He judged the pride of the Roman would eventually get the better of his discretion, and that the end could not be far off.
Pilate was but waiting for the people to furnish him an excuse for resort to violence.
And at last the end came.
In the midst of the assemblage there was heard the sound of blows, succeeded instantly by yells of pain and rage, and a most furious commotion.
The venerable men in front of the portico faced about aghast.
The common people in the rear at first pushed forward; in the centre, the effort was to get out; and for a short time the pressure of opposing forces was terrible.
A thousand voices made inquiry, raised all at once; as no one had time to answer, the surprise speedily became a panic.
Ben-Hur kept his senses.
“You cannot see?” he said to one of the Galileans.
“No.”
“I will raise you up.”
He caught the man about the middle, and lifted him bodily.
“What is it?”
“I see now,” said the man. “There are some armed with clubs, and they are beating the people.
They are dressed like Jews.”
“Who are they?”
“Romans, as the Lord liveth!
Romans in disguise.
Their clubs fly like flails!
There, I saw a rabbi struck down— an old man!
They spare nobody!”
Ben-Hur let the man down.
“Men of Galilee,” he said, “it is a trick of Pilate’s.
Now, will you do what I say, we will get even with the club-men.”
The Galilean spirit arose. “Yes, yes!” they answered.
“Let us go back to the trees by the gate, and we may find the planting of Herod, though unlawful, has some good in it after all.
Come!”
They ran back all of them fast as they could; and, by throwing their united weight upon the limbs, tore them from the trunks.
In a brief time they, too, were armed.
Returning, at the corner of the square they met the crowd rushing madly for the gate.
Behind, the clamor continued— a medley of shrieks, groans, and execrations.
“To the wall!” Ben-Hur shouted. “To the wall!— and let the herd go by!”
So, clinging to the masonry at their right hand, they escaped the might of the rush, and little by little made headway until, at last, the square was reached.
“Keep together now, and follow me!”
By this time Ben-Hur’s leadership was perfect; and as he pushed into the seething mob his party closed after him in a body.
And when the Romans, clubbing the people and making merry as they struck them down, came hand to hand with the Galileans, lithe of limb, eager for the fray, and equally armed, they were in turn surprised.
Then the shouting was close and fierce; the crash of sticks rapid and deadly; the advance furious as hate could make it.
No one performed his part as well as Ben-Hur, whose training served him admirably; for, not merely he knew to strike and guard; his long arm, perfect action, and incomparable strength helped him, also, to success in every encounter.
He was at the same time fighting-man and leader.
The club he wielded was of goodly length and weighty, so he had need to strike a man but once.
He seemed, moreover, to have eyes for each combat of his friends, and the faculty of being at the right moment exactly where he was most needed.
In his fighting cry there were inspiration for his party and alarm for his enemies.
Thus surprised and equally matched, the Romans at first retired, but finally turned their backs and fled to the portico.
The impetuous Galileans would have pursued them to the steps, but Ben-Hur wisely restrained them.
“Stay, my men!” he said. “The centurion yonder is coming with the guard.
They have swords and shields; we cannot fight them.
We have done well; let us get back and out of the gate while we may.”
They obeyed him, though slowly; for they had frequently to step over their countrymen lying where they had been felled; some writhing and groaning, some praying help, others mute as the dead.
But the fallen were not all Jews. In that there was consolation.
The centurion shouted to them as they went off; Ben-Hur laughed at him, and replied in his own tongue,