“Whither do they take you?” asked Miriam
as he passed her.
“To what I desire—death,” he
answered, and was gone.
Now the Caesars, dismounting from their chariots,
took up their stations by altars at the head of the
steps, while beneath them, rank upon rank, gathered
all those who had shared their Triumph, each company
in its allotted place. Then followed a long pause,
the multitude waiting for Miriam knew not what.
Presently men were seen running from the Forum up
a path that had been left open, one of them carrying
in his hand some object wrapped in a napkin.
Arriving in face of the Caesars he threw aside the
cloth and held up before them and in sight of all the
people the grizzly head of Simon, the son of Gioras.
By this public murder of a brave captain of their
foes was consummated the Triumph of the Romans, and
at the sight of its red proof trumpets blew, banners
waved, and from half a million throats went up a shout
of victory that seemed to rend the very skies, for
the multitude was drunk with the glory of its brutal
vengeance.
Then silence was called, and there before the Temple
of Jove the beasts were slain, and the Caesars offered
sacrifice to the gods that had given them victory.
Thus ended the Triumph of Vespasian and Titus, and
with it the record of the struggle of the Jews against
the iron beak and claws of the Roman Eagle.
THE SLAVE-RING
Had Miriam chanced to look out of her litter as she
passed the Temple of Isis, escorted by Gallus and
the guards before dawn broke upon that great day of
the Triumph, and had there been light to enable her
to see, she might have beheld two figures galloping
into Rome as fast as their weary horses would carry
them. Both rode after the fashion of men, but
one of them, wrapped in an Eastern garment that hid
the face, was in fact a woman.
“Fortune favours us, Nehushta,” said the
man in a strained voice. “At least, we
are in time for the Triumph, who might so easily have
been too late. Look, yonder they gather already
by Octavian’s Walks,” and he pointed to
the companies of soldiers who hurried past them to
the meeting-place.
“Yes, yes, my lord Marcus, we are in time.
There go the eagles and here comes their prey,”
and in her turn Nehushta pointed to a guarded litter—had
they but known it, the very one that carried the beloved
woman whom they sought. “But whither now?
Would you also march in the train of Titus?”
“Nay, woman, it is too late. Also I know
not what would be my welcome.”
“Your welcome? Why, you were his friend,
and Titus is faithful to his friends.”
“Aye, but perhaps not to those who have been
taken prisoner by the enemy. Towards the commencement
of the siege that happened to a man I knew. He
was captured with a companion. The companion the
Jews slew, but as he was about to be beheaded upon
the wall, this man slipped from the hands of the executioner,
and leaping from it escaped with little hurt.
Titus gave him his life, but dismissed him from his
legion. Why should I fare better?”
