~~~INCOMING METRIC TONS OF WRITEFAGGING~~~
Brother Anatole wiped the sweat from his brow as he kept watch on the narrow defile. The cliff fort, a long-abandoned brigand stronghold that was more cave than building, had served them well. They'd held out against the Romans for three days, and, Jehova willing, they had supplies to continue doing so for several weeks. Brother Elezar emerged from below and joined him on the battlement.
"No. Since the assault last night, there's been no sight of them. Perhaps they're content to wait us out."
"Then they may know the location of this place, but not the nature. The grain stocks are full, the spring sweet and ever-flowing. So long as the Romans do not breach the walls, we are as safe here as anywhere." Elezar chuckled. "Far safer than the streets of Jerusalem."
Anatole shot him a stern look. "Do not underestimate the Romans. That they even found our stronghold shows that they are resourceful."
"Or that we have a traitor in our midst." Elezar spat. "If so, may he burn in Sheol for all time. And may our blades send him swiftly."
"Peace, Elezar. Did our Lord not say, 'Blessed are the meek,'? If Jehova wills it, it will be so."
Anatole returned to his vigil, and Elezar turned to go and tend the wounded, then froze. He'd heard - no, he'd felt something, a vibration coming up through his feet. Like an earthquake, or many men marching in step. He turned back to Anatole. "Do you feel that?"
Anatole's mouth hardened into a grim line. "They come again. Warn the others."