Outskirts Press, INC.

He fought for his God, his nation, and a woman.

The year is 167 BCE. The bloodthirsty Syrian king Antiochus IV has reneged on the promise of religious freedom made to the Jews by his forebear Alexander the Great. Antiochus sets out to abolish every semblance of Jewish religion and culture, replacing it with the revered ways of the Greeks. Hundreds are slaughtered in the courts of the temple as they resist the king’s desecration of their altar. Antiochus changes the face of Jerusalem, erecting a gymnasium where the men follow the common Greek practice of exercising nude. Many of the young Jewish men betray their heritage by having their circumcisions surgically reversed to hide their distinction as Jews.

One elderly priest determines it would be better to die than see their nation thus corrupted. With his five sons, Mattathias ben Hasmoneus launches a guerilla war against the hated Syrians. Judas, his middle son, proves to be the genius in battle and becomes known throughout Judea as the Maccabee, the hammer. As Judas leads the nation in the struggle for freedom, one of his continuing motivations is love for the woman promised him since childhood but who has been caught in the midst of the conflict. Only when Jerusalem is delivered from the Syrians can she become his.

Maccabee draws extensively on the ancient writings of Josephus and the apocryphal works 1 and 2 Maccabees. An additional chapter has been placed at the end of Maccabee, “Author’s Historical Notes,” for those interested in separating the fiction from the actual events.

With his army arrayed behind him, Judas slowly approached the eastern wall of the citadel on horseback with twenty other horsemen in two ranks behind him. The army moving into position had not gone unnoticed by Lysimachus, who watched from atop the wall as Judas approached.

“What do you want?” Lysimachus called to the approaching horsemen, his voice echoing back from the Mount of Olives.

“I want to speak with Lysimachus,” shouted back Judas.

“I am Lysimachus. Who are you?”

“I am Judas ben Mattathias, leader of the armies of Israel.”

“Are you the one they call the Maccabee?”

“I am the one. I am calling upon you to surrender Jerusalem. There is no need . . .” Judas stopped speaking momentarily as he watched an arrow curve across the sky and stick into the ground a few feet in front of him.

Lysimachus turned and shouted to the young archer who had shot the arrow. “Stop, you fool. I didn’t give any order to shoot. Besides, he’s too far out. You can’t reach him from here.”

At that instant, an arrow bounced off the stone parapet just inches away from where Lysimachus held his right hand. The ram’s horn bow that Jonathan used proved itself far superior to the wooden ones used by the Syrians. Lysimachus looked back at Judas, a stunned expression on his face.

“An eye for an eye, Lysimachus,” shouted Judas. “Jonathan could have killed you if he had wanted to. But there is no need for anyone to die today. Surrender the city, and your garrison and anyone else who wants to go with them can leave in peace.”

“We have no need to surrender to you and your rebel army. We have men and weapons to resist anything you bring against us. And we are well supplied. It seems that going off to celebrate your holy day has proved quite costly to you. It allowed us to replenish our supply of food. We can last for months, a year if need be. By then, Antiochus will bring an army that will wipe you from the face of the earth.”

Judas assumed a mocking tone. “Your king has tried that already. Twice.”

“Twice?” The garrison commander looked at other men on the wall but only received shrugs and questioning looks in return.

“It seems you don’t get much news,” derided Judas. “Do you know a general named Seron?” Judas had learned the general’s name as his troops had plundered his camp.

Lysimachus did not reply, but waited for Judas to continue.

“You will find his corpse, along with those of almost a thousand of his men, scattered along the Way of Beth-horon all the way to the sea.”

When Judas said these words, a deafening cheer rose from the army arrayed behind him. The blood drained from the face of the garrison commander. After about a minute, Judas held up his hand to silence the roar behind him.

“Commander, I offer you again this chance to surrender. There is no need that you become like Seron.” Judas paused before adding, “And Apollonius.”

“I cannot surrender to you, Maccabee. Do what you must.”

Lysimachus turned to descend the stairway from the rampart. As he did, Judas shouted after him. “One more thing, Lysimachus.” The commander stopped and turned to hear what more this man he was beginning more and more to fear had to say.

“You have something of mine. If anything happens to her, if even a hair of her head is harmed, there is no wall and no army that can keep me from you.” With these words, Judas pulled his horse around. The ranks behind him opened for him to pass through, then they too turned and followed. Judas motioned to the long line of troops arrayed across the base of the Mount of Olives. Slowly they faded back into the trees until not a single man remained in sight.

Lysimachus stood staring after the disappearing army that would hold him prisoner for months to come. Apollonius was dead. Now Seron was dead. If Antiochus did not send an army that could defeat this one they called the Maccabee, eventually he would have to find a way to deal with this man. Somehow, he needed to leave himself that possibility. His only hope was to care for the two women he was holding, but now one of those was sick. What would happen if she died?