The City of Delight

Philadelphus looked at their tall shapes, black against the remote

illumination of the Roman camp, and inwardly hoped that they would

hold off complete destruction of the city, until he had found the

desirable woman.

No one noticed him; men passed him like shadows with their eyes ever

on the ground; no one spoke; nothing disturbed the deadly quiet of the

falling city.

But the next minute, Philadelphus, who walked alertly, saw people step

out into gutters or press against walls, as if to allow some one to

pass. Awakening interest ran abroad over the street ahead of him. A

lane between the wandering multitude opened almost by magic. Through

it, walking swiftly, his head up, his mystic eyes ignited, came

Seraiah, soldier of Jehovah. There was no sound of his footfall. His

garments flashed in the light of the beacons, but there was not even a

whisper of their motion. But he had changed. There was fierce,

superhuman intent in the despatch of his gait and in the uplift of his

superb head. After him, as he passed, ran whispers. Each one stopped

and looked. He went down the uneven slope of Zion as some great shade

borne on a swift air.

Two or three bold ones began to move after him. Others followed. The

little nucleus grew. Philadelphus was caught in it. Numbers were added

as courage grew with numbers. From intersecting streets people came.

Some, although oppressed by the silence, asked what it was and were

silenced quickly. Others began to mutter unintelligible predictions,

and their neighbors shook their heads without understanding that which

was said.

The news of Seraiah's mysterious progress communicated itself to rank

and rank and spread abroad. Faces appeared against a background of

lights at barred windows, along the balustrades of house-tops, from

areas and ruins. Philadelphus, fascinated and astonished at this

curious demonstration, was contented to pass with it. Silence, except

for the rustling of garments and the multitudinous footfall, fell

about the vicinity.

Ahead of them, Seraiah moved. His steps, finely balanced, passed over

obstructions where most of his followers stumbled, and when he turned

across Akra and faced the Old Wall, the excitement became painful.

His pace was flying; many of his followers were running. It seemed

that he was going against the Wall. Dozens anticipated that course and

skirting through short ways clambered up on the fortifications and

clung there though menaced by the sentries until Seraiah appeared.

At a narrow point in the street that ended against the wall, Seraiah

met that Jew who had become a maniac on the day Jerusalem attacked

Titus. Without warning the maniac leaped up into an intensely rigid

posture; his legs spread, his lean arms upstretched at painful

tension, his mouth wide, his eyes dilated immensely in their hollow

depths.

Seraiah passed him as if no man stood in his way. Instantly the maniac

wheeled, as a huge spread-eagle wind-vane on its staff, and stood at

gaze, the broad uninterrupted light of the beacon shining down on him

and the mysterious man. The street ended short of the wall. About the

base of the fortification was an open space, in which was planted a

scaling-ladder. Seraiah climbed this, an infinitesimal detail on the

great blank of blackened stone.