In that immoral age fidelity to a wife was a rare virtue, and one that commended itself to honest old Vespasian. “You swear it, sire, that no man shall be permitted to take her from me?” Vespasian was painfully impressed by the tense, earnest look of Crispus. “By the gods, it shall go ill with the man, if any such there be. He who dares to take your wife from you shall be hanged on high--yea, though he were my own son.” “Take it not amiss, sire, if I ask for that promise in writing.” While Vespasian, surprised yet compliant, was putting his promise into documentary form, Titus stood silent in the background. His face at that moment was a study, and confirmed Crispus in the suspicion he had long entertained. CHAPTER XVIII THE PRELIMINARIES OF A GREAT SIEGE It was the spring of the year A.D. 70, nearly nine months after the elevation of Vespasian to the imperial throne, and still the Roman legions, now under the sole command of Titus, tarried in their encampment at Cæsarea-by-the-sea. The self-confident Zealots of Jerusalem began to doubt whether the enemy ever _would_ come within sight of the city again. In the intervals of their internecine warfare they were much interested in watching the progress of a new planet or comet, fiery red in color. It first appeared in Pisces, the constellation which, in the astral lore of that age, was supposed to be connected with the fortunes of Judæa. Night after night it mounted higher, and ever higher, in the sky, seeming to be making for a point directly above the holy city. At the very first sight of it the multitude had cried with one voice, “_The star of the Messiah!_” Ere long it became so distinct and bright as to be plainly discernible in the daytime, and crowds gathered at street corners to stare at what they devoutly believed to be a heaven-sent sign. The glorious day foretold by the prophets was at hand when the Jews, with the assistance of the heavenly powers, should reign supreme over all the nations of the earth. And when the star, growing more plain, was seen to take the shape of a sword[24] with its blade pointing in the direction of the Roman Camp at Cæsarea, who could doubt that it portended the doom of those who were threatening the holy city? “There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel.” Such was the text upon which Rabbi Simeon ben Gamaliel proposed to give a midrash or sermon, an announcement that attracted to the Royal Synagogue a congregation larger than any previously seen within its walls.