Evidently it was an experiment that did not please Berenice. She looked for all the world like a woman detected in a secret. With a glance that might be interpreted as one almost of fear, she sank back on the cushions of the palanquin, and, without another word to him, gave the order for the bearers to proceed. In pensive mood, Crispus watched her departure. Whether she were Athenaïs, or whether she were not, it was difficult to see why the simple mention of the name should act so strangely upon her. That he had not lost her favor, however, was evidenced by the arrival, during the night, of three thousand Jewish cavalry. They were the troops of King Agrippa, and had been sent by him to bring his sister safely out of the troubled city; meeting them on the way, Berenice had bidden them go on to the help of the little garrison in the Prætorium. It can readily be imagined how gladly these new auxiliaries were welcomed by Metilius, but when Crispus suggested that one-half of them should proceed to Antonia, Darius, the master of the horse, declined, on the ground that the princess’ orders were that he should fight for the Prætorium only. CHAPTER XII “VÆ VICTIS!” Early next morning the Zealot chief Manahem, who, with his followers, had camped during the night upon Olivet, descended that mount, and, seated upon a chariot, entered the city with an air of pomp and state that moved the spleen of Eleazar, as he watched the procession from the roof of the temple-cloisters. “Is this fellow a king?” said he. “Will he reign at Jerusalem?” Manahem was welcomed with enthusiastic acclamation by the newly-armed populace, who demanded that he should at once lead them against Antonia, fully believing that he who had taken Masada would have no difficulty in taking a similar fortress. Manahem could not decline this task without risking his character for bravery; so, after plundering and burning the deserted palaces of Agrippa and Ananias, he advanced at the head of a tumultuous and disorderly throng towards the Turris Antonia, where, having procured silence, he--in very bad Latin--called upon the commandant to surrender the fortress. “I am a Roman.” And the officer, deeming that answer sufficient, disdained to give any other. “So was he who held Masada,” replied the Zealot chief, giving the signal for the attack. All day long under Manahem’s leadership a fierce fight raged round the fortress, but when night fell, the Jews had nothing to show for their fiery valor except their heavy tale of dead and dying. Manahem’s wrath, arising from his failure, was enhanced by the remark of Simon, who, out of jealousy, had refrained from helping his brother-chief. “You have caused the holy seed to be massacred.” “Thou shalt captain them thyself to-morrow,” said Manahem. “Be it so,” replied the Black Zealot calmly. Next morning when the multitude had again assembled for war Simon thus addressed them: