For the Temple: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem by G. A. Henty (best short books to read txt) 📗

at all out of the way in what we have done. Jonas and the others did just as much as I did, and methinks that some of them make much more than is needful of our skirmishes, and praise me because in so doing they praise themselves, who did as much as I did."

"But I do not understand you, Simon," Martha said. "I know that John fought bravely at Jotapata, and that it was marvelous that he and Jonas escaped, when so many fell. Is it this that you are speaking of?"

"What! Has John said nothing about what he has been doing, since?" Simon asked, in surprise.

"No, father, I said nothing about it," John said, before his mother could speak. "I thought, in the first place, that you would like to tell them; and in the next, the people there had heard such magnified reports that I could not, for very shame, lay claim to be the hero they had pictured to themselves."

"But what has he done?" Martha asked, more and more surprised; while Mary, at his last words, sprang to her feet, and stood looking at him with an intent and eager face.

"He should have told you, Martha," Simon said. "It is no light thing that this son of ours has done. Young as he is, the eyes of the people are upon them. For with a small band, which he gathered here, he harassed the enemy several days and, boldly entering their camp, destroyed it by fire."

"Oh, John!" Mary said, in a low voice; while Martha exclaimed:

"What! Is the John, of whom we have heard so much--the young man, of whom the people speak as their future leader--our boy? You cannot mean it, Simon!"

"There is no mistake about it, Martha. The lad came to me; and said he thought that, with a small band, he could cause much trouble to the Romans. So I told him he could go, not knowing whether he spoke from the restlessness of youth, or because it was the will of the Lord that he should go and fight for the country. Indeed, it seemed to many that his marvelous escape from Jotapata showed that God had need of him. So I did not withstand him. There were many from the villages round who were ready to join themselves to him, and follow him, for the fame of his escape had made him much talked of.

"So he went, with twenty-four followers and, of course, Jonas here; and truly he did, as all men say, great things. And though he saved not Gamala--as indeed could not have been done, save by a miracle of God, with so small a band--he did much and, by the burning of their camp, not only struck a heavy blow upon the Romans, but he inspired the people with hope.

"Before, it seemed that to resist the Romans was to bring certain destruction upon those who adventured it; now men see that with prudence, united with bravery, much may be done and, in the spring, John will be followed by a great gathering of fighting men, from all the country round."

Martha sat, in speechless surprise, looking at her son.

"My dear mother," John said, "what I told you before, when you were praising the unknown John, is equally true now that it is John your son. We acted with common sense which, so far, no one seems to have exercised in our struggle with the Romans. We just kept out of their reach, and took good care never to come to actual blows with them. We constantly threatened them; and compelled them, who knew nothing of our numbers or strength, to cease working.

"As to the burning their camp, of course there was a certain amount of danger in it, but one cannot make war without danger. We crept through their sentries into the camp, in the night, and set it on fire; and then made our escape, as best we could. As only one of our number was killed; and he from falling over a precipice, and not by the sword of the Romans, you see the peril could not have been very great.

"It was just as I said, that because we did not throw away our lives, but were prudent and cautious, we succeeded. People have made a great fuss about it, because it is the only success, however small, that we have gained over the Romans but, as my father says, it has certainly had a good effect. It has excited a feeling of hopefulness and, in the spring, many will take the field with the belief that, after all, the Romans are not invincible; and that those who fight against them are not merely throwing away their lives."

It was some time before Martha could realize that the hero, of which she had heard so much, was the quiet lad standing before her--her own son John.

"Simon," she said, at last, "morning and night I have prayed God to protect him of whom we heard so much, little thinking that it was my own son I was praying for. Tonight, I will thank him that he has so blessed me. Assuredly, God's hand is with him. The dangers he has run and the success that he has gained may, as he says, be magnified by report; nevertheless he has assuredly withstood the Romans, even as David went out against Goliath. Tomorrow I will hear more of this; but I feel shaken with the journey, and with this strange news.

"Come, Mary, let us to bed!"

But Mary had already stolen away, without having said a single word, after her first exclamation.

John was at work soon after daybreak, next morning, for there was much to be done. The men were plowing up the stubble, ready for the sowing, Jonas had gone off, with Isaac, to drive in some cattle from the hills; and John set to work to dig up a patch of garden ground, near the house. He had not been long at work, when he saw Mary approaching. She came along quietly and slowly, with a step altogether unlike her own.

"Why, Mary, is that you?" he said, as she approached. "Why, Miriam herself could not walk slower.

"Are you ill this morning, child?" he asked, with a change of voice, as he saw how pale she was looking.

Mary did not speak until she came quite close; then she stopped, and looked at him with eyes full of tears.

"Oh, John," she began, "what can I say?"

"Why, my dear Mary, what on earth is the matter with you?" he said, throwing down his spade, and taking her hands in his.

"I am so unhappy, John."

"Unhappy!" John repeated. "What is making you unhappy, child?"

"It is so dreadful," she said, "to think that I, who ought to have known you so well--I, your betrothed wife--have been thinking that you were so mean as to be jealous; for I did think it was that, John, when you made light of the doings of the hero I had been thinking about so much, and would not allow that he had done anything particular. I thought that you were jealous, John; and now I know what you have done, and why you spoke so, I feel I am altogether unworthy of you."

"Well, Mary, I never thought you were a little goose, before. What nonsense you are talking! It was only natural you should have thought I was jealous; and I should have been jealous, if it had been anyone else you were praising so much. It was my fault, for not telling you at once. Concealments are always stupid; but I had thought that it would give you a pleasant surprise, when you got home, to hear about it; but instead of causing you pleasure, I have caused you pain. I was not vexed, in the slightest; I was rather amused, when you answered me so curtly."

"I think it was cruel of you, John, to let me go on thinking badly of you, and showing yourself in so unworthy a light. That does not make it any the less wrong of me. I ought to have believed in you."

"You are making a mountain out of a molehill, Mary, and I won't hear any such nonsense. You heard an absurd story, as to what someone had been doing, and you naturally made a hero of him. You were hurt by my speaking slightingly of this hero of yours, and naturally thought I was jealous at hearing such praises of another from my betrothed wife. It was all perfectly natural. I was not in the least offended with you, or put out in any way; except that I was vexed with myself for not telling you, at once, that all these fables related to your cousin John.

"Now, dry your eyes, and don't think any more about it. Go and pick two of the finest bunches of grapes you can find, and we will eat them together."

But it was some time before Mary recovered her brightness. The changes which the last few months had made almost depressed her. It was but a year ago that John and she had been boy and girl, together; now he had become a man, had done great deeds, was looked upon by many as one chosen for the deliverance of the nation. Mary felt that she, too, had aged; but the change in her was as nothing to that in her old playfellow. It was but a year ago she had been gravely advising him; treating him, sometimes, as if she had been the elder.

She would have treated him now, if he would have let her, with something of the deference and respect which a Jewish maiden would usually pay to a betrothed husband--one who was shortly to become her lord. But the first time he detected this manner, John simply laughed at her, and said:

"My dear Mary, do not let us have any nonsense of this sort. We have been always equals, you and I; friends and companions. You know, just as well as I do, that in all matters which we have had in common, you have always had quite as much sense as I and, on a great many matters, more sense.

"Nothing has occurred since then to alter that. I have grown into a young man, you into a young woman; but we have advanced equally. On matters concerning warfare, I have gained a good deal of knowledge; in other matters, doubtless, you have gained knowledge. And if, dear, it is God's will that I pass through the troubles and dangers that lie before us, and we become man and wife, I trust that we shall always be the friends and comrades that we have been, as boy and girl together.

"It is all very well, when young men and maidens have seen nothing of each other until their parents bring them together as man and wife, for the bride to affect a deep respect--which I have not the least doubt she is generally far from feeling, in her heart--for the man to whom she is given. Happily, this has not been the way with us. We have learned to know each other well; and to know that, beyond the difference in strength which a man has over a woman, there is no difference between us--that one will rule the house, and the other will rule the farm, but that in all things, I trust, we shall be companions and equals. I do hope, Mary, that there will be no change in our ways, the few months we have to be together, now.

"In the spring, I go up to help to defend Jerusalem; and it is no use hiding the fact from ourselves that there is but little chance of my returning. We know what has befallen those who have, hitherto, defended cities against the Romans; and what has happened at Jotapata, and Gamala, will probably happen at Jerusalem. But for this reason, let us have no change; let us be as brother and sister to one another, as we have been, all along. If God brings me back safe to you, and you become my wife, there will be plenty of time to settle exactly how much deference you shall pay me; but I shall expect that, when the novelty of affecting the wifely obedience, which is enjoined upon the females of our race, is past, you will be quite ready to take up that equality which is, after all, the rule in practice."

"I shall remember your words," Mary said, saucily, "when the time comes. It may be you will regret your expressions about equality, some day."

So, during the winter, Mary tried to be bright and cheerful; and Martha, whose heart was filled with anxiety as to the dangers and trials which lay before them--Jerusalem and the Temple threatened, and John away, engaged in desperate enterprises--often wondered to herself, when she heard the girl's merry