CHAPTER XIX

THE FIRST DAY’S FIGHT

On the very edge of each agger there leaped up, as if by magic, a cloud of archers and slingers, who, setting up iron screens in front of themselves, proceeded to direct their missiles upon the defenders of the battlements.

Expert as were these archers--Cretans all, a nation famed from Homeric times in the use of the bow--they were surpassed in accuracy of aim by the slingers. These, natives of the Balearic Isles, had been trained to their work from very childhood, when their daily meal, set upon some high point, could not be obtained, unless brought down by themselves with the sling. Hence a force of Baleares formed an adjunct to every Roman legion. Their missiles, consisting both of stones and leaden plummets, were discharged by a triple whirl of the sling; with a force so powerful that headpiece, breastplate, and buckler afforded little protection; with a motion so swift that the leaden plummet, glowing in the air, sometimes melted; with an aim so true that the slinger could not only hit the face of a distant enemy, but could even hit whatever part of the face he chose. Not infrequently the missile bore some insulting inscription; and Simon, picking up a stone that had very nearly brained him, found it marked with the message: “ΔΕΞΑΙ--Take this!”

The slingers and archers were aided in their death-dealing business by the workers of the catapults, machines which, framed somewhat upon the principle of the medieval crossbow, discharged gigantic javelins and beams headed with iron.

The Jews did not remain passive under this attack. In the use of the bow and the sling they were almost as well skilled as their opponents, and returned the fire of the besiegers with a fire equally brisk.

The fray became more deadly as soon as the Romans had got their balistæ into action.

These were huge machines, whose working part consisted of an arrangement of levers and ropes, which, when forcibly drawn back and let go, produced a tremendous recoil, sufficient to hurl ponderous stones to a distance of three furlongs, and farther.

These stones were discharged mainly for the purpose of carrying away the battlements, turrets and parapet of the wall, so that, deprived of cover, the defenders would be compelled to quit the ramparts, since to remain there open and exposed would mean certain death at the hands of the archers and slingers. The withdrawal of the defenders would be the signal for the escalade.

More than fifty of these balistæ were now at work, making terrible havoc, not only with battlement and parapet, but also with the lives of the Jewish people. Some of the stones hurled aloft exceeded three hundred pounds in weight, and had force sufficient to kill six men, if taken in file. Josephus describes how he saw a man’s head struck clean from his shoulders and carried to a distance of three furlongs! Anyone standing within a yard of such stone as it swept past was certain to be flung to earth by the accompanying rush of air.

Such was the effect of the ponderous rocks that now went whirling over the ramparts, fifteen or twenty at a time, into the suburb of Bezetha, crashing through the roof and wall of many a private dwelling, and tumbling it into ruins amid the wild shrieking of its hapless occupants.

To this artillery Simon sought to reply with the captured Roman balistæ; but the Zealots, for lack of skill and practice, bungled so miserably at the task as to evoke the laughter of the enemy.

While this terrific fusillade was going on, a party of Romans began to push forward a pluteus--a sort of iron shed open at both ends and running upon wheels. As it moved along, the Romans walked beneath its roof, and were thus effectually screened against the missiles showered at them from the battlements.

As soon as the pluteus touched the foot of the wall, the party within, kneeling down upon the ground, set to work vigorously with lever and crow, endeavoring to loosen the lower courses of the masonry.

Stones and darts were powerless against a machine of this kind. But Simon’s fertile brain had devised a plan for defeating its operations. Liquid bitumen, in immense quantities, was flung upon the pluteus, and when all the ground beneath it and around it was flowing with the liquid, lighted torches were thrown down. In a flash the interior of the pluteus as well as the air above and around became a flaming fire. With terrible howlings the miserable Romans, their hair, beard, and garments alight, rushed forth into the open, only to be shot dead by the Jewish archers.

What Simon had done once he was likely to do again. Titus, therefore, when informed of this incident gave orders to keep the plutei in reserve and to push forward the battering-rams.

One of these, by reason of its hugeness, excited the wonder, if not the fears, of the Zealots.

It was a wheeled tower, consisting of several stages, the topmost one rising high above the city wall. Through an opening in the lower story there projected the gigantic brazen head of a ram, forming the forepart of a wooden beam, 120 feet in length, a beam poised upon ropes, and of a weight so great as to require the united strength of two hundred men to put it in motion. The different stages in the tower were for the use of archers, whose business it was to clear the enemy from that part of the wall directly facing the ram. A little turret at the top of the structure afforded a coign of vantage for a sentinel to observe and report to those below the doings of the besieged.

This structure, which was under the charge of Rufus, bore the Greek name of Nico, or the Conqueror, for although its powers had not yet been tested, it was confidently believed that no wall, however strong, could long withstand the repeated shocks of the ram.

As soon as this heavy machine was brought within striking distance of the wall, two hundred brawny legionaries, grasping a multiplicity of ropes, began slowly to draw the gigantic beam as far back as it would go; then, at a given signal, every man simultaneously relinquished his hold, and the released beam, darting forward with lightning speed, came with terrific impact full tilt against the wall.

At that mighty stroke the masonry shivered from parapet to foundation. But more appalling than the shock itself was the thunder-boom accompanying it. The sound ran through the length and breadth of the city, terrifying Vashti in her distant home on Mount Zion; it was echoed and re-echoed from all the hills around; it filled the breasts of even the most stouthearted of the Zealots with fear; while from every quarter of Bezetha there came shrieks of terror from women and children, for all who were not near the spot made sure that the wall had fallen in, and that the enemy were entering the breach.

Again that terrifying boom! and yet again!

Dreadful as was the sound, the agony of waiting for it was even more dreadful. Some women, unable to bear the strain, stopped their ears with their fingers; others fled to cellars and underground places to escape from the terror.

The whole Roman army was now in working order; forty thousand troops arrayed against the northern wall, and not a man idle among them.

It was a terrific spectacle, both within and without the city. The groaning of the wounded, and the shrieking of the women; the twanging of the catapults, and the whizzing of darts and arrows; the peculiar hum of the swift-flying stones slung from the balistæ; the crash of falling masonry; the shout of the combatants hurling defiance at each other; and, above all, the thunder-boom of the brazen rams, as they smote against the wall--all contributed to form a scene that transcends the power of the pen to describe.

All in a moment there was on the part of the Jews a simultaneous cessation of activity; their archers stopped firing; their engines ceased playing; the whole force stood mute and motionless. A sight so surprising caused a temporary suspension of hostilities on the part of the Romans, who were wondering whether this Jewish attitude implied the wish to surrender.

The mystery was soon explained.

From the temple--that temple where priests were falling dead or wounded from the stones cast by the engines of the Tenth Legion, stationed upon Mount Olivet, there came the piercing clangor of the silver trumpets. It was the time of the morning sacrifice.

The trumpet-peal was followed by the lifting of every Jewish sword, and along the whole length of the ramparts there rolled one sublime shout, a shout flung in defiance at the polytheism of their opponents, a shout expressive of the grandest truth ever proclaimed to mankind:

“HEAR, O ISRAEL, THE LORD OUR GOD IS ONE LORD.”

With that they flew to the fight with renewed ardor. And now in the occasional lulls of the fray could be heard a voice, far off at first, but drawing gradually nearer, a voice that by the space of eight years had never ceased its melancholy ditty:

“Woe, woe, to Jerusalem!”

Along the rampart, winding in and out among the ranks of the fighting Zealots, who received him with black looks and angry murmurs, came the weird form of Jesus, the son of Hanan, clad, not as was his wont in a garment of camel’s hair, but in a long robe of white linen, such as might be used to enshroud the dead.

“A voice from the East, a voice from the West, a voice against Jerusalem and the holy house!”

“Now, what doeth this madman here, putting fear into the hearts of brave men?” muttered Simon, eying the other darkly. But, as Jesus approached, there was in his looks something so awe-inspiring that the Zealot chief, who was minded to do the “madman” hurt, lowered his weapon and let him pass on.

The wild figure, with its lifted arms outlined against the sky, was plainly visible to the enemy.

Now, there prevailed in those days the belief that it was possible for a soothsayer to paralyze the efforts of a hostile army by the utterance of magical spells; and hence, the Romans being too far off to catch his words, even if they had been able to understand his Hebrew language, mistook him for a priest engaged in the task of cursing them.

“His curses shall fall upon his own pate,” muttered an angry balistarius, directing his assistants to slew the head of the machine round so as to bring its aim to bear athwart the line of the moving figure.

“Woe to the city! Woe to the people! Woe to the holy house! _Woe, woe, to myself also!_”

Scarcely had this last utterance left his mouth when the stone prepared from all eternity for the purpose, smote him so that he fell to rise no more.

The Zealots gazed at the horribly mangled form in fear and awe. This man, who had prophesied the moment of his own doom, had prophesied likewise the doom of the city; since his word was true in the one case, why should it not be true in the other?

Leave musing for the night; the day is for action, and the Zealots flew to obey the orders of Simon, who was growing somewhat concerned at the shaking of the masonry caused by the strokes of the ram Nico.

He directed that gabions or huge sacks stuffed with chaff, should be lowered in front of the ram in order to weaken the effect of its blows.

But the simple device was defeated by one equally simple. Projecting horizontally from each side of the tower in which the ram hung were iron mantelets or screens, under cover of which stood a number of Romans armed with long poles ending in sharp scythes, and with these they severed the ropes from which the gabion hung, and when the defenders substituted a chain for the rope, the Romans fell upon the gabion instead, so that through a score of rents the chaff came pouring out, leaving the gabion to flap emptily against the wall.

“Why this waste?” said Rufus sarcastically. “They’ll be glad of this chaff for food before the war be over.”

A third gabion was lowered. This time a soldier bolder than his fellows, breaking cover, ran forward, and with a lighted torch fired the lower end of the gabion. Instantly there shot upwards a column of blinding smoke and dazzling flame, whose heat drove the holders of the gabion backwards; in their confusion they let go the chain, which thus fell into the hands of the Romans, who punctuated their capture with an extra loud boom of the ram.

“No more burnable stuff. Fill the sacks with earth,” said Simon. For a few moments he looked on, watching the destruction of gabion after gabion. His brow frowning at first began gradually to clear.

“What will you say, Ananus,” said he, turning to one of his fifty captains, “if I prophesy that within a little space the brazen head of yon ram shall be hanging over the gate of the temple, an offering to Jehovah?”

“If Simon says it, ’twill be so,” replied the other, who had unbounded faith in his chief.

“Tie one end of this rope round my waist,” said Simon; “securely--for hereby hangs my life.”

It was done.

“Now bring levers.”

When they were brought Simon directed the attention of his followers to a block of masonry which formed part of the battlement that directly overhung the head of the charging ram.

“When I lift my hand heave the stone over, and lower me with all speed.”

Like a watchful lion waiting to swoop upon its quarry stood Simon, his eye upon the ram, which at that moment was being drawn back by four hundred arms fresh to the task, for the Romans wisely worked in relays and a new body of men had just been put on.

The released beam shot forward, humming through the air.

Simon gave the signal, and the huge stone was instantly levered over and fell plump upon the forepart of the ram with such good effect that the brazen head snapped clean off amid a mighty splintering of woodwork, and lay on the ground beside the fallen stone.

But it lay there for a moment only.

A figure suspended at the end of a rope shot down with lightning speed, grasped the great brazen head in both arms, and was drawn up again; and, almost before the astonished Romans could realize what had happened, there was Simon on the ramparts above triumphantly holding aloft the trophy he had so daringly won.

“Simon, thou art a lion, and the son of a lion,” said Ananus admiringly.

A flood of curses broke from the Romans; the ram was useless till the damage had been repaired, and as this repairing could be effectively done only at a distance from the walls, there remained nothing for it but to drag the machine away amid the mocking laughter of the Jews.

Simon now turned his attention to a terrible danger approaching the wall in the shape of a _turris ambulatoria_ or movable tower, seventy-five feet in height, made of wood, mounted upon wheels, and provided with a drawbridge by which when lowered the besiegers hoped to leap upon the battlements.

This great tower was under the charge of Crispus.

It would go ill with the Zealots, as Simon well knew, if Crispus and a body of well-disciplined Romans should succeed in establishing themselves upon the ramparts.

Projecting from the rear of the tower, and at a height of about four feet from the ground, were six long beams, each provided with crossbars; one hundred and twenty men had their shoulders set hard against these crossbars, but in spite of their efforts the rate of progression was infinitely slow, owing to the ponderous weight of the tower.

The Zealots made vigorous attempts to set the structure on fire by means of flaming darts; these were wooden shafts, a cubit in length, the head being armed with a triangular steel barb to which was affixed a lump of bitumen or other combustible matter; the dart, when set alight, was hurled with great force into the side of the tower; wherever it fixed itself in the woodwork little jets of flame spurted forth.

The interior of the tower presented at this moment a scene of excitement. At every window of every story were seen soldiers repelling the attack, some by discharging javelins at the casters of the fiery darts, others by pouring water upon the hissing flames, which as fast as they died out in one part leaped to life in another.

Crispus, moving from story to story, directed the operations.

“Water, here!” he cried, on seeing a dense volume of smoke ascending from one side of the tower.

“The supply has run out,” replied the decurion in charge of the water department.

Had Crispus not left his pagan days behind him he would have run the fellow through for his supposed negligence.

“With six water-carts, and the Serpent’s Pool but a furlong distant, you dare to say----?”

“The Serpent’s Pool hath been so well drawn upon by us and by others that it has become exhausted.”

“Ha! sayest thou so?” exclaimed Crispus, relenting somewhat at this explanation. “Well, since water be denied us, hang out the raw hides,” he cried, for every tower carried a supply of these to be used as a protection against fire. “And bring up sand and earth to drop upon the flames.”

By these means Crispus contrived, not indeed to quench the fire, but to keep it somewhat under control.

As soon as the giant tower had been pushed to a point sufficiently near for the lowering of the drawbridge, the toiling troops, letting go the beams, grasped their weapons; and, losing for the moment something of their Roman discipline, scrambled pell-mell into the tower, all eager to be foremost in the attack, for among the Romans the soldier that was first to mount the ramparts of an enemy’s city received--if he survived--the gift of a Mural Crown, a prize that shed a glory over the recipient to the end of his days.

The way out upon the drawbridge, when it should be lowered, led from the fifth story; it was into this chamber, therefore, that the storming-party was now crowding. The drawbridge, standing bolt upright before the doorway, acted as a screen, but when it fell they would be facing a storm of arrows and javelins. It was almost certain death to the men who should be foremost to run out upon the drawbridge; yet, despite the peril, each soldier was striving with his fellow for the honor of being second, the first place being claimed by Crispus himself.

“A Cestius lost the city; a Cestius shall recover it,” said he. “Stand by me,” he continued, addressing the aquilifer, “we’ll plant the eagle on the ramparts, or die in the attempt.”

For the eagle, though no longer an object of worship with Crispus, was still sacred in his eyes as the emblem of a glorious empire.

It was a thrilling moment. As they stood there in a mass so dense that each could scarce lift his arms, they could hear the never-ceasing thud-thud of the fiery darts falling upon the outer walls.

At each side of the doorway, awaiting the signal to lower, stood two brawny legionaries, their hands upon the ropes that worked the drawbridge.

“All ready, men?” said Crispus, with a glance at the set faces behind him.

The question met with an eager response.

“Guard your faces well. Now!”

Up went the ropes, and as they swirled fast over the creaking pulleys, the upper end of the drawbridge falling away from the tower began a rapid descent upon the city wall.

The sight was seen from near and from far, and both armies set up a simultaneous roar, the one in dismay, the other in exultation, a roar so tremendous as to drown even the thunder-boom of the battering-rams.

Titus, who knew that Crispus was in charge of this tower, slapped his thigh with a fierce joy.

“By the gods, Crispus hath opened a way into the city!” he cried.

Thousands on both sides paused in the fray to watch the contest upon the drawbridge. Of what use was it to continue the fight elsewhere, if once this part of the wall should be seized and held by Crispus and his band?

The fate of Bezetha at least, if not of all Jerusalem, hung upon the issue of the next few moments.

As the drawbridge fell with a mighty thud upon the ramparts, Crispus, sword in hand, and with buckler held before his face, leaped out upon the shivering timbers, followed by a crowd of warriors.

The sequel was appalling!

They found themselves amid a blinding, whirling hurricane of arrows and darts, javelins and stones, coming from the front, from the left, from the right. Obedient to Simon’s orders every Jewish marksman, far and near, from turret, battlement and loophole, shot thick and fast at the devoted band upon the drawbridge. In such numbers and with such fury did the missiles smite upon helmet and breastplate, shield and greave, that the little band were absolutely unable to advance; they staggered to and fro as though struck by lightning; they fell, dead and dying from the bridge.

Crispus, preserved from death by the superior temper of his armor, took several wounds, nevertheless; three arrows were quivering in his sword-arm; two hung from the calf of his leg, though the fierce excitement of the moment prevented him from feeling them.

For one bewildering moment he stood irresolute; then, gathering himself up for a mighty effort, he darted forward all alone across the bridge. Twenty missiles striking him at one and the same time, caused him to reel like a drunken man.

Then came the end!

Simon had not seen the advance of the ambulatory tower without making due preparation for its reception.

The moment the drawbridge touched the battlement there sprang up before it four of his strongest captains, each armed with a mighty ax; and, while Simon with the keen edge of his scimitar severed the ropes by which the drawbridge had been lowered, his four captains plied their axes with such good effect that ere the Romans could come rushing across to prevent it, the whole bridge, cut clean off from the battlement, swung downwards, and its living freight were hurled precipitately through forty feet of air to the rocky ground below, where they lay a struggling, helpless mound of heads, arms, and legs, which in the next moment bristled all over with arrows shot at them by the delighted Jewish archers.

“Bring on your next tower,” cried Simon mockingly, “and we’ll deal with it in like fashion.”

Among the few who contrived to limp painfully away to a place beyond reach of the enemy’s fire was Crispus, bruised, dizzy, white-faced, with a dozen arrowheads embedded in his flesh.

Sitting down, he proceeded to extract these barbs, and, the means being at hand, he anointed his wounds and bound them with linen swathings, in which task he was engaged when Titus came up.

“Now, the gods be praised, you live. But you are wounded; there must be no more fighting for you to-day. Hither, two of you! Lay the noble Crispus upon a buckler, and carry him back to camp.”

But Crispus vowed he was not so hurt as to necessitate his immediate removal.

“Mere flesh-wounds, though I confess I am somewhat dazed by my fall. Let me rest for an hour in this cool shade, and I’ll be ready for the fray again.”

“Well, as thou wilt. Farewell awhile. I am beginning to like this Simon; he is a foe worth fighting.”

Simon’s admirable tactics seemed to have a discouraging effect upon the legionaries. At any rate the attack began to languish. The noontide sun was now streaming directly upon the faces of the Romans, dazzling the eyes of the archers and slingers, and marring the accuracy of their aim. The heat of the day, the clouds of dust, the toil of war had produced among the besiegers the agony of a raging thirst, a thirst which they had no means of quenching. The _posca_--the water, sharpened with vinegar--which every soldier was wont to carry with him in a leathern bottle, had long since been drained to the last drop, and no further supply was at hand.

Crispus, still faint and dazed, reclined against the agger.

“O, for water!” he murmured.

“There is none in all the host,” remarked a soldier standing by. “Men are offering a gold piece for a cup of water.”

“And the enemy have become aware of our want,” said a second soldier. “See! they are holding up vessels of water, and wastefully spilling it in mockery at our distress.”

Titus with a troubled face came up at that moment.

“We are in rueful strait,” said he. “Our men are fainting for lack of water. The Serpent’s Pool is exhausted; Cedron hath run dry. Our engineers cannot sink a well, the rocky ground forbidding it. Where are we to look for water?”

“There is a pool called Siloam, on the south side of the city,” replied Crispus. “It may not be dry.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Titus, with new hope. “But,” he added doubtfully, “whoever goes thither must pass under the eastern wall exposed to the fire of the enemy.”

“But is not the Tenth Legion stationed on Olivet ready to repel any sortie from that quarter? Give me the water-carts and a convoy of two hundred horsemen, and I’ll engage to return with water enough for the whole host.”

“Take three hundred, and good fortune go with you.”

Ere many minutes were past there went clattering down the Vale of Cedron a long train of wagons, whose drivers were escorted by a detachment of mounted soldiers, three hundred strong.

High above their heads hummed and whizzed volleys of stones and darts slung from Olivet by the balistæ and catapults of the Tenth Legion, who sought in this way to protect the movements of the water-seekers.

Looking forth from the eastern wall, John of Giscala and his Zealots caught sight of the Roman horsemen, and vainly tried to stay their progress by flights of arrows.

On dashed the convoy, past the olive grove of Gethsemane, and now they were in the deepest part of the Black Glen; far above them on their right was the temple, towering aloft in the sunlight to the height of nearly five hundred feet; on, past the wall of Ophel, and, rounding its southern end, they swung westward. Here, where the glen of Tyropæon opens out into the Vale of Cedron, was a picturesque spot known from of old as the King’s Garden, and watered by a streamlet from Siloam.

To his great joy, Crispus found that the Pool of Siloam--a long, rectangular basin, excavated in the solid rock for the reception of the outflow of a spring--was full of cool, limpid water.

By a coincidence, too timely to be regarded as fortuitous, Siloam, whose waters had been “sealed” for nearly four years, _had started flowing again upon the coming of the Roman army_![26] To the Jews the Messianic fountain seemed to be playing the part of a traitor. The water, so long withheld from them, was now flowing for the enemy. What did it mean? they darkly asked, failing to see in this acted parable that the Divine kingdom was being taken from them and given to the Gentiles.

The thirsting Roman band, springing from their steeds, first refreshed themselves, and proceeded next with all speed to the filling of the water-carts.

When the Jews, who were looking on from the wall of Ophel, realized the object of this sudden dash on the part of the Romans, they gave vent to indignant and wrathful cries.

What? Must the unclean and uncircumcized heathen be permitted to carry away for his profane use the water used in the sacred rites of the temple? In the name of Elohim--no!

Wide clanged the Fountain Gate, and out poured a tumultuous crowd of fierce-shouting saber-brandishing Zealots, led on by John of Giscala.

“To horse!” sang out the Roman trumpet; and instantly the troops mounted and swung into line. Crispus’ question, “Shall we give them battle?” met with an eager affirmative. Not a man among them but thrilled with joy at the prospect of a hand-to-hand engagement with the enemy. For many hours they had been waging an unsatisfactory warfare against flying missiles, but here was something more substantial, something they could flesh their steel upon!

With the spirit of his fighting ancestors dancing in his veins, Crispus cried, “Why wait we here? We’ll go to meet them. _Charge!_”

He put his steed to the gallop, and the whole three hundred, knee to knee and sword in air, went racing after him up the valley of Tyropæon.

Faster and faster they whirled towards the foe, gathering momentum with every yard. The thundering hoofs and flashing steel made a sight so nerveshaking that the crowd of onrushing Zealots came to a dead halt.

“Stand fast!” yelled John to his followers.

The next moment he was hurled to the earth, as the head of the Roman column went crashing with irresistible force into the midst of the Zealots.

The contest was short and sharp. John’s men lacked the fire of Simon’s; for a moment only they fought, then turned tail and fled; and the delighted Romans chased and slew up to the very gate of the city, all but entering with the foe.

“John of Giscala hath escaped us,” growled a centurion, as he turned away from the gate at which he had been savagely kicking.

“He is reserved for another day,” answered Crispus.

Laughing over their easy victory the little band galloped back to their water-carts, and, as they clattered again up the valley of the Cedron, they cast gibes at the discomfited Zealots upon the wall.

With the arrival of the water the thirsting Roman army imbibed fresh energy, but though they toiled hard till nightfall they failed to open a way into the city.

Thus ended the first day’s fight.