But when Anna, pale with excitement, brought tidings to her young mistress that the Hebrews were marching to battle, when Zarah heard that the decisive hour had come on which hung the fate of her country, and with it that of Lycidas, all other fears yielded for a time to one absorbing terror. On her knees, with hands clasped in attitude of prayer, yet scarcely able to pray, Zarah listened breathlessly to the fearful sounds which were borne on the breeze—the confused noises, the yells, the shouting—which brought vividly to her mind all the horrors of the scene passing so near her. It was not needful for her to look on the raging torrent of war; imagination but too readily pictured the streams of opposing warriors, like floods from opposite mountains, mingling and struggling together in a wild whirlpool of death; chariots dragged by maddened horses over gory heaps of the slain—the flight of hurtling arrows—the whirl of the deadly axe—the crash—the cry—the rush—the retreat—the rally—the flashing weapons, now dimmed with blood;—Zarah in thought beheld them all, and covered her eyes with horror, as if by so doing she could shut out the sight.

For hours this agony lasted. The excitement of conflict may bear brave hearts through a battle with little sense of horror and none of fear; warriors, even the generous and humane, can see and do things in hot blood, from which their souls would revolt in calmer moments; but the woman whose earthly happiness is on the cast of the die, who cannot shield the being dearest to her upon earth from the crushing blow or the deadly thrust, to her the day of battle is one of unmixed anguish; suspense is agony, and yet she dreads to exchange that suspense for knowledge which might bring agony more intolerable still.

The maiden found some slight alleviation of her distress in the occupation in which she and her handmaid engaged, that of making such preparations as circumstances permitted for the comfort of the wounded, though they knew too well that if the Syrians should win the day, there would be no wounded Hebrews to tend—the conqueror's sword would too thoroughly do its hideous work.

Judas Maccabeus had displayed his accustomed judgment in choosing to be himself the assailant, instead of awaiting the assault of the myrmidons of Syria. His sudden, unexpected attack threw the enemy into some confusion, and gave an advantage in the commencement of the battle to the slender forces of the Hebrew prince. His men rushed to the conflict as those assured of success. Had they not measured swords with the warriors of Apollonius and Seron, and more recently those of Bacchides? Had they not scattered the thousands of Nicanor, and made Giorgias seek safety in ignominious retreat? Was not Maccabeus their leader, and saw they not the light flashing from his helmet in the fore-front of the battle? Yet was the struggle obstinate; and when the Syrians were at last forced to retire before the Hebrew heroes, a number of the troops of Lysias threw themselves into the fortress of Bethsura, to rally their forces behind its walls, and gather strength to renew the combat on the following day.

But it was no part of the plan of their active adversary to leave such a rallying-point to the Syrians, or suffer them from thence to harass his rear, should he press onwards towards Jerusalem. His victory must not be incomplete, Bethsura must be his ere darkness should put an end to the conflict.

"See you yon Syrian banner waving from the tower," cried Maccabeus,—"who will be the first to tear it down?"

He was answered by a shout from his men. "To the walls! to the walls!" as the Hebrews pressed hard upon their retreating foes.

Bethsura was not a place of much strength, though the height of its towers gave to their defenders the power to annoy and distress assailants with a shower of arrows and other missiles as they rushed to the assault. Maccabeus, foreseeing that Bethsura itself must become the scene of the closing struggle, had had scaling-ladders in readiness, roughly constructed by his own men from trees hewn down by their battle-axes. With cries and shouts these were now borne onwards towards the bulwarks of Bethsura, and notwithstanding the fierce opposition of the Syrians, two of them were planted against the wall. Who would mount them, who would be the first to climb upwards through the death-shower of darts, the first to meet the fierce downward blows and thrusts of those who stood to the defence of the beleaguered fortress?

Lycidas had borne himself bravely in the battle, he had well maintained the honour of the land that had withstood the gigantic power of Xerxes; now his foot was the first on one of the ladders. It was a perilous moment. The rough spar, with branches fastened transversely at intervals across it, on which Lycidas was mounting (for the ladder was little more than this), swayed backwards and forwards with the struggle between those above to fling it down, and those below to sustain it, and it was with extreme difficulty that the climber could keep his footing. Stones and arrows rattled on the shield which the young Greek held with one arm above his head, as he used the other in climbing; but Lycidas neither flinched nor paused.

"Well done—bravely done!" shouted the Hebrews who were rushing on from behind.

"He is no Gentile, though he be a Greek!" cried the wild shrill voice of Jasher; "onwards, upwards, warriors of Judah! one struggle more, and Bethsura is ours!"

Almost at the top of the ladder, almost close to the wall, gasping, straining, bleeding, struggles on the young Greek. A stone strikes his shield, smashes it, stuns, disables the left arm which upheld it; slain by a dart, the Hebrew just behind him falls crashing from the ladder! The brain of Lycidas is dizzy, his ears are filled with wild clamour, he is conscious only that honour and most probably death are before him, still he mounts, he mounts! Two powerful Syrians have seized the upper end of the ladder; with an effort of gigantic strength they thrust it back from the supporting wall with its living burden of clambering men, all but one, the foremost! Lycidas feels the ladder beneath him failing, with a tremendous effort of agility he springs as it falls at the wall, catches hold of it with his right hand, and flings himself up on the parapet. But not one moment's breathing-space is given him to start to his feet, or grasp the sword which he has carried hung round his neck. He cannot rise, he cannot resist; swords are gleaming above him; those who have thrown down the ladder seize the Greek to hurl him after it! A thought of Zarah flashes across the reeling brain of the young man, is it not his last?—no, a broad shield is suddenly thrust between Lycidas and his assailants, they shrink back from the sweep of a terrible sword; up the other ladder the strong and brave have pressed with irresistible force; Judas Maccabeus himself has planted his foot on the bulwarks, has driven back step by step their defenders before him, and has arrived at this crisis in the fate of Lycidas to preserve for the third time the life of his rival!

The banner of Maccabeus is planted on the highest tower of Bethsura, and as it waves in the light of the evening sun, such a loud wild shout of triumph rises from the victors, as might be heard for miles around! It reaches Zarah in her hut, and sends a thrill of hope and exultation through her heart, for she knows the shout of her people, and none but conquerors could have rent the air with such a cheer as that! It is followed by the cry "Jerusalem, Jerusalem!" as from the Hebrew heroes, in that their hour of success, bursts that name of all earthly names most dear to the sons of Israel! Jerusalem, their mother, will be free, her liberty from a galling yoke will be the crowning reward of their labours and perils, no foe will now dare to oppose the conqueror's onward march towards the holy city.

Maccabeus joins in the shout, and shares in the exultation; he tramples his own private griefs under his feet, that they may cast no gloom over the triumph which God has vouchsafed to the arms of his people. The prince raises his helmed head and his victorious right arm towards heaven, and cries aloud, not with pride, but with glad thanksgiving, "Behold! our enemies are discomfited! Let us go up to cleanse and dedicate the sanctuary of Zion!"



CHAPTER XXXVII.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

There are joys as well as sorrows into which the stranger cannot enter, and which baffle the attempt of the pen to describe; such was that of Lycidas and Zarah when they first met after the battle of Bethsura. The maiden had her happiness tempered indeed with something of anxiety and even alarm, for she beheld the young Greek pale with loss of blood, exhausted by excessive fatigue, and with his left arm in a sling, but her mind was soon relieved, for Lycidas had sustained no serious or permanent injury. The young proselyte was rather glad than otherwise to carry on his person some token of his having fought under Judas Maccabeus, and been one of the foremost of those who had stormed Bethsura.

With Zarah and her attendant for his deeply interested listeners, Lycidas gave a graphic and vivid description of the fight. Zarah held her breath and trembled when the narrator came to that thrilling part of his account which described his own position of imminent peril, when he would have been precipitated from the top of the wall, had not Judas Maccabeus come to his rescue.

"I deemed that all was over with me," said Lycidas, "when the prince suddenly flashed on my sight! Had I not long since given to the winds the idle fables that I heard in my childhood, I should have deemed that Mars himself, radiant in his celestial panoply, had burst from the cloud of war. But the hero of Israel needs no borrowed lustre to be thrown around him by the imagination of a poet, he realizes the noblest conception of Homer."

"And Maccabeus was the one to save and defend you! generous, noble!" murmured Zarah.

"Ay, it seems destined that I should be overwhelmed with an ever-growing debt of obligation," cried Lycidas, playfully throwing a veil of discontent over the gratitude and admiration which he felt towards his preserver. "I would that it had been my part to play the rescuer; that it had been my sword that had shielded his head; and that Maccabeus were not fated to eclipse me in everything, even in the power of showing generosity to a rival But I must not grudge him the harvest of laurels," added the young Athenian, with a joyous glance at Zarah, "since the garland of happiness has been awarded to me."

On the morning after the battle of Bethsura, Simon and Eleazar, the Asmoneans, both visited their youthful kinswoman in the goat-herd's hut, where she and Anna had remained during the night. They regarded her still as their future sister, and offered her their escort to the house of Rachel, which was at no great distance from the fortress of Bethsura. As Zarah desired as soon as possible to place herself under the protection of a female relative, she gladly accepted the offer. The horse-litter was brought to the door of the lowly hut; and with the curtains closely drawn, the maiden and her attendant proceeded to the dwelling of old Rachel, who joyfully welcomed the child of Hadassah. Zarah, on that morning, saw nothing of Lycidas, and Judas Maccabeus avoided approaching her presence. The chief could not trust himself to look on that sweet face again.

Through the Hebrew camp all was bustle and preparation. Tents were struck—all was made ready for the coming march to Jerusalem; the tired warriors forgot their weariness, and the wounded their pain, so eager were all to gather the rich fruits of their victory within the walls of Zion.

But amidst all the excitement and confusion, with so many cares pressing upon him from every side, the mind of the prince dwelt much upon Zarah. He felt that she was lost to him—he would have scorned to have claimed her hand when he knew that her heart was another's; but he resolved at least to act the part of a brother towards the orphan maiden. Painful to Maccabeus as was the sight of his successful rival, the chief determined to have an interview with Lycidas, that he might judge for himself whether the stranger were indeed worthy to win a Hebrew bride. Lycidas had proved himself to be a brave warrior—he had won the admiration even of the fanatic Jasher; but would the Greek stand firm in his newly-adopted faith when fresh laurels were no longer to be won, or fair prize gained by adhesion to it?

"The most remote hope of winning Zarah," mused Maccabeus, "were enough to make a man espouse the cause of her people, and renounce all idolatry—save idolatry of herself. I must question this Athenian myself. I must examine whether he have embraced the truth independently of earthly motives, and, as a true believer, can indeed be trusted with the most priceless of gems. If it be so, let him be happy, since her happiness is linked with his. Never will I darken the sunshine of her path with the shadow which will now rest for ever upon mine."

It was with no small anxiety that Lycidas obeyed the summons of the prince, and entered his presence alone, in one of the apartments of the fortress which he had aided to capture. The Greek could not but conjecture that his fate, as regarded his union with Zarah, might hang on the result of this interview with his formidable rival.

The interview was not a long one: what occurred in it never transpired. Not even to Zarah did Lycidas ever repeat the conversation between himself and the man whose earthly happiness he had wrecked. As the Greek passed forth from the presence of Maccabeus, he met Simon and Eleazar, who had just returned from escorting their young kinswoman to the dwelling of Rachel.

The Asmonean brothers frankly and cordially greeted the stranger whom they had seen for the first time in the thick of the conflict of the preceding day. The bandage round his temples, the sling which supported his left arm, were as credentials which the Athenian carried with him—a passport to the favour and confidence of his new associates in the field.

"You have leaped into fame with one bound, fair Greek!" cried Eleazar. "You had reached the highest round of the ladder ere I could plant my foot on the lowest. I could fain envy you the honour you have won."

Eleazar, accompanied by Simon, then passed on into the presence of Maccabeus, while Lycidas pursued his way. The smile with which the young Hebrew had spoken was still on his lips when he entered the apartment in which the prince sat alone, but the first glance of Eleazar at Judas banished every trace of that smile.

"You are ill!" he exclaimed anxiously, as he looked on the almost ghastly countenance of his brother; "you have received some deadly hurt!"

The chief replied in the negative by a slight movement of the head.

"The weight of responsibility, the lack of sleep, the exhaustion of yesterday's conflict, are sapping your strength," observed Simon gravely. "Judas, you are unfit to encounter the toils of the long march now before us."

"I was never more ready—never more impatient for a march," said Maccabeus, rising abruptly, for it seemed to him as if violent physical exertions alone could render life endurable.

"I marvel," said Eleazar, "if our graceful young proselyte will bear hardships as bravely as he has proved that he can encounter danger. Methinks he shows amongst our grim warriors as a marble column from Solomon's palace amongst the rough oaks that clothe the hill-side. If Lycidas is to be—"

"He is to be—the husband of Zarah," interrupted Maccabeus. His voice sounded strange and harsh, and he turned away his face as he spoke.

"The husband of Zarah!" re-echoed Eleazar in amazement; "why"—Simon's warning pressure on the young man's arm prevented his uttering more. The brothers exchanged significant glances. That was the last time that the name of Zarah was ever breathed by either of them in the hearing of Maccabeus.

Zarah found that her residence in her new home would be but a brief one, and that she was likely to return to Jerusalem far sooner than she could have anticipated when she had set out on her night journey so short a time before. Rachel—a woman who, though well stricken in years, had lost none of the energy and enthusiasm of youth—was filled with triumphant joy at the victory of Bethsura, and declared to Zarah her intention of starting for the city in advance of the army.

"I have a vow upon me—a solemn vow," said the old Jewess to the maiden. "Long have I mourned over the desolation of Zion; and I have promised to the Lord that if ever holy sacrifices should again be offered up in the Temple at Jerusalem, my heifer, my fair white heifer, should be the first peace-offering. I have vowed also to go up myself to the holy city, and make there with my own hands wafers anointed with oil, to eat with the sacrifice of thanksgiving. The time for keeping my vow has arrived. We will go up together, my daughter, and my bondsman shall drive the white heifer before us. My soul cannot depart in peace till I have looked upon the sanctuary in which my ancestors worshipped, and with a thankful heart have performed this my vow to the Lord."

Zarah made no opposition to the wishes of her relative, which, indeed, coincided with her own. Arrangements for the proposed journey were speedily made. The horse-litter in which Zarah had travelled to Bethsura would avail for the accommodation of both the ladies on her return to the city. The faithful Joab would resume his office of attendant, and Anna join company with the handmaidens of Rachel. It was under joyful auspices that the travellers would set forth on their way to the city of David.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE VICTOR'S RETURN.

Is there a more glorious, a more soul-stirring sight than that of a brave nation bursting from foreign bondage, casting from her the chains that bound and the sackcloth that covered her, rising victorious and free—free to worship the one God in purity and truth? Even so, when the shadow of the eclipse is over, the moon bursts forth into brightness, to shine again in beauty in the firmament of heaven.

It was thus with Jerusalem when Maccabeus and his followers went up to the holy city which they had delivered, through God's blessing on their arms. The town was in a delirium of joy, which there was now no need to conceal. The voice of thanksgiving and rejoicing was heard in every street; women wept for very happiness; and while the younger inhabitants made the walls ring with their shouts, the old men blessed God that they had been spared to see such a day. The advanced season forbade any profusion of flowers; but on every side palm branches were waving, doors and windows were decked with evergreens, and goodly boughs were strewed in the way. Every trace of heathenism was eagerly destroyed in the streets, and the very children fiercely trampled under foot the fragments of idol or altar.

Again was the song of Miriam heard, "Sing ye unto the Lord, for He hath triumphed gloriously;" and women went forth with timbrels to welcome the warriors of Judah. Though it was the month of Casleu,[1] the sun shone with cheerful radiance and warmth, as if Nature herself shared in the general rejoicing.

Up Mount Zion they come, the brave, the true, the devout; they who through much tribulation have kept the faith; they who have never bowed the knee to idol, nor forsaken the covenant of God. Maccabeus is foremost now in glory as once in danger. Press ye to see him, children of Judah! shout to welcome him, sons of the free!

A group of matrons and maidens surrounded the entrance to the Temple. Zarah and Rachel were amongst them.

"You should stand foremost, my daughter, to greet the conquerors," cried Rachel to her fair young companion, who was rather inclined to shrink back. "The Asmonean blood flows in your veins; you are kinswoman to our prince; and you have yourself nobly suffered persecution for the faith. What! tears in your eyes, maiden, on such a morning as this!"

"Oh, that my beloved mother, Hadassah, had lived to behold it!" thought Zarah. "She would have deemed this glorious day a type and forerunner of that even more blessed time when the ransomed of the Lord shall return to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away" (Isa. xxxv. 10).

Yes; as that bright, warm day in winter, soon to be succeeded by frosts and storms, was in regard to the long, glorious summer, so was the happiness of Judaea under the sway of her first Asmonean princes, compared to the glory which will be hers when her many ages of tribulation shall be ended. In the time of Maccabeus and his successors, the "discrowned queen" had arisen from the dust; but she has not yet, even at this late period, mounted her throne. More fearful judgments, more terrible desolation, were to succeed an interval of prosperity and freedom in the history of Zion. The Romans, more formidable even than the Syrians, were to give Jerusalem's sons to the sword and her Temple to the flames; and God's ancient people were to be scattered throughout all nations, to be a by-word and a hissing amongst them. But the glory is not departed for ever. We may—or our descendants must—see the Vine brought out of Egypt, budding into new beauty and life at the breath of the promised Spring.

"He comes, he comes! Maccabeus, our hero!" Such were the shouts which burst from every side as the war-worn victors appeared, with palm branches in their hands. Was not exultation in the heart of Maccabeus at that moment? Perhaps not. Perhaps he would gladly have exchanged the shouts of all the people for a loving welcome from one dear voice. Judas caught a glimpse of Zarah. Hers were the only eyes in all the crowd that were not fixed upon himself. She was eagerly looking at the form of one a little way in the rear of the chief—-the form of her betrothed husband, the Gentile proselyte whom she loved.

The conquerors entered the Temple of Zion. They came, not only to worship, but to purify. No sacrifice could be offered in the sanctuary till what the heathen had denied the Hebrew should cleanse. With indignant horror Maccabeus and his followers beheld the image of Jupiter, which for years had desecrated the Temple. Since the departure of Antiochus, no worshipper indeed had bowed down before the idolatrous shrine: the edifice had been deserted and left to neglect. The place had now an appearance of wildness and desolation, as if the curse of God were upon it, and presented such a contrast to what it had been in former days as struck sadness into the hearts of Maccabeus and his warriors. In the words of the historian: "When they saw the sanctuary desolate, and the altar profaned, and the gates burned up, and shrubs growing in the courts as in a forest or in one of the mountains, yea, and the priests' chambers pulled down, they rent their clothes and made great lamentations, and cast ashes upon their heads, and fell down to the ground upon their faces, and blew an alarm with the trumpets, and cried towards heaven."

But no long time was given to lamentations. With all the energy of his nature, Maccabeus at once set about the work of restoration. He chose out the most zealous and virtuous of the priests to cleanse the sanctuary, destroy every vestige of idolatry, carry away even the stones that had been defiled, and pull down the altar which had been profaned. New vessels were made, shew-bread and incense were prepared, all in the renovated sanctuary was made ready, for the joyful Feast of Dedication, This festival was appointed by Judas Maccabeus to be annually held; and it was from thenceforth celebrated from year to year for more than two centuries—till her darkest, most lengthened trial came upon Jerusalem. Who shall now keep the Feast of the Dedication of the Temple when that glorious Temple has itself become a thing of the past?



[1] Answering to December. Of this time of the year, Dr. Kitto tells us: "Gumpenberg in Jerusalem, on the 6th, 10th, 11th, and 16th, experienced weather which he describes as almost equal to that of May in our latitudes."



CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE FEAST OF DEDICATION.

Loud was the burst of joyous music from citherns, harps, and cymbals—Mount Zion rang with songs of gladness—when in the early morning the worshippers of the Lord of Hosts appeared in His Temple, to offer sacrifices of thanksgiving! The front of the building was decked with crowns of gold, and with shields; and, in the forcible language of the ancient historian, "thus was there very great gladness among the people, for that the reproach of the heathen was put away."

Then—emblem of thanksgivings from thousands of hearts—rose clouds of delicious fragrance from the altar of incense. Judas Maccabeus stood beside it—more pale and pensive, perhaps, than seemed to suit the occasion—watching the light curling smoke as it ascended and lost itself in the perfumed air. Presently the prince took something from his arm, and cast it into the flame. The movement was so quiet that it was noticed but by few by-standers; and none knew what that was which blazed brightly for a moment, and then left not even visible ashes behind. It was but a few threads of flax, which had bound up flowers long since withered; it seemed a worthless sacrifice indeed; but when, a few years later, Judas Maccabeus poured out his life's-blood on the fatal field of Eleasa, the steel which pierced his brave heart inflicted not on him so keen a pang.

And here will I close my story, leaving the hero of Judah a victor over his enemies, and a victor over himself. Let the picture left on the reader's mind be that of Jerusalem in the hour of her triumph and rejoicing—when the Lord had turned again the captivity of Zion, and her exulting citizens were like unto them that dream!

But, ere I lay down my pen, let me crave leave for a few moments to address my readers, both Christian and Hebrew. And to the first I would say: Think not of the record of the lives of Judah's heroes, and the deaths of her martyrs, as something in which we have no personal interest—merely to be admired, like the courage of the Greeks at Thermopylae, or the devotion of Regulus at Rome. Rather let us honour the children of Abraham who fought or died for the Covenant as our brethren in faith, heirs of all the promises on which we rest our hopes, as well as of some others peculiarly their own. Their Scriptures are our Scriptures—they guarded them at hazard of their lives; their Messiah is our Messiah, though He visited earth too late for them—as too early for us—to behold Him. Christianity rests on such Judaism as was held by Hebrew saints and martyrs; Christianity is in regard to the ancient religion as the capital to the column, the full-blown flower to the bud, as the cloud floating high above the sea is to the waters from which it drew its existence. Laws and rites which passed away when types had been accomplished and prophecies fulfilled, are as the salts which are necessary component parts of the sea but not of the cloud; when it rose on high it left them behind.

It is an interesting subject for thought to inquire whether, if Daniel's weeks had run out in the times of the Maccabees, and the Messenger of the Covenant had then come suddenly into His Temple, Christ would not have found adoring worshippers instead of fierce persecutors—a throne instead of a cross? Would He not then have been welcomed by the heroes of Emmaus and Bethsura, instead of being despised and rejected of men? Would he not, humanly speaking, have escaped the scourge, the nails, and the spear? But how then shall the Scriptures be fulfilled (Matt. xxvl. 54) that Christ should suffer these things? (Luke xxiv. 36). The Sacrifice must be slain, that the sinner may be pardoned and live.

And if—as I would fain hope—some Hebrews peruse these pages, how earnestly would I desire power to speak to their hearts! Countrymen and countrywomen of Maccabeus, ye whose fathers fought side by side with the Asmonean brothers, does the history of their deeds rouse none of their spirit of patriotism in your breasts? Can ye, amidst the cares and toils of this working-day world, be indifferent to the state of your own land, your own city—yours by divine right—yours by a deed of gift signed and sealed by God Himself! Is it no grief to you that the mosque stands on the site of your holy Temple; that—under a corrupt form of so-called Christianity—idolatry is practised at this day in the city of David? Ye that make mention of the Lord keep not silence, and give Him no rest, till He establish, and till He make Jerusalem a praise in the earth! (Isa. lxii. 7, 8.)

If Gentile Christians are longing and praying for that time, shall not Hebrews long, pray, and strive to hasten its coming? Shall they not search their hearts and ask, "Wherefore is it so long delayed? Wherefore are the heathen still suffered to prevail; the followers of the false prophet to hold the holy city in subjection? For what transgression doth the Lord God of Israel still hide His face from His people; what hath brought upon them a judgment enduring so much longer than Egyptian bondage, or Babylonish captivity, or the tyranny of an Antiochus Epiphanes?" Seek for the answer to this momentous question in your own Scriptures; read them in the light thrown by your own history;—that history will in the future flash into greater brilliancy than even in the days of the Hebrew heroes; we Christians are assured of this, because we, like yourselves, believe those Scriptures, and know that God's Word is pledged for your restoration, and that the Word of the Lord endureth for ever!

THE END