There a solitary horseman rode.  Not a scale of armor was upon his horse; not a weapon, not even a shield depended from his harness.  His head was uncovered and a sheeny purple fillet showed in the tumbled, dusty black hair.  There was no guard on the hand that held the bridle; the cloak that floated from his shoulders was white wool; the tunic was the simple light garment that soldiers usually wear under armor; the shoes alone were mailed.  It seemed that the young Roman had stripped off his helmet, breast-plate and greaves to ride less encumbered or to appear less warlike.

But the Jews who looked at him understood.  Here was Titus come in peace!

The horse went with loosened rein, while the young Roman’s eyes raised to the great wall towering over him had more of admiration and a generous foe’s appreciation of his enemy’s strength than of the note-making search of a spy in them.

“Ha!  By Hector, that penurious Herod was a builder!” they seemed to say.  “There is enough stone insolence in these walls to trouble Rome for a while!”

Rod after rod of the slowly rising ground he traversed; rod after rod of the tall fortification passed under his inspection, and now the twin Women’s Towers rose upon the ashes and scarped rock to the north.

Titus spoke to his horse and rode faster.

Meanwhile silent dozens climbed panting and dumbly resisting the sentries up beside the first Jews.  They were citizens who dared not rejoice aloud.  They followed the young Roman with brightened eyes, saying each within his heart: 

“Thus David came up against Saul, unto Israel!”

But there was an increase of uproar in the city below, as if news of the coming of Titus had spread abroad.

Titus was now almost a mile from the nearest of his soldiers.  He passed the Gate of the Women’s Towers.  Hedges, gardens, ditches and wind-breaks of cedars of Lebanon from time to time obscured him.  When he came in sight again, he had placed obstruction between himself and retreat.

The next instant the Gate of the Women’s Towers swung in.  Out of it rushed a sortie of motley soldiery, brandishing weapons and shouting the war-cries of Simon and John.

The citizens on the walls pressed their hands to their temples and watched, transfixed with horror.  Jerusalem’s defenders had gone out against the Deliverer!

The attack had been seen by the disorganized troops on Gareb and the rapid trumpet-calls showed formation.  But between the time of their movement and the moment of their relief a company could have been unhorsed.  Meanwhile Titus, with nothing less than Fate preserving him for its own work, dodged javelins and, enraging the white stallion that he rode, kept out of reach of hand-to-hand encounter with his assailants.  Back and forward he rode, his horse carrying him at times out of range of missiles; again, all but surrounded by the unorganized enemy.  About his head whizzed axes and spears, wild, and frequently slaying their own.  Far up the slope of Gareb the six hundred gathered itself and swept in mass down upon the conflict.