Chapter One
The city was silently bloating in the hot sun, rotting
like the thousands of bodies that lay where they had
fallen in street battles. An oppressive, hot wind blew
from the southeast, carrying with it the putrefying stench
of decay. And outside the city walls, Death itself waited
in the persons of Titus, son of Vespasian, and sixty
thousand legionnaires who were anxious to gut the city of
God.
Even before the Romans crossed the Valley of Thorns
and camped on the Mount of Olives, warring factions within
Jerusalem's city walls had prepared the way for her
destruction.
Jewish robbers, who now fled like rats before the
Roman legions, had recently fallen upon Jerusalem and
murdered her prominent citizens, taking over the holy
temple. Casting lots for the priesthood, they turned a
house of prayer into a marketplace of tyranny.
Fast behind the robbers came rebels and zealots.
Directed by rival leaders—John, Simon, and Eleazar—the
warring factions raged within the three walls. Swollen
with power and pride, they sliced Jerusalem into bloody
pieces.
Breaking the Sabbath and the laws of God, Eleazar
stormed Antonia Tower and murdered the Roman soldiers
within it. Zealots rampaged, murdering thousands more who
attempted to bring order back to a maddened city. Unlawful
tribunals were set up and the laws of man and God mocked
as hundreds of innocent men and women were murdered.
Houses full of corn were burned in the chaos. Famine soon
followed.
In their despair, righteous Jews prayed fervently for
Rome to comeagainst the great city. For these Jews
believed that then, and only then, would the factions
within Jerusalem unite in one cause: freedom against Rome.
Rome did come and, their hated ensigns held high,
their war cry rang across all of Judea. They took Gadara,
Jotapata, Beersheba, Jericho, Caesarea. The mighty legions
marched in the very footsteps of devout pilgrims who came
from every corner of the Jewish nation to worship and
celebrate the high holy days of the Feast of the
Unleavened Bread—the Passover. Innocent tens of thousands
poured into the city and found themselves in the midst of
civil war. Zealots closed the gates, trapping them inside.
Rome came on until the sound of destruction echoed across
the Valley of Kidron against the walls of Jerusalem
itself. Titus laid siege to the ancient, holy city,
determined to end Jewish rebellion once and forever.
Josephus, the Jewish general of fallen Jotapata who
had been taken captive by the Romans, wept and cried out
from atop the first wall defeated by the legionnaires.
With Titus' permission, he pleaded with his people to
repent, warning them that God was against them, that the
prophecies of destruction were about to be fulfilled.
Those few who listened to him and managed to evade the
zealots in their escape reached the greedy Syrians—who
dissected them for the gold pieces they had supposedly
swallowed before deserting the city. Those who didn't heed
Josephus suffered the full fury of the Roman war machine.
Having cut down every tree within miles, Titus built siege
engines that hurled countless javelins, stones, and even
captives into the city.
From the Upper Market Place to the lower Acra and the
Valley of Cheesemongers between, the city writhed in
revolt.
Inside the great temple of God, the rebel leader John
melted down the sacred golden vessels for himself. The
righteous wept for Jerusalem, the bride of kings, the
mother of prophets, the home of the shepherd king David.
Torn asunder by her own people, she lay gutted and
helpless, awaiting her death blow from hated Gentile
foreigners.
Anarchy destroyed Zion, and Rome stood ready to
destroy anarchy ... anytime ... anywhere.
Hadassah held her mother, tears blurring her eyes as she
stroked the black hair back from her mother's gaunt, pale
face. Her mother had been beautiful once. Hadassah
remembered watching her take her hair down until it lay,
glistening in thick waves, against her back. Her crowning
glory, Papa called it. Now, it was dull and coarse, and
her once-ruddy cheeks were white and sunken. Her stomach
was swollen with malnutrition, the bones of her legs and
arms clearly outlined beneath a gray overdress.
Lifting her mother's hand, Hadassah kissed it
tenderly. It was like a bony claw, limp and cool. "Mama?"
No response. Hadassah looked across the room at her
younger sister, Leah, lying on a dirty pallet in the
corner. Thankfully, she was asleep, the agony of slow
starvation briefly forgotten.
Hadassah stroked her mother's hair again. Silence lay
upon her like a hot shroud; the pain in her empty belly
was almost beyond endurance. Only yesterday she had wept
bitterly when her mother had uttered thanks to God for the
meal Mark had been able to scavenge for them: shield
leather from a dead Roman soldier.
How long before they all died?
Grieving in the silence, she could still hear her
father speaking to her in that firm but gentle voice. "It
is not possible for men to avoid fate, even when they see
it beforehand."
Hananiah had spoken these words to her scant weeks ago—
though now it seemed like an eternity. He had prayed all
that morning, and she had been so afraid. She had known
what he was going to do, what he had always done before.
He would go out before the unbelievers and preach about
the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth.
"Why must you go out again and speak to those people?
You were almost killed the last time."
"Those people, Hadassah? They're your kinsmen. I'm a
Benjaminite." She could still feel his gentle touch on her
cheek. "We must seize every opportunity we can to speak
the truth and proclaim peace. Especially now. There's so
little time for so many."
She had clung to him then. "Please, don't go. Father,
you know what'll happen. What'll we do without you? You
can't bring peace. There is no peace in this place!"
"It is not the world's peace I speak of, Hadassah, but
God's. You know that." He had held her close. "Hush,
child. Do not weep so."
She wouldn't release him. She knew they wouldn't
listen—they didn't want to hear what he had to tell them.
Simon's men would slash him to pieces before the crowd as
an example of what became of those who spoke for peace. It
had happened to others.
"I must go." His hands had been firm, his eyes gentle,
as he had tipped her chin. "Whatever happens to me, the
Lord is always with you." He'd kissed her, hugged her,
then put her away from him so he could embrace and kiss
his other two children. "Mark, you will remain here with
your mother and sisters."
Grabbing and shaking her mother, Hadassah had
pleaded, "You can't let him go! Not this time!"
"Be silent, Hadassah. Who are you serving by arguing
so against your father?"
Her mother's reprimand, though spoken gently, had
struck hard. She had said many times before that when one
did not serve the Lord, they unwittingly served the evil
one instead. Fighting tears, Hadassah had obeyed and said
no more.
Rebekkah had laid her hand against her husband's gray-
bearded face. She had known Hadassah was right; he might
not return, probably wouldn't. Yet, perhaps, if it was
God's will, one soul might be saved through his sacrifice.
One might be enough. Her eyes had been full of tears and
she could not—dared not—speak. For if she had, she was
afraid she would join Hadassah in pleading that he stay
safe in this small house. And Hananiah knew better than
she what the Lord willed for him. He had placed his hand
over hers and she had tried not to weep.
"Remember the Lord, Rebekkah," he had said
solemnly. "We are together in him."
He had not returned.
Hadassah leaned down over her mother protectively,
afraid she would lose her, too. "Mother?" Still no
response. Her breathing was shallow, her color ashen. What
was taking Mark so long? He had been gone since dawn.
Surely the Lord would not take him as well....
In the silence of the small room, Hadassah's fear
grew. She stroked her mother's hair absently. Please, God.
Please! Words wouldn't come, at least not any that made
sense. Just a groaning from within her soul. Please what?
Kill them now with starvation before the Romans came with
swords or they suffered the agony of a cross? Oh, God,
God! Her plea came, inarticulate and desperate, helpless
and full of fear. Help us!
Why had they ever come to this city? She hated
Jerusalem.
Hadassah fought against the despair inside her. It had
become so heavy, it felt like a physical weight pulling
her into a dark pit. She tried to think of better times,
of happier moments, but those thoughts wouldn't come.
She thought of the months long ago when they'd made
the journey from Galilee, never expecting to be trapped in
the city. The night before they had entered Jerusalem, her
father set up camp on a hillside within sight of Mount
Moriah, where Abraham had almost sacrificed Isaac. He told
them stories of when he was a boy living just outside the
great city, speaking far into the night of the laws of
Moses, under which he had grown up. He spoke of the
prophets. He spoke of Yeshua, the Christ.
Hadassah had slept and dreamt of the Lord feeding the
five thousand on a hillside.
She remembered that her father had awakened the family
at dawn. And she remembered how, as the sun rose, light
had reflected off the marble and gold of the temple,
turning the structure into a blazing beacon of fiery
splendor that could be seen from miles away. Hadassah
could still feel the awe she had felt at the glory of
it. "Oh, Father, it is so beautiful."
"Yes," he had said solemnly. "But so often, things of
great beauty are full of great corruption."
Despite the persecution and danger that had awaited
them in Jerusalem, her father had been full of joy and
expectation as they entered the gates. Perhaps this time
more of his kinsmen would listen; more would give their
hearts to the risen Lord.
Few believers of the Way remained in Jerusalem. Many
had been imprisoned, some stoned, even more driven away to
other places. Lazarus, his sisters, and Mary Magdalene had
been driven out; the apostle John, a dear family friend,
had left Jerusalem two years before, taking the Lord's
mother with him. Yet, Hadassah's father had remained. Once
a year, he had returned to Jerusalem with his family to
gather with other believers in an upper room. There they
shared bread and wine, just as their Lord Jesus had done
the evening before his crucifixion. This year, Shimeon Bar-
Adonijah had presented the elements of the Passover meal:
"The lamb, the unleavened bread, and the bitter herbs
of the Passover have as much meaning for us as for our
Jewish brothers and sisters. The Lord fulfills each
element. He is the perfect Lamb of God who, though without
sin himself, has taken the bitterness of our sins upon
him. Just as the captive Jews in Egypt were told to put
the blood of a lamb on their door so that God's wrath and
judgment would pass over them, so Jesus has shed his blood
for us so that we will stand blameless before God in the
coming Judgment Day. We are the sons and daughters of
Abraham, for it is by our faith in the Lord that we are
saved through his grace...."
For the following three days they had fasted and
prayed and repeated Jesus' teachings. On the third day,
they sang and rejoiced, breaking bread together once more
in celebration of Jesus' resurrection. And every year,
during the last hour of the gathering, her father would
tell his own story. This year had been no different. Most
had heard his story many times before, but there were
always those who were new to the faith. It was to these
people that her father spoke.
He stood, a simple man with gray hair and beard, and
dark eyes full of light and serenity. There was nothing
remarkable about him. Even as he spoke, he was ordinary.
It was the touch of God's hand that made him different
from others.
"My father was a good man, a Benjaminite who loved God
and taught me the law of Moses," he began quietly, looking
into the eyes of those who sat about him. "He was a
merchant near Jerusalem and married my mother, the
daughter of a poor husbandman. We were not rich and we
were not poor. For all we had, my father gave glory and
thanks to God.
"When the Passover came, we closed our small shop and
entered the city. Mother stayed with friends and prepared
for the Passover. My father and I spent our time at the
temple. To hear God's Word was to eat meat, and I dreamed
of being a scribe. But it would not come to pass. When I
was fourteen, my father died and, with no brothers and
sisters, it was necessary for me to take over his
business. Times were very hard, and I was young and
inexperienced, but God was good. He provided."
He closed his eyes. "Then a fever took hold of me. I
struggled against death. I could hear my mother weeping
and crying out to God. Lord, I prayed, don't let me die.
My mother needs me. Without me, she is alone, with no one
to provide for her. Please do not take me now! But death
came. It surrounded me like a cold darkness and took hold
of me." The hush in the room was almost tangible as his
listeners awaited the ending.
No matter how many times Hadassah had heard the story,
she never tired of it nor lost the power of it. As her
father spoke, she could feel the dark and lonely force
that had claimed him. Chilled, she wrapped her arms around
her legs and hugged them against her chest as he went on.
"My mother said friends were carrying me along the
road to my tomb when Jesus passed by. The Lord heard her
weeping and took pity. My mother didn't know who he was
when he stopped the funeral procession, but there were
many with him, followers, as well as the sick and
crippled. Then she recognized him, for he touched me and I
arose."
Hadassah wanted to leap up and cry out in joy. Some of
those around her wept, their faces transfixed with wonder
and awe. Others wanted to touch her father, to lay hands
on a man who had been brought back from death by Christ
Jesus. And they had so many questions. How did you feel
when you arose? Did you speak with him? What did he say to
you? What did he look like?
In the upper room, with the gathering of believers,
Hadassah had felt safe. She had felt strength. In that
place, she could feel the presence of God and his
love. "He touched me and I arose." God's power could
overcome anything.
Then they would leave the upper room and, as her
father walked the family back to the small house where
they stayed, Hadassah's ever-present fear would rise
again. She always prayed her father wouldn't stop and
speak. When he told his story to believers, they wept and
rejoiced. To unbelievers, he was an object of ridicule.
The euphoria and security she felt with those who shared
her faith dissolved when she watched her father stand
before a crowd and suffer their abuse.
"Listen to me, O men of Judah!" he would call out,
drawing people to him. "Listen to the good news I have to
tell you."
They listened at first. He was an old man and they
were curious. Prophets were always a diversion. He was not
eloquent like the religious leaders; he spoke simply from
his heart. And always people laughed and mocked him. Some
threw rotten vegetables and fruit, some called him mad.
Others became enraged at his story of resurrection,
shouting that he was a liar and blasphemer.
Two years ago he had been so badly beaten that two
friends had to help carry him back to the small rented
house where they always stayed. Elkanah and Benaiah had
tried to reason with him.
"Hananiah, you must not come back here," Elkanah had
said. ·. "The priests know who you are and want you
silenced. They are not so foolish as to have a trial, but
there are many evil men who will do another's will for a
shekel. Shake the dust of Jerusalem from your shoes and go
somewhere that the message will be heard."
"And where else can that be but here where our Lord
died and arose?"
"Many of those who witnessed his resurrection have
fled imprisonment and death at the hands of the
Pharisees," Benaiah had said. "Even Lazarus has left
Judea."
"Where did he go?"
"I was told he took his sisters and Mary of Magdala to
Gaul."
"I cannot leave Judea. Whatever happens, this is where
the Lord wants me."
Benaiah had grown silent for a long moment and then he
nodded slowly. "Then it shall be as the Lord wills it."
Elkanah had agreed and laid his hand on her
father's. "Shelemoth and Cyrus are remaining here. They
will give you aid when you are in Jerusalem. I am taking
my family away from this city. Benaiah is coming with me.
May God's face shine upon you, Hananiah. You and Rebekkah
will be in our prayers. And your children, too."
Hadassah had wept, her hopes of leaving this wretched
city dashed. Her faith was weak. Her father always forgave
his tormenters and attackers, while she prayed they would
know all the fires of hell for what they had done to him.
She often prayed that God would change his will and send
her father to a place other than Jerusalem. Someplace
small and peaceful where people would listen.
"Hadassah, we know that God uses all things for good
to those who love him, to those who are called according
to his purpose," her mother said often, trying to comfort
her.
"What good is there in a beating? What good in being
spit upon? Why must he suffer so?"
In the peaceful hills of Galilee, with the blue sea
stretched out before her and lilies of the field at her
back, Hadassah could believe in God's love. At home, in
those hills, her faith was strong. It warmed her and made
her heart sing.
In Jerusalem, though, she struggled. She clung to her
faith, but still found it slipping away from her. Doubt
was her companion, fear was overwhelming.
"Father, why can we not believe and remain silent?"
"We are called upon to be the light of the world."
"They hate us more with each passing year."
"Hatred is the enemy, Hadassah. Not the people."
"It is people who beat you, Father. Did not the Lord
himself tell us not to cast pearls before the swine?"
"Hadassah, if I am to die for him, I will die
joyfully. What I do is for his good purpose. The truth
does not go out and come back empty. You must have faith,
Hadassah. Remember the promise. We are part of the body of
Christ, and in Christ we have eternal life. Nothing can
separate us. No power on earth. Not even death."
She had pressed her face against his chest, the rough
woven tunic he wore rubbing against her skin. "Why can I
believe at home, Father, but not here?"
"Because the enemy knows where you are most
vulnerable." He had put his hand over hers. "Do you
remember the story of Jehoshaphat? The sons of Moab and
Ammon and Mount Seir came against him with a mighty army.
The Spirit of the Lord came upon Jahaziel and God said
through him, `Do not be afraid nor dismayed because of
this great multitude, for the battle is not yours, but
God's.' While they sang and praised the Lord, the Lord
himself set ambushes against their enemies. And in the
morning, when the Israelites came to the lookout of the
wilderness, they saw the bodies of the dead. No one
escaped. The Israelites had not even raised a hand in
battle, and the battle was won."
Kissing her head, he had said, "Stand firm in the
Lord, Hadassah. Stand firm and let him fight your battles.
Do not try to fight alone."
Hadassah sighed, trying to ignore the burning in her
stomach. How she missed her father's counsel in the silent
loneliness of this house. If she believed everything he
had taught her, she would rejoice that he was now with the
Lord. Instead she ached with grief, which swelled and
spilled over her in waves, spreading with it a strange,
confused anger.
Why did her father have to be such a fool for Christ?
The people didn't want to hear; they didn't believe. His
testimony offended them. His words drove them mad with
hatred. Why couldn't he, just once, have remained silent
and stayed within the safe confines of this small house?
He'd still be alive, here in this room, comforting them
and giving them hope instead of leaving them to fend for
themselves. Why couldn't he have been sensible this one
time and waited out the storm?
The door opened slowly and Hadassah's heart leapt in
fright, snapping her back to the grim present. Robbers had
broken into the houses down the street, murdering the
occupants for a loaf of hoarded bread. But it was Mark who
entered. She let out her breath, relieved to see him. "I
was so afraid for you," she whispered with
feeling. "You've been gone for hours."
He pushed the door closed and sank down, exhausted,
against the wall near their sister. "What did you find?"
She waited for him to take whatever he had found from his
shirt. Whatever food was found had to be secreted or
someone would attack him for it.
Mark looked at her hopelessly. "Nothing. Nothing at
all. Not a worn shoe, not even shield leather from a dead
soldier. Nothing." He started to cry, his shoulders
shaking.
"Shhh, you'll awaken Leah and Mama." Hadassah gently
laid her mother back against the blanket and went to him.
She put her arms around him and leaned her head against
his chest. "You tried, Mark. I know you tried."
"Maybe it's God's will that we die."
"I'm not sure I want to know God's will anymore," she
said without thinking. Quick tears came. "Mama said the
Lord will provide," she said, but the words sounded empty.
Her faith was so weak. She was not like Father and Mother.
Even Leah, young as she was, loved the Lord
wholeheartedly. And Mark sounded so accepting of death.
Why was she always the one who questioned and doubted?
Have faith. Have faith. When you have nothing else,
have faith.
Mark shuddered, drawing her out of her gloomy
thoughts. "They are throwing bodies into the Wadi El
Rabadi behind the holy temple. Thousands, Hadassah."
Hadassah remembered the horror of the Valley of
Hinnom. It was there that Jerusalem disposed of the dead
and unclean animals and dumped the night soil. Baskets of
hooves, entrails, and animal remains from the temple were
carried there and dumped. Rats and carrion birds infested
the place, and the stench frequently was carried in hot
winds across the city. Father called it Gehenna. "It was
not far from here that our Lord was crucified."
Mark pushed his hand back through his hair. "I was
afraid to go closer."
Hadassah shut her eyes tightly, but the question rose
stark and raw against her will. Had her father been cast
into that place, desecrated and left to rot in the hot
sun? She bit her lip and tried to force the thought away.
"I saw Titus," Mark said dully. "He rode over with
some of his men. When he saw the bodies, he cried out. I
could not hear his words, but a man said he was calling
out to Jehovah that it was not his doing."
"If the city surrendered now, would he show mercy?"
"If he could contain his men. They hate the Jews and
want to see them destroyed."
"And us along with them." She shivered. "They will not
know the difference between believers of the Way and
zealots, will they? Seditionist or righteous Jew or even
Christian, it will make no difference." Her eyes blurred
with tears. "Is this the will of God, Mark?"
"Father said it is not God's will that any should
suffer."
"Then why must we?"
"We bear the consequences for what we have done to
ourselves, and for the sin that rules this world. Jesus
forgave the thief, but he didn't take him down off the
cross." He pushed his hand back through his hair. "I'm not
wise like Father. I haven't any answers to why, but I know
there is hope."
"What hope, Mark? What hope is there?"
"God always leaves a remnant."
The siege wore on, and while life within Jerusalem ebbed,
the spirit of Jewish resistance did not. Hadassah remained
within the small house, hearing the horror of what was
just beyond their unbohed door. A man was screaming and
running down the street. "They've ascended the wall!"
When Mark went out to find out what was happening,
Leah became hysterical. Hadassah went to her sister and
held her tightly. She felt near to hysteria herself, but
tending her young sister helped calm her.
"Everything will be all right, Leah. Be still." Her
words sounded meaningless in her own ears. "The Lord is
watching over us," she said and stroked her sister gently.
A litany of comforting lies, for the world was
crumbling around them. Hadassah looked across the room at
her mother and felt the tears coming again. Her mother
smiled weakly as though trying to reassure her, but she
felt no reassurance. What would become of them?
When Mark returned, he told them of the battle raging
within the walls. The Jews had turned it and were driving
the Romans back.
However, that night, under the cover of darkness, ten
legionnaires sneaked through the ruins of the city and
took possession of Antonia Tower. The battle had come to
the very entrance of the holy temple. Though driven back
again, the Romans countered by overthrowing some of the
foundations of the tower and laid open the court of the
Gentiles. In an attempt to divert them, zealots attacked
the Romans at the Mount of Olives. Failing, they were
destroyed. The prisoners taken were crucified before the
walls for all to see.
Stillness fell again. And then a new, more devastating
horror spread through the city as word passed of a
starving woman who had eaten her own child. The flame of
Roman hatred was fanned into a blaze.
Josephus cried out again to his people that God was
using the Romans to destroy them, fulfilling the
prophecies of the prophets Daniel and Jesus. The Jews
gathered all the dry materials, bitumen, and pitch they
could find and filled the cloisters. The Romans drove
forward, and the Jews gave ground, luring the Romans into
the temple. Once inside, the Jews set their holy place on
fire, burning many of the legionnaires to death within it.
Titus regained control of his enraged soldiers and
ordered the fire put out, but no sooner had they succeeded
in saving the temple than the Jews attacked again. This
time all the officers of Rome couldn't restrain the fury
of the Roman legionnaires who, driven by a lust for Jewish
blood, once again torched the temple and killed every
human being in their path as they began plundering the
conquered city.
Men fell by the hundreds as flames engulfed the
Babylonian curtain, embroidered with fine blue, scarlet,
and purple thread. High on the temple roof, a false
prophet cried out for the people to climb up and be
delivered. People's screams of agony as they burned alive
carried across the city, mingling with the horrifying
sounds of battle in the streets and alleys. Men, women,
children—it made no difference, all fell to the sword.
Hadassah tried to shut it out of her mind, but the
sound of death was everywhere. Her mother died on the same
hot August day that Jerusalem fell, and for two days,
Hadassah, Mark, and Leah waited, knowing the Romans would
find them sooner or later and destroy them as they were
destroying everyone else.
Someone fled down their narrow street. Others screamed
as they were cut down without mercy. Hadassah wanted to
jump up and run away, but where could she go? And what of
her sister and her brother? She pressed further back into
the darkening shadows of the small rooms and held Leah.
More men's voices. Louder. Closer. A door was smashed
open not far away. The people inside screamed. One by one,
they were silenced.
Weak and gaunt, Mark struggled to his feet and stood
before the door, praying silently. Hadassah's heart beat
heavily, her empty stomach tightening into a ball of pain.
She heard men's voices in the street. The words were
Greek, the tone scornful. One man gave orders to search
the next houses. Another door was smashed in. More
screams.
The sound of hobnailed shoes came to their door.
Hadassah's heart jumped wildly. "Oh, God ..."
"Close your eyes, Hadassah," Mark told her, sounding
strangely calm. "Remember the Lord," he said as the door
crashed open. Mark uttered a harsh, broken sound and
dropped to his knees. A bloody sword tip protruded from
his back, staining the gray tunic red. Leah's high-pitched
scream filled the small room.
The Roman soldier kicked Mark back, freeing his sword.
Hadassah could not utter a sound. Staring up at the
man, his armor covered with dust and her brother's blood,
Hadassah couldn't move. His eyes glittered through his
visor. When he stepped forward, raising his bloody sword,
Hadassah moved swiftly and without conscious thought. She
shoved Leah down and fell across her. Oh, God, let it be
over quickly, she prayed. Let it be swift. Leah fell
silent. The only sound was that of the soldier's rasping
breathing, mingled with screams from down the street.
Tertius gripped his sword harder and glared down at
the emaciated young girl covering an even smaller girl. He
ought to kill them both and have done with it! These
bloody Jews were a blight to Rome. Eating their own
children! Destroy the women and there would be no more
warriors birthed. This nation deserved annihilation. He
should just kill them and be done with it.
What stopped him?
The older girl looked up at him, her dark eyes full of
fear. She was so small and thin, except for those eyes,
too large for her ashen face. Something about her sapped
the killing strength of his arm. His breathing eased, his
heartbeat slowed.
He tried to remind himself of the friends he had lost.
Diocles had been killed by a stone while building the
siege works. Malcenas had been fallen upon by six fighters
when they had breached the first wall. Capaneus had burned
to death when the Jews had set fire to their own temple.
Albion still suffered wounds from a Jew's dart.
Yet, the heat in his blood cooled.
Shaking, Tertius lowered his sword. Still alert to any
movement the girl made, he glanced around the small room.
His vision cleared of the red haze. It was a boy he had
killed. He lay in a pool of blood beside a woman. She
looked peaceful, as though she merely slept, her hair
carefully combed, her hands folded on her chest. Unlike
those who had chosen to dump their dead in the wadi, these
children had lain out their mother with dignity.
He had heard the story of a woman eating her own child
and it had fed his hatred of Jews, gained from ten long
years in Judea. He had wanted nothing more than to
obliterate them from the face of the earth. They had been
nothing but trouble to Rome from the beginning—rebellious
and proud, unwilling to bend to anything but their one
true god.
One true god. Tertius' hard mouth twisted in a sneer.
Fools, all of them. To believe in only one god was not
only ridiculous, it was uncivilized. And for all their
holy protestations and stubborn persistence, they were a
barbaric race. Look what they had done to their own
temple.
How many Jews had he killed in the last five months?
He hadn't bothered to count as he went from house to
house, driven by bloodlust, hunting them down like
animals. By the gods, he had relished it, accounting each
death as a small token payment for the friends they had
taken from him.
Why did he hesitate now? Was this pity for a foul
Jewess brat? It would be merciful to kill her and put her
out of her misery. She was so thin from starvation that he
could blow her over with a breath. He took another step
toward her. He could kill both girls with one blow ...
tried to summon the will to do so.
The girl waited. It was clear she was terrified, yet
she did not beg for mercy as so many had done. Both she
and the child beneath her were still and silent, watching.
Tertius' heart twisted, and he felt weak. He drew a
ragged breath and exhaled sharply. Uttering a curse, he
shoved his sword into the scabbard at his side. "You will
live, but you will not thank me for it."
Hadassah knew Greek. It was a common language among
the Roman legionnaires and so was heard all over Judea.
She started to cry. He grasped her arm and yanked her to
her feet.
Tertius looked at the little girl lying on the floor.
Her eyes were open and fixed on some distant place to
which her mind had escaped. It was not the first time he
had seen such a look. She would not last long.
"Leah," Hadassah said, frightened at the vacant look
in her eyes. She bent down and put her arms around
her. "My sister," she said, trying to draw her up.
Tertius knew the little girl was as good as dead
already and it would make more sense to leave her. Yet,
the way the older girl tried to gather the child in her
arms and lift her, roused his pity. Even the child's
slight weight was too much for her.
Brushing her aside, Tertius lifted the tiny girl
easily and gently slung her over his shoulder like a sack
of grain. Grasping the older girl by the arm, he pushed
her out the door.
The street was quiet, the other soldiers having moved
on. Distant cries rang out. He walked quickly, aware that
the girl was struggling to keep up.
The air of the city was foul with death. Bodies were
everywhere, some slain by Roman soldiers pillaging the
conquered city, others dead of starvation, now bloated and
decaying from days of being left to putrefy. The look of
horror on the girl's face made Tertius wonder how long she
had been cooped up in that house.
"Your great Holy City," he said and spat into the
dust.
Pain licked up Hadassah's arm as the legionnaire's
fingers dug into her flesh. She stumbled over a dead man's
leg. His face was crawling with maggots. The dead were
everywhere. She felt faint.
The farther they walked, the more horrifying the
carnage. Decaying bodies lay tangled together like
slaughtered animals. The stench of blood and death was so
heavy Hadassah covered her mouth.
"Where do we take captives?" Tertius shouted at a
soldier separating the dead. Two soldiers were lifting a
Roman comrade from between two Jews. Other legionnaires
appeared with plunder from the temple. Wagons were already
loaded with golden and silver sprinkling bowls, dishes,
wick trimmers, pots, and lampstands. Bronze shovels and
pots were piled up, as well as basins, censers, and other
articles used in temple service.
The soldier looked up at Tertius, casting a cursory
glance over Hadassah and Leah. "Down that street and
around through the big gate, but those two don't look
worth bothering with."
Hadassah looked up at the temple's once pristine
marble, the marble that had appeared as a snow-covered
mountain in the distance, it was blackened, chunks had
been gouged out by siege stones, the gold melted away.
Whole sections of Wall were broken down. The holy temple.
It was just another place of death and destruction.
She moved sluggishly, sickened and terrified at all
she saw. Smoke burned her eyes and throat. As they walked
along the wall of the temple, she could hear a rising,
undulating sound of horror coming from within it. Her
mouth was parched and her heart pounded harder and faster
as they approached the gate to the Women's Court.
Tertius gave the girl a shove. "You faint and I'll
kill you where you drop, and your sister with you."
Thousands of survivors were within the court, some
moaning in their misery and others wailing for their dead.
The soldier pushed her ahead of him through the gate, and
she saw the ragged multitude before her. They crowded the
courtyard. Most were gaunt with starvation, weak,
hopeless.
Tertius lowered the child from his shoulder. Hadassah
caught hold of Leah and tried to support her. She sank
down weakly and held her sister limply across her lap. The
soldier turned and walked away.
Thousands milled around, looking for relatives or
friends. Others huddled in smaller groups weeping, while
some, alone, stared at nothing—as Leah did. The air was so
hot Hadassah could hardly breathe.
A Levite rent his worn blue and orange tunic and cried
out in an agony of emotion, "My God! My God! Why hast thou
forsaken us?" A woman near him began to wail miserably,
her gray dress bloodstained and torn at the shoulder. An
old man wrapped in black-and-white striped robes sat alone
against the court wall, his lips moving. Hadassah knew he
was of the Sanhedrin, his robes symbolizing the desert
costume and the tents of the first patriarchs.
Mingled among the crowd were Nazirites with their
long, braided hair, and zealots with dirty, ragged
trousers and shirts over which they wore short sleeveless
vests with a blue fringe at each corner. Divested of their
knives and bows, they still looked menacing.
A fight broke out. Women began screaming. A dozen
Roman legionnaires waded into the multitude and cut down
the adversaries, as well as several others whose only
offense was to be in close proximity. A Roman officer
stood on the high steps and shouted down at the captives.
He pointed out several more men in the crowd and they were
dragged away to be crucified.
Hadassah managed to draw Leah up and move to a safer
place by the wall, near the Levite. As the sun went down
and darkness came, she held Leah close, trying to share
her warmth. But in the morning, Leah was dead.
Her sister's sweet face was free of fear and
suffering. Her lips were curved in a gentle smile.
Hadassah held her against her chest and rocked her. Pain
swelled and filled her with a despair so deep she couldn't
even cry. When a Roman soldier came over, she scarcely
noticed until he tried to take Leah away from her. She
held her sister tighter.
"She's dead. Give her to me."
Hadassah pressed her face into the curve of her
sister's neck and moaned. The Roman had seen enough death
to become hardened by it. He struck Hadassah once,
breaking her hold, and then kicked her aside. Dazed, her
body laced with pain, Hadassah stared helplessly as the
soldier carried Leah to a wagon stacked with the bodies of
others who had died during the night. He tossed her
sister's fragile body carelessly onto the heap.
Shutting her eyes, Hadassah drew up her legs and wept
against her knees.
The days ran together. Hundreds died of starvation,
more of despair and lost hope. Some of the able-bodied
captives were taken to dig mass graves.
Rumors spread that Titus had given orders to demolish
not only the temple but the entire city. Only the
Phasaelus, Hippicus, and Mariamne towers were to be left
standing for defensive purposes, and a portion of the
western wall. Not since the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar
had destroyed Solomon's temple had such a thing happened.
Jerusalem, their beloved Jerusalem, would be no more.
The Romans brought in corn for the captives. Some
Jews, still stiff-necked against Roman rule, refused their
portions in a last and fatal act of rebellion. More
grievous were the sick and weak who were denied food
because the Romans did not wish to waste corn on those who
would not likely survive the coming march to Caesarea.
Hadassah was one of the latter, and so received no food.
One morning, Hadassah was taken with the others
outside the city walls. She stared with horror at the
scene before her. Thousands of Jews had been crucified
before the crumbling walls of Jerusalem. Scavenging birds
feasted upon them. The ground on the siege work had drunk
in so much blood it was as red-brown and hard as brick,
but the land itself was beyond anything Hadassah had
expected. Other than the great, gruesome forest of
crosses, there was not a tree, nor a bush, nor even a
blade of grass. A wasteland lay before her, and at her
back was the mighty city even now being reduced to rubble.
"Keep moving!" a guard shouted, his whip hissing
through the air near her and cracking on a man's back.
Another man ahead of her groaned deeply and collapsed.
When the guard drew his sword, a woman tried to stop him,
but he struck her down with his fist, then with one swift
stroke, opened an artery in the fallen man's neck. Taking
the twitching man by his arm, he dragged him to the edge
of the siege bank and pushed him over the side. The body
rolled slowly to the bottom, where it took its place in
the rocks amongst other corpses. Another captive helped
the weeping woman to her feet, and they went on.
Their captors sat them within sight and sound of
Titus' camp.
"It would seem we must suffer through a Roman
triumph," a man said bitterly, the blue tassels on his
vest identifying him as a zealot.
"Be silent or you will be crow bait like those other
poor fools," someone hissed at him.
As the captives watched, the legions formed and
marched in tightly drilled units before Titus, who was
resplendent in his golden armor. There were more captives
than soldiers, but the Romans moved as one great beast of
war, organized and disciplined. To Hadassah, the rhythmic
cadence of thousands of men marching in perfect formation
was terrifying to watch. A single voice or signal could
make hundreds move as one. How could any people think they
could overcome such as these? They filled the horizon.
Titus gave a speech, pausing now and then as the
soldiers cheered. Then the awards were presented. Officers
stood before the men, their armor cleaned and gleaming in
the sunlight. Lists were read of those who had performed
great exploits in the war. Titus himself placed crowns of
gold on their heads and golden ornaments about their
necks. To some he gave long golden spears and silver
ensigns. Each was awarded the honor of removal to higher
rank.
Hadassah looked around at her fellows and saw their
bitter hatred; having to witness this ceremony poured salt
in their open wounds.
Heaps of spoils were distributed among the soldiers,
then Titus spoke again, commending his men and wishing
them great fortune and happiness. Jubilant, the soldiers
cried out their acclamations to him time and time again as
he came down among them.
Finally, he gave orders that the feasting begin. Great
numbers of oxen were held ready at the altars to the Roman
gods, and at Titus' command they were sacrificed.
Hadassah's father had told her Jewish law required the
shedding of blood as an atonement for sin. She knew
priests within the holy temple performed the sacrifices
daily, a constant reminder of the need for repentance. Yet
her father and mother had taught her from birth that
Christ had shed his blood as an atonement for the sins of
the world, that the law of Moses had been fulfilled in
him, that animal sacrifices were no longer needed. So she
had never seen animals sacrificed. Now she watched in grim
horror as one ox after another was killed as a thank
offering. The sight of so much blood spilling down over
stone altars sickened her. Gagging, she closed her eyes
and turned away.
The slain oxen were distributed to the victorious army
for a great feast. The tantalizing aroma of roasting beef
drifted to hungry captives across the night air. Even had
they been offered some, righteous Jews would have refused
to eat it. Better dust and death than meat sacrificed to
pagan gods.
At last, soldiers came and ordered the captives to
line up for their rations of wheat and barley. Weakly,
Hadassah rose and stood in the long line, sure she would
again be denied food. Her eyes blurred with tears. Oh,
God, God, do as you will. Cupping her hands as her turn
came, she waited to be shoved aside. Instead, golden
kernels spilled from the scoop into her palms.
She could almost hear her mother's voice. "The Lord
will provide."
She looked up into the young soldier's eyes. His face,
weathered from the Judean sun, was hard, devoid of any
emotion. "Thank you," she said in Greek and with simple
humility, without even a thought as to who he was or what
he might have done. His eyes flickered. Someone shoved her
hard from behind and cursed her in Aramaic.
As she moved away, she was unaware the young soldier
still watched her. He dipped the scoop into the barrel
again, pouring corn into the hands of the next in line
without taking his eyes from her.
Hadassah sat down on the hillside. She was separate
from the others, alone within herself. Bowing her head,
she tightened her hands around the corn. Emotion
swelled. "You prepare a table before me in the presence of
my enemies," she whispered brokenly and began to
weep. "Oh, Father, forgive me. Amend my ways. But gently,
Lord, lest you reduce me to nothing. I am afraid. Father,
I am so afraid. Preserve me by the strength of your arm."
She opened her eyes and opened her hands again. "The
Lord provides," she said softly and ate slowly, savoring
each kernel.
As the sun went down, Hadassah felt oddly at peace.
Even with all the destruction and death around her, with
all the suffering ahead, she felt God's nearness. She
looked up at the clear night sky. The stars were bright
and a wind blew softly, reminding her of Galilee.
The night was warm ... she had eaten ... she would
live. "God always leaves a remnant," Mark had said. Of all
the members of her family, her faith was weakest, her
spirit the most doubting and the least bold. Of all of
them, she was least worthy.
"Why me, Lord?" she asked, weeping softly. "Why me?"