by Brian Godawa
“It’s over, Apollyon,” said Michael.
The Angel of the Abyss was heaving for breath. He had expended every ounce of hatred for these godlickers and demolished half the temple complex in the process. He was exhausted. But he felt invigorated.
“No, it’s not.”
He raised his war hammer once again. He was determined to go down swinging.
• • • • •
Inside the Holy Place, legionaries quickly surrounded Simon, forcing him to drop his sword to the floor.
Titus walked around the antechamber. He spied the priestly instruments bundled for extraction. He saw the menorah, the censers, the burning curtains. He looked above at the rafters on fire.
He walked over to the veil just as half of it fell to the ground in charred smoking cinders.
The Holy of Holies was laid bare.
Titus walked over to it and peered in. It was empty, long ago deprived of its guardian cherubim and holy ark.
The Roman general walked up to Simon with recognition in his eyes.
“Simon bar Giora.”
Simon glared silently in the eyes of his nemesis.
Titus looked back at the room around them. “You know, I must admit, part of me did anticipate some kind of…” He waved his hands. “Oh, I don’t know. Something. Maybe bolts of lightning from heaven.”
The Roman general opened his arms wide with a wrinkle of disappointment on his brow. “But there is nothing here. Nothing but a large, empty chamber. Where is this god of yours, this rock in whom you trust?”
Simon glared at him silently, refusing to answer.
Titus stepped close. Within inches. He was daring Simon.
He whispered to him, “You, however, are one formidable adversary.”
Titus smirked and turned his back, walking to the center of the room. “I commend you on your defense of the city. You and this, madman, Gischala.”
He turned back to face Simon. “Where is he?”
Simon stayed silent. Let him find out for himself.
Titus took off his helmet and handed it to a legionary. He unclasped his cape and shed his armor, handing it to another soldier.
What was he doing? Everyone around him looked confused. Everyone but Simon, who knew exactly what Titus was doing.
The Roman crossed his arms and said, “So you and I have someone very intimate in common.”
Simon thought it. Berenice.
“And I have to admit, I am a bit envious of you. Of what you had.” Titus considered his words carefully. “Of what you still have.”
Simon was still the possessor of Berenice’s heart.
A small piece of burning wood fell from the ceiling onto the floor in an explosion of sparks and cinders.
Simon looked above. The ceiling was going to collapse soon. Titus appeared to not even care.
The Roman general concluded, “Do not consider this my desire for revenge. Think of it rather as a gesture of respect. To allow you the opportunity for revenge.”
He commanded his soldiers, “Let him pick up his sword.”
A bold soldier protested, “But, Caesar.”
“I said let him pick up his sword. And do not molest him.”
Simon saw his sword on the ground atop some debris. He placed his foot beneath the blade and kicked upward. The sword launched into the air, and he caught the handle firmly. He felt a surge of energy fill him. He was renewed. He was ready to kill the prince of abomination.
• • • • •
In the Court of Priests, Apollyon swung Driver just as Remiel tried to jump him. The head hit Remiel square in the chest, crushing him and launching the angel into Saraqel. The two flew into a side column with such force that it collapsed the ceiling above them. They were buried in stone.
Uriel and Gabriel looked at each other with secret agreement.
Uriel stepped out of the circle toward Apollyon and shouted, “Enough! You belly-crawling, dirt-eating coward!”
The Watcher swung his hammer down upon Uriel, who crossed his swords over his head to catch the weapon’s shaft before the head could hit him.
Both warrior’s muscles shook with the strain of contested power.
Rahab then snapped through the air and cut the handle of the hammer in half, separating it from the hands of Apollyon, who now stood without protection against five angry archangels.
Raphael tossed a chain over to Michael. Catching it, Michael wrapped it in his fists. He said to Apollyon, “Get ready for a binding.”
• • • • •
Inside the Holy Place, Simon and Titus circled one another with their weapons ready. The legionaries surrounded them like a fence. More burning embers fell to the floor, barely missing them with flaming debris.
But just as the two warriors were about to engage, shadows came out from behind the colonnades all around them—behind the legionaries.
Before any of them knew what was happening, arrows released from bows, knives, and swords slit the throats and the hearts of the soldiers in the circle.
They fell to the ground dead. All of them.
Behind every Roman corpse now stood an Essene warrior with bow or blade in hand. Those weapons were now pointed at Titus Caesar, standing vulnerable in the open.
He dropped his sword to the ground in surrender.
The leader of the Essenes stepped forward: Aaron ben Hyam.
Simon smiled. “You know, I actually forgot you were coming.”
Aaron smiled in return. “So did I until I realized you would get all the glory.”
“Lower your weapons,” Simon ordered the Essenes. They obeyed. Aaron watched him curiously.
Simon turned back to Titus and approached him slowly, holding his sword tightly in his hand and pointed at the Roman’s throat.
Titus stared back defiantly. The end had turned in Simon’s favor. And all the weight of history came upon this one single moment in time.
They glared silently at each other.
Then Simon said, “Go.”
Titus looked confused. As if he had expected to die.
Simon spoke with a voice of calm, “And when you are emperor over my people, remember this day.”218
Titus hesitated as if he were going to respond. Instead he turned and walked quickly back out the entrance of the Holy Place.
A large burning rafter hit the floor near Simon. He felt the flush of hot air and sparks hit him.
“Simon,” barked Aaron. “We must get out of here.”
But Simon was resolved. He said, “Take the tunnels. There is still time to escape.”
Aaron was about to protest, but as he looked into Simon’s eyes, he changed his mind. Simon knew what he had to do.
Aaron turned and commanded his men, “Let’s go, quickly.”
They ran for the tunnel exits in the side chambers.
Michael dragged Apollyon into the Holy Place, bound in the special chain they had forged for this purpose.
Uriel and Gabriel followed, dragging Marduk and Azazel behind them.
They plowed through burning timbers from the roof above.
They dragged their captives up into the Holy of Holies.
They were joined by their four wounded fellow archangels around the Foundation Stone at the center of the most holy place.
Uriel rifled through Apollyon’s tunic and found what he was looking for. He tossed it to Michael, who caught it and smiled.
As he held the ring seal of Solomon, the prince of Israel said to Apollyon, “Do you really think you stole the key to the Abyss? You fool. It was given to you.”
When Apollyon first absconded with the seal years ago, he had used it to open the Abyss and let out the locust demons of hell along with the ancient ones bound at the Flood. His pride had blinded him to the realization that Yahweh had allowed such evil for his own purposes. That it was all part of the secret providential decrees of God.219
Michael used the signet ring to remove the foundation stone and open the shaft of the Abyss
. He nodded to Gabriel and Uriel, who were holding the other two Watchers. Pulling the Watchers over to the opening, they shoved them into the darkness.
Apollyon struggled with his chains, but they held him fast.
Michael said, “Apollyon, you ancient serpent, I consign you to the Abyss. You will no longer be able to deceive the nations. Gospel messengers will continue to go out, and they will draw his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other. From every tribe and people and language and nation. But you shall be bound in your prison for a thousand years, for he must reign until he has put all enemies under his feet.”
“Wait a second,” barked Apollyon.
But before he could register his complaint, he was cast into the Abyss and the Foundation Stone was sealed over the pit.
• • • • •
When Titus left the Holy Place, he was received by Tiberius and a cohort of legionaries that had been waiting for him in the inner court.
Titus got up on his horse as Tiberius drew near.
“What happened to the others, General?”
“They didn’t make it.”
“Thank the gods you survived,” said Tiberius.
Titus looked up at the temple. His second in command followed his gaze.
Flames licked the building out of every window now.
They saw Gischala high above on the roof with his arms out, surrounded by a crowd of soldiers.
“What is that moron doing?” asked Tiberius.
“He’s calling upon his god,” said Titus. “But he doesn’t realize that his god is on our side.”220
Tiberius told him, “Well, some legionaries torched the portico behind the temple as well. The rooms were filled with fanatics waiting for the same deliverance.”
Then they saw a figure exit from between the two large pillars of the temple entrance.
It was Simon. He had no sword, and his hands were raised in surrender.221
Titus yelled to his troops, “Do not kill that man! He is the general of the Jewish forces.”
Tiberius gave Titus a look of surprise.
Titus turned to his prefect. “Tiberius. Treat him with respect.”
“Yes, General.” Tiberius went to supervise the taking of the prisoner.
An officer asked Titus, “General, shall we put out the fire?”
“No” said Titus, looking up at Gischala. “Let it burn.”
CHAPTER 63
August 29, AD 70222
The temple mount had been secured by the Romans. The last of the Jewish forces had fled into the Lower and Upper Cities. Josephus led Agrippa into the Court of the Gentiles on their horses, dreading what he would find.
All around them, the pavement was littered with the corpses of Jewish soldiers. Thousands of them. The bodies had been pushed into piles to allow a pathway for the Romans and their allies. The legionary dead had been separated from them.
The two Jewish leaders arrived outside the inner temple where Titus, Tiberius, and several other leaders watched as the flames consumed the holy house of God.
Josephus felt like vomiting. But he dared not show the smallest sign of Jewish sympathy at this moment for he needed to maintain the trust of Titus.
He looked down to see Simon bar Giora, draped in chains, being pulled along on foot behind a horse. Obviously being whisked away to captivity.
As Simon passed him, Josephus caught his eye. A chill went through him. He knew the horrible destiny that awaited his fellow Jew—the Roman Triumph. He would be shipped to Rome with other captive leaders and dragged through the streets before a mocking crowd of Romans, who would pelt him with stones and rotten food. After a sacrifice to the gods, the captives would then all be executed for the glory of Caesar and Rome.
Josephus saw the anger in Simon’s eyes, the righteous indignation of a hero who had fought to the very end on behalf of his nation, his people, and his religion. The look triggered a sudden guilt in Josephus’s soul. He felt as if he were a traitor. Or worse, a coward. That he had done what he had to do only to stay alive above all else. Above his nation, his people, and his religion.
Josephus shook his head to himself. No. He was a captive, not a deserter. He had tried to save his people. He had pleaded with them. He had offered them the mercy of Caesar. But they had refused. If Vespasian was God’s anointed one, then Josephus was doing the right thing. Surely he had done the right thing.
He decided he would tell the story of this horrible war for future generations. To leave a lasting legacy that would justify his survival and remedy the gnawing guilt in his conscience.
Titus saw the two of them as they arrived. The general gestured to the golden roof of the Holy Place. Josephus saw the flames rising from below with clouds of black smoke pulsing upward. He saw a crowd of people with their hands raised to heaven, praying for deliverance. He thought he recognized their leader, though at this distance he could not be sure.
“Is that…?” he asked.
“John of Gischala,” Titus confirmed. “Apparently, he still disagrees with you over whose side your god is on.”
Josephus saw that Gischala was dressed in the garments of the high priest—blue robe, ephod, and miter. It all became clear to him. Gischala saw himself as the Messiah. He believed he was leading his people to wait for Yahweh’s return to Zion to rescue them and destroy the Romans.
What delusions we have all suffered.
Josephus then saw that the portico of the courtyard behind the temple was also in flames. Several people came running out of the burning structures, engulfed in flames and screaming in agony until they collapsed and died on the pavement.
Seeing Josephus’s revulsion, Titus explained, “My soldiers set the porticos on fire. It turns out that some six thousand or so of Gischala’s followers were waiting in the chambers for their deliverance.”
“Six thousand?” Josephus asked with cracking voice. He closed his eyes at the thought of the holocaust. So many dead.223
Titus added, “I must say, you Jews display a kind of masochistic lunacy in your suffering. It’s almost as if you welcome the pain as a pleasure to endure.” He thought for a second, then added, “Present company of collaborators excluded, of course.”
Josephus felt stung by the remark. It burrowed its way deeply into his liver like a diseased worm.
Collaborator.
He looked over and saw Agrippa smiling with amusement.
Soulless was the word he thought of for Herod.
The sound of breaking timbers echoed throughout the courtyard and drew everyone’s attention just in time to see the roof of the holy temple collapse beneath the feet of Gischala and his followers.224
They were swallowed up in an explosion of flames and surging smoke as if from the fires of Gehenna itself.
Josephus fought the urge to burst into weeping. So many dead. So many dead.
He noticed Titus watching him. He realized he had tears rolling down his cheeks.
Titus assured him, “If you didn’t cry at the desolation of your holy temple, I would think you weren’t human.”
They both glanced at Herod. He wasn’t crying. He glanced away in shame.
Josephus stared unblinkingly into the flames and spoke, “God had for certain long ago doomed this holy house to the fire. That fatal day has come at the end of the ages on the same exact day as the first temple was burnt by the king of Babylon.”225
They stood in silent awe as black billowing plumes filled the sky and darkened the sun.
CHAPTER 64
Alexander oversaw the transfer of the last of the patients from the hippodrome hospital into the theater in the Upper City. They were the most sickly and wounded of all the victims of war, three hundred of them, who could not travel without aid. The Christian assistants paired up with those who were strong enough to help for a total of several hundred volunteers. They carried beds and palettes of the infirm up the steep valley walkways behind the walls of the Upper City.
It had taken t
hem six hours to move everyone and another four to move the food, tents, tools, and instruments used in the hospital. Everyone who could do so made several trips.
Now Alexander entered the large semi-circular theater that sat safely behind the Upper City wall. The proscenium stage had been broken down, providing more room to be filled with beds and palettes virtually on top of one another. The sounds of patients moaning in pain seemed to echo loudly because of the acoustic structure of the theater.
The orchestral pit was overflowing with bedded patients as well. The first level of seats was filled with those who could sit or lay across the benches.
There was barely enough room for them all. But they had no other choice. The Romans had captured the temple mount and were preparing to raid the Lower City where the hippodrome was. They could not afford to gamble on the mercy of Titus.
Alexander was not sure what had happened to most of the refugees who had deserted the city into the arms of Rome. But word had spread that thousands of Jews had their bellies cut open while still alive in order for the Roman soldiers to steal the gold and silver coins they had swallowed. The doctor figured that the Romans would not bother with caring for the wounded. They would be considered a burden and would most likely be slaughtered en masse. Alexander had to do everything he could to protect those under his care.
But this was the last refuge. There were no more walls to hide behind, nowhere else to run. He had done everything he could to help the innocents in this war. Now he had to find a way out for the Christians.
He remembered back several years ago when he, Cassandra, and Severus had persuaded the Christians to leave Jerusalem after Cestius Gallus first surrounded the city. It had been the fulfillment of Jesus’s warning, and the elect had finally heeded his advice to flee to the mountains.
But Alexander had returned to the doomed city because he wanted to care for the suffering and share the Gospel. God always offered salvation even in the midst of judgment. And Alexander wanted to be a vessel of that redemption. Many had been saved. Of those still remaining with Alexander as his assistants, the numbers were about a hundred and fifty. One hundred and fifty of God’s elect. It was time to get them out. But how?
