CHAPTER V

SIMON THE ZEALOT

Early on the morning after the banquet there flew through Cæsarea the surprising news that the notable Zealot, Simon the Black, was to be put on his trial on the noon of that same day.

Eager to witness the scene, a motley crowd, composed of Jews and Greeks, Romans and Syrians, flocked, long before the appointed time, into the basilica, or court of justice, till the numbers were such that the building would hold no more.

A Roman basilica presented an appearance very similar to that of a modern parish church, consisting as it did of a nave, and two aisles divided from it by a row of columns. At one end a portion, elevated like a daïs and railed off like a chancel, formed the _bema_ (the word had passed from the Greek into the Syro-Chaldaic) or tribunal, where the judges sat and orators pleaded. The whole of the interior was further surrounded by an upper gallery raised upon the columns that divided the aisles. The ground floor and the galleries were for the accommodation of the public.

In the middle of the bema, which was paved with tesselated marble, stood the governor’s curule chair, and on each side of it were rows of seats intended for the assessors, it being the custom for a provincial governor to be assisted in his judgments by a sort of informal council consisting of distinguished citizens.

Shortly before noon there was a movement on the bema, caused by the arrival of persons interested in the trial. Among them was the priest Theomantes, who, in virtue of his dignity as priest of Jupiter Cæsarius, proceeded to ensconce himself in the seat immediately upon the right of the curule chair, an act that caused murmurs among the Jews and applause among the Gentiles.

Ananias now entered, and seeing his own action anticipated, scowled, hesitated for a moment, and then deliberately sat down upon the lap of his rival.

“’Tis mine to sit upon the right of Florus,” he cried.

Thereupon, Theomantes, exerting all his strength, flung him off, amid mingled laughter and hooting from the two factions.

“Even if the high priest of the Jews _had_ the right to this seat, it is not thine, seeing that thou art not high priest.”

Now, it is not at all improbable that in their struggle for precedency these two graybeards might have come to unseemly blows before a delighted audience, but for the intervention of Terentius Rufus, who, with a body of spearmen, was stationed in front of the tribunal for the purpose of preserving order among the spectators.

“I never thought my services would be required upon the bema,” said he.

And mounting the tribunal, he threatened unless Ananias settled down quietly in some other seat that he would remove him, as having wantonly and purposely created a disturbance in a court of justice.

“Let Ananias possess his soul in patience,” he cried, “till it shall please Florus to make known Cæsar’s decree on this matter.”

The humiliated Ananias made as if he would retire altogether from the court, but finally, thinking better of it, sat down upon the left-hand seat, just as Florus made his pompous entry.

Crispus appeared about the same time, and, as being a distinguished visitor, was assigned a place among the council.

Florus, having seated himself in his curule chair, demanded to know what business was set down for the day, and as it appeared that there were many cases requiring his judicial decision, he announced that he would begin with the trial of Simon.

A thrill of excitement ran through the basilica when the order was given, “Go, lictors, bring hither Simon, surnamed the Black.”

Without delay the prisoner was brought.

Walking between two guards, his hands tied behind his back with a cord whose end was held by a third soldier, came the terrible Zealot, who had hanged so many Romans that men had lost all count of the number. A man, tall and muscular, and having a singular breadth of chest, with black hair, black eyes, and black beard. Clothed in the dress he wore when captured, a gabardine all slashed with sword-cuts, and black with dried blood; with face unwashed, and beard and hair long and unkempt, he made a wild and savage figure. Captivity and darkness, chilling damps and meager diet, had failed, however, to tame his spirit; he stood, dark, scowling, defiant, the living incarnation of enmity to Rome.

Florus, after a brief and (as it seemed to Crispus) uneasy glance at the captive, turned to a table where sat the advocates, and asked:

“Who conducts the prosecution?”

Tertullus arose.

“Be brief. No oratory,” said the procurator.

In a Roman trial proceedings usually began with the questioning of the accused in the endeavor to prove out of his own mouth the charge brought against him. Should this procedure fail, or should the prisoner, through obstinacy, refuse to answer, it became necessary to call upon witnesses.

Tertullus turned to question the captive, while the clerk of the court, with lifted pen, sat ready to record the dialogue; for, be it known, there were in that age scribes who, by a system of abbreviations, were capable of writing as fast as a man could speak.

“Your name?” began Tertullus.

“You ask me my name?” said the Zealot with a laugh of scorn. “You ought to know, seeing what fear it has put into the hearts of you Romans. I am Simon, son of Giora, of the tribe of Benjamin.”

“Your birthplace?”

“Gerasa, beyond Jordan.”

“Your calling?”

“Slayer of the Romans.”

“Consider! You desire the clerk to write down that answer?”

“Let him write it twice, yea thrice, and in his largest characters.”

“You confess, then, that you are of the sect known as the Zealots?”

“A curse on your Gentile terms; I am of the sect of the Kenaïm.”

“Zealots or Kenaïm, ’tis much the same. What are their tenets?”

“These: call no one king but God; pay no tax save to the temple; slay every Roman who presumes to exercise authority over the holy seed.”

“‘Call no one king but God’? Then you do not acknowledge the authority of Cæsar?”

“Cæsar!” It is impossible to describe the contempt with which he spoke the name. “Cæsar! I spit at the name of Cæsar.”

And he did, there and then, upon the pavement. This repudiation of imperial authority was received by the servile Græco-Syrian mob with a roar of execration.

“_Læsa majestas!_” was their cry. “Fling him over the rails!”

“‘Assassinate every Roman’?” continued Tertullus. “Then you would assassinate Florus, if you could?”

The very suggestion caused the face of the Zealot to mantle with ferocious joy.

“Place a dagger in my freed hands, set me within three paces of him, and you shall see.”

“The court will take the will for the deed,” observed Tertullus dryly. “Attend to the indictment. You are charged with being the chief of a band of Zealots, or, if it please you, Kenaïm. Stationed among the heights in the Pass of Adummim, it was your wont to issue forth, and to rob and to hang every Roman that came that way.”

“A marvel! A lawyer speaks the truth!”

“How many Romans have been put to death by you?”

“Put that question to the vultures. I kept no register of the slain. Thus much I know, that, give me my freedom, and you shall see me repeat the work with a new band.”

“Traitor to the empire, do you glory in your guilt?”

“The guilt is yours who presume to exercise authority in a land that God sware with an oath should be ours forever. Out of this land, then, ye Romans, with your legions and your lictors, your taxes and your idols! It is contrary to the will of God that Cæsar should bear rule in Judæa, and the Jew that acknowledges him breaks the law of Moses. For it is written therein, ‘One from among thy brethren shalt thou set king over thee; thou mayest not set a stranger over thee which is not thy brother’; whereof let due note be taken by that smug Ananias there, who fraternizes so comfortably with his country’s enemies!”

“As it was your custom,” continued Tertullus, “to plunder, as well as to kill, you doubtless gained considerable wealth?”

“Wealth? Ay, stores of it,” said Simon, his eyes sparkling as if at the recollection.

“None was found in the place of your capture.”

Simon laughed exultingly.

“It exists, for all that, in a place where no Roman can lay hand upon it, reserved for the great day of vengeance.”

“Or, in other words, it is to be used in fomenting war against Rome?”

“Lawyer, thou hast said.”

“It is rumored that several persons of high station have been in communication with you?”

“The highest in the land. I can see now upon the bema here some of my past accomplices. Why are they not placed beside me to be judged?”

The uneasiness that had never been absent from the face of Florus seemed now to increase. It was noticed by Tertullus, who smiled to himself with the quiet satisfaction of an archer who, after many trials, has hit the mark at last.

The crowd of spectators, hitherto restless and murmuring, became suddenly hushed. Florus’ long delay in bringing Simon to trial had given birth to sinister rumors as to the relations previously existing between the procurator and the robber-chief. Was the dark story about to be confirmed? With breathless interest they awaited the issue.

“The court will be pleased at having these accomplices named,” said Tertullus with affected carelessness.

“I name them not, unless I have a promise that they shall be arrested without delay.”

“The court will have no hesitation in arresting them, provided that you can prove your charge.”

“Good! If it be a crime to plot against the life of a Roman, bid the lictors go and bind the hands of Ananias.”

Tertullus’ face fell somewhat. Ananias was not the name he wanted.

“Lying Zealot!” exclaimed the priest; and, forgetting for the moment that it was not a Jewish court in which he could do according to his own pleasure, he cried, “Strike him on the mouth!”

“O Ananias! Ananias!” said Simon, shaking his head with mock gravity, “were you not once an accomplice with me in a plot to slay a Roman citizen? ’Tis clear you have forgotten my face: let me recall it to you. Did there not once come to you--’tis eight years ago now--forty Sicarii,[6] of whom I was one, offering to slay Paul of Tarsus, a Roman citizen, mark you! and freeborn? Did you not readily join in the plot? And now do you disavow your old friend Simon? Nay, verily, be honest, and take your trial with me.”

Over the face of Ananias there had suddenly crept a look scarcely compatible with the idea of innocence.

“Will no one stop the mouth of the lying knave?” he cried, trembling with passion.

“Your looks sufficiently show who is the lying knave,” answered Simon coolly. “If ye desire proof of this, my accusation,” he continued, addressing the court, “send to Jerusalem for Paul’s nephew; he will confirm what I say. Does the court agree that Ananias shall take his trial with me?” added Simon, looking around him with a sardonic smile. “No? And yet ’tis the fashion of Romans to boast of their justice!--justice, forsooth!”

“Prisoner,” said Florus, “be not so free of tongue, and you may find that our Roman justice, whose purity you seem to question, can be tempered with mercy.”

“Now, let the court carefully mark that little speech,” said Simon coolly, “for, being interpreted, it meaneth, ‘Keep quiet as to _my_ doings, O Simon, and I will endeavor to procure your release.’ But in vain do you offer me the bribe of life, O Florus, in order to stay my tongue. Welcome torture, scourgings, death, if I do but succeed in hurling you from power.”

Simon was not to be appeased, and Florus, catching sight of Tertullus’ smile, suddenly realized the lawyer’s motive in pressing for the public trial of the Zealot. It was to ruin him--Florus!

It was out of the question either to gag the prisoner or to declare the court closed; either alternative would expose him to suspicion. He, the judge, must sit and listen to an accusation, which, even if it were untrue, would be greedily believed by nine out of every ten, so unpopular was he with the people over whom he ruled. And when the story should reach Rome, as it undoubtedly would--his enemies would take good care of that!--it might mean the loss, not only of his procuratorship, as Simon had said, but even of his life.

“The brazen effrontery of this knave!” said he, assuming a stern bearing. “Knowing that his doom is certain, he seeks to delay sentence by vilifying the character of his judges. Go, lictors, bring hither the flagellum.”

“And, when brought, apply it to the shoulders of the robber Florus,” said Simon.

“Ye see for yourselves,” said Florus, turning to the assessors, “what an incorrigible villain this is!”

“Listen to a story that is no fiction,” continued Simon. “Florus sent a secret messenger offering me free license to plunder and slay Roman and Gentile alike, on condition of his receiving half the spoil.”

“A lie as black as Erebus!” thundered the procurator.

“It is one thing to accuse, another thing to prove,” remarked Tertullus quietly, secretly delighted at the turn events were taking.

“I have no proof in writing. Florus is too artful a fox to employ ink and parchment on such a matter. His intermediary in this business was his freedman, Nymphidius.”

“Is it worth while sending for this Nymphidius,” asked Tertullus of Florus, “that he may deny this allegation?”

“It is useless sending for him,” observed Rufus, “for he died this morning--suddenly.”

“Who helped him to die?” asked Simon. “For it appears to me that his death has occurred at a time very convenient for Florus.”

A significant question, this! Men looked at each other, little doubting that Florus had by foul means removed an awkward witness from his path.

“Bear with me, noble Florus,” said Tertullus, “if I assume for a moment the truth of this knave’s story. What answer,” he continued, addressing Simon, “what answer did you give to Nymphidius?”

“This was my answer: ‘Tell the uncircumcized dog of a Florus that Simon will plunder without asking _his_ leave. Let him send to Manahem, the son of Judas, who will doubtless be glad to purchase license on such terms.’”

Tertullus now dropped his mask and became, like Simon, an accuser of the procurator.

“It was this Manahem, O Florus,” said he quietly, “who a fortnight ago robbed me of a myrrhine drinking-cup, which last night appeared upon _your_ table.”

Now, during all this time Crispus had been listening with a strange conflict of emotions. Hatred of Simon’s crimes was mingled with admiration for his daring spirit. He was also compelled to admit that the existence of the Zealots was, to a certain extent, justified by Roman misgovernment, a fact very unpalatable for a patriot like Crispus, ever striving to believe that Rome and justice were convertible terms. From the rule of wicked and rapacious governors like Pilate and Felix, Albinus and Florus, what other spirit could develop in Judæa but a burning hatred of Roman rule, combined with a determination to throw off the yoke whenever a favorable occasion should arise?

Though Simon was doubtless deserving of death, yet nevertheless Crispus’ sense of justice revolted against his condemnation by judges like Florus and Ananias, themselves guilty of malefactions. He resolved to disassociate himself from the council.

“Since the prisoner,” said he, “questions the integrity of two of his judges, and, as it seems to me, with some show of reason, I herewith decline to take any further part in this trial.”

Suiting the action to the word, Crispus rose from his seat and withdrew from the bema.

“And I do the like,” said Theomantes, moved in his action mainly by his feud with Ananias.

“And I!”--“And I!” exclaimed several other members, rising and descending from the tribunal.

Florus sat, full of impotent rage, on perceiving that the statements of Simon and Tertullus were believed in, not only by the common people, but also by the majority of the council.

“The trial is adjourned,” he cried. “Let the prisoner be carried back to his dungeon.”

The command came too late. Simon had perceived among the Jewish portion of the spectators certain disguised Zealots, who, both by eye and by gesture, were secretly inviting him to make a dash for liberty.

Acting on the hint, he suddenly wrenched himself free from his guards, darted to the edge of the tribunal, and, taking a flying leap over the line of soldiers that guarded its front, he alighted among his friends, who, struggling desperately, began to push him towards the open doors of the basilica.

The soldiers, attempting to follow, were at once opposed, not only by the whole Jewish body, but also by the Græco-Syrians, who in this matter were actuated not out of any love for Simon, but from a desire to thwart and disappoint Florus, whose rule was hateful to them. The court of justice became immediately transformed into a wild tumultuous pandemonium.

“Down with the wicked Florus!”

“Death to old Ananias!”

Stones and other missiles, discharged by men of both factions, now came whirling into the tribunal. Ananias, gathering his robe about him, fled to a place of safety. Florus, as he was lifting his hand in the futile attempt to quell the tumult, received a sharp-edged flint upon his temples. Down his quickly-paling face flowed a stream of blood, a sight welcomed by both factions with a huge roar of delight.

“Guards, hither to me!” cried the alarmed procurator.

Four stout soldiers sprang forward and screened him with their bucklers, that rattled again and again to the pelting shower of stones as the procurator, following the example of Ananias, fled amid hootings, cursings, and derisive laughter.

At the command of Rufus the soldiers, by threatening the people with leveled spears, soon cleared the courthouse. They failed, however, to recover Simon, who, dragged off by his friends, contrived to make good his escape.

“He’ll harass us again,” grumbled Rufus, a prophecy destined to meet with ample verification.