The servants were being butchered— and his mother!
Was not one of the voices he heard hers?
With all the will left him, he said,
“Stay here, and wait for me, Tirzah.
I will go down and see what is the matter, and come back to you.”
His voice was not steady as he wished.
She clung closer to him.
Clearer, shriller, no longer a fancy, his mother’s cry arose.
He hesitated no longer.
“Come, then, let us go.”
The terrace or gallery at the foot of the steps was crowded with soldiers.
Other soldiers with drawn swords ran in and out of the chambers.
At one place a number of women on their knees clung to each other or prayed for mercy.
Apart from them, one with torn garments, and long hair streaming over her face, struggled to tear loose from a man all whose strength was tasked to keep his hold.
Her cries were shrillest of all; cutting through the clamor, they had risen distinguishably to the roof.
To her Judah sprang— his steps were long and swift, almost a winged flight— “Mother, mother!” he shouted.
She stretched her hands towards him; but when almost touching them he was seized and forced aside.
Then he heard some one say, speaking loudly,
“That is he!”
Judah looked, and saw— Messala.
“What, the assassin— that?” said a tall man, in legionary armor of beautiful finish. “Why, he is but a boy.”
“Gods!” replied Messala, not forgetting his drawl. “A new philosophy!
What would Seneca say to the proposition that a man must be old before he can hate enough to kill?
You have him; and that is his mother; yonder his sister.
You have the whole family.”
For love of them, Judah forgot his quarrel.
“Help them, O my Messala!
Remember our childhood and help them.
I— Judah— pray you.”
Messala affected not to hear.
“I cannot be of further use to you,” he said to the officer. “There is richer entertainment in the street.
Down Eros, up Mars!”
With the last words he disappeared.
Judah understood him, and, in the bitterness of his soul, prayed to Heaven.
“In the hour of thy vengeance, O Lord,” he said, “be mine the hand to put it upon him!”
By great exertion, he drew nearer the officer.
“O sir, the woman you hear is my mother.
Spare her, spare my sister yonder.
God is just, he will give you mercy for mercy.”
The man appeared to be moved.
“To the Tower with the women!” he shouted, “but do them no harm.
I will demand them of you.”
Then to those holding Judah, he said,
“Get cords, and bind his hands, and take him to the street.
His punishment is reserved.”
The mother was carried away.
The little Tirzah, in her home attire, stupefied with fear, went passively with her keepers.
Judah gave each of them a last look, and covered his face with his hands, as if to possess himself of the scene fadelessly.
He may have shed tears, though no one saw them.
There took place in him then what may be justly called the wonder of life.