"What is there to talk of, Miriam, save misery, misery, misery?" and again he groaned. "You were right, and I have been wrong. That Messiah of yours whom I rejected, yes, and still reject, had at least the gift of prophecy, for the words that you read me yonder in Tyre will be fulfilled upon this people and city, aye, to the last letter. The Romans hold even the outer courts of the Temple; there is no food left. In the upper town the inhabitants devour each other and die, and die till none can bury the dead. In a day or two, or ten--what does it matter?--we who are left must perish also by hunger and the sword. The nation of the Jews is trodden out, the smoke of their sacrifices goes up no more, and the Holy House that they have builded will be pulled stone from stone, or serve as a temple for the worship of heathen G.o.ds."
"Will t.i.tus show no mercy? Can you not surrender?" asked Miriam.
"Surrender? To be sold as slaves or dragged a spectacle at the wheels of Caesar"s triumphal car, through the shouting streets of Rome? No, girl, best to fight it out. We will seek mercy of Jehovah and not of t.i.tus.
Oh! I would that it were done with, for my heart is broken, and this judgment is fallen on me--that I, who, of my own will, brought my daughter to her death, must bring her daughter to death against my will.
If I had hearkened to you, you would have been in Pella, or in Egypt. I lost you, and, thinking you dead, what I have suffered no man can know.
Now I find you, and because of the office that was thrust upon me, I, even I, from whom your life has sprung, must bring you to your doom."
"Grandfather," Miriam broke in, wringing her hands, for the grief of this old man was awful to witness, "cease, I beseech you, cease.
Perhaps, after all, I shall not die."
He looked up eagerly. "Have you hope of escape?" he asked. "Perchance Caleb----"
"Nay, I know naught of Caleb, except that there is still good in his heart, since at the last he tried to save me--for which I thank him.
Still, I had sooner perish here alone, who do not fear death in my spirit, whatever my flesh may fear, than escape hence in his company."
"What then, Miriam? Why should you think----?" and he paused.
"I do not think, I only trust in G.o.d and--hope. One of our faith, now long departed, who foretold that I should be born, foretold also that I should live out my life. It may be so--for that woman was holy, and a prophetess."
As she spoke there came a rolling sound like that of distant thunder, and a voice without called:
"Rabbi Benoni, the wall is down. Tarry not, Rabbi Benoni, for they seek you."
"Alas! I must begone," he said, "for some new horror is fallen upon us, and they summon me to the council. Farewell, most beloved Miriam, may my G.o.d and your G.o.d protect you, for I cannot. Farewell, and if, by any chance, you live, forgive me, and try to forget the evil that, in my blindness and my pride, I have brought upon yours and you, but oh! most of all upon myself."
Then he embraced her pa.s.sionately and was gone, leaving Miriam weeping.
CHAPTER XVII
THE GATE OF NICANOR
Another two hours went by, and the lengthening shadows cast through the stonework of the lattice told Miriam that the day was drawing to its end. Suddenly the bolts were shot and the door opened.
"The time is at hand," she said to herself, and at the thought her heart beat fast and her knees trembled, while a mist came before her eyes, so that she could not see. When it pa.s.sed she looked up, and there before her, very handsome and stately, though worn with war and hunger, stood Caleb, sword in hand and clad in a breast plate dinted with many blows.
At the sight, Miriam"s courage came back to her; at least before him she would show no fear.
"Are you sent to carry out my sentence?" she asked.
He bowed his head. "Yes, a while hence, when the sun sinks," he answered bitterly. "That judge, Simeon, who ordered you to be searched, is a man with a savage heart. He thought that I tried to save you from the wrath of the Sanhedrim; he thought that I----"
"Let be what he thought," interrupted Miriam, "and, friend Caleb, do your office. When we were children together often you tied my hands and feet with flowers, do you remember? Well, tie them now with cords, and make an end."
"You are cruel," he said, wincing.
"Indeed! some might have thought that you are cruel. If, for instance, they had heard your words in that tower last night when you gave up my name to the Jews and linked it with another"s."
"Oh! Miriam," he broke in in a pleading voice, "if I did this--and in truth I scarcely know what I did--it was because love and jealousy maddened me."
"Love? The love of the lion for the lamb! Jealousy? Why were you jealous? Because, having striven to murder Marcus--oh! I saw the fight and it was little better, for you smote him unawares, being fully prepared when he was not--you feared lest I might have saved him from your fangs. Well, thanks be to G.o.d! I did save him, as I hope. And now, officer of the most merciful and learned Sanhedrim, do your duty."
"At least, Miriam," Caleb went on, humbly, for her bitter words, unjust as they were in part, seemed to crush him, "at least, I strove my best for you to-day--after I found time to think."
"Yes," she answered, "to think that other lions would get the lamb which you chance to desire for yourself."
"More," he continued, taking no note. "I have made a plan."
"A plan to do what?"
"To escape. If I give the signal on your way to the gate where I must lead you, you will be rescued by certain friends of mine who will hide you in a place of safety, while I, the officer, shall seem to be cut down. Afterwards I can join you and under cover of the night, by a way of which I know, we will fly together."
"Fly? Where to?"
"To the Romans, who will spare you because of what you did yesterday--and me also."
"Because of what _you_ did yesterday?"
"No--because you will say that I am your husband. It will not be true, but what of that?"
"What of it, indeed?" asked Miriam, "since it can always become true.
But how is it that you, being one of the first of the Jewish warriors, are prepared to fly and ask the mercy of your foes? Is it because----"
"Spare to insult me, Miriam. You know well why it is. You know well that I am no traitor, and that I do not fly for fear."
"Yes," she answered, in a changed tone, for his manly words touched her, "I know that."
"It is for you that I fly, for your sake I will eat this dirt and crown myself with shame. I fly that for the second time I may save you."
"And in return you demand--what?"
"Yourself."
"That I will not give, Caleb. I reject your offer."
"I feared it," he answered huskily, "who am accustomed to such denials.
Then I demand this, for know that if once you pa.s.s your word I may trust it: that you will not marry the Roman Marcus."
"I cannot marry the Roman Marcus any more than I can marry you, because neither of you are Christians, and as you know well it is laid upon me as a birth duty that I may take no man to husband who is not a Christian."
"For your sake, Miriam," he answered slowly, "I am prepared to be baptised into your faith. Let this show you how much I love you."
"It does not show that you love the faith, Caleb, nor if you did love it could I love you. Jew or Christian, I cannot be your wife."
He turned his face to the wall and for a while was silent. Then he spoke again.
"Miriam, so be it. I will still save you. Go, and marry Marcus, if you can, only, if I live, I will kill him if I can, but that you need scarcely fear, for I do not think that I shall live."