The Last Temple

by Hank Hanegraaff

  “That’s a truthful response, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

  Vitas kept a level gaze on his friend.

  “I’ve put you in the position of choosing between serving one obligation to me and another obligation to Ben-Aryeh,” Titus said. “Am I reading this correctly?”

  “Yes.”

  Titus repeated his earlier gesture of pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He closed his eyes and did not open them as he spoke.

  “Today, I make one final offer for surrender,” Titus said. “I’d like you to accompany me. I believe what the Jews hear will be enough to get them to accept surrender.”

  “You’ve offered it before to no avail. Even with the city racked by famine.”

  Titus opened his eyes. “What drives these people, Vitas? I’ll tell you. Worship of their God. And the most sacred object in the world to them is the Temple, where their God resides. Every one of them—soldier or not—will fight to the death to protect their Temple. Today, I will tell them what they want to hear. I expect by tomorrow we will have peace, and then you can move through the city freely, with an escort of soldiers.”

  “If today’s offer fails?”

  “Tomorrow is the day that I begin the final push to break through the Antonia’s wall. That should draw the bulk of Jerusalem’s fighters to the ramparts and provide enough of a distraction for you and Ben-Aryeh to get inside unnoticed. I will expect help from Ben-Aryeh later, in return.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That decision was made for my benefit,” Titus rejoined. There was no hint of a smile. “You and I have been through too much together. I don’t ever want to have to choose between duty to Rome and executing you.”

  Hora Secunda

  Vitas found Ben-Aryeh at the tent they now shared. Ben-Aryeh was on his knees, his head bowed in prayer.

  Vitas retreated to give his friend privacy. Through worship and sacrifices, the Romans did their best to make their gods serve them. He’d learned from Sophia and Ben-Aryeh that for the Jews, it was the opposite: their worship was because their one and true God was worthy of it.

  There were moments—many of them—when Vitas wanted to surrender himself to the same worship, to the same sense that an invisible and all-powerful God was in control not only of mankind’s destiny, but of each man’s destiny. He was too much a Roman to believe without sufficient evidence, however, and every time his heart came close to this surrender, his intellect demanded proof.

  Vitas returned about ten minutes later to find Ben-Aryeh standing outside, staring sightlessly at the rocks atop Mount Olivet.

  Tears streamed down the older man’s face.

  Ben-Aryeh did not turn to Vitas as he spoke. “While you were gone, Ben-Matthias told me enough so that I truly understand how bad it has become for our people. I don’t want to believe what he relayed to me. A hundred and fifteen thousand?”

  A week earlier, reports had come to Titus that this was the total of the dead carried through the gate. The dead bodies of the poor had been laid in heaps in large houses. Other bodies were simply thrown over the city walls into the valleys, in such numbers that in Titus’s rounds along the valleys, he had groaned and spread his hands skyward, calling to God to witness that this was not Titus’s doing. War and death Titus had seen in plentitude, but this was so tragic that even an experienced general like him felt anguish.

  Vitas knelt and took some dust from the ground. He threw it upward and watched as the breeze took it away. The wind was coming from the west, over the city and toward the Mount of Olives.

  “I have a vial of oil of myrrh,” Vitas said. This was common, and many soldiers used it as a salve on light wounds. “My advice is to rub some of it on a cloth and keep it nearby to hold over your face if the wind continues to blow in this direction.”

  “A hundred and fifteen thousand?”

  “You will be grateful for the myrrh,” Vitas said. “All of those dead and more. As the heat strikes the dead, the stench is almost unbearable.”

  Later that morning, Vitas rode at a stately walk alongside Ben-Matthias and Titus, who’d had a black stallion saddled.

  They were near the bottom of the valley and had to look upward at the walls of Jerusalem. The sun was high enough now that when Vitas turned his eyes toward the Temple, it seemed to burn. The outward facing of the Temple was covered with burnished plates of gold, and the fiery splendor glimmered like a mirage but was far too painful on the eyes for more than momentary admiration. Later, when the sun’s angle shifted, it would no longer be like staring directly into the sun, but still so breathtakingly beautiful that often a man looked away for fear of being hypnotized.

  The soldiers had begun their day’s activities, and the sounds only served to remind Vitas of the fate of this beautiful city and the hundreds of thousands still behind the walls.

  The methodical windings of the ballistae—the great catapults—prepared for the daily barrage of stones sometimes double the weight of a man’s body. The doctores ballistarum—the commanders of the weapons—would take pride in their ability to aim and pick off single defenders. The whirring sound of the stones struck terror into all who heard, each stone chiseled to make it as round as possible.

  In the weeks earlier, the Roman soldiers had realized the brightness of the stones made them as obvious as hail. Watchmen in Jerusalem would see the stones against the sky and call warning. Now the stones were painted black and were devastatingly effective.

  The monotonous thumping of the siege engines began to form the rhythm of a heartbeat, a sound that never failed to chill Vitas. Not only did the arietes—battering rams—break down walls, but morale. Roman law dictated that defenders could surrender and be given full rights, until the moment before the first ram touched the wall.

  Each ram was protected by a testudo—tortoise—with a steeply angled roof so that any objects hurled upon it simply slid down the sides. It was covered with uncured hides, and fiery oil flung upon it would slide to the ground before the flames could get through. As for the beam beneath, it was drawn back by dozens of men, who then pushed it forward in unison, letting go just before the iron head made impact with the wall. Not once in Roman history had any wall survived repeated blows, and often, in Vitas’s experience, a thick stone wall would collapse at the first blow.

  Here, Titus had needed to send tens of thousands of men to bring in dirt and stone from dozens of miles away, just to be able to fill the valleys with earthworks. At the same time, Titus had sent thousands more men to dig beneath the city walls. The tunnels were filled with wood and resin and sulfur, then lit so the fire would undermine the walls even further.

  And behind all of these engines were the dreaded scorpiones, crossbow devices smaller than the ballistae, firing arrows capable of piercing any armor.

  Day after day for weeks now, these tens of thousands of disciplined men had steadily applied pressure on Jerusalem.

  What had once been the immovable object was finally about to give way to the irresistible force.

  Hora Octava

  For the next hour, Ben-Matthias and Vitas remained with Titus, who rode from camp to camp, giving instructions. No clouds weakened the sun’s heat, and Vitas was grateful for the skins of water they carried.

  They completed the entire circumference of the Roman wall, staying out of range of arrows or stones. It was a grim ride for Vitas. Many of the bodies thrown down from the Jerusalem walls had begun to putrefy. He tried not to imagine what it was like within the city among the gaunt and starving. He tried not to imagine the horrors that Damian faced, if his brother was still alive.

  As they returned to the Mount of Olives, Titus rode to a position directly opposite the Temple Mount and looked upward, remaining on horseback. Vitas and Ben-Matthias flanked him on their horses.

  Immediately defenders on the walls jeered and hurled rocks and debris, all of it falling short of Titus. His safe position had been easy to choose, for the perimeter was w
ell established by previous detritus already scattered in front of him.

  Titus continued to gaze imperiously upward, saying nothing. He remained immobile in the heat, until his inaction drew the curiosity of the Jewish defenders, and this curiosity, in turn, silenced them.

  Only then, with their full attention on him, did Titus raise his right arm.

  Because each of his auxiliary commanders had been instructed to watch for that signal, all movement on the Roman side stopped—the winching of the ballistae, the battering of the arietes, the constant rain of arrows from the scorpiones.

  Except for the squawking of vultures among the bodies between Jerusalem and Titus, silence descended on the valley.

  Titus dropped his arm, but he continued to gaze upward with no expression on his face.

  Within minutes, more faces appeared above him at the walls of Jerusalem. Citizens had been drawn forward by the silence after weeks and weeks of the constant sound of warfare.

  Still, Titus said nothing.

  And minutes after that, a new sound broke into the silence. A distant but constant sound, unidentifiable at first, but slowly growing in volume.

  Vitas knew what the sound was. He’d been prepared for it because he’d been alongside Titus as the general gave his instructions. Even so, the eeriness gave him shivers.

  He expected it was a sound no person here had ever experienced—the sound of feet against ground, sandals against rock and pebble, as thousands and thousands of soldiers marched in unison, not one man uttering a single word.

  Titus had given very clear instructions. He wanted the entire Roman army to assemble along the Mount of Olives, behind the Roman wall—safe from any attack by Jewish defenders but clearly visible to all in Jerusalem.

  It took nearly an hour for every Roman soldier in all the legions to gather on the slope of the Mount of Olives. In that hour, no man spoke. In that hour, more and more citizens within Jerusalem moved to the secure walls above the valley, staring down at the spectacle of power.

  When it was complete, more than sixty thousand soldiers, all in armor, all carrying weapons, spread across the hillside, hundreds of men deep, hundreds of men wide.

  The entire time, Titus did not move but held his gaze upward.

  A messenger ran up to Titus’s horse and said a single word. “Ready.”

  Titus raised his arm again. Every soldier, in unison, shouted three Latin words, repeating them again and again and again.

  “Veni, vidi, vaporavi. Veni, vidi, vaporavi. Veni, vidi, vaporavi. Veni, vidi, vaporavi.”

  I came, I saw, I burned.

  The words rolled like thunder through the valley, echoing as they bounced off the smooth city walls and back at the soldiers.

  I came, I saw, I burned.

  Never had Vitas been assailed by such a mighty noise. It continued for ten minutes as Titus held his arm in the air.

  I came, I saw, I burned.

  Then Titus dropped his arm, and instantly the shouting ceased.

  His plan had been to put on display the entire might arrayed against the people of the city, to let them see that Rome would not and could not be stopped.

  Such was the effect of the renewed silence that when Titus addressed the thousands of people on the wall above him, his voice carried clearly across the steep valley.

  “I am Titus, heir to the throne of Rome, the right hand of my father, who has commanded me to put an end to this rebellion. I freely acknowledge that your God is a mighty God and that his house, your Temple, is the most holy sanctuary. Neither my father nor I, when I someday inherit the throne, will ever attempt to desecrate this holy place.”

  Titus drew a breath. “In front of your God and all of us assembled, I pledge that I will protect the holy house of your God with all my power. You should now see that it is inevitable that your city will fall if you do not surrender, yet I do not want to burn your city. John of Gischala, I appeal to you.”

  As Titus had expected, jeering and catcalls began from some of the Jewish defenders.

  He raised his arm again, and the soldiers behind him began to shout once more.

  I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned.

  Titus dropped his hand, and the shouting stopped.

  Before he could speak again, jeering began immediately. Titus responded by raising his arm, and the thunderous noise again overwhelmed any catcalls from the Jewish defenders.

  I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned. I came, I saw, I burned.

  This time, when he dropped his arm, none above him interrupted.

  Titus began to speak, knowing he would be clearly heard. “As for the Zealots among you, why do you pollute this holy house with the blood both of foreigners and Jews? Why do you yourself allow the abomination and desolation in the holy Temple of your God?

  “I appeal to the gods of my own country,” Titus continued, “and to every god that ever had any regard to this place. I also appeal to my own army, to those Jews who are now with me, and even to you yourselves, that I do not force you to defile this sanctuary. Citizens, now is the time to surrender to save your holy Temple. If you do not surrender, I promise you this.”

  He paused, but no jeers broke his pause. If the citizens of Jerusalem expected further threats, Titus surprised them.

  “My legions have the power to break through the Antonia tower at any moment, but I promise if you move the place of fighting away from your holy sanctuary, no Roman shall go near it or offer any affront to it. No! I will endeavor to preserve your holy house, whether you will or will not surrender. Let us not battle in the holy place.”

  Titus nodded at Ben-Matthias. Word for word, Ben-Matthias translated into Aramaic the promise Titus had made so that every citizen understood.

  Ben-Matthias added his own words too, pleading with his people, telling them that was how Titus intended to secure the peace. If they battled because of their God, he would not make it a battle any longer. They were starving to the point of death, and the wall to Antonia would fall in days, if not hours. Could they not see that fighting Rome was useless? And if Rome promised them the Temple would be secure forever, was that not enough of a victory? The women and children would be allowed safety and the military men sent to Rome as part of a triumph. Was this not better than the surety that nearly all would die without surrender? And he exhorted them to remember that Caesar would preserve the Temple and give the Jews the freedom to worship as God intended.

  Vitas, like Titus, believed this might be enough to avert full-scale tragedy. If the soldiers struck, blood would flow, as the saying went, to the height of a horse’s bridle at the death of thousands upon thousands by the sword. By promising them the Temple, how could they not accept his terms?

  A man stepped forward on the wall and held up his own hand as if he had the power of Caesar.

  It was an obvious mockery of Titus, who could have silenced the man with the renewed shouting of all his soldiers. Instead, Titus ignored the insult and let the man speak.

  “We have been promised a Messiah, and God is faithful to his people,” the man shouted. He was John of Gischala, as recognizable as Titus, large and bearded, exuding the strength and ferocity of a bear.

  “You speak as if you have power, and you assemble your men as if you can destroy the Temple, but God would preserve us even if your army were a hundredfold its current size.” John of Gischala held a spear and waved it as he spoke. “You ask us to move our fight away from the Temple, but that is because you know that the Temple will protect us and that your only hope of victory is if we give up the Temple. I say this in front of God and in front of man: by offering to fight anywhere but the Temple, you expose your fear of defeat. My promise to you is this. If you bring your fight to the Temple, the one and only God will strike you down and send you away, just as he defeated a hundred thousand Assyrians to preserve his people. Return to Rome, and leave us with the land God gave us.”

  With a final act of defiance, John
of Gischala hurled the spear toward Titus. It landed well short and stuck hard in the ground.

  Even before it stopped quivering, Titus had turned his horse to ride away.

  Hora Duodecima

  “Tomorrow, with the blessing of Titus, Vitas and I go into the city,” Ben-Aryeh said to Ben-Matthias. “I am not naive enough to believe that it will be entirely successful. I don’t want to be dramatic, but I want to thank you both for your help in all of this.”

  “You have nothing to thank me for,” Vitas growled. “You are giving me a chance to see if my brother is still alive, something not even the mighty Titus is capable of doing.”

  The three of them were at a fire in the camp of the Tenth Legion, eating drumsticks of chicken. At each meal, Vitas could not help but think of the hundreds of thousands trapped in Jerusalem, starving, perhaps with Damian among them. And at each meal, Vitas thought of the many times Titus had implored them to work out terms of surrender so the women and children would be spared.

  “Thank me by finally telling me the reasons that I have helped,” Ben-Matthias answered. “I am a man of great curiosity, and I began writing about the war during my time in prison, as I intend to chronicle it for future generations. I promise whatever you tell me won’t be revealed until the need for secrecy is long gone. I also promise you will be portrayed in a flattering, heroic manner, unlike Simon Ben-Gioras and John of Gischala, who are directly responsible for this horror.”

  “I am going to ask you the fates of twenty prominent men in Jerusalem,” Ben-Aryeh said in response. “I want to know if they are alive and, if so, among the moderates or the Zealots.”

  “Then you will answer me?”

  Ben-Aryeh gave Ben-Matthias a name instead of responding to that question. “Annas.”

  This was the name of the priest who had threatened to execute Ben-Aryeh for false charges of rape, causing Ben-Aryeh to flee Jerusalem with Vitas.

  “Dead,” Ben-Matthias said. “Executed by John of Gischala.”