Hebrew Heroes: A Tale Founded on Jewish History

It was impossible to reach the garden without passing between the two guards. Zarah could not tell whether they were indeed sleeping, and the space left between them was scarcely sufficiently wide to admit of her traversing it. Frightened, yet clinging to hope, Zarah, with her jar on her head walked slowly and cautiously on. Just as she was gliding by the guards, one of them started and caught hold of her dress.

"Ha! slave, what mischief are you after at such an hour as this?"

"My lord has bidden me dip my jar in yon tank," said Zarah, in as calm a tone as she could command.

"I trow your lord has heated himself with a stronger kind of drink, or he would not need water to cool him now," said the Syrian, releasing Zarah, who, wondering at her own success, rapidly hurried into the garden. She almost forgot, in her haste to escape, that it was needful to dip her jar into water, as she was still within view of the Syrian. The maiden had to turn back one or two steps, and bend over the brink of the tank. Its cool waters refreshed her, as she dipped her slender fingers therein.

"Now," thought Zarah, "there is a long dark passage to traverse – is it on the right or the left? I scarce can remember my father's directions; and a mistake now might be fatal both to him and to me. Oh, may Heaven direct me!"

As Zarah glanced anxiously on either side, she perceived to the left a narrow opening in the mass of buildings which enclosed the garden. The opening was so utterly dark, that it looked to the trembling girl like the mouth of a sepulchre, and she feared to enter into it. As Zarah stood hesitating, she could hear Pollux behind her giving the password to the sentries. His voice strengthened the courage of his daughter; it was a comfort to know that he was near. Quitting the garden, Zarah entered the gloomy passage. It was not quite so dark within as it had appeared from without. The maiden could dimly distinguish a niche in the wall, in which she deposited her jar, which could now only burden her in her flight.

The passage along which Zarah was groping her way was one merely intended as a back-way, along which slaves carrying viands or other burdens might pass, though it was not unfrequently used by courtiers bound on secret errands. It conducted to a much wider passage or corridor, which crossed it at right angles, and which led direct to a postern-door of the palace, by which four guards kept watch night and day. When Zarah reached the point where the smaller passage opened into the larger, she became aware of the most formidable obstacle which she had yet had to encounter – the presence of these guards; and to the young fugitive the obstacle seemed insuperable. The door was strongly bolted, and the soldiers were wide awake; there appeared to the mind of Zarah not the smallest chance that they would unbar the door for her, or suffer her to pass.

The heart of the young fugitive sank within her. It was terrible to be so near to liberty, and yet have that impassable barrier between her and freedom! How formidable looked the deadly weapons of the soldiers as they gleamed in the waning torch-light; how stern the weather-beaten countenances of that warriors of Antiochus Epiphanes!

Zarah leaned against the wall of the dark narrow passage, and listened for the footsteps of her father behind her. She dared not venture out of the shadow into the lighted corridor. Presently Pollux was at her side; she felt his hand gently laid on her shoulder.

"All will be lost if you attempt to save me, father," murmured the trembling girl. "Oh, go on without me – leave me to God's care; I can never pass those guards."

"When I raise my hand, come forward and go forth," whispered Pollux. Not like a prisoner escaping, but with the firm tread of a man who doubts not his right and power to go where he will, the courtier of Antiochus strode into the corridor and advanced towards the guards, who saluted, in Oriental fashion, a noble of high distinction, whose person was familiar to them all.

"The word is 'The sword of Antiochus.' Unbar that door, and quickly; I am on business of importance which brooks no delay," said Pollux to the guards in a tone of command.

The order was instantly obeyed. Zarah joyfully heard bolt after bolt withdrawn, and then the creaking of the door upon its hinges; and felt the freshness of outer air admitted through the opening.

Pollux seemed to be about to pass out, when he suddenly raised his hand, as his appointed signal to his daughter. Zarah, gasping with breathless anxiety, obeyed the sign, and glided forward to go forth from the palace. One of the soldiers, however, instantly barred her passage with his weapon.

"Let the slave pass," said Pollux sternly.

The point of the guard's weapon was lowered; but another of the soldiers was about to remonstrate. "It is against orders," he began, when Pollux interrupted him.

"Methinks you are one who served under me in the force of Giorgias," observed the courtier, with presence of mind.

"Ay, my lord," answered the soldier.

"When we next see Maccabeus, we must come to closer quarters with him," observed the noble. "Here, my brave men," – he drew forth a purse heavy with gold – "share this among you, and drink success to the brave."

The soldiers could scarcely repress a shout at the unexpected liberality of Pollux. Not one of them so much as looked at Zarah as she glided forth into the open air.

Oh, transporting sense of liberty! How delicious was the breath of early morn on the fugitive's cheek; how glorious the open vault spread above her, blushing in the first light of dawn! Pollux experienced, though in a very inferior degree, some of the pleasure felt by his daughter, as he joined her on the broad marble steps which led down from the Grecian-built palace of Antiochus to the platform on which it erected.

"This way, my child," whispered Pollux, as drew Zarah in the direction of one of the high narrow streets of Jerusalem. "We must put as much space as possible between us and pursuers before sunrise. Would that we had started hours ago! Many dangers yet are before us."

One was nearer than the speaker was aware of. Scarcely had the fugitives entered the nearest street when they encountered a Syrian courtier, splendidly attired, whose unsteady gait betrayed in what manner he had been passing the night. More than half intoxicated as he was, Lysimachus instantly recognized Pollux.

"Ha! whither bound?" exclaimed Lysimachus, standing, or rather staggering, in the narrow path directly in front of the fugitives.

"I give an account of my movements only to such as have a right to demand it," said Pollux haughtily, attempting to pass his rival, while Zarah kept close behind her father.

"The fox has caught sight of the trap – Pollux has found out that I hold his death-warrant," cried Lysimachus; "and that his head must fall at sunrise!"

Pollux started at the words of his enemy.

"He is making his escape!" continued Lysimachus, in a louder voice; "he's falling off to the Hebrews! but this shall stop him!" and with a quick, unexpected movement, the Syrian plunged a dagger into the breast of Pollux, then himself fell heavily rolling over into the dust! Lysimachus had been struck down by a blow from the hand of Lycidas, who had been but a few paces behind him!

Zarah had caught sight of the Greek, and of the venerated form of Hadassah at that momentous crisis; her eyes riveted on them, she had not seen the blow inflicted on her father, who, though mortally wounded, did not instantly fall. For Pollux also beheld his mother, and the sudden, unexpected vision of her from whom he had so long been divided, seemed to have power to arrest even the hand of death. Parent and son met – they clasped – they locked each other in a first – a last embrace!

"Oh, mother," exclaimed Zarah, "he has saved me; he is your own son again, devoted to his country – to his God!"

Did Hadassah hear the joyful exclamation? If she did not, it mattered but little, for she had already grasped with ecstasy all that its meaning could convey; for the last sentence uttered by Lysimachus ere he fell had reached her ear. Her son – her beloved – was "falling away to the Hebrews," or rather was returning to the faith which he once had abjured; he was given back – he was saved from perdition – he was rescuing his child from death and his mother from despair! Hadassah's mind had received all this, conveyed as it were in a lightning flash of joy. She needed to know no more; – her son was folded in her arms!

Pollux and Hadassah sank together on the paved way. The sight of a few drops of blood on the stones first startled Zarah into a knowledge that Lysimachus had inflicted an injury on her father.

"Oh, he is wounded!" she exclaimed, throwing herself on her knees beside him.

"Dead!" ejaculated Anna, who was vainly attempting to raise the head of

Pollux.

"No – no – not dead! Oh, Lycidas! – Lycidas!" exclaimed Zarah in horror, intuitively appealing to the Athenian to relieve her from the terrible fear which Anna had raised.

"It is too true," said Lycidas sadly; for he could not look upon the countenance of Pollux and doubt that life was extinct. "We must gently separate the son from the arms of his mother."

But they who had been so long separated in life could not be separated in death; man had now no power to divide them. Often had Hadassah thought that her heart would break with grief; – it had burst with joy! Her day of sorrow was over; her long Sabbath rest had begun. The happy smile which had lately played on her lips in sleep, now rested upon them in that last peaceful slumber from which she should never again awake to weep. She had been given her heart's desire, and so had departed in peace. Blessed death; most joyful departure!

CHAPTER XXVIII.

UNITED IN THE GRAVE

Lycidas dared not at first break to Zarah the mournful truth that one blow had bereft her of both her protectors, that she was now indeed an orphan, and alone in the world. Zarah saw that her father was dead, but believed that Hadassah had swooned. The subdued wail of Anne over the corpse of her mistress, first revealed to the bereaved girl the full extent of her loss. Its greatness, its suddenness, almost stunned her; it was a paralyzing grief.

But this was no time for lamentation or wail. Lycidas remembered – though Zarah herself for the moment entirely forgot it – her imminent personal peril should she be discovered and arrested by the Syrians. To save her precious life, was now the Greek's most anxious care. He tried to persuade her to fly; but even his entreaties could not draw the mourner from the dead bodies of Hadassah and Pollux. It seemed as if Zarah could understand nothing but the greatness of her bereavements. A terrible fear arose in the mind of the Greek that all that the maiden had undergone during the last two days had unsettled her reason.

"What can be done!" exclaimed Lycidas, almost in despair; "if the Syrians find her here, she is lost. The city will soon be astir; already I hear the sound of hoofs!"

A man, leading a large mule with two empty panniers, appeared, trudging on his solitary way. As he approached the spot, Lycidas to his inexpressible relief recognized in him Joab, a man whose countenance was never likely to be forgotten by him – being connected with one of the most exciting passages in the life of the young Athenian.

"Ha! the lady Hadassah!" exclaimed the muleteer, in a tone of surprise and regret, as his eye fell on the lifeless body, round which Zarah was clinging, with her face buried in the folds of its garments.

"I have seen you before; I know you to be a good man and true," said Lycidas, hurriedly. "You risked your life to bury the martyrs, you will help us now in this our sore need. Assist us to lift these bodies on your mule, and take them as secretly and as swiftly as we may to the house of Hadassah."

"I would risk anything for my old mistress," said Joab; "but as for yon silken-clad Syrian, I care not to burden my beast with his carcass." The muleteer looked with stern surprise on the corpse of Pollux. "Who is he," continued Joab, "and how comes he to be clasped in the arms of the Lady Hadassah?"

"My father – he is my father!" sobbed Zarah.

"Raise them both," said Lycidas; "we cannot divide them, and there is not a moment to be lost."

The united efforts of the party hardly sufficed to raise the two bodies to the back of the mule, which, though a large and powerful animal, could scarcely carry the double burden. Joab took his large coarse mantle, and threw it over the corpses to hide them, then taking his beast by the halter, led it forward in silence.

"Is there no danger from him?" said Anna to Lycidas, pointing to Lysimachus, who lay senseless and bleeding, his head having come into violent collision with a stone.

By a brief examination Lycidas satisfied himself that the courtier was indeed in a state of unconsciousness, and knew nothing of what was passing around him. The Athenian then went up to Zarah, who, drooping like a broken lily, was slowly following the corpses of her parent and his mother. Lycidas offered her what support he could give; Zarah did not, could not reject it. A deadness seemed coming over her brain and heart; had not Lycidas upheld the poor girl, she must have dropped by the wayside.

With what strange emotions did Lycidas through life remember that early walk in Jerusalem! The being whom he loved best was leaning upon him, too much exhausted to decline his aid; there was thrilling happiness in being so near her; but the uppermost feelings in the mind of Lycidas were agonising fear upon Zarah's account, and intense impatience to reach some place of safety. Fearfully slow to Lycidas appeared the progress of the heavily-laden mule, terribly long the way that was traversed. The muleteer purposely avoided that which would have been most direct; he dared not go through one of the city gates, but passed out into the open country at a spot little frequented, where a part of the wall of Jerusalem still lay in ruins, as it had been left by Apollonius. Most unwelcome to Lycidas was the brightening day, which awoke the world to life. Every human form, even that of a child, was to him an object of alarm. The brave young Greek was full of terrors for one who in her grief had lost the sense of personal fear.

Partly owing to the skilful selection of paths by Joab, partly owing to the circumstance of the day being still so young, the party did not meet many persons on their way, and these few were of poorer class, early commencing their morning toils. Inquiring glances were cast at the singular cortege, but at that time of bondage and peril, a common sense of misery and danger taught caution and repressed curiosity.

Only once was a question asked of the muleteer.

"What have you there, Joab, under yon mantle?" inquired a woman with a large jar on her head, who stopped to survey the strange burden of the mule.

"A ripe sheaf of the first-fruits, a wave-offering, Deborah," replied

Joab, with significance.

"There will be more, many more, cut down soon," replied the woman gloomily; "may desolation overtake the Syrian reapers!"

Joab saw the Athenian's look of apprehension. "Fear not, stranger," he said; "no Hebrew will betray us; Deborah is true as steel, and knows me well."

There is little of twilight in Judaea; day leaps almost at a bound upon his throne. The world was bathed in sunshine long before the slowly-moving party reached the lonely dwelling amongst the hills. How thankful was Lycidas for the seclusion of that wild spot, which seemed as if it had been chosen for purpose of concealment! Hadassah had left the door fastened when she had quitted the place on the preceding morning, full of anxious terrors on account of the peril of Zarah; but Anna had charge of the key. With what thankful joy would the Hebrew widow have for the last time crossed that threshold in life, could she have foreseen that her child would so soon return in safety, albeit as a mourner, following Hadassah's own corpse!

The two bodies were reverentially laid on mats on the floor of the dwelling. Lycidas then went outside the door with Joab, to make such arrangements as circumstances permitted for the burial, which, according to the custom of the land, rendered necessary by the climate, must take place very soon. Joab undertook to find those who would aid him in digging a grave close to that of the martyrs, and promised to come for the bodies an hour after midnight. Lycidas drew forth gold, but the Hebrew refused to take it.

"To bury the martyred dead is a pious office and acceptable to the Most High," said the brave muleteer; "but as for yon Syrian, son though he may be of the Lady Hadassah, I care not to lay his bones amongst those of martyrs. I trow he was nothing but a traitor."

"He died by the hand of a Syrian, he died saving a Hebrew maiden, he died in his mother's arms," said Lycidas, with tender regard for the feelings of Zarah, who would he knew be sensitive in regard to respect paid to the corpse of her parent. "Deny him not a grave with his people."

Joab merely shrugged his shoulders in reply, laid his hand on the halter of his mule, and departed.

On the following night, Lycidas found himself again in that olive-girdled spot which he had such reason to remember. He stood under that tree behind the bending trunk of which he had crouched for concealment on the night when he had first seen Zarah.

The ground was very hard from the long drought. Joab, and two companions whom he had brought to assist in the perilous service, had much difficulty in preparing a grave.

"We need the strong arm of Maccabeus here," observed one of the men, stopping to brush the beaded drops from his brow.

"Maccabeus is employed in making graves for his enemies, not for his friends," was the muleteer's stern reply.

Thick heavy clouds obscured the starless sky, not a breath of wind was stirring, the air felt oppressively close and sultry even at the hour of midnight. A single torch was all the light which the grave-diggers dared to employ while engaged on their dangerous work. In almost perfect darkness were the remains of Hadassah and her unhappy son lowered into the dust. There was no silver moonlight streaming between the stems of the olives, as on the occasion of the martyrs' burial, nor was Zarah present to throw flowers into the open grave. With her the powers of nature had given way under the prolonged strain which they had had to endure; the poor girl lay in her desolate home, too ill to be even conscious of the removal from it of the remains over which she had watched and mourned as long as she had been capable of doing either.

It was strange to Lycidas to be, as it were, only representative of Hadassah's family at the funeral of herself and her son, – he, who was not only no relative, but a foreigner in blood, and in religion an alien; but it was a privilege which he valued very highly, and which he would not have resigned to have held the chief place in the most pompous ceremonial upon earth.

As soon as the displaced earth had been thrown back into the grave of Hadassah and her Abner, the night-clouds burst, and down came the long longed-for, long-desired latter rains. The parched dry sod seemed to drink in new life; the shrivelled foliage revived, all nature rejoiced in the gift from heaven. When the sun rose over the hills, water was again trickling from the stream behind the dwelling of Hadassah; the oleanders were not yet dead, they would bloom into beauty again.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE MOURNER'S HOME

I shall pass lightly over the events of several succeeding months. The summer passed away, with its intense heat and its fierce simooms. Then came heavier dews by night, and temperature gradually decreased by day. The harvest was ended, but few of the inhabitants of Jerusalem had ventured to observe Pentecostal solemnities. The time for the Feast of Tabernacles arrived, but none dared raise leafy booths of palm and willow – to spend therein the week of rejoicing, according to the custom of happier years.

Early in the summer Antiochus Epiphanes had quitted Judaea for Persia, to quell an insurrection which his cupidity had provoked in the latter country. The absence of the tyrant had somewhat mitigated the fierceness of the persecution against such Hebrews as sought to obey the law of Moses; but still no one dared openly to practise Jewish rites in Jerusalem, and the image of Jupiter Olympus still profaned the temple on Mount Zion.

Judas Maccabeus, in the meantime, still maintained a bold front in Southern Judaea and the tract of country called Idumea; the power of his name was felt from the rich pasture-lands surrounding Hebron as far as the fair plains of Beersheba on the south-west – or on the south-east the desolate valley of salt. Wherever the Asmonean's influence extended, fields were sown or their harvests gathered in peace; the husbandman followed his team, and the shepherd folded his flocks; mothers rejoiced over the infants whom they could now present to the Lord without fear.

But again the portentous war-cloud was rolling up from the direction of Antioch. Lycias, the regent of the western provinces, by the command of Antiochus had gathered around him a very large army, a force yet more formidable than that which had been led by Nicanor, and Syria was again collecting her hordes to crush by overwhelming numbers Judas and his patriot band.

And how had the last half-year sped with Zarah? Very slowly and very heavily, as time usually passes with those who mourn. And deeply did Zarah mourn for Hadassah – her more than mother, her counsellor, her guide – the being round whom maiden's affections so closely had twined that she had felt that she could hardly sustain existence deprived of Hadassah. And much Zarah wept for her father – though in remembering him a deep spring of joy mingled with her sorrow. A thousand times did Zarah repeat to herself his words of blessing – a thousand times fervently thank God that she and her parent had met. The words of Lysimachus had lightened her heart of what would otherwise have painfully pressed upon it. Those words had told her that Pollux was a doomed man; that apostasy on her part could not have saved his life; that had he not fallen by the Syrian's dagger, he would have been but reserved for the headsman's axe. And had Pollux perished thus, there would have been none of that gleam of hope which, at least in Zarah's eyes, now rested upon his grave.

Zarah never left the precincts of her secluded dwelling, except to visit her parents' grave – where she went as often as she dared venture forth, accompanied by the faithful Anna. No feet but their own ever crossed the threshold of their home. Zarah's simple wants were always supplied. Anna disposed in Jerusalem of the flax which her young mistress spun, as soon as Zarah had regained sufficient strength to resume her humble labours. During the period of the maiden's severe illness, Anna had secretly disposed of the precious rolls of Scripture from which Hadassah had made her copies, and had obtained for them such a price as enabled her for many weeks to procure every comfort and even luxury required by the sufferer. The copies themselves, traced by the dear hand now mouldering into dust, Zarah counted as her most precious possession; her most soothing occupation was to read them, pray over them, commit to memory their contents.

During all this long period of time, Zarah never saw Lycidas, but she had an instinctive persuasion that he was not far away – that, like an unseen good angel, he was protecting her still. The name of the Athenian was never forgotten in Zarah's prayers. She felt that she owed a debt of gratitude to one who had struck down her father's murderer, who had paid the last honours to his remains and those of Hadassah, and to whose care she believed that she owed her own freedom and life. If there was something more than gratitude in the maiden's feelings towards the Greek, it was a sentiment so refined and purified by grief that it cast no dimness over the mirror of conscience.

But Zarah knew that her life could not always flow on thus. It was a most unusual thing in her land for a maiden thus to dwell alone, without any apparent protection save that of a single handmaid. It was a violation of all the customs of her people, an unseemly thing which could only be justified by necessity. The daughter of Abner was also in constant peril of having her retreat discovered by those who had searched for herself and her father in vain, but who might at any day or any hour find and seize her as a condemned criminal, and either put her to death, or send her as a captive to Antiochus Epiphanes.