Titus was now almost a mile from the nearest of his soldiers. He
passed the Gate of the Women's Towers. Hedges, gardens, ditches and
wind-breaks of cedars of Lebanon from time to time obscured him. When
he came in sight again, he had placed obstruction between himself and
retreat.
The next instant the Gate of the Women's Towers swung in. Out of it
rushed a sortie of motley soldiery, brandishing weapons and shouting
the war-cries of Simon and John.
The citizens on the walls pressed their hands to their temples and
watched, transfixed with horror. Jerusalem's defenders had gone out
against the Deliverer!
The attack had been seen by the disorganized troops on Gareb and the
rapid trumpet-calls showed formation. But between the time of their
movement and the moment of their relief a company could have been
unhorsed. Meanwhile Titus, with nothing less than Fate preserving him
for its own work, dodged javelins and, enraging the white stallion
that he rode, kept out of reach of hand-to-hand encounter with his
assailants. Back and forward he rode, his horse carrying him at times
out of range of missiles; again, all but surrounded by the unorganized
enemy. About his head whizzed axes and spears, wild, and frequently
slaying their own. Far up the slope of Gareb the six hundred gathered
itself and swept in mass down upon the conflict.
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