Chapter Fifty-Two

Judah

Leah and I both lost our mothers in the year after the king’s death. Rosana and Sabra died a few weeks apart, and we were able to remain at their bedsides until they peacefully breathed their last. We buried them in the family tomb and mourned them both.

Aside from those losses, the first few months after the king’s death were peaceful even though the Greek-loving Onias remained our high priest and many Hellenes in Jerusalem still insisted on thinking and dressing like Gentiles. The Prophet for whom we were waiting did not arrive, so we remained content to live under the Law of Moses.

But we were free to worship according to the Law, we could circumcise our children, observe the Sabbath, and study Torah. The refugees we had brought from Raphana and Galilee had strengthened Jerusalem and the surrounding towns, and persecution had awakened a new zeal in my people, evidenced by their newly enthusiastic worship of HaShem.

We were a free nation, yet none of the kings around us seemed to realize it.

My family rested during the time of peace, for it was a sabbatical year and we could not plant crops or plan offensive warfare. But several of Eleazar’s mares were pregnant from the Seleucid stallions. Johanan worked as a scribe for the council of Jerusalem, and Simon was often asked to counsel the priests as they resumed Temple worship. Jonathan had yet to take a wife, but because he was the youngest, we did not pressure him.

Oddly enough, of all five brothers, HaShem blessed only Simon and Morit with children. They welcomed a daughter in that sabbatical year, giving them three boys and a girl: Johanan, Judas, Mattathias, and little Rose.

Most surprising, my wife took on a new role in the family. Soon travelers stopped in Modein not to meet the Hammer of Israel, but to listen to his wife recount stories of the battles, the struggles, and the personalities involved in the war for freedom. Leah would sit on a tall stool in the village courtyard, and when the visitors had settled, she would tell the story of brave Mattathias, of Apollonius’s sword, or of Timotheus, who died in the flames at a pagan temple.

I had to admit, she had a way with a story. She never embroidered the truth, but told each tale faithfully and fairly, always giving the credit for the victory to HaShem. And when she had finished, she would look over the group of listeners and urge them to spread the word, “So all may know that Adonai lives and cares for His people.”

The first time I heard her share a story, I waited until she returned home, then drew her into my arms and kissed her soundly. “What was that for?” she asked when I let her go.

“Because good work deserves a reward,” I answered. “And you do good work. But when did you decide to become a keeper of our history?”

“I asked HaShem to show me my purpose.”

“So you are meant to be a storyteller?”

She smiled as she looked up into my eyes. “I am meant to be your wife.”

No matter what her reasons, I thanked HaShem for giving her a gift that would bless all Israel.

Because Leah looked with trepidation at the citadel whenever we went to the Temple for feasts, my brothers and I met with the Jerusalem council about how to defeat the men in the tower. The fortress held the advantage of high ground, so the occupiers could see us coming from any direction. But their proximity to the Temple made it impossible for people to worship without continually looking over their shoulders.

“We have no choice,” Simon said. “We will have to put them under a siege. No one goes in, no one goes out.”

“Why haven’t we done this before?” I asked.

A priest on the council shook his head. “We have tried, but the attempt has always been unsuccessful. People get lazy and look away, and once the invaders are on the ground, they blend in with the crowd and we lose them.”

The idea of a siege appealed to me. We would surround the fortress and prevent anyone from going in or out, ever. We would cut off their supplies, knowing that sooner or later they would have to come out for food and water. We would make certain our men were vigilant, and we would put enough men around the fortress to make sure no portion remained unguarded.

We would not win immediately, but we would win.

I summoned Simon’s men, and together we set up a siege of the citadel. I wish I could report that the venture was successful, but not even the most attentive army can guarantee a perfect watch. Sentries fall asleep and even alert guards turn their backs at inopportune moments. And though we captured many Gentiles who attempted to slip through our line, we missed others.

Unfortunately, several of those escapees traveled to Antioch and stood before eight-year-old Antiochus Eupator and Lysias, his guardian, to complain about ill treatment by the Jews.

A few weeks after the commencement of our siege, I received another letter from my old friend in the king’s court:

Greetings, my Judean Hammerhead:

My son, Eneas, sends his regards and thanks you for the fine colt. We did not know such fine horses came from Judea, but life is a learning experience, is it not? One day, Eneas tells me, he will ride down there and demonstrate how your gift has helped him become a fine rider.

I am grateful for your friendship and thought you should know what is happening in Antioch.

Some men, if one can call them that, have escaped from the citadel in Jerusalem and told scalding tales to our young king. Their subject? The state of affairs in Jerusalem. “How long will you fail to do justice and avenge our brethren?” they asked him. “We were happy to serve your father, to live by what he said, and to follow his commands in Jerusalem. For this reason the sons of our people have besieged the citadel and become hostile to us; moreover, they have put to death as many of us as they have caught, and they have seized our inheritances. And not against us alone have they stretched out their hands, but also against all the lands on their borders. And behold, they have encamped against the citadel in Jerusalem to take it; they have fortified both the sanctuary and Beth-zur. Unless you quickly prevent them, they will do still greater things, and you will not be able to stop them.”

Brazen men, they were, predicting loss for our king, but they achieved their desired effect. Young Antiochus became incensed, and Lysias undoubtedly feels he can no longer ignore Judea. Be on your guard, my friend, and keep your loved ones near. Lysias is preparing the army.

I am forever your friend,

Philander

The mention of Beth-zur jolted me, and with good reason. Resting on one of the highest sites in Judea, the fortified town overlooked the road that stretched between Beersheba and Jerusalem. Whoever held Beth-zur enjoyed a highly defensible position.

We had beaten Lysias once at Beth-zur, but we would have to use a different strategy if we met him again. Lysias would not allow himself to be tricked twice.

I had Simon read the letter to the army captains and saw several faces flush with determination. “We must take action,” Eleazar said, “because the king definitely will.”

“But he’s an inexperienced child,” Jonathan said.

“A child guided by Lysias, a general who bears a grudge,” I pointed out. “He will not care that Epiphanes had a change of heart on his deathbed. He will be out for vengeance, so he will guide the young king to act against us.”

“The army must stay ready,” Simon finished. “And we must warn the border villages.”

“And Beth-zur,” I added. “Especially Beth-zur, because we cannot afford to lose it.”

divider

The young king and his advisor-general did not wait long to attack. After assembling a force of one hundred thousand foot soldiers and twenty thousand horsemen, they marched south along the coast, then cut through Idumea and encamped against Beth-zur. For days they maintained a siege and built engines of war, but at night the Jewish citizens of Beth-zur slipped out of the fortress and set fire to the catapults and battering rams. When the Jews encountered the enemy, they fought manfully.

When a runner finally arrived in Jerusalem with the news, my men and I left a skeleton crew to maintain the citadel siege and hurried to defend our brothers. We were unable to reach Beth-zur because of the large force surrounding it, so we camped at Beth-Zacharias, opposite the enemy army. I would have liked to remain hidden, but there was no hiding our men and horses.

Our position was the best we could hope for. We held high ground from which we could turn toward the north and see Jerusalem, where Leah waited with my sisters-in-law. To the west I could see the plains of Philistia and the Rock of Etam, where Samson had hidden himself from the Philistines. To the east were cliffs and rocks, behind them the blue mountains of Moab. And to the south, the road our enemy had chosen to reach Jerusalem.

An hour or so before dawn, one of my scouts entered my tent, his eyes wide and his brow dripping with perspiration. The young man trembled as he woke us and stammered a greeting. “They—they are coming,” he said. “They have roused the beasts and are making them ready to attack.”

Simon sat up. “Beasts?”

“They sounded trumpets to signal the others,” the scout explained. “And they made a mix—of juices, maybe, and painted their faces red. And with their faces painted and looking like blood, they took javelins and stabbed the beasts’ legs.”

“What beasts?” Eleazar’s eyes were wide with what looked like delight. “Lions? Tigers?”

The boy shook his head. “Larger. If you listen closely, you can hear them roaring. The animals have been angered, probably so they will be roused to fight.”

I listened, then heard a shrill blast unlike anything I had ever heard before.

Simon frowned. “Could that be—?”

“War elephants, I think. Kings in the east use them.” I blew out a breath and looked back at our scout. “How many are they?”

The boy nodded. “I counted thirty-two. They are spread out over the camp, one beast for each company.”

Eleazar grinned. “They are coming at us with wild animals? No matter. An animal, no matter how large, cannot outwit a man.”

I lifted my hand to protest, but the scout interrupted me. “The animals do not fight alone. A thousand men wearing coats of armor and brass helmets walk with each beast. Hundreds of horsemen have been positioned in front of each one. And there are towers!”

I lifted a brow. “Explain.”

“A wooden structure covered with armor; one sits atop each animal. A driver and four archers ride in the tower. They will be shooting from an elevated height.”

I groaned and reached for my sword. “They have begun early, so we need to wake our men. Have your companies ready to march by sunrise. I do not think they will advance until then.”

Our preparations appeared remarkably simple compared to the formation described by our scout. By the time the sun crested the eastern hills, we had assembled—archers at the front, horsemen behind them, swordsmen at the rear.

Then the sun, rising behind us, shone on the enemy army. When the morning light struck the shields of gold and the brass helmets, the opposite horizon seemed to blaze like thousands of campfires. The elephants and their attendants were positioned along the main road, spaced as evenly as flower petals, with foot soldiers and cavalry along the sides to prevent a flanking movement from our army.

The monstrous beasts of war glistened in their armor and shattered the silence with their agitated trumpeting. I felt the skin on my arms pebble at the marvelous sight. I had never seen an elephant, and neither, I daresay, had any of my men. The racket of the beasts’ trumpeting echoed among the mountains, cocooning us in bedlam.

I looked at Simon, who met my gaze with alarm in his eyes. Together we turned toward Eleazar, who had always been the boldest of us, and saw that his eyes had gone wide with anticipation.

Of course they had. The man loved a challenge.

“Men!” I yelled, my voice barely penetrating the din. “Forward!”

The army of Israel moved forward slowly, with the young king’s army advancing at a more rapid pace. The fearsome noise surrounded and deafened us. The animals continued to blare above the clanking of their armor while the earth trembled with the terror of their approach.

“They are amazingly strong,” I said, moving in step with my brothers. “Look how easily they carry the weight of those men.”

“They are not quick,” Eleazar countered. “Though the earth trembles with each step, they do not run as fast as a man.”

“What are these creatures?” Simon shouted. “Can they be killed with a sword? Where should we strike?”

“Of course they can be killed.” Eleazar jerked his head toward one of the approaching beasts. “Why would they be armored unless they were vulnerable? Think of the soft areas, brothers, where no armor exists.”

“The skin is wrinkled,” I said. “Though it is hard to see past the armor, look at that nose—it is not covered, it is flesh.”

“And if it is flesh, it can be pierced,” Eleazar said. “Maybe not on the nose, but perhaps through the belly? Many an armored beast has a soft underbelly.”

“There are too many of them!” someone behind me shouted, and I turned to glare at the man, for nothing spread faster than cowardice.

Behind me, others were beginning to voice doubt and fear. “Perhaps they can’t be killed,” another man cried. “HaShem alone can strike them down.”

“Never fear!” I called over my shoulder, though my tone implied more confidence than I felt. “Today Adonai goes with you into battle!”

Eleazar drew his sword from its sheath. “Are you coming with me?”

I gripped my sword. “I am.”

“Then let us lead by example.” He pointed toward one particular beast, more colorfully adorned than the others. “Perhaps the king himself rides there. Or his general.”

I grinned at my brother. “Good thinking.”

“So let us see what happens when a beast of war meets men of Adonai.”

“Archers!” I called, glancing at the men behind me. “Keep the horsemen from us!”

Moving directly toward the most decorated elephant, we walked with resolute steps as our archers shot at the riders who would stop us. One of the riders came between me and Eleazar, then the Greek fell off his horse as an arrow pierced his shoulder. I stopped to dispatch him as he lay on the ground, and when I looked up again, I saw Eleazar running straight toward the elephant. The Seleucid archers aimed at him but didnt shoot for fear of harming the beast.

I stepped over the warrior who had detained me, then ran to support my brother. Another man attacked from my left, so I struck him quickly, so eager was I to reach Eleazar. Then a blow struck the nape of my neck, dropping me to my knees, and I barely had time to duck a blade. A quick upthrust of my sword ended that encounter, and from my position on the chalky ground I saw Eleazar dart between the treelike legs of the most decorated war elephant. “For Adonai and Isra’el!” he cried, then with both hands he thrust his sword into the belly of the beast.

Time seemed to stand still as I breathed in the scents of dust and earth and saw blood rush out like a waterfall, coating my exultant brother. The beast roared and shuddered and collapsed to his front legs, sending the tower forward as the men in it screamed and horses fled, and then I remembered Eleazar in a dream, O Adonai, not that nightmare . . . When I looked back at the hind legs, the gigantic creature sighed and collapsed and exhaled in a shuddering gasp as the light went out of its eyes, covering the place where Eleazar had stood.

Behind me, the men of Israel shouted with dismay, and while I lay on the ground, stunned and confused, I looked back and saw that the army of Israel, the army of Adonai, was doing something it had never done—fleeing.

I looked again for Eleazar, wondering if he had somehow made progress against the enemy’s advancing line, and then I saw a sandaled foot and realized that the war beast had fallen hard upon my brother.

“Eleazar!” I rose up and would have run toward the downed beast, but someone jerked the back of my tunic and yanked me away from the line advancing as inexorably as death. I turned in fury and saw Simon, who wore a look of grim determination as he drew me away from the battle and turned me toward Jerusalem.

“We cannot lose you, too,” he shouted, and we took flight like the others.

Running after my men on legs that felt as insubstantial as air, I left the battlefield in grief and disgrace.