“It is an attack!” Amaryllis cried.

“On this house?” Salome demanded.

There was a clatter of arms and several men in Jewish armor rushed through the chamber from the passage that led in from the Temple.

“I shall see,” said the Maccabee, and followed the men at once.

Without he saw the night sky overhead crossed by dark stones flying over the wall to the east.  Warfare had begun.

But the attack was simply preliminary and desultory.  It ceased while he waited.  Presently it began farther toward the north.  The catapult had been moved.  The Maccabee hesitated in the colonnade.

The beautiful girl in the house of Amaryllis was in no further danger.  The interruption had saved him at a critical moment.

He walked down the steps and out into the night.

“Liberty!” he whispered with a sigh of relief.  “Now what to do?”

Chapter XIV

THE PRIDE OF AMARYLLIS

The night following the wounding of Nicanor, John spent on his fortifications expecting an attack.  It was one of the few nights when the Gischalan kept vigil, for he refused to contribute fatigue to the prospering of his cause.

Sometime in mid-morning he appeared in the house of Amaryllis and sent a servant to her asking her to breakfast with him.  The Greek sent him in return a wax tablet on which she had written that she was shut up in her chamber writing verse, but that she had provided him a companion as entertaining as she.

When he passed into the Greek’s dining-room, the woman who called herself wife to Philadelphus awaited him at the table.

When he sat she dropped into a chair beside him and laid before him a bunch of grapes from Crete, preserved throughout the winter in casks filled with ground cork.

“It is the last, Amaryllis says,” she observed.  “And siege is laid.”

John looked ruefully at the fruit.

“Perhaps,” he said after thought, “were I a thrifty man and a spiteful one, I would not eat them.  Instead, I should have the same cluster served me every morning that I might say to mine enemies, with truth, that I have Cretan grapes for breakfast daily.  They will keep,” he added presently, “for it is tradition that stores laid up for siege never decay.”

“Obviously,” said the woman, “they do not last long enough.”

John plucked off one of the light green grapes and ate it with relish.

“Since thou doubtest the tradition, I shall not have these spoil.”

“But you destroy even a better boast over your enemy.  Then you could say to him, ’We can not consume all our food.  Behold the grapes rot in the lofts!’”

John smiled.

“Half of the lies go to preserve another’s opinion of us.  How much we respect our fellows!”

“Be comforted; there are as many lying for our sakes!  But how goes it without on the walls?”