The City of Delight

But under an ever-thickening veil of horrid airs, the struggle went

on.

The Roman Ides of July arrived.

Titus had erected banks upon which his engines were raised to batter

the walls of the Temple.

From Titus' camp, the Romans on sick leave, the commissaries, those

attached to the army who were not fighting-men, and old Momus, saw

first, before the attack on the Temple began, a soft increasing

dun-colored vapor rise between the Temple and Antonia. It issued from

the cloister at the northwest which joined the Roman tower. As they

watched, they saw that vapor grow into a pale but intensely luminous

smoke, as if fine woods and burning metals were consumed together. In

a moment the whole north-west section was embraced in a sublime pall

of fire.

John was burning away the connection between the Temple and the tower

and was making the sacred edifice four-square.

As soon as it became confirmed, in the minds of the watchers in the

Roman camp, that the Temple had been fired, the old mute among them

seemed to become wholly unbalanced. Without warning, he leaped upon

the nearest sentry who, not expecting the attack, went down with a

clatter of armor and a shout of astonishment. The next instant the old

man was making across the intervening space between the camp and

Jerusalem as fast as his stiff legs could carry him.

The purple sentry sprang to his feet and strung an arrow, but before

he could send it singing, the old minotaur was mixed with a second

soldier in such confusion that the first sentry hesitated to shoot

lest he should kill his fellow. Another moment and a second soldier

was struggling in the impediment of his armor in the dust and the old

mute was again hobbling straight away toward the walls of Jerusalem.

He was now a fair mark for the first sentry, but that Roman's rancor

died after he had seen his own disgrace covered by the overthrow of

his fellow. Two of Titus' scouts next stood in the path of the running

old man. One went to the ground so suddenly and so violently that the

watchers, now breaking into howls of delight, knew that he had been

tripped. The other stood but a moment longer, than he, too, rolled

into the dust.

The old man might have gone no farther at this juncture, for at every

latest triumph he left a crimson soldier murderous with shame. But

before the arrow next strung to overtake him could fly, Titus, Carus

and Nicanor, accompanied by their escort, rode between the fugitive

and the men he had defeated.

"There goes our minotaur," Carus said quietly. Titus drew up his horse

and looked. Nicanor with a sidelong glance awaited the young Roman's

command to his escort to ride down the fugitive. But he waited, and

continued to wait, while Titus with lifted head and with indecision in

his eyes watched the deformed old shape hobble on toward the Wall of

Circumvallation.