"You have already lost three days," Julian charged him irritably.
"Jerusalem may be besieged; it may be long before I can ride in the
wilderness again," the Maccabee answered.
"Right; your next journey through this place may be afoot--at the end
of a chain," Julian averred.
The Maccabee raised his brows.
"Losing courage at the last end of the journey?" he inquired.
"No! I never have believed in this project," Julian declared.
"Why?"
"Who believes in the prospects of a man determined to leap into
Hades?"
But the Maccabee was already riding on with his head lifted, his eyes
set upon the blue shadows on the western slopes of hills, lifted
against the early morning sun. Julian went on.
"You go, cousin, on a mission mad enough to measure up with the antics
of the frantic citizens of Jerusalem. It will not be even a glorious
defeat. You will be swallowed up in an immense calamity too tremendous
to offer publicity to so infinitesimal a detail as the death of one
Philadelphus Maccabaeus. Agrippa has deserted the city and when a
Herod lets go of his own, his own is not worth the holding. The city
is torn between factions as implacable as the sea and the land. The
conservatives are either dead or fled; pillage and disorder are the
main motives of all that are left. And Titus advances with four
legions. What can you hope for this mob of crazed Jews?"
Julian's words had been more lively than the Maccabee had expected.
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