CHAPTER XVI
THE SANHEDRIM
The Jewish soldiers haled Miriam roughly through dark and tortuousstreets, bordered by burnt-out houses, and up steep stone slopes deepwith the debris of the siege. Indeed, they had need to hasten, for, litwith the lamp of flaming dwellings, behind them flowed the tide of war.The Romans, driven back from this part of the city by that day's furioussally, under cover of the night were re-occupying in overwhelmingstrength the ground that they had lost, forcing the Jews before them andstriving to cut them off from their stronghold in the Temple and thatpart of the Upper City which they still held.
The party of Jews who had Miriam in their charge were returning to theTemple enclosure, which they could not reach from the north or eastbecause the outer courts and cloisters of the Holy House were already inpossession of the Romans. So it happened that they were obliged to maketheir way round by the Upper City, a long and tedious journey. Onceduring that night they were driven to cover until a great company ofRomans had marched past. Caleb wished to attack them, but the othercaptains said that they were too few and weary, so they lay hid fornearly three hours, then went on again. After this there were otherdelays at gates still in the hands of their own people, which one by onewere unbolted to them. Thus it was not far from daylight when at lengththey passed over a narrow bridge that spanned some ravine and throughmassive doors into a vast dim place which, as Miriam gathered from thetalk of her captors, was the inner enclosure of the Temple. Here, at thecommand of that captain who had ordered her to be slain, she was thrustinto a small cell in one of the cloisters. Then the men in charge of herlocked the door and went away.
Sinking exhausted to the floor, Miriam tried to sleep, but could not,for her brain seemed to be on fire. Whenever she shut her eyes theresprang up before them visions of some dreadful scene which she hadwitnessed, while in her ears echoed now the shouts of the victors, nowthe pitiful cry of the dying, and now again the voice of the woundedMarcus calling her "Most Beloved." Was this indeed so, she wondered?Was it possible that he had not forgotten her during those years ofseparation when there must have been so many lovely ladies striving towin him, the rich, high-placed Roman lord, to be their lover or theirhusband? She did not know, she could not tell: perhaps, in such aplight, he would have called any woman who came to save him his MostBeloved, yes, even old Nehushta, and even then and there she smiled alittle at the thought. Yet his voice rang true, and he had sent her thering, the pearls and the letter, that letter which, although she knewevery word of it, she still carried hidden in the bosom of her robe. Oh!she believed that he did love her, and, believing, rejoiced with all herheart that it had pleased God to allow her to save his life, even at thecost of her own. She had forgotten. There was his wound--he might die ofit. Nay, surely he would not die. For her sake, the Essenes who knew himwould treat him well, and they were skilful healers; also, what betternurse than Nehushta could be found? Ah! poor Nou, how she would grieveover her. What sorrow must have taken hold of her when she heard therock door shut and found that her nursling was cut off and captured bythe Jews.
Happy, indeed, was it for Miriam that she could not witness what hadchanced at the further side of that block of stone; that she could notsee Nehushta beating at it with her hands and striving to thrust herthin fingers to the latch which she had no instrument to lift, until thebones were stripped of skin and flesh. That she could not hear Marcus,come to himself again, but unable to rise from off his knees, cursingand raving with agony at her loss, and because she, the tender lady whomhe loved, for his sake had fallen into the hands of the relentlessJews. Yes, that she could not hear him cursing and raving in his utterhelplessness, till at length the brain gave in his shattered head, andhe fell into a fevered madness, that for many weeks was unpierced by anylight of reason or of memory. All this, at least, was spared to her.
Well, the deed was done and she must pay the price, for without a doubtthey would kill her, as they had a right to do, who had saved a Romangeneral from their clutches. Or if they did not, Caleb would, Calebwhose bitter jealousy, as her instinct told her, had turned his love tohate. Never would he let her live to fall, perchance, as his share ofthe Temple spoil, into the hands of the Roman rival who had escaped him.
It was not too great a price. Because of the birth doom laid upon her,even if he sought it, and fortune brought them back together again, shecould never be a wife to Marcus. And for the rest she was weary, sickwith the sight and sound of slaughter and with the misery that in theselatter days, as her Lord had prophesied, was come upon the city thatrejected him and the people who had slain Him, their Messiah. Miriamwished to die, to pass to that home of perfect and eternal peace inwhich she believed; where, mayhap, it might be given to her in reward ofher sufferings, to watch from afar over the soul of Marcus, and to makeready an abode for it to dwell in through all the ages of infinity. Thethought pleased her, and lifting his ring, she pressed it to her lipswhich that very night had been pressed upon his lips, then drew it offand hid it in her hair. She wished to keep that ring until the end, ifso she might. As for the pearls, she could not hide them, and though sheloved them as his gift--well, they must go to the hand of the spoiler,and to the necks of other women, who would never know their tale.
This done Miriam rose to her knees and began to pray with the vivid,simple faith that was given to the first children of the Church. Sheprayed for Marcus, that he might recover and not forget her, and thatthe light of truth might shine upon him; for Nehushta, that her sorrowmight be soothed; for herself, that her end might be merciful and herawakening happy; for Caleb, that his heart might be turned; for the deadand dying, that their sins might be forgiven; for the little children,that the Lord of Pity would have pity on their sufferings; for thepeople of the Jews, that He would lift the rod of His wrath from offthem; yes, and even for the Romans, though for these, poor maid, sheknew not what petition to put up.
Her prayer finished, once more Miriam strove to sleep and dozed alittle, to be aroused by a curious sound of feeble sighing, which seemedto come from the further side of the cell. By now the dawn was streamingthrough the stone lattice work above the doorway, and in its faint lightMiriam saw the outlines of a figure with snowy hair and beard, wrappedin a filthy robe that had once been white. At first she thought thatthis figure must be a corpse thrust here out of the way of the living,it was so stirless. But corpses do not sigh as this man seemed to do.Who could he be, she wondered? A prisoner like herself, left to die, as,perhaps, she would be left to die? The light grew a little. Surely therewas something familiar about the shape of that white head. She creptnearer, thinking that she might be able to help this old man who wasso sick and suffering. Now she could see his face and the hand that layupon his breast. They were those of a living skeleton, for the bonesstood out, and over them the yellow skin was drawn like shrivelledparchment; only the deep sunk eyes still shone round and bright. Oh! sheknew the face. It was that of Theophilus the Essene, a past presidentof the order indeed, who had been her friend from earliest childhood andthe master who taught her languages in those far-off happy years whichshe spent in the village by the Dead Sea. This Theophilus she had founddwelling with the Essenes in their cavern home, and none of them hadwelcomed her more warmly. Some ten days ago, against the advice ofIthiel and others, he had insisted on creeping out to take the air andgather news in the city. Then he was a stout and hale old man, althoughpale-faced from dwelling in the darkness. From that journey he had notreturned. Some said that he had fled to the country, others that he hadgone over to the Romans, and yet others that he had been slain by someof Simon's men. Now she found him thus!
Miriam came and bent over him.
"Master," she said, "what ails you? How came you here?"
He turned his hollow, vacant eyes upon her face.
"Who is it that speaks to me thus gently?" he asked in a feeble voice.
"I, your ward, Miriam."
"Miriam! Miriam! What does Miriam in this torture-den?"
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p; "Master, I am a prisoner. But speak of yourself."
"There is little to say, Miriam. They caught me, those devils, andseeing that I was still well-fed and strong, although sunk in years,demanded to know whence I had my food in this city of starvation. Totell them would have been to give up our secret and to bring doom uponthe brethren, and upon you, our guest and lady. I refused to answer,so, having tortured me without avail, they cast me in here to starve,thinking that hunger would make me speak. But I have not spoken. Howcould I, who have taken the oath of the Essenes, and been their ruler?Now at length I die."
"Oh! say not so," said Miriam, wringing her hands.
"I do say it and I am thankful. Have you any food?"
"Yes, a piece of dried meat and barley bread, which chanced to be in myrobe when I was captured. Take them and eat."
"Nay, Miriam, that desire has gone from me, nor do I wish to live, whosedays are done. But save the food, for doubtless they will starve youalso. And, look, there is water in that jar, they gave it me to makeme live the longer. Drink, drink while you can, who to-morrow may bethirsty."
For a time there was silence, while the tears that gathered in Miriam'seyes fell upon the old man's face.
"Weep not for me," he said presently, "who go to my rest. How came youhere?"
She told him as briefly as she might.
"You are a brave woman," he said when she had finished, "and that Romanowes you much. Now I, Theophilus, who am about to die, call down theblessing of God upon you, and upon him also for your sake, for yoursake. The shield of God be over you in the slaughter and the sorrow."
Then he shut his eyes and either could not or would not speak again.
Miriam drank of the pitcher of water, for her thirst was great. Crouchedat the side of the old Essene, she watched him till at length the dooropened, and two gaunt, savage-looking men entered, who went to whereTheophilus lay and kicked him brutally.
"What would you now?" he said, opening his eyes.
"Wake up, old man," cried one of them. "See, here is flesh," and hethrust a lump of some filthy carrion to his lips. "Smell it, taste it,"he went on, "ah! is it not good? Well, tell us where is that store offood which made you so fat who now are so thin, and you shall have itall, yes, all, all."
Theophilus shook his head.
"Bethink you," cried the man, "if you do not eat, by sunrise to-morrowyou will be dead. Speak then and eat, obstinate dog, it is your lastchance."
"I eat not and I tell not," answered the aged martyr in a voice like ahollow groan. "By to-morrow's sunrise I shall be dead, and soon youand all this people will be dead, and God will have judged each of usaccording to his works. Repent you, for the hour is at hand."
Then they cursed him and smote him because of his words of ill-omen, andso went away, taking no notice of Miriam in the corner. When they hadgone she came forward and looked. His jaw had fallen. Theophilus theEssene was at peace.
Another hour went by. Once more the door was opened and there appearedthat captain who had ordered her to be killed. With him were two Jews.
"Come, woman," he said, "to take your trial."
"Who is to try me?" Miriam asked.
"The Sanhedrim, or as much as is left of it," he answered. "Stir now, wehave no time for talking."
So Miriam rose and accompanied them across the corner of the vast court,in the centre of which the Temple rose in all its glittering majesty.As she walked she noticed that the pavement was dotted with corpses, andthat from the cloisters without went up flames and smoke. They seemed tobe fighting there, for the air was full of the sound of shouting,above which echoed the dull, continuous thud of battering rams strikingagainst the massive walls.
They took her into a great chamber supported by pillars of whitemarble, where many starving folk, some of them women who carried or ledhollow-cheeked children, sat silent on the floor, or wandered to andfro, their eyes fixed upon the ground as though in aimless searchfor they knew not what. On a dais at the end of the chamber twelve orfourteen men sat in carved chairs; other chairs stretched to the rightand left of them, but these were empty. The men were clad in magnificentrobes, which seemed to hang ill upon their gaunt forms, and, like thoseof the people in the hall, their eyes looked scared and their faces werewhite and shrunken. These were all who were left of the Sanhedrim of theJews.
As Miriam entered one of their number was delivering judgment upona wretched starving man. Miriam looked at the judge. It was hergrandfather, Benoni, but oh! how changed. He who had been tall andupright was now drawn almost double, his teeth showed yellow between hislips, his long white beard was ragged and had come out in patches, hishand shook, his gorgeous head-dress was awry. Nothing was the same abouthim except his eyes, which still shone bright, but with a fiercer firethan of old. They looked like the eyes of a famished wolf.
"Man, have you aught to say?" he was asking of the prisoner.
"Only this," the prisoner answered. "I had hidden some food, myown food, which I bought with all that remained of my fortune. Yourhyaena-men caught my wife, and tormented her until she showed it them.They fell upon it, and, with their comrades, ate it nearly all. My wifedied of starvation and her wounds, my children died of starvation, allexcept one, a child of six, whom I fed with what remained. Then shebegan to die also, and I bargained with the Roman, giving him jewels andpromising to show him the weak place in the wall if he would convey thechild to his camp and feed her. I showed him the place, and he fed herin my presence, and took her away, whither I know not. But, as you know,I was caught, and the wall was built up, so that no harm came of mytreason. I would do it again to save the life of my child, twenty timesover, if needful. You murdered my wife and my other children; murder mealso if you will. I care nothing."
"Wretch," said Benoni, "what are your miserable wife and childrencompared to the safety of this holy place, which we defend against theenemies of Jehovah? Lead him away, and let him be slain upon the wall,in the sight of his friends, the Romans."
"I go," said the victim, rising and stretching out his hands to theguards, "but may you also all be slain in the sight of the Romans, youmad murderers, who, in your lust for power, have brought doom and agonyupon the people of the Jews."
Then they dragged him out, and a voice called--"Bring in the nexttraitor."
Now Miriam was brought forward. Benoni looked up and knew her.
"Miriam?" he gasped, rising, to fall back again in his seat, "Miriam,you here?"
"It seems so, grandfather," she answered quietly.
"There is some mistake," said Benoni. "This girl can have harmed none.Let her be dismissed."
The other judges looked up.
"Best hear the charge against her first?" said one suspiciously, whileanother added, "Is not this the woman who dwelt with you at Tyre, andwho is said to be a Christian?"
"We do not sit to try questions of faith, at least not now," answeredBenoni evasively.
"Woman, is it true that you are a Christian?" queried one of the judges.
"Sir, I am," replied Miriam, and at her words the faces of the Sanhedrimgrew hard as stones, while someone watching in the crowd hurled afragment of marble at her.
"Let it be for this time," said the judge, "as the Rabbi Benoni says, weare trying questions of treason, not of faith. Who accuses this woman,and of what?"
A man stepped forward, that captain who had wished to put Miriam todeath, and she saw that behind him were Caleb, who looked ill at ease,and the Jew who had guarded Marcus.
"I accuse her," he said, "of having released the Roman Prefect, Marcus,whom Caleb here wounded and took prisoner in the fighting yesterday, andbrought into the Old Tower, where he was laid till we knew whether hewould live or die."
"The Roman Prefect, Marcus?" said one. "Why, he is the friend of Titus,and would have been worth more to us than a hundred common men. Also,throughout this war, none has done us greater mischief. Woman, if,indeed, you let him go, no death can repay your wickedness. Did you lethim go?"
"
That is for you to discover," answered Miriam, for now that Marcus wassafe she would tell no more lies.
"This renegade is insolent, like all her accursed sect," said the judge,spitting on the ground. "Captain, tell your story, and be brief."
He obeyed. After him that soldier was examined from whose hand Miriamhad struck the lantern. Then Caleb was called and asked what he knew ofthe matter.
"Nothing," he answered, "except that I took the Roman and saw him laidin the tower, for he was senseless. When I returned the Roman had gone,and this lady Miriam was there, who said that he had escaped by thedoorway. I did not see them together, and know no more."
"That is a lie," said one of the judges roughly. "You told the captainthat Marcus had been her lover. Why did you say this?"
"Because years ago by Jordan she, who is a sculptor, graved a likenessof him in stone," answered Caleb.
"Are artists always the lovers of those whom they picture, Caleb?" askedBenoni, speaking for the first time.
Caleb made no answer, but one of the Sanhedrim, a sharp-faced man, namedSimeon, the friend of Simon, the son of Gioras, the Zealot, who satnext to him, cried, "Cease this foolishness; the daughter of Satan isbeautiful; doubtless Caleb desires her for himself; but what has thatto do with us?" though he added vindictively, "it should be rememberedagainst him that he is striving to hide the truth."
"There is no evidence against this woman, let her be set free,"exclaimed Benoni.
"So we might expect her grandfather to think," said Simeon, withsarcasm. "Little wonder that we are smitten with the Sword of God whenRabbis shelter Christians because they chance to be of their house, andwhen warriors bear false witness concerning them because they chance tobe fair. For my part I say that she is guilty, and has hidden the manaway in some secret place. Otherwise why did she dash the light from thesoldier's hand?"
"Mayhap to hide herself lest she should be attacked," answered another,"though how she came in the tower, I cannot guess."
"I lived there," said Miriam. "It was bricked up until yesterday andsafe from robbers."
"So!" commented that judge, "you lived alone in a deserted tower likea bat or an owl, and without food or water. Then these must have beenbrought to you from without the walls, perhaps by some secret passagethat was known to none, down which you loosed the Prefect, but had notime to follow him. Woman, you are a Roman spy, as a Christian wellmight be. I say that she is worthy of death."
Then Benoni rose and rent his robes.
"Does not enough blood run through these holy courts?" he asked, "thatyou must seek that of the innocent also? What is your oath? To dojustice and to convict only upon clear, unshaken testimony. Where isthis testimony? What is there to show that the girl Miriam had anydealings with this Marcus, whom she had not seen for years? In the HolyName I protest against this iniquity."
"It is natural that you should protest," said one of his brethren.
Then they fell into discussion, for the question perplexed them sorely,who, although they were savage, still wished to be honest.
Suddenly Simeon looked up, for a thought struck him.
"Search her," he said, "she is in good case, she may have food, or thesecret of food, about her, or," he added--"other things."
Now two hungry-looking officers of the court seized Miriam and rent herrobe open at the breast with their rough hands, since they would not beat the pains of loosening it.
"See," cried one of them, "here are pearls, fit wear for so fine a lady.Shall we take them?"
"Fool, let the trinkets be," answered Simeon angrily. "Are we commonthieves?"
"Here is something else," said the officer, drawing the roll of Marcus'scherished letter from her breast.
"Not that, not that," the poor girl gasped.
"Give it here," said Simeon, stretching out his lean hand.
Then he undid the silk case and, opening the letter, read its firstlines aloud. "'To the lady Miriam, from Marcus the Roman, by the hand ofthe Captain Gallus.' What do you say to that, Benoni and brethren?Why, there are pages of it, but here is the end: 'Farewell, your everfaithful friend and lover, Marcus.' So, let those read it who have thetime; for my part I am satisfied. This woman is a traitress; I give myvote for death."
"It was written from Rome two years ago," pleaded Miriam; but no oneseemed to heed her, for all were talking at once.
"I demand that the whole letter be read," shouted Benoni.
"We have no time, we have no time," answered Simeon. "Other prisonersawait their trial, the Romans are battering our gates. Can we waste moreprecious minutes over this Nazarene spy? Away with her."
"Away with her," said Simon the son of Gioras, and the others noddedtheir heads in assent.
Then they gathered together discussing the manner of her end, whileBenoni stormed at them in vain. Not quite in vain, however, for theyyielded something to his pleading.
"So be it," said their spokesman, Simon the Zealot. "This is oursentence on the traitress--that she suffer the common fate of traitorsand be taken to the upper gate, called the Gate Nicanor, that dividesthe Court of Israel from the Court of Women, and bound with the chain tothe central column that is over the gate, where she may be seen both ofher friends the Romans and of the people of Israel whom she has strivento betray, there to perish of hunger and of thirst, or in such fashionas God may appoint, for so shall we be clean of a woman's blood. Yet,because of the prayer of Benoni, our brother, of whose race she is, wedecree that this sentence shall not be carried out before the setof sun, and that if in the meanwhile the traitress elects to giveinformation that shall lead to the recapture of the Roman prefect,Marcus, she shall be set at liberty without the gates of the Temple. Thecase is finished. Guards, take her to the prison whence she came."
So they seized Miriam and led her thence through the crowd of onlookers,who paused from their wanderings and weary searching of the groundto spit at or curse her, and thrust her back into her cell and to thecompany of the cold corpse of Theophilus the Essene.
Here Miriam sat down, and partly to pass the time, partly because sheneeded it, ate the bread and dried flesh which she had left hidden inthe cell. After this sleep came to her, who was tired out and the worstbeing at hand, had nothing more to fear. For four or five hours sherested sweetly, dreaming that she was a child again, gathering flowerson the banks of Jordan in the spring season, till, at length, a soundcaused her to awake. She looked up to see Benoni standing before her.
"What is it, grandfather?" she asked.
"Oh! my daughter," groaned the wretched old man, "I am come here at somerisk, for because of you and for other reasons they suspect me, thosewolf-hearted men, to bid you farewell and to ask your pardon."
"Why should you ask my pardon, grandfather? Seeing things as they seethem, the sentence is just enough. I am a Christian, and--if you wouldknow it--I did, as I hope, save the life of Marcus, for which deed myown is forfeit."
"How?" he asked.
"That, grandfather, I will not tell you."
"Tell me, and save yourself. There is little chance that they will takehim, since the Jews have been driven from the Old Tower."
"The Jews might re-capture the tower, and I will not tell you. Also, thelives of others are at stake, of my friends who have sheltered me, andwho, as I trust, will now shelter him."
"Then you must die, and by this death of shame, for I am powerless tosave you. Yes, you must die tied to a pinnacle of the gateway, a mockeryto friend and foe. Why, if it had not been that I still have someauthority among them, and that you are of my blood, girl though you be,they would have crucified you upon the wall, serving you as the Romansserve our people."
"If it pleases God that I should die, I shall die. What is one lifeamong so many tens of thousands? Let us talk of other things while wehave time."
"What is there to talk of, Miriam, save misery, misery, misery?" andagain he groaned. "You were right, and I have been wrong. That Messiahof yours whom I rejected, yes, and still reject, had at least the
giftof prophecy, for the words that you read me yonder in Tyre will befulfilled upon this people and city, aye, to the last letter. The Romanshold even the outer courts of the Temple; there is no food left. In theupper town the inhabitants devour each other and die, and die till nonecan bury the dead. In a day or two, or ten--what does it matter?--wewho are left must perish also by hunger and the sword. The nation of theJews is trodden out, the smoke of their sacrifices goes up no more, andthe Holy House that they have builded will be pulled stone from stone,or serve as a temple for the worship of heathen gods."
"Will Titus show no mercy? Can you not surrender?" asked Miriam.
"Surrender? To be sold as slaves or dragged a spectacle at the wheels ofCaesar'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 Titus.Oh! I would that it were done with, for my heart is broken, and thisjudgment is fallen on me--that I, who, of my own will, brought mydaughter 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. Ilost 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 griefof 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. "PerchanceCaleb----"
"Nay, I know naught of Caleb, except that there is still good in hisheart, 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 myspirit, 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 God and--hope. One of our faith, nowlong departed, who foretold that I should be born, foretold also thatI should live out my life. It may be so--for that woman was holy, and aprophetess."
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 seekyou."
"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, maymy God and your God protect you, for I cannot. Farewell, and if, by anychance, you live, forgive me, and try to forget the evil that, in myblindness and my pride, I have brought upon yours and you, but oh! mostof all upon myself."
Then he embraced her passionately and was gone, leaving Miriam weeping.