for their old exclusiveness with wild heathen
Idumean soldiers, starvelings, ruffians and strange women from
out-lying towns. Far and wide were wandering crowds, surly, defiant,
discourteous, exacting. Manifestly it was the visitors who were the
aggressors. They had been overthrown and driven from their own into an
unsubjugated city which was secure. They felt the rage of the defeated
which are not subdued, and the resentment against another's unearned
immunity. The citizens of Jerusalem had not welcomed them and they
were enraged. Half a dozen fights of more or less seriousness were in
sight at once. A column of black wiry men in some semblance of uniform
pushed across the open space toward the Essene Gate. They took no heed
for any in their path. Those who could not escape were overturned and
trampled on. Meeting a rush at the gate they drew swords and coolly
hacked their way through screams of fear and pain and amazement. After
them went a wave of curses and complaint. Citizens against the
visitors; visitors against the citizens; soldiers against them all!

"And this cousin of mine meant to pacify all this!" the Ephesian
exclaimed to himself.

Jerusalem, that had for fifteen hundred years adorned herself at this
time with tabrets and had gone forth in the dance of them that make
merry, was drunken with wormwood and covered with ashes.

All at once the Ephesian saw four soldiers standing together and with
them, manifestly under their protection, was a Greek of striking
beauty. He wore on his fine head a purple turban embroidered with a
golden star.

Without a moment's hesitation, the Ephesian approached. The spears of
the four soldiers fell and formed a barrier around the Greek. The
new-comer smiled confidently.

"Greeting, servant of Amaryllis," he said. "I am your lady's expected
guest."

The Greek came forth from the square formed by his guard.

"I am that servant of Amaryllis," he said courteously. "But show me
yet another sign."

The Ephesian drew from his bosom the Maccabaean signet and flashed its
blue fires at the Greek. The servant stepped hastily between the
soldiers and the new-comer.

"Thy name?" he asked in a whisper.

"I am Philadelphus Maccabaeus."

The servant bent and taking the hem of the woolen tunic pressed it to
his lips.

"Happy hour!" he exclaimed. "I pray you follow me."

The pretender breathed a relieved sigh and joined his protector.

They passed down into Akra and approach