Deborah: A tale of the times of Judas MaccabaeusLudlow, James M. (James Meeker)
History
Deborah: A tale of the times of Judas Maccabaeus
Ludlow, James M. (James Meeker)
Jewish fiction; Jews -- History -- 586 B.C.-70 A.D. -- Fiction; Maccabees -- Fiction
One closely watching these scouts and pickets would have noted that
when a Greek soldier surmounted the crest he neither returned nor made
sign to those following. He simply disappeared, his comrades supposing
that he had passed in safety. But an eagle flying over the spot would
have paused to hover, with beak parted for the carrion feast that
awaited him there; for behind the ledge were masked the deadliest
shots among the Jewish bowmen, and those most expert with the short
lance, having from boyhood used it in hunting. Men who could elude the
sagacity of the fox, and pin the wary beast to the ground with a throw
of threescore paces, made quick finish of a Greek armed with a long and
heavy sarissa, which was fit only for close prodding.
Behind the van came the staff of Seron, men bemedalled for exploits in
many battles. Then followed squadrons of horse, crowding their sweaty
flanks, and rubbing the greaves from their riders' legs in the attempt
to keep full number abreast on the narrow road. So the python's head
reached the Heights of Bethhoron.
Suddenly the crest of the hill burst as with an earthquake. A roar
as of thunder articulated the war cry, "Mi-camo-ca-ba!" Every rock
scintillated with spear-heads. Arrows clouded the air, and fell in
deadly showers upon the unshielded Greeks, leaving scarcely a man or
a horse standing on the near roadway. Hundreds of these shafts, as if
borne by wings, so far was their flight, dropped amid Seron's suite,
and the gayest plumes first nodded beneath the deadly challenge.
Under cover of this storm of missiles, and before the enemy could
sufficiently recover from consternation to clearly discern the meaning
of the attack, the armored Jews dashed over the crest. As when a dam
bursts, the living flood poured down the slope, carrying everything
before it. Mi-camo-ca-ba! the wild cry from a thousand throats, drowned
all shouts of command. But one sound was heard above the din. It was
the lion voice of Judas, as with the sword of Apollonius he hewed his
way through the half-formed phalanges. The first stretch of road was
not cleared of the foe before those on the second bend were hemmed in
by the patriot archers, who had gained the covert of rocks on either
side, and swept the highway with unerring aim. For the Greeks to
advance was impossible; orderly retreat equally vain. Those who stood
their ground were huddled together as for quicker slaughter. Those in
the rear turned backward in flight. The splendid squadrons, blinded by
panic, became like herds of riderless horses, spurred by the sting of
arrows. Cavalry dashed back upon the infantry following, carrying these
foot soldiers along as a freshet its débris. In less than two hours the
army of Seron was in hopeless rout over the white hills and across the
green cornfields of the plain of Sharon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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