The Last Temple (23 page)

For the next hour, Ben-Matthias and Vitas remained with Titus, who rode from camp to camp, giving instructions. No clouds weakened the sun’s heat, and Vitas was grateful for the skins of water they carried.

They completed the entire circumference of the Roman wall, staying out of range of arrows or stones. It was a grim ride for Vitas. Many of the bodies thrown down from the Jerusalem walls had begun to putrefy. He tried not to imagine what it was like within the city among the gaunt and starving. He tried not to imagine the horrors that Damian faced, if his brother was still alive.

As they returned to the Mount of Olives, Titus rode to a position directly opposite the Temple Mount and looked upward, remaining on horseback. Vitas and Ben-Matthias flanked him on their horses.

Immediately defenders on the walls jeered and hurled rocks and debris, all of it falling short of Titus. His safe position had been easy to choose, for the perimeter was well established by previous detritus already scattered in front of him.

Titus continued to gaze imperiously upward, saying nothing. He remained immobile in the heat, until his inaction drew the curiosity of the Jewish defenders, and this curiosity, in turn, silenced them.

Only then, with their full attention on him, did Titus raise his right arm.

Because each of his auxiliary commanders had been instructed to watch for that signal, all movement on the Roman side stopped—the winching of the ballistae, the battering of the arietes, the constant rain of arrows from the scorpiones.

Except for the squawking of vultures among the bodies between Jerusalem and Titus, silence descended on the valley.

Titus dropped his arm, but he continued to gaze upward with no expression on his face.

Within minutes, more faces appeared above him at the walls of Jerusalem. Citizens had been drawn forward by the silence after weeks and weeks of the constant sound of warfare.

Still, Titus said nothing.

And minutes after that, a new sound broke into the silence. A distant but constant sound, unidentifiable at first, but slowly growing in volume.

Vitas knew what the sound was. He’d been prepared for it because he’d been alongside Titus as the general gave his instructions. Even so, the eeriness gave him shivers.

He expected it was a sound no person here had ever experienced—the sound of feet against ground, sandals against rock and pebble, as thousands and thousands of soldiers marched in unison, not one man uttering a single word.

Titus had given very clear instructions. He wanted the entire Roman army to assemble along the Mount of Olives, behind the Roman wall—safe from any attack by Jewish defenders but clearly visible to all in Jerusalem.

It took nearly an hour for every Roman soldier in all the legions to gather on the slope of the Mount of Olives. In that hour, no man spoke. In that hour, more and more citizens within Jerusalem moved to the secure walls above the valley, staring down at the spectacle of power.

When it was complete, more than sixty thousand soldiers, all in armor, all carrying weapons, spread across the hillside, hundreds of men deep, hundreds of men wide.

The entire time, Titus did not move but held his gaze upward.

A messenger ran up to Titus’s horse and said a single word. “Ready.”

Titus raised his arm again. Every soldier, in unison, shouted three Latin words, repeating them again and again and again.

“Veni, vidi, vaporavi. Veni, vidi, vaporavi. Veni, vidi, vaporavi. Veni, vidi, vaporavi.”

I came, I saw, I burned.

The words rolled like thunder through the valley, echoing as they bounced off the smooth city walls and back at the soldiers.

I came, I saw, I burned.

Never had Vitas been assailed by such a mighty noise. It continued for ten minutes as Titus held his arm in the air.

I came, I saw, I burned.

Then Titus dropped his arm, and instantly the shouting ceased.

His plan had been to put on display the entire might arrayed against the people of the city, to let them see that Rome would not and could not be stopped.

Such was the effect of the renewed silence that when Titus addressed the thousands of people on the wall above him, his voice carried clearly across the steep valley.

“I am Titus, heir to the throne of Rome, the right hand of my father, who has commanded me to put an end to this rebellion. I freely acknowledge that your God is a mighty God and that his house, your Temple, is the most holy sanctuary. Neither my father nor I, when I someday inherit the throne, will ever attempt to desecrate this holy place.”

Titus drew a breath. “In front of your God and all of us assembled, I pledge that I will protect the holy house of your God with all my power. You should now see that it is inevitable that your city will fall if you do not surrender, yet I do not want to burn your city. John of Gischala, I appeal to you.”

As Titus had expected, jeering and catcalls began from some of the Jewish defenders.

He raised his arm again, and the soldiers behind him began to shout once more.

I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned.

Titus dropped his hand, and the shouting stopped.

Before he could speak again, jeering began immediately. Titus responded by raising his arm, and the thunderous noise again overwhelmed any catcalls from the Jewish defenders.

I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned.

This time, when he dropped his arm, none above him interrupted.

Titus began to speak, knowing he would be clearly heard. “As for the Zealots among you, why do you pollute this holy house with the blood both of foreigners and Jews? Why do you yourself allow the abomination and desolation in the holy Temple of your God?

“I appeal to the gods of my own country,” Titus continued, “and to every god that ever had any regard to this place. I also appeal to my own army, to those Jews who are now with me, and even to you yourselves, that I do not force you to defile this sanctuary. Citizens, now is the time to surrender to save your holy Temple. If you do not surrender, I promise you this.”

He paused, but no jeers broke his pause. If the citizens of Jerusalem expected further threats, Titus surprised them.

“My legions have the power to break through the Antonia tower at any moment, but I promise if you move the place of fighting away from your holy sanctuary, no Roman shall go near it or offer any affront to it. No! I will endeavor to preserve your holy house, whether you will or will not surrender. Let us not battle in the holy place.”

Titus nodded at Ben-Matthias. Word for word, Ben-Matthias translated into Aramaic the promise Titus had made so that every citizen understood.

Ben-Matthias added his own words too, pleading with his people, telling them that was how Titus intended to secure the peace. If they battled because of their God, he would not make it a battle any longer. They were starving to the point of death, and the wall to Antonia would fall in days, if not hours. Could they not see that fighting Rome was useless? And if Rome promised them the Temple would be secure forever, was that not enough of a victory? The women and children would be allowed safety and the military men sent to Rome as part of a triumph. Was this not better than the surety that nearly all would die without surrender? And he exhorted them to remember that Caesar would preserve the Temple and give the Jews the freedom to worship as God intended.

Vitas, like Titus, believed this might be enough to avert full-scale tragedy. If the soldiers struck, blood would flow, as the saying went, to the height of a horse’s bridle at the death of thousands upon thousands by the sword. By promising them the Temple, how could they not accept his terms?

A man stepped forward on the wall and held up his own hand as if he had the power of Caesar.

It was an obvious mockery of Titus, who could have silenced the man with the renewed shouting of all his soldiers. Instead, Titus ignored the insult and let the man speak.

“We have been promised a Messiah, and God is faithful to his people,” the man shouted. He was John of Gischala, as recognizable as Titus, large and bearded, exuding the strength and ferocity of a bear.

“You speak as if you have power, and you assemble your men as if you can destroy the Temple, but God would preserve us even if your army were a hundredfold its current size.” John of Gischala held a spear and waved it as he spoke. “You ask us to move our fight away from the Temple, but that is because you know that the Temple will protect us and that your only hope of victory is if we give up the Temple. I say this in front of God and in front of man: by offering to fight anywhere but the Temple, you expose your fear of defeat. My promise to you is this. If you bring your fight to the Temple, the one and only God will strike you down and send you away, just as he defeated a hundred thousand Assyrians to preserve his people. Return to Rome, and leave us with the land God gave us.”

With a final act of defiance, John of Gischala hurled the spear toward Titus. It landed well short and stuck hard in the ground.

Even before it stopped quivering, Titus had turned his horse to ride away.

“Tomorrow, with the blessing of Titus, Vitas and I go into the city,” Ben-Aryeh said to Ben-Matthias. “I am not naive enough to believe that it will be entirely successful. I don’t want to be dramatic, but I want to thank you both for your help in all of this.”

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Vitas growled. “You are giving me a chance to see if my brother is still alive, something not even the mighty Titus is capable of doing.”

The three of them were at a fire in the camp of the Tenth Legion, eating drumsticks of chicken. At each meal, Vitas could not help but think of the hundreds of thousands trapped in Jerusalem, starving, perhaps with Damian among them. And at each meal, Vitas thought of the many times Titus had implored them to work out terms of surrender so the women and children would be spared.

“Thank me by finally telling me the reasons that I have helped,” Ben-Matthias answered. “I am a man of great curiosity, and I began writing about the war during my time in prison, as I intend to chronicle it for future generations. I promise whatever you tell me won’t be revealed until the need for secrecy is long gone. I also promise you will be portrayed in a flattering, heroic manner, unlike Simon Ben-Gioras and John of Gischala, who are directly responsible for this horror.”

“I am going to ask you the fates of twenty prominent men in Jerusalem,” Ben-Aryeh said in response. “I want to know if they are alive and, if so, among the moderates or the Zealots.”

“Then you will answer me?”

Ben-Aryeh gave Ben-Matthias a name instead of responding to that question. “Annas.”

This was the name of the priest who had threatened to execute Ben-Aryeh for false charges of rape, causing Ben-Aryeh to flee Jerusalem with Vitas.

“Dead,” Ben-Matthias said. “Executed by John of Gischala.”

“Eleazar.”

“Dead. Executed by Simon Ben-Gioras.”

When Ben-Aryeh finished his list of names, he learned that most had been killed. Two were moderates. Two were Zealots.

“Now,” Ben-Matthias said, “you’ll tell me what brings you here and why it was so important that Bernice and Titus protect Vitas on your behalf? Was it a conspiracy that involved all those men?”

“Some whom I asked about were involved,” Ben-Aryeh said. “I added other names so that you will never know which were involved and which were not, but I had to know if the few are still alive.”

“I trust the ones you need are not dead.”

“You will get no answer from me in that regard. Let me simply say that these men have been called to a duty that goes back generations and is of utmost importance to our people. Vitas was chosen by these men and will learn his role tomorrow.”

“What!” Vitas was startled. Chosen? By a secret circle of Jews he did not know?

The old man rubbed his face, then gave a weary smile. “My friend, I have borne much guilt over these last few years, hiding from you that I am, in a sense, an infiltrator.”

“Our friendship has been false?”

“No,” Ben-Aryeh said. “Otherwise, I would not carry the burden of guilt. Otherwise, I would not be making this confession now, asking forgiveness.”

“You protected Sophia and brought her back to me. Don’t ask forgiveness.”

“I must. From the beginning, once I learned who you are and of your love for Sophia, I realized you were the one person who could help should this day ever arrive, with the fall of Jerusalem so imminent.”

“Then explain,” Vitas said.

“You were chosen because you are a Roman with influence and a man the Jews can trust. I was given the task of becoming close to you. At first, it was a role, gladly accepted because of how it might help my people. But I have come to love you as a father loves a son.”

“Forgiven,” Vitas said softly.

“If I die tomorrow,” Ben-Aryeh said, “I die in peace. Thank you.”

“Let’s not die,” Vitas said lightly, looking for a way to break the mood. “Instead, tell me more about why we enter the city.”

“Aside from my promise to help you look for Damian,” Ben-Aryeh said, “I must keep my silence.”

“Surely,” Ben-Matthias protested, “you can tell more than that? If it is this important that you enter the city while it is on the verge of destruction, then it is important enough for future generations of Jews to know.”

“I promise you it truly is this important,” Ben-Aryeh said with finality. “And such is the importance that it must never be known to history.”