Rebekah's Treasure (6 page)

But I don’t believe it. Vespasian, the
Pater Patriae
, might forget. But Vespasian, the general who utterly destroyed Joppa out of spite for having to conquer it twice,
never
. He’ll return to Jerusalem, to punish the city that, four years ago, massacred the Roman garrison stationed here. And when he does, I only pray that
Hashem
will strengthen my arm for battle.

My sword crashes down on one of John Gischala’s men, splitting his forehead and sending him crumbling to the paved flooring of the Royal Porch. All around me I hear the sound of metal striking metal and the cries of men falling in battle. My tunic is covered with their blood. Amid a hail of arrows, I spot my three sons and whisper a quick prayer of thanksgiving.
They still stand
. They, too, are covered in blood, but whether theirs or others, I cannot tell.

All morning we’ve fought John’s men. The battle began shortly after the guards removed the bodies of the mother and child. An evil omen—finding those bodies in the Court of Women, as events bear out. We’re outnumbered. And John’s men are relentless. They seem determined to infiltrate our stronghold and take the Temple today. Even now, the Council House—just outside the Huldah gates—is burning, and the scribes are fleeing with their scrolls. John’s men pour like rats through
all seven entrances to the Temple platform. The porticos are crammed with them. It seems behind every column there are a half dozen or more flinging spears or wielding swords. And many have found their mark. The floors of the porticos are littered with dead Zealots lying on their backs, staring upward as though studying the elaborately carved ceiling overhead. We are being cut down at an alarming rate. Most of our men have already been pushed back behind the Soreg. That low, ornamental stone wall, with its inscriptions warning strangers not to enter, will not provide a buffer for long.

“Quick, men! To the Gate Beautiful!” I hear Eleazar shout through the din, his white robe now red. “Retreat! Retreat to the Court of Women!”

I beat back two Gischalites, then rush to where my sons are surrounded. “Benjamin! Joseph! Abner! Follow me!” I hack clear a path, and soon we’re all retreating into the women’s court. Then the four of us stand our ground in front of the gate, along with dozens of other Zealots, restraining John’s men, giving time to the rest of our fighters to retreat behind the walls and seal up all the entrances. And when the paving stones beneath our feet are slick with blood and the bodies piled so high we can see no more than five cubits in any direction, we hear the command to enter the gate and close it. And when at last it is bolted, a loud cheer goes up on the other side as our countrymen celebrate their victory over us, for the territory held by us Zealots has been greatly reduced.

We remain barricaded behind the walled Temple area. Throughout the night, lone bowmen have tried to pick us off—a tactic meant to keep us from resting. Then early this morning John began pounding us with his catapults—hurling great stones on our heads while his bowmen shower us with arrows. Several of our men lie dead, scattered over the gouged stone floor. Our fighters, who line the tops of the walls, have
inflicted their own damage. It’s reported that John continues to sustain heavy causalities, many incurred by our Benjaminite archers—the best bowmen in Israel.

I stand in the Court of Levites, separated from the Court of the Priests by a cubit-high decorative barrier near my feet. On the multistair platform above me, clusters of white-robed priests minister around the blazing bronze Altar of Sacrifice. From it, a plume of smoke rises to heaven, and with it, my prayers. Eleazar stands beside me. He has not left the altar since the morning sacrifice. He prays and fasts for our cause. I pray for . . . Rebekah, for Esther, for my sons, for my arm to be strengthened. But I do not pray for God’s will to be done, nor for His justice to prevail, for I fear them both. We’ve been here so long I’ve grown weary of praying, and shuffle my feat anxiously. I yearn to be with my men on the walls, but Eleazar has asked me to stay by his side. And so I stay . . . and pray . . . and wait.

“The Romans are coming,” Eleazar finally says, bending closer to me as if not wanting anyone to hear. “A messenger from Galilee claims they come from every direction. North, along the coast from Caesarea, east from Jericho. The roads are clogged with them.”

My heart sinks as I think of Rebekah, Aaron and Esther, and I worry if they’re safe.

“These endless months of infighting have sapped our supplies,” Eleazar says, signaling with a tap on my shoulder that he’s ready to return to the battle. “We’re not prepared for a siege.” In silence we make our way through the bronze Nicanor gate, then down the semicircular steps that lead to the Court of Women. “The Romans are no more than a day away, and Titus leads them.”

“Then we must make peace with John and Simon,” I say as we descend the last step. “We must unite if we’re to have any chance against his legions.”

Eleazar nods as a large stone catapults past us and crashes into the wall of the Parvah, where the hides of sacrificial animals are salted. Overhead, the arrows are so thick they look like a flock of birds.
“Making peace is our only hope. Send an overture. Let’s see what that dog, John, says. If we can get him to agree, Simon will surely follow.”

From atop the Temple wall, facing west, I watch a cloud of dust swirl above the road from Emmaus. Below that cloud are thousands of Roman soldiers, their mounted officers, their endless mule-pulled artillery and supply wagons. Our spies tell us it’s the 15
^th
Legion—from Alexandria, led by Titus. Already, his scouts survey the southern end of Mount Scopus for a campsite. A second cloud follows. It’s the 5
^th
Legion—the Macedonica. Their scouts, too, survey Mount Scopus, on the north.

In addition, reports are coming in from the countryside that the 10
^th
Legion is on its way from Jericho.
The 10
^th
. Can the news be more dire? They will remember how they were sent to punish Jerusalem for the Roman garrison massacre, but sent packing instead. They’ll seek revenge for this dishonor. They’ll show no mercy, give no quarter. The reports also claim that provisions for the army overflow the storehouses in Ashkelon and Caesarea. It’s clear that Titus has prepared for a long campaign.

I inhale the warm air filled with swirling grit and the stench of our rotting dead thrown over the walls to prevent disease from descending upon our city. Behind me, the noise of war continues as it has for two days, with John’s men battering our defenses and hurling more arrows, spears and rocks. Does he not have eyes? Does he not see the Romans? Why does he continue to do Titus’s work for him by spoiling Jerusalem? And when will that jackal answer my dispatch?

The next day, John does answer. We should have seen it coming, his treachery. But we didn’t. It’s the season of Passover, a most holy
time, and many of us unwisely turned our hearts from the things of war to the things of God. It was agreed that the pilgrims, who have come to Jerusalem for Passover, should be allowed safe passage to the Temple. Throughout the city, they were searched, then passed along by the various rebels controlling the checkpoints. But deceitful men will use any opportunity. And while Eleazar kept his word and ordered the gate to be partially opened for the pilgrims to enter, John did not keep his. Instead, he and a group of his men perpetrated a great deception by disguising themselves as pilgrims. In one wild moment, they rushed the gate, forced it open for their comrades, and with little difficulty, overran us. But before much blood was shed, Eleazar surrendered and a truce was struck. In one bold move, John has become our leader.

May Hashem give him wisdom
.

Simon has asked for a truce. But John has refused. Since John has retained me as one of his generals, I have tried to stress the necessity of joining forces. We must put aside our differences for the sake of Jerusalem. Already the 15
^th
and 5
^th
Legions have pitched camp. Vineyards and ancient olive groves have felt their ax. The Romans have no respect for the land. They tear at it like wild beasts until nothing remains. Outside the city walls, houses have been looted and burned to the ground. All structures, all vegetation, have been removed. Nothing is left to testify of the centuries of living that have gone on here. Now, only dirt and dust stand between their camp and a large portion of our western wall. They have removed all obstructions and flattened the land to prepare for their siege works and pending advance.

The city weeps at this sight. I weep, too, for I see the scope of their intended destruction.