Here in this silent, sunless vault for many, many days Marcus lay sick
with a brain fever, of which, had it not been for the skilful nursing
of Nehushta and of the leeches among the Essenes, he must certainly
have died. But these leeches, who were very clever, doctored the deep
sword-cut in his head, removing with little iron hooks the fragments of
bone which pressed upon his brain, and dressing that wound and another
in his knee with salves.
Meanwhile, they learned by their spies that both the Temple and Mount
Sion had fallen. Also they heard of the trial of Miriam and of her
exposure on the Gate Nicanor, but of what happened to her afterwards
they could gather nothing. So they mourned her as dead.
Now, their food being at length exhausted and the watch of the Romans
having relaxed, they determined, those who were left of them, for some
had died and Ithiel himself was very ill, to attempt to escape from the
hateful vaults that had sheltered them for all these months. A question
arose as to what was to be done with Marcus, now but a shadow of a man,
who still wandered somewhat in his mind, but who had passed the worst of
his sickness and seemed like to live. Some were for abandoning him; some
for sending him back to the Romans; but Nehushta showed that it would be
wise to keep him as a hostage, so that if they were attacked they might
produce him and in return for their care, perhaps buy their lives.
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