“Therefore should you take the city”--he put this hypothetically in deference to Vashti’s belief--“you must, as owing your son’s life to her, deal leniently with the nation to which she belongs, and show the mercy that pertaineth to an honorable Roman general. May we soon meet. _Vale!_” He added the date, together with a strange sign that puzzled Vashti. “A private mark,” he explained. “’Twill convince him of the authenticity of this little epistle.” Later in the day Vashti went off with the letter; and, returning after an interval of two hours, was able to announce that Heber had undertaken the charge, but from due regard to safety he would not make the attempt till after nightfall. Evidently he kept his word, for when Vashti visited his house next day his mystified kinsfolk declared that he had vanished during the night, deserting apparently to the Roman camp, since they had discovered a rope hanging from the window of his room. Crispus from his place on the roof continued to watch with a lively interest the doings of the Romans. Three days were spent by the Legate in perfecting his arrangements for the taking of the city; on the fourth day he advanced, delivering his attack from the north. For five days the fighting went on, very much to the advantage of the Romans; at the close of the sixth day they had captured certain strategic points--a capture that made it manifest, even to those citizens least experienced in military affairs, that the morrow would bring with it the fall of the city. Crispus, who had watched the operations with the trained eye of a soldier, remarked with filial pride: “My father will do in one week what took the great Pompey twelve weeks.” But Vashti shook her pretty head mournfully. That same night the remnant of the Sanhedrim and the captains of the Zealots met in the hall Gazith to deliberate upon their desperate situation. There was scarcely a man among them but believed the doom of the city to be a matter of a few hours only. The once fierce Eleazar trembled now, remembering that it was _his_ hand that had struck down the Legate’s son. Though Cestius should be never so merciful to the rebels, there was one person at least whom he was certain not to spare. Gloom and despondency marked every face but that of Simon; he alone maintained a bold front. “To-morrow about this time,” said he, “Cestius will be in full retreat.” “Yes, if the Messiah should descend from heaven to help us,” said Matthias, the high priest. “Earthly means will suffice.” “What is your plan, for you evidently have one?” “Simply this; I shall go to Cestius and shall say to him, ‘Cestius, withdraw your legions,’ and he will withdraw them.” “Have we need of madmen?” said Matthias, turning scornfully to Eleazar, “that you admit this fellow to our councils?” CHAPTER XV THE TRIUMPH OF SIMON Night melted into the golden light of a lovely morning.