Part 29 (2/2)

”Bethink you,” cried the man, ”if you do not eat, by sunrise to-morrow you will be dead. Speak then and eat, obstinate dog, it is your last chance.”

”I eat not and I tell not,” answered the aged martyr in a voice like a hollow groan. ”By to-morrow's sunrise I shall be dead, and soon you and all this people will be dead, and G.o.d will have judged each of us according 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, and so went away, taking no notice of Miriam in the corner. When they had gone she came forward and looked. His jaw had fallen. Theophilus the Essene was at peace.

Another hour went by. Once more the door was opened and there appeared that 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, we have 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, and that from the cloisters without went up flames and smoke. They seemed to be fighting there, for the air was full of the sound of shouting, above which echoed the dull, continuous thud of battering rams striking against the ma.s.sive walls.

They took her into a great chamber supported by pillars of white marble, where many starving folk, some of them women who carried or led hollow-cheeked children, sat silent on the floor, or wandered to and fro, their eyes fixed upon the ground as though in aimless search for they knew not what. On a das at the end of the chamber twelve or fourteen men sat in carved chairs; other chairs stretched to the right and left of them, but these were empty. The men were clad in magnificent robes, which seemed to hang ill upon their gaunt forms, and, like those of the people in the hall, their eyes looked scared and their faces were white and shrunken. These were all who were left of the Sanhedrim of the Jews.

As Miriam entered one of their number was delivering judgment upon a wretched starving man. Miriam looked at the judge. It was her grandfather, Benoni, but oh! how changed. He who had been tall and upright was now drawn almost double, his teeth showed yellow between his lips, his long white beard was ragged and had come out in patches, his hand shook, his gorgeous head-dress was awry. Nothing was the same about him except his eyes, which still shone bright, but with a fiercer fire than 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, my own food, which I bought with all that remained of my fortune. Your hyaena-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 wife died of starvation and her wounds, my children died of starvation, all except one, a child of six, whom I fed with what remained. Then she began to die also, and I bargained with the Roman, giving him jewels and promising to show him the weak place in the wall if he would convey the child to his camp and feed her. I showed him the place, and he fed her in 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 my treason. I would do it again to save the life of my child, twenty times over, if needful. You murdered my wife and my other children; murder me also if you will. I care nothing.”

”Wretch,” said Benoni, ”what are your miserable wife and children compared to the safety of this holy place, which we defend against the enemies 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 the guards, ”but may you also all be slain in the sight of the Romans, you mad murderers, who, in your l.u.s.t for power, have brought doom and agony upon the people of the Jews.”

Then they dragged him out, and a voice called--”Bring in the next traitor.”

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, while another added, ”Is not this the woman who dwelt with you at Tyre, and who is said to be a Christian?”

”We do not sit to try questions of faith, at least not now,” answered Benoni evasively.

”Woman, is it true that you are a Christian?” queried one of the judges.

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