth the city hold, think you?” he asked of Alexander.

“My spies report the number to be a million--yea, and a hundred thousand beyond that. ’Tis the eve of the passover, and Jews from every province of the empire have come up to worship.”

“A million? Ye gods! Has this nation appointed a rendezvous for its own destruction? But as to the fighting men?”

“All will fight, even children, if it be to defend their city and their religion. The women and girls will weave their hair into ropes, if ropes be needed. The priests themselves will arm should the war approach the temple.”

“Little care I for such foes. My concern is with those who have any knowledge of actual warfare.”

“Why, as to that, Eleazar guards the holy house with 2,400 Zealots; John, your old opponent in Galilee, keeps the cloisters with 6,000. But Simon, who holds Mount Zion, is the man to be feared. He hath 15,000 fierce spirits, so fanatically devoted to him, that each would fall on his own sword did he but command it.”

“Twenty-three thousand fighting men? Well, we have more than double that number with us.”

“Your number may be tenfold theirs, but such superiority avails nothing in view of their impregnable position.--As you see, O Cæsar,” he continued, pointing first to the city, and then to a map that he carried, a map drawn by the hand of Josephus, “Jerusalem occupies the southern tongue of a rocky plateau; on the east, on the west, on the south, its walls look down upon ravines and valleys whose slopes are too steep to be scaled by an army; it is from this quarter only that the attack can be made.”

Titus recognized the fact at a glance. The city, the real city--namely, the stronghold of Zion--was assailable only from the north, but the way to it was barred by huge ramparts.

Three gigantic lines of masonry were drawn east and west across the plateau.

First, there was the wall directly facing them, called by the Jews the Third Wall, as being the latest built.

This, when breached or surmounted, opened the way into the northern suburb of Bezetha or New-town. Marching through Bezetha, the Romans would come to the Second or Middle Wall, which, when taken, would admit them to Acra or the Lower City; passing through Acra, they would find themselves staring helplessly up at the scarped cliff of Mount Zion or the Upper City, whose edge was surmounted by a wall so lofty that the Titans themselves might have despaired of scaling it.

But ere any attempt could be made upon Zion, it would be necessary first to take the towering rock-citadel of Antonia, and, secondly, the lofty temple-fortress, otherwise while besieging Zion they would be continually exposed to a flank attack from these two strongholds.

“You have to deal,” said Tiberius Alexander, “not with one city, but with five cities. A fivefold siege lies before us.”

As Titus glanced with the eye of a trained soldier from point to point, and took in the nature of the defenses, natural and artificial, he began to realize the stupendous nature of the task imposed upon him.

Haughtily enthroned upon its mountain-rock, this Oriental city with its girdling _enceinte_ of walls, towers and bastions, seemed as if built with set purpose to triumph over every device that could be brought against it by the military science of the West.

There was no doubt about it: it was THE STRONGEST CITY IN THE WORLD, and if adequately provisioned, and defended with due care, was absolutely impregnable.

“And I have wagered Mucianus,” said Titus grimly, “that I’ll take it within seven weeks.”

Alexander gravely shook his head.

“Twice seven weeks will pass--yea, and three times seven weeks--ere the eagles fly over Zion.”

In the midst of this reconnoitering, a gate by the Women’s Tower opened, and the Zealots poured forth in such numbers that the little Roman band, after holding their ground for a time, deemed it prudent to beat a retreat.

Great was the delight of the Jews. Cæsar himself had been seen to fly! It was the promise and presage of more glorious victories.

Early next day the Roman army advanced to within a mile of the northern wall of the city, and there began the construction of two huge camps.

The forces of Titus consisted of four legions, the fifth or _Macedonia_, the tenth or _Fretensis_, the twelfth or _Fulminata_ (memorable for its flight under Cestius), and the fifteenth or _Apollinaris_.

In imperial times the legion usually consisted of 6,000 men, all Roman citizens, none other being admitted to its proud ranks; but as each legion was always accompanied by an equal number of auxiliaries, levied from the subject nations, together with 300 cavalry; and as several petty kings of the East (including Agrippa) had joined in the expedition, each bringing with him his own little army, the forces arrayed against Jerusalem must be stated at a figure considerably in excess of 50,000.

Flashing in the morning sunlight, the various squadrons of this vast host, horse and foot, heavy-armed and light-armed, deployed into never-ending lines upon the brow of Olivet and upon the descent of Scopus; and as the Jews gazed from their walls upon the long array of eagles and standards bearing the letters S.P.Q.R., they realized the full meaning of the expression “terrible as an army with banners.”

As the battering-rams and other ponderous machines used in sieging were mounted upon wheels, whose revolution required a comparatively even surface, the first work of the legionaries, after forming their camp, was to level the ground between their lines and the foot of the northern wall.

This fore-suburb, ere the Roman engineers set to work, was a scene of sylvan beauty, consisting of groves and watercourses, gardens and fair mansions.

Now all was ruthlessly swept away: the trees fell before the ax; the watercourses were destroyed; the houses demolished; even the deep and shady glens were no more, being filled up with the picturesque crags that were wont to overshadow them.

While some of the troops labored at the rocky ground with iron instruments, others were employed in bringing up from the valley of Cedron countless baskets laden with pebbles and earth; these were used in filling up the inequalities of the surface, the soldiers stamping the materials firmly with their feet.

In spite of a cloud of missiles discharged at them from the ramparts, in spite of the sudden and daring sallies made by Simon and his men, the Romans contrived, in the course of a few days, to transform the picturesque fore-suburb into a dreary, uniform level.

While the Roman operations were proceeding without, the Jews within the city were preparing to celebrate the passover, memorable as being THE LAST IN THEIR HISTORY as a nation; memorable, too, for the armed fray that accompanied it.

On the fourteenth of Nisan, Eleazar and his party opened the gates of the upper temple to admit those bringing the paschal lambs. The cautions previously exercised by him to exclude the Zealots of the other two factions seem to have been wanting on this occasion. Members of John’s party, with weapons concealed beneath their garments, contrived to enter in company with the multitude of foreign pilgrims, and drawing together in a compact body, they suddenly flung off their outer robes and appeared in the panoply of war. At this sight Eleazar’s faction flew to arms, and a fierce mêlée took place around the golden house, innocent pilgrim and guilty Zealot alike falling fast. When the fray ended, John of Giscala was master of all the temple. Eleazar having fallen, the survivors of his party consented to be absorbed in that of the victor; and thus the three factions in the city were now reduced to two, the Johanneans and the Simonians.

To these Johanneans Simon now made appeal.

Standing on the bridge that connected Mount Zion with the temple-hill, he called for John, and when that chief appeared he thus addressed him:

“Shall a house stand that is divided against itself? Why do we fight each other, making fine sport for the foe? We are, it seems, valiant against ourselves only, content to let the city be taken by our love of faction. Let us lay aside our enmity, and join in opposing the common foe.”

“Thou art a subtle knave, Simon,” replied John. “Thou desirest me and my forces to go with thee to the Wall of Agrippa that thy men in my absence may seize upon the temple, for all know of thy desire to make thyself tyrant of the city. However, I will so far assist thee that such of my men as are so minded may go with thee, but as to myself and certain other, we will remain behind to defend the temple.”

Availing themselves of the permission thus given, hundreds of John’s men came forth from the temple to join with the Simonians in the defense of the city.

The Romans, having cleared the ground from all obstructions, were now occupied in erecting opposite the northern wall a series of lofty banks, upon which to set the engines used in discharging missile-weapons, for the higher the position of these engines the more accurate and the more deadly their aim.

Each bank or agger was made of earth strengthened by beams of timber. During the erection of these banks, the Zealots were not content to look idly on. Preceded by a veritable rain of stones discharged from the ramparts, they poured forth by hundreds, armed with long poles terminating in iron hooks; with these they sought to pull apart the beams composing the agger, with intent to bring down the whole mass.

In these sallies the Zealots came on with the rush of a whirlwind, each man ready to sacrifice his life provided only he could kill one of the enemy, or do but the least damage to the agger.

Not for a moment, however, could they stay the progress of the work. The Roman guard stationed in front of the banks drove back every onset; and at last the Jews, despairing of accomplishing their object, kept within their walls, and sallied forth no more.

Each embankment, when finished, presented a vertical front to the city, but the other side was inclined at a very low angle, in order to facilitate the mounting of the military engines: and gaps were purposely left in it to permit the passage of the battering-rams and the movable towers.

* * * * *

The shrill réveille pealed through the Roman camp, rousing the legionaries from their slumber.

Every man on waking turned his eyes towards the tent of Titus, and every face gleamed with a grim satisfaction at sight of the scarlet mantle hoisted above it, the sign that the day was to be one of battle.

As the Roman host gazed upon the holy city rising fair and stately in the golden light of an Eastern dawn, they were fain to confess that it was a city worth fighting for.

From its walls the tocsin of war was sounding in the shape of a six-foot brazen gong, whose deep, sullen tone reverberated monotonously on the morning air.

The whole northern rampart was alive with a multitude of Zealot warriors moving to and fro, their shining armor obscured at times by faint columns of blue smoke.

The Romans knew well what that smoke meant.

Behind those battlements burned fires, over which were slung cauldrons hissing with scalding water, boiling pitch, and molten lead!

At sight of this smoke the Romans merely smiled; but at sight of the military engines, disposed at due intervals along the wall, they burned with secret rage, being reminded of their tarnished honor, for these engines represented a triumph over Romans, having been captured, some from the camp of Cestius, and others from the Tower of Antonia and the Prætorium of Florus.

Moving everywhere along the ramparts, now giving an order here, and now a caution there, was seen the form of that brawny Titan, Simon the Black, the very soul of battle, hatred of the Roman looking out from his wild, dark eye. Over his armor he wore a wolfskin mantle with the shaggy side turned outwards, a mantle that suggested to his followers the prophecy (for he came of the “little” tribe), “Benjamin shall ravin as a wolf.”

Even those among the Romans that were most given to the despising of Hebrew valor, were obliged to admit that in Simon they had a warrior worthy of their steel.

It was a lovely morning, giving promise of a sultry noontide; a dazzling sun shone from a sky of deepest blue; far away on the horizon hung a pall of pearly white mist.

As a hush precedes the desert sandstorm, so upon the two armies there lay a strange stillness.

It was a sublime and thrilling spectacle this, of two nations facing each other in arms--nay, an act in a Divine drama, the true significance of which was understood by none present, except by Crispus and the very few that were of like faith with him. The struggle was more than it appeared upon the surface; it was not merely the subjugation of a revolted city, but a battle betwixt two religions; the religions, not, as might be thought, Judaism and Paganism, but Judaism and Christianity. The legions of Titus, though they knew it not, were truly soldiers of the Cross, continuing the work to which they had been divinely pre-ordained--_the work of the Church!_

For the Romans, by uniting the nations of the civilized world under one government, by establishing a universal peace--the “_Romana pax_” that was the just boast of their orators; by clearing the sea of corsairs, and the land from banditti; by linking all parts of their empire with a series of splendid roads; by diffusing among their provinces a knowledge of the Greek language; had created conditions such as had never before existed in the world’s history: conditions that were absolutely essential, if the Church were to make quick progress; conditions that enabled the evangelist, knowing one language only, to travel in safety and preach the faith from the banks of the Euphrates to the Pillars of Hercules.

The Roman legionaries, paradoxical as it may sound, were the coadjutors of the apostles. They were now about to put the final touches to their work by demolishing the temple, whose further existence was an obstacle to the free development of Christianity; and by acting as the sword of the Lord against those who had cried, “His blood be on us and on our children.”

A.D. 70 was the necessary sequel of A.D. 29; and he who refuses to see a Divine Judgment in the fall of Jerusalem has yet to learn the elements of history.

Ignorant of the high mission assigned to him, Titus, distinguished by a purple mantle and by the splendor of his gilded arms, had taken up his station upon the central agger. Beside him, and clothed in a magnificent white robe, gold-embroidered, stood Theomantes, the priest of Jupiter Cæsarius, presiding at an altar of unhewn stones, upon which there flamed a sacrificial ox. Titus and the Romans in the immediate vicinity of this altar were standing bareheaded in reverential attitude.

The Zealots upon the wall, keenly attentive to this religious ceremony, noticed that Theomantes, as he stood with his arms raised in prayer to some deity, kept his eyes fixed throughout upon their holy temple.

A sudden suspicion fell upon them. They strained their ears in the hope of catching his utterance, though distance might well forbid that hope. Fortune favored them, however. A breeze blowing from the north at that moment wafted to their ears the word--JEHOVAH!--a word so sacred that it was seldom uttered even by the Jews themselves, and never in the presence of a Gentile.

How came this pagan priest to know the true name of God, and why was he praying to Him?

Then the full meaning of the scene was borne in upon them. It was the ceremony called by the Romans the Evocation.[25] It was the custom of that people at the beginning of a siege to invoke the tutelary deity of the invested city, inviting him not to be made a prisoner, but to come forth and take up his abode among the divinities of the Roman Capitol. Without such ceremony they would be fighting against the gods--an impious deed!

The ceremony, ludicrous or blasphemous, according as one may view it, was at all events unnecessary on the present occasion. The tutelary angels _had_ quitted the city, and Crispus was of those who had heard their departing voice.

To the Jews upon the wall, the affair was as blasphemy. Jehovah was their own peculiar heritage! That the heathen should dare pray to Him, above all that they should call upon Him to quit the place where He had chosen to put His name forever, was a thing not to be borne.

Calling for their most expert archer, they bade him shoot down the impious Theomantes.

But the action was observed by the quick-eyed Rufus, who interposed his shield between the priest and the oncoming arrow.

A moment afterwards Titus tossed his baton high in air.

At that sight--the signal for battle--there rolled down the Roman lines a shout that seemed to shake the very towers of the city, the thrilling war-cry of “ROMA! ROMA!” and with that each man flew to his appointed work.

The greatest siege in the world’s history had begun!