"Farewell, my soul's beloved. Until the morrow, fare thee well."



CHAPTER XXVI

CLAUDIA AND PILATE

While Mary the Jewess was sitting with the Galilean Rabbi in the moonlit garden at Bethany, Claudia Procula, the Roman noblewoman, was spending her last evening before the Passover in her gorgeously appointed apartment in the palace of Herod the Great. On one side of this pillared chamber, high-hung heavy curtains drawn apart, disclosed a sleeping apartment with a bed and couches. At the foot of the bed a swinging window opened out above the street and through its mullioned outlines the fading pink of a springtime sunset could be seen. Claudia's two Greek slaves, Zenobe and Margara, were lounging on the couches discussing a new robe that had been brought from Rome, when their mistress, followed by her eunuch, entered the apartment.

"Light thou the lamps," Claudia commanded as, without unfastening her outer wrap, she sat down and watched the big slave. When he had applied fire to the oil held high in silver basins set on polished cedar standards, he turned to his mistress. For a moment she did not heed him. Then she said, "Say to the servants, Pilate cometh soon. When thou hast done so, return to me drawing the curtains at thy back when thou hast entered."

When the eunuch returned to the room he took his place against the curtained hanging, and stood like a statue until his mistress said, without looking toward him, "Stand thou before me."

"What is thy command, most noble mistress?" he asked as he stepped before her and with squared shoulders and crossed arms waited her command.

She did not answer for a few moments. When she spoke it was an inquiry. "The Jew of the Temple—his face do I see whether I look in the circle where the light falls or in the corners where the shadows gather—his face. With such eyes doth he look into my eyes as it seemeth have been searching me out since the beginning of time. And those eyes are imploring me for something—pleading as if for some withheld treasure."

"Yea, most noble mistress."

"'Yea' thou dost say. Dost thou know the request of the Jew's eyes?"

"Yea, most noble mistress."

"What sayeth those eyes to Claudia?"

"This sayeth those eyes to the heart of Claudia, 'Give me thy heart.'"

"My heart!" Claudia exclaimed.

"Yea, most noble mistress. This is the treasure the Galilean doth implore of thee."

Claudia arose. She stood in silent thought a moment. Then she turned her eyes to the face of the eunuch and after studying it said, "Thy scarred face did glow this day with a light that seemed not earthly. My slave hath had words with the Jew. Is it forbidden to tell them to a Roman woman?"

"With the Galilean there is neither Roman nor Jew. Neither is it forbidden to spread abroad his teachings. The words he did say to thy scarred slave were these: 'Blessed be the eyes which see the things that ye see; for many prophets and kings have desired to see those things which ye see and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them.'"

With her eyes on the face of the slave, Claudia pondered the words he had spoken before saying, "And he hath said thy eyes be blessed because thou seest something hidden. I would understand. Is this forbidden?"

"Nay. Yet there is an understanding of the heart which is unutterable. To another heart no words can make it known. Of this did he speak to thy slave. There is that, however, coming ever from the power unspeakable, that hath a name. This word wouldst thou hear?"

"Yea, yea, my eunuch. Speak it."

"It is freedom."

"Freedom? What sayest thou, slave of Claudia? What meanest thou? Art thou not the property of thy mistress?"

"There is freedom, and again there is other freedom. Thou dost own the hands, the toil, the obedience of this body that Rome hath mutilated and burned. But there is a man in me that the hand of Rome toucheth not. As this man thinketh in his heart, so is he. If in my heart I am a slave, then am I a slave though my body be free. But if in my heart I am free, then I am free though an implement of Rome. Aye, most noble mistress, the Jew hath given me freedom."

"Freedom! How the heart doth hunger for freedom—freedom from one's self." And she crossed the room and recrossing stopped again before the slave. "My scarred eunuch," she said.

"I listen, my mistress."

"It is not beneath the dignity of Claudia Procula to glean gems when she findeth them shining in her path. Out of thy mouth have come words of wisdom which bear not scars as doth thy body. Such have been treasured. Ah, as the tide is greater than the storm, as the sun is greater than the wind, as the mind of man is greater than the sword, so shall there come a Kingdom before which that of Caesar's sword shall perish forever. What sayest thou? Is the Kingdom the Jew doth teach of, this Kingdom?"

"So it hath been revealed to the heart of thy slave."

"A year hath passed since last thou wert in Jerusalem. In the arena at Rome hath been the clash of steel, and fangs, and the wild and soul-piercing music of screams and dying curses. Beyond Rome hath Rome held the nations of the earth under the sword-blade that her lords be drunk and her rich fed on the life-blood of the poor. Again we are at Jerusalem to the Passover Feast of the Jews. And again in their Temple find we one who teacheth against all this. My scarred eunuch, lovest thou this Jew?"

"Aye, most gracious mistress, even to the laying down of my life."

"He hath disciples."

"Yea—blessed be they."

"Wouldst thou be his disciple?"

"Such I am."

"Yea, in thy heart. But wouldst thou be free to go abroad and of thy wisdom teach the wisdom of the Jew; spread news of that greater Kingdom which cometh not of the sword and wherein all men shall be free?"

"Most noble mistress, tempt me not to hate my bondage more by bringing to my ears such words."

"To-night are the Jews celebrating the birthday of their nation with a great feast. To-night shalt thou also have a birthday for hereby give I thee thy freedom. When the sun doth rise on the morrow, go thou and sit at the feet of the Jew and hearing glad tidings, bear them to others."

For a moment the slave stood as if dazed before his breath shaped the words "Freedom? Freedom?" and his lips trembled as he said, "Do my ears hear? Dost thou say 'Freedom' for thy scarred eunuch?"

"Yea, doubly free shalt thou go—free by the word of the Jew and free by the hand of the Roman, and would that I too might be as free as thou art!" Then the slave fell on his knees before Claudia, bowed his head to her jeweled shoe and sobbed. There were tears in the eyes of Pilate's wife as she said, "Arise—thou art no longer a slave."

Lifting his face, which appeared strangely noble, he said, "My mistress—my most gracious mistress, thy feet are on the threshold of the Kingdom."

"Arise—arise. Go to thy bed. This night thou art free. To-morrow thou shalt go from me. As thou goest, forget not that the heart of Claudia doth beat with sympathy for the oppressed and that she too hath love for him whose love thou shalt spread abroad. Arise!"

The eunuch arose and extended his arms so that his mighty body stood before her like a cross of flesh. Before it she bowed her head.

"The blessing of the Jew who is called Jesus fill thy heart, most gracious Claudia, and the peace that cometh of his teaching rest thy soul. Farewell!" He again kissed the border of her cloak, hesitated, and turning abruptly, left the apartment.

When the curtain had swung into place shutting the slave from view, Claudia sat down and called her maids. "Unclasp my jewels and unbind my hair, Margara," she said wearily, throwing her cloak aside. "And thou, Zenobe, summon Pilate's servant with the wine. Thy master tarrieth, and delay improveth not the temper of a man when he would have his cups."

The servant had placed a tray of wine beside the couch of Pilate and the maids had gone out with the cloak and jewels when the approach of the Procurator was announced by a shout, the tramping of feet and clanking of arms. The door was thrown open wide and between two rows of soldiery standing stiff and shining as the spears in their hands, the Roman in royal purple and glittering winged helmet, entered.

"Greetings, Claudia! Dry am I as the Law of the Jews. Hath my wine been made ready?"

"Thy wine is ready."

He threw himself down on the couch saying, "And over it shall I return thanks, as do the Jews, that to-night doth end their uproar. No more for a year will they feed on lamb, roast whole with bitter sauce. For the impudence of the Jew would I fill his Temple with the gods of Rome and make of his holy place a dancing spot for virgins that be neither virgins nor veiled. The dogs!"

"Hath thy memory become shortened that thou dost not see back a space of months? Didst thou not try moving Caesarea to Jerusalem and putting thine image in the Temple? And did not these same dogs spread their necks at thy feet and court the sword rather than have their Temple desecrated? Yet more blood would have flown than that of the six thousand thou slew hadst thou not been made to remember that Pilate is not Caesar. It is not right, my Lord, to do evil, nay not to the neck of a dog."

"Whether the hand is that of Pilate or of Caesar, the sword of Rome determines what is right."

"Not so, my Lord Pilate. Might is not right unless it be right. In the jungle where hunters for the arena seek wild beasts, pythons and wolves and hyenas growl and scream, and the strong doth ever lick from his jaws the blood of the weak. To Rome all the earth is a jungle where Rome is the king lion, the fierce he-tiger, the unsatisfied she-wolf. And from the jaws of this Beast, the blood of nations drips and the groans of mangled slaves fall ever on the ear. Ever in my heart have I felt this is not right. Now hath arisen among the Jews, whose blood thou delightest to spill, one whose teaching I have felt before I ever heard of him. This one delighteth not in gleaming steel, nor screams of agony, nor running blood."

"Ho! Claudia! Where is the Jew whose heart taketh not delight in flashing steel, dying screams and running blood? Thinkest thou there be such? Then should thou feast thine eyes on the Passover sacrifice. Here are ten thousand priests with whetted blades which they do plunge in bleating throats until two hundred thousand lambs are slaughtered before the eyes of their great god Jehovah. Beside such slaughter as this that of the arena is but child's play."

"I mark thy words. The Jew is bloody and hath a bloody god. Yet from among them ariseth one who doth preach a new Kingdom and a god that delighteth not in the shedding of blood."

"Where getteth thou thy knowledge?"

"From the eunuch thou gavest me, my Lord Pilate."

"Ho! ho!" and Pilate threw up his hands and shouted with laughter. "From a slave the wife of Pontius Pilate doth get learning? Ho! ho! Claudia wouldst be a disciple of a eunuch whose back bears marks of the scourge, whose arm is branded with deep burning and whose face beareth the scar of a Roman blade? Or wouldst thou be a Jew, my fair Claudia?" and he drained three cups of wine between times of laughter.

Claudia stepped before Pilate and threw her hands across her breast—"Nay—not a Jew would I be!" she exclaimed. "A woman of the Proculas I am. But under the royal robe that hideth the breast of Pilate's wife there is a heart, a heart, most mighty Pilate, that turns against blood and the quivering of flesh and the soul-sickening agony of death! A heart, my Lord, that cries out against this and doth ever hope for a power that doth not hate and torture. A Kingdom there shall be without the sword of Rome or the lamb's blood of Jerusalem; a Kingdom without the arena of Rome or the Temple sacrifices. And in this Kingdom shall man render unto man as he himself would be rendered unto. Of this Kingdom doth he teach who hath arisen from among the Jews."

Pilate poured another cup. "The lips of Pilate's wife do babble like a babe," he said. "Knowest thou not, my fair Claudia, that the coming of such a kingdom would mean naught save the passing of Rome?"

Claudia rested her hand on the arm of Pilate until he looked up at her. She said slowly, "And knowest thou not, my brave Pilate, that Rome is already passing? Aye, even the more that Rome doth enslave men, the more she doth bring to herself the weakness which death shall overtake, for no more do Roman women bear the sort of sons valor cometh of."

"Ho! ho! What thou shouldst say is that Caesar's wife is no more above suspicion."

"Of a surety, my Lord, since Rome hath no more Caesars. On that day when the populace stood weeping where flames from the funeral pyre did cast their somber smoke against Castor and Pollux, perished Caesar."

"Rome hath ever its Caesar."

"Yea, of some sort. Augustus were not Caesar. Tiberius is not Caesar, neither is he Augustus. Who doth follow Tiberius? And then what next?"

"What next? Aye, Claudia, my fair one—a cup of wine next. And after that shall Rome make Senators of her women and thou shalt be Brutus, for, by the gods, thou makest a ripe speech. Here's to thee, Claudia, my love. A Roman thou art though much taken with the twaddle of a Jew. And here is to the Jew. May he live long to oil his beard, haggle over fish in the market place, cry 'Unclean' at sight of a Gentile and pray in musty synagogues for the kingdom greater than that of Rome. Let us now to bed and see thou hast no dreams to disturb thy rest," and throwing down his cup, Pilate arose.

"Dreams are signs, my Pilate."

"Dream then of the prosperity of Pilate." As he paused under the drawn curtains, Pilate stopped to command his guard, "Waken me not until the sun doth clear the Temple tower. Draw the curtains tight and let no man pass them."

When he had entered the bedchamber the curtains were lowered and the guards stationed themselves at the door. A moment later, Claudia paused as she pushed the curtain aside, saying to the guards, "Forget not thy Lord Pilate's command. Wake him not."



CHAPTER XXVII

CAESAR'S FRIEND

After Pilate and Claudia had retired behind the curtains, the guards took their places for the night. Inside the door to the left and right a picked man of Pilate's body-guard stationed himself. An enormous spear, which lifted its shining point like an ensign over his head, was held by each soldier and shifted from hand to hand as these motionless and silent men grew drowsy. In the outer hall soldiers of the Legion stood on guard from the entrance into the inner room, down the long corridor to the portico steps. In spite of orders that no word be spoken in the hallway after Pilate had retired, these soldiers, knowing his manner of sleep, made use of the night hours to discuss such daytime gossip as had reached their ears. The comment began when news was passed that Pilate had gone to sleep, and between the left guard and the right guard a conversation took place which would have been interesting to the public.

"Had I as much ripe wine in my paunch as hath the gracious Pilate, I would also sleep."

"Aye. But by the shades of Caesar did not his sleep of yesternight outmatch even the measure of his cups? Drank and drank did our master Pilate until his eyes bulged and his tongue was pushed out of his throat by the fulness thereof. And he did sleep and sleep until the sun had started down next day."

"And were there not soldiers and priests and lawyers and centurions and Senators clamoring to have speech with him? And did not Claudia pass out the word that he was engaged in matters of importance to Tiberius?"

"Thou makest my inwards to shake with choked laughter when thou sayest this—'business of importance to Tiberius.'"

"Yea—and wherefore the smothered laughter. Is not the important business of Caesar Tiberius the putting away of much wine, even as is the business of Pilate?"

"Yea. But Tiberius doth have a deputy to satisfy the demands for him."

"And some are as insistent as itch."

"Yea, like the broad Jew whose foot caught in the blue and purple cloak he let drag in his desire to be heard."

"His business was urgent by the glittering eagerness of his two small eyes."

"Yea, and the gold he held forth did glitter better than his Jew eyes as he said, 'My mission is urgent! One hath arisen against the Empire yet doth Pontius Pilate not come forth nor give audience to message bearers.'"

"'He seeth neither god nor man until his business of importance to Tiberius is finished, since first of all he is Caesar's friend,' did I make answer, straight-faced and solemn, for who would feel the fire of the branding iron for a bit of gold? Then it was his countenance became entangled in anger as his foot became entangled in his blue cloak, and he did breathe out a curse."

"The curse of a Jew is no curse since it must be swallowed if it is against Rome. But look thee toward the steps. On my life a messenger cometh."

While the two soldiers of the Legion were gossiping on the outside of the door the two guards on the inside were leaning heavily on their spears.

"My eyes—but sleep pricketh me," the first guard said.

"Sleep then," the second replied. "But no dreaming."

"Nay—no dreaming."

"Listen! Pilate is gone until the new day."

On the stillness the sound of heavy snoring was heard. The guards leaned against the wall, spears in hand, and were soon asleep. A trumpet from the street below sounded the hours of night. The snores of Pilate were answered by the snoring of the two guards and the palace seemed given to slumber, when the tramp of feet and knocking of standards was heard outside.

"Methinks I dream," the first guard said drowsily. "Yea, I dream there is a great commotion."

"It is the troops rushing to war!" the second guard answered sleepily.

"Troops rushing to war." The words were feebly uttered.

The knocking continued at the door, growing quicker and harder.

"Who knocks?" the guard shouted.

"Open thou the door," was shouted back.

"Who cometh?"

"A message from the Tower of Antonio. We would see Pilate," the voice outside answered.

The door was opened and the messenger with a number of soldiers entered. "A message for the Procurator, Pontius Pilate."

"My Lord Pilate is in bed with orders not to awaken him."

"Whether thou awaken him or no, make thy choice. Here is the message and I await a reply."

"Take thou it," the first guard said to the second one. "Take thou the message to his bed."

"Risk thou thine own life," was the prompt reply.

"Enter and awaken him," the first guard said to the messenger.

"Time is passing," he replied with dignity. "I await a reply."

"Let us all waken him!" the second guard suggested.

So they advanced to the curtains that hung over Pilate's door and shouted together as they beat the floor, "Awake! Arise, my Lord Pilate!"

"Is the house falling?" The voice was that of Pilate. A moment later he stuck his head from between the curtains shouting, "To the fires of Pluto with you! What meaneth this disturbance?"

"A message for my Lord Pilate," the messenger replied, handing him a tablet. "From the Tower of Antonio, a message."

Claudia stepped behind Pilate and looked over his shoulder. "What is it?" she asked.

"The hiding-place of a Jew who hath not regard for the Law of Moses has been discovered. This is a request for soldiers to go out against him."

"A Jew? Who is he?" and Claudia's voice bespoke deep interest.

"What matter?" Pilate replied, yawning. "A Jew is a Jew. Let them go out against him. My tablets!" he shouted to a servant. After hastily writing, he gave the messenger a tablet saying, "Depart! One Jew is not worth the asking, but take him." Before the feet of the messenger had crossed the threshold Pilate was ready to return to his sleep. "Get thou on guard," he commanded his Legion soldiers, "and let none less than Caesar pass my threshold."

For a few hours the long corridors and empty chambers of the palace were quiet. Then again there came the sound of approaching feet, followed by knocking and a heavy voice calling the Procurator.

"Pilate again!" murmured one of the guards sleepily. Then speaking to the other he cried, "Why sleepest thou on duty? Get thee awake!"

Hardly had they assumed their positions inside the door when it was thrown open and an officer followed by soldiers, entered. "Let not an instant pass!" he commanded. "Call the Procurator, Pontius Pilate."

Following his command, the voice of Claudia behind the curtains was heard saying, "Pilate—my Lord Pilate—awake! It is an officer of the Legion. Arise!"

A moment later the head of Pilate was again thrust between the curtains as he shouted, "The wrath of Jove! What meaneth this?"

"In the Judgment Hall thou art wanted. Thy soldiers have taken captive one charged with sedition. At a midnight meeting of the Sanhedrin hath he been found guilty."

"And what care I, Pontius Pilate, whether he be guilty or no? On the Law of Moses would I myself spit. Yet by their own Law can not the swine-fearing dogs condemn a man before morning. By their own law will I condemn them and take their Temple. Go thou to those long-faced circumcized and say in their ears that for causing this unlawful disturbance ere the morning watch, I will make them suffer."

"Aye," replied the officer. "But my most gracious Pilate, conspiracy is also charged against the Jew for it is he who was acclaimed King of the Jews while all Jerusalem did shout his praises. A great following hath he of Galileans, Zealots and Judean warriors. Revolution against the throne of Caesar is all but born."

"Thou sayest this is he that was acclaimed King of the Jews?" and Pilate's eye shone with a new glow.

"The same. He is a conspirator."

"And they have taken him? Then have they favored Pilate who hath not yet discovered the nightly hiding-place of this conspirator."

"Nay! Nay! He is no conspirator, my Lord Pilate," cried Claudia, hurrying from behind the curtains as she wrapped her shoulders in a veil. "He is no conspirator! Naught save a teacher of Truth is he."

"Thou sayest he hath been taken?" Pilate asked of the officer.

"Yea, by the soldiers which thou didst despatch before midnight with the guard of the Temple. He was betrayed by one of his followers, and his hiding-place discovered. Already hath he been before Annas who did send him to Caiaphas. Now waiteth he at the Judgment Hall around which a crowd is gathered, and they say thou art not Caesar's friend unless thou cometh."

"They say I am not Caesar's friend?" he exclaimed in excitement. "Hasten thou to the Judgment Hall and say thou to the right and to the left, as a trumpeteer doth lead thee, 'Pilate is already on the way!'" When the officer had made a hurried exit, Pilate in great haste shouted: "Up, laggards! Move! My coat! Quick with the royal ensign and the eagle! Pilate is a friend of Caesar and this conspirator for the throne of our Tiberius shall be stretched on a cross ere the new-day sun reach the mountain top."

"Calm thyself, my Lord Pilate," Claudia said. "Nor let the words of the rabble spoil thy reason. No conspirator is this Jew. He is a teacher of the Truth. Quell thou this uproar and come thou back to bed. Hearest thou my words?"

"Nay. No words I hear save the words 'He is not Caesar's friend.' Caesar's friend would I be though all the Jews in Palestine are hung on wooden crosses. Farewell, Claudia. Thou art the wife of Caesar's friend."

Pilate turned to go, but Claudia lay hold of him saying, "Nay, my Lord Pilate, thou shalt not go until my words thou hearest. Forever will Rome bear the brand of shame should it stretch on a wooden cross one who teacheth such wisdom as doth this Jew. Thou shalt not go until a promise is made me."

"What promise?" he asked hurriedly.

"If he come before thy judgment seat, judge him of the words of his own mouth and by the words of his own mouth free or condemn him."

"I promise, Claudia—I promise."

"Thou understandest that out of the mouth of the Jew thou wilt free or condemn him?"

"Yea—yea! Let me go! I am a friend of Caesar!" and he loosed himself and hurried down the long corridor.



CHAPTER XXVIII

ROSES AND IRIS AND TEARS

In full vestments of the Sanhedrin, Joseph of Arimathea stood beside the moonlit pool in the garden of Lazarus. The hand-washing and hymn-singing and feasting on roast lamb in bitter sauce, was over for another twelvemonth. With a glance prophetic, Joseph looked into this new year and shook his head saying slowly, "The signs are full of portent. Darkness doth seem to gather over Israel."

"Thy heart hath a burden?" Lazarus asked, coming from the house.

The patriarch lifted his face to the young man. For a moment there was no answer. The voice of Joseph was grave when he said, "Yea, more than a burden doth lie on my heart. Fear hath clutched it and while my lips made merry at the feast I did suffer, knowing the young man's life is in danger—aye, the life of Jesus. Doth not thy heart feel it? And the heart of thy sister Mary, doth not her heart suffer the torture of fear?"

"Perchance it is weariness that Mary suffereth. The feast maketh much labor."

"As we did sing the Pascal hymn, lo, did the lips of Mary shape a prayer. Twice did tears, which she did try to hide, drop from her cheek, and thrice did she choke in the throat. Is this weariness?"

"She was disappointed. The heart of Mary did want the Master by her side, but it had seemed good to him to eat the Passover with his disciples in the city."

"Disappointment? Would to God it were no more. But, Lazarus, when the alabaster vase of thy sister was broken, then was her heart broken also and as the rich perfume was spilled, so was hope spilled from her heart because of the saying of the Master that she had anointed him for burial. Aye, Lazarus, the signs are full of portent."

"Where is thy sister Mary?" Lazarus asked of Martha who had joined them by the pool.

"She is in the house bending over the Scriptures. Yet her heart doth not go out to the songs of David. A burden she would hide."

"Knoweth she aught of Jesus?" Joseph asked.

"I know not. Until the cock crew she was in the garden with him yester evening. And in the night as she lay beside me in her bed, methought I heard a moan that traveled not far from the heart where it was born. Mary lay awake and I did question her. 'It is but the tamarask leaves against the casement,' she said. Again I heard a sob quickly smothered. When I did speak, and bid Mary listen, she declared it naught but the night wind lifting the pomegranate branches. When morning cometh, from her carved chest she took her alabaster box of very precious ointment which she did cherish to make sweet her wedding veil. Her face was glad as if she had been a bride and joyous her words as she said, 'Lo, the darkness is gone! In the night, fear of shadows and losses trouble me, but with the morning cometh light. Look thou! Was ever a sun so golden? I go to Simon's to the feast. One there is among the guests who is a King. Yea, Martha, by the words of his own mouth he is my King—mine, my sister. Thus, after the manner of the feast, the guest of honor I will anoint with my oil of roses and iris, because so soon he goeth on a long journey.'"

"Ever will my heart be glad to think on the joy of her face," Lazarus said, "as she did break the seal and scatter the first drops of her perfume on his hair."

"Did ever such fragrance make thy breathing glad?" Martha asked with smiling face. "Like the balm of Gilead, like forests of frankincense, it filled the room. Was it not even so, Father Joseph?"

"Great was the fragrance and precious the joy on thy sister's face. But straightway my pleasure was turned away by the words of Judas."

"Yea, great concern doth he show for the poor!" And there was indignation in the voice of Lazarus. "'Here is great waste,' said he. 'Are not two hundred dinars sufficient to buy bread for a thousand?'"

"And, Lazarus," Joseph said, "with the words of Judas did the first shadow fall across thy sister's face. Faint it was, yet not too faint for his eye who loveth her. And he said, 'Why trouble you the woman? She hath wrought a good work. The poor ye have always with you. But me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she doeth it for my burial.' Aye, Lazarus, aye, Martha, that I might forget thy sister's face as these words did pass his lips. It turned white as the alabaster in her hand. Stillness fell on the company about the table like that of the tomb. And then the sob! Lazarus, that sob did wound my heart. Then did thy sister drop at the feet of Jesus and there spill out her fragrant oil. And on the oil her tears fell, even like rain fell they, and bending low her cheek did press his foot. And then she dried away the tears with the tresses of her hair—sobbing—sobbing—sobbing! Sobs are a part of life, the sobs of women and children. But this woman—aye, greater love hath never woman known than this which Mary beareth the brave young Rabbi."

"And hath man e'er given back to woman greater love than he beareth her? Saw thou his face as she did sob at his feet? Did thou catch the message he did speak to comfort the heart of Mary? In a voice that did mean more than words, both to the woman and him who had condemned her spoke he saying, 'Truly, truly say I unto you, wheresoever this message that I bring shall be preached, there also what this woman hath done shall be told for a memorial of her.' Joseph—friend Joseph, meaneth it not much to her heart, meaneth it not much to this household, that wherever the name of Jesus shall be spoken there also shall be known the name of Mary?"

"And if he is King," Martha exclaimed, "King of the Jews, then shall her name be exalted above that of all women."

"And if he is condemned on some false charge and given to the cross, Martha? But no, that can never be," and Lazarus ceased speaking abruptly.

"Neither can a throne give nor a cross take away a woman's crown when he who is her king doth crown her with his love. So it is that the alabaster vase which hath poured out fragrance from its fragments, shall shed its perfume down the ages so long as love is of life a part." It was Joseph who spoke.

"Lazarus doth utter strange, yea, evil words about a cross and a malefactor. What meaneth it?" Martha asked him.

"Knowest thou not, woman, how the plot doth thicken that would make way with Jesus? Passed is that day when the Sanhedrin did sneer and condemn and mutter and hatch plans. Now doth it openly seek his death."

"Yet," said Lazarus, "he hath been threatened before and hath escaped, even though they took up stones against him. Plans have we made for a long journey, yea, even to Rome will he journey and under the throne of Caesar will he preach the Kingdom greater than that of Tiberius."

Joseph stroked his beard slowly. "There doth come a time," and his voice was low, "when fire, long smoldering, doth burst into a devouring flame. Was I not in the Sanhedrin? Did I not hear? Such fire, to the eternal undoing of Israel, doth burn in the hearts of the Sanhedrin."

"They dare not take him by day," Lazarus protested, "and by night he abideth not in Jerusalem and none knoweth his dwelling place save those his heart trusts."

"In hiding and flight lieth now his safety. Would that I might know he is secure this night."

"Mary hath said he will return to-night to Bethany," Martha told Joseph.

He raised his face to the sky saying, "The moon doth climb the heavens."

"Yet ofttimes do guests tarry over the Pascal cup until the hour grow late. Methinks he will yet come, Joseph," said Lazarus.

"So hopeth my heart. But from the silence I get no answer to my question, 'Will Israel cast off her Lord's anointed?'"

"Nay, nay. All will be well. But let us to rest, the hour is growing late," and Lazarus turned to the house.

"And Mary?" The question was asked by Joseph.

"Mary doth yet sit with her writings," Martha answered, looking in the door, "though her ear is to the roadway. When I shall enter and say, 'Mary, wilt thou go to rest?' she will answer, 'Shortly.' And lo, when I have gone, she will come into the garden and from her place at the wall watch down the hillside."



CHAPTER XXIX

SWIFT MESSENGERS

As Martha had expected, Mary refused to go to rest and when all about was quiet she went into the garden. For a moment she paused before the stone bench, then with lingering step she sought the fountain. Under the light of the moon the garden seemed to lie in a silver aura. Where the lilies grew thick and white the aura seemed to be a cloud-like halo lying close to earth and on the pool the light was caught in tiny shining bars.

"How still the garden!" Mary said, speaking to herself. "Scarce breathing is the summer night—waiting it doth seem for something to give it life. The leaves wait—wait for the evening breeze to touch them into morion. The valley waiteth—waiteth for the song of the pilgrim to break its hush with gladness. So waiteth my soul for sight of a face that shall drive back the shadows of fear. So waiteth my heart for the sound of a voice that shall stir the silence of the waiting into wild glad music. Will he come? Or will—but no, no—it can not, can not be that he will come no more. The God that fashioned me of dust formed likewise the mystery of life, my love for him and his for me. . . . And lo, then did the hand of Jehovah make the feet of him I love to enter in upon the path my feet do tread. So hath my soul been bound to his soul and there are no more two souls, but one soul. And having wrought thus blessedly, will God play with the love he hath put in a woman's heart and bring to her soul such agony as doth wring drops of blood from her? Nay, nay! It can not be! He must come! He will come! Hasten, my beloved; I am waiting!"

Mary walked around the circular pool slowly. As she did so, the crowing of a cock, its sharpness muffled by some distance, sounded on the stillness. "The cock croweth the midnight hour," she said as the last faint vibration died. "Until the crowing of the cock did he bid me wait to see his face. Yea, until the breaking of the day will I wait. Until the sunset of my life will I wait. Yea, even until the Resurrection of the dead will I wait to see his face!"

She crossed the garden and back, paused, and raised her face to the vault above where the moon was casting floods of silver over the billowing clouds. She sighed and the words she spoke were breathed out softly as if they too were a part of the passing night. "The hours move on and naught there is but silence! What a silence it is! Like a pall hangeth it over the Judean hills! Like a shroud falleth it over Olivet! Like grave wrappings huggeth it the valley! God! The silence of this night! Hath there been before such silence? It doth make of itself feet that tread upon my soul and, treading, leave wounds with living tongues which call in agony, 'I am waiting! I am waiting in the garden!' No sound cometh to break this that oppresseth? The silence deepens and its mystery doth affright my soul!"

For a moment she stood under the flood-light from above like a white veiled statue, yet softer than marble, locked in the pervading and low brooding hush. Then, suddenly, she turned her ear in the direction of the highway. "A sound breaketh the stillness!" she exclaimed in an excited undertone. "Faint and far it is—but a sound!" With light steps she ran to her watching place by the stone wall. "Yea, a sound!" and she leaned over the wall. "It groweth on the air. What cometh? A speck it is against the gray! It moveth! It groweth larger! Aye, it cometh! It cometh! It taketh on the shape of flying garments—yea, flying garments! What meaneth this? He cometh as if pursued! Aye, if danger threaten, may Israel's God lend speed to his feet!"

The first faint sounds had rapidly grown more distinct. Mary leaned as far across the wall as safety permitted and peered into the roadway. "What is it I see? There are two running as doth the hind run to escape the pursuing dogs! On, on they come! Close—they draw nigh! They are here! They pass!" With the last words she dropped from the wall just as the runners dashed by.

"Ho! Stop!" cried one of them. "This is the place."

"The home of Lazarus?" the other panted.

"Yea! Hast thou voice left to shout?"

"Yea, while thou dost beat the door!"

Before Mary could reach the house she heard the runners pounding on the door and shouting, "Open! Open!" and when she entered at the back her brother was unbarring the front door. "What news?" he demanded as the two rushed in.

"Be not loud of mouth. We bear news of Jesus," one of them answered.

Lazarus cast his eyes over them. One was a Galilean fisherman, the other was naked save a fragment of garment about his loins. "Who art thou, and what is thy message?"

"Disciples of Jesus are we both. Lo, was my coat torn from me in resisting those who took him and I fled leaving it in the hands of a soldier."

"Who hath taken Jesus?" It was Mary who asked, and her voice was charged with apprehension.

"Yea, who hath taken Jesus?" Joseph asked as he appeared hastily fastening his vestment.

"By the midnight Temple guard and soldiers from the Tower of Antonio hath he been taken!"

"Lazarus—Joseph!" Mary cried. "Let us hasten to him—let us fly to him!"

"Soldiers have taken him who is to be King of the Jews?" Martha exclaimed. "Not so!"

"Peace, women," Joseph said, lifting his hands. "Wisdom demandeth there be no loss of time. Let the stranger make speech."

"The Passover feast we ate in an upper chamber," he said. "Before the singing of the last hymn and the washing of hands Judas left, and it doth seem that from his word or act, the Master did suspect him of disloyalty. Soon we went into the streets which lay quiet save for the sound of singing from those who tarried late at the feast. Leaving the city by a side gate we followed a dim path to an old stone mill hard by an olive orchard. A secluded and hidden place it is. At the entrance to the grove the Master bade us tarry, save three, and watch with all our eyes, for threats had been breathed against him. And the three which went with him did he also bid watch while he went yet farther under the trees to commune with Jehovah as oft he doeth. Secure would he have been had not our eyes been heavy with sleep for then would we have seen the crowd approaching that with clubs and torches and spears, wormed its way across Kedron and up the hillside. And had we seen, then would we have passed word to the inner watchers, and to the Master would they have called. Then, lo! him whom Judas would betray, could have escaped far down the hillside, and have safely hidden in some cave or tomb. So hath he escaped aforetimes. But woe! Woe! Woe unto him whose words thou hearest! The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak and around the old stone mill did we fall asleep. And, alas for the misery that hath come upon us; those of the inner watch did also fall asleep, and while we slept came the soldiers of Rome, the Temple guards and the rabble. Scarce had we opened our eyes when they were upon us, yet did not the inner watch awaken until Jesus, hearing the uproar, came from the shadows and said, as he stood above the sleeping forms of his disciples, 'What, could ye not watch with me one hour?' And as he did stand, Judas hurried to him, kissing his cheek and crying, 'Hail, Master!' At this the soldiers fell upon him, yet fear did not move him, and at his command they fell back. Without the twitching of a hair or the shadow of a fear he stood out before them while he said, 'Why have ye come out against me as a robber? Daily have I taught in the Temple. Why take me not there?' And because they could make no answer they smote him on the mouth."

"Those he loved slept while his life was in peril! Those he trusted have betrayed him? Those to whom he hath done no evil have smitten him? It can not be so! Say it is not so!" and Mary's voice broke in sobs.

"Smite the Master," angrily exclaimed Martha. "Him to be King of the Jews?"

"Yea, they did smite him," the fisherman answered. "They did curse him and as they turned away they spat upon him. Some of his disciples bore arms and in the struggle the servant of the High Priest lost an ear. Would God it had been the High Priest's head the sword severed! And as they rudely pushed him on, he whispered a word in the ear of a disciple asking that swift news of his arrest be brought to Lazarus of Bethany. Then took they him."

"Where have they taken him?" Joseph asked.

"To Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin; to the Judgment Hall of Pilate; to the scourger and the cross if they have power."

"To the Roman judgment seat—to the scourgers—to the cross—the cruel, cruel cross? Nay, not the cross! Save him! Lazarus—Joseph—Strangers—Men of Israel, save him whom we love! Let not the hand of Rome hang his body on a cross!" Mary plead hysterically.

"Calm thyself, Mary," Joseph said. "The Jew hath not power to take the life of Jesus, and Pilate doth hate the Sanhedrin with such fierce hatred that for nothing short of Temple gold or fear of Caesar would he sign a death-warrant that would please a Jew."

"Trust not to Pilate," plead the fisherman. "Pilate is but Rome in Palestine and doth not Rome love the cross? Aye, in our own Galilee were not two thousand of our sons and fathers crucified, and left for dogs to gnaw because they followed the Gaulonite and refused Rome the tax? The cross is fearful and bloody. Jesus of Nazareth must be saved from the cross!"

"Yea, by the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob must he be saved!" Lazarus shouted. "Let us away and arouse the hills and awake the valleys where thousands of armed Galileans are sleeping. Other thousands there are of Zealots whose hands are ever near a blade. And will not the Nationalists strike for the honor of the nation? And the Essenes? Aye, all these will we waken, and more, and by morning when the city gates swing open such a populace will enter as proclaimed him King. The time hath come for Israel to strike—aye, to strike with the sword!"

"A mob is not an army, Lazarus. Though the populace shout hosannahs or breathe curses it is all one to the sword of Rome."

"Aye, Joseph, but the wrath of Israel will make of scythes and reaping hooks, blades to strike off the shackles of Rome, and from the fastness of Judean mountains will those who know not fear, engage Rome in such warfare as she hath never known."

"The love of thy heart doth upset thy reason," Joseph answered, shaking his head. "What to Rome is the fastness of Judean hills? Hath not Rome crossed mountains and jungles and deserts in search of her prey? Like sheep in a pen wouldst thou be made to stay in thy hiding-places until thy bleached bones would tell that Rome findeth starvation oft cheaper than the sword. From Dan to Beersheba doth the heathen purple fly over tower and wall, and under the dark shadow of her mighty eagle do the nations of the earth cower. Whence then could come thy succor? To lift the sword is but to bring it down on thine own neck. If he whom our hearts love escape, by the wit of man's mind must the thing be accomplished. Go thou, Lazarus, with these disciples and rouse the sleeping people that they be ready to swarm the city at the opening of the gates. And I—I will hasten to Jerusalem and until daybreak keep my eye where the Sanhedrin might hold meeting."

"It is not lawful for the Great Sanhedrin to meet until the sun is well risen," said Lazarus eagerly.

"And what care murderers for the law of Moses when the fires of hatred gnaw their souls? To their meeting place I will hasten, and if quietly they seek to do evil before the break of day, I will, with innocent words, seek an entanglement among them concerning the Law. And with the daybreak will come the followers of Jesus and safety for another day. Haste! Let us haste!"



CHAPTER XXX

CLAUDIA'S DREAM

After Pilate had left for the Judgment Hall and the soldiers and servants had returned to their accustomed places, Claudia walked the length of the room and back several times speaking to herself as she did so. "Before the tribunal of the Jew hath the greatest one of them all been judged guilty of sedition against their Law. Aye, but the gods be thanked those cunning workers of darkness have not power to take his life. And Pilate—ah, have I not Pilate's promise that of the Jew will he judge the Jew? Glad I am that Pilate is to hear his voice and look upon his face. One glance from those eyes—one word from those lips and Pilate will know that all evil accusation be accusation only."

Then Claudia threw herself across the bed, but sleep did not come, so after a time she arose, threw open the window and stood looking into the indigo sky, spangled with stars, that hung over Jerusalem. From the street beneath, the near call of a trumpet sounded which seemed to be echoed by farther and fainter trumpet-calls, each telling the hour of the passing night. When she lay down again she slept. Through the window at the side of the bed the rich blue of the sky faded into gray and as this was shot across with a thin streak of rosy pink the cry "Staurosate! Staurosate!" came across the stillness of the yet unawakened morning.

With a start Claudia sprang up crying—"Whence cometh that cry, thin like the howl of a lone wolf, and sharp like its fangs: 'Crucify him! Crucify him?' Like the cry of a beast calling the pack, it soundeth. Pilate!" She pressed her hands to her head and looked toward Pilate's empty couch.

"Ah—it cometh to me! At the third watch was Pilate called to the Praetorium and hath not returned. A dream it hath been! Aye! It doth come to me!" She drew back a pace and an expression of horror marked her face as she cried, "It doth come to me! I see troops—swords—trembling of the earth—thunder answered by earthquake—black clouds, like great bats of death settling low—the rush of fire, like a cataclysm—and then darkness! And then—and then—what see I?"

Claudia shaded her eyes with her hands and peered into the darkness of the dream, the horror on her face deepening, and her breath coming swift and hard. "What see I? In the darkness—the thick impenetrable darkness dead to all light, I see the hands of Pilate—and they drip with blood! And over against those crimson hands I see the pale face of the Jew. Ye gods! It is a warning!"

For a moment she stood dazed with terror. Then she shouted to her maids, "Margara! Zenobe! Hasten! Summon my eunuch. I must have speech with Pilate!"

When the eunuch appeared, Claudia cried: "Ah, my scarred eunuch! Warning hath been given me in a dream that all is not well at the Judgment Hall. Ah, a dream—such a dream—a dream in which earth and air and sky and water war and are not satisfied! A dream of fire and death and open graves and darkness—and Pilate and the Jew," and Claudia shivered and wrung her hands.

"If thou wouldst calm thyself, most noble mistress, and make known thy great fear, thy servant might bring thee help," the eunuch said.

"Aye, my eunuch. Ere the midnight trumpet sounded was Pilate awakened by request for soldiers from Antonio to arrest one seditious. Again before dawn summoned they him to judge the Jew. And, oh, my eunuch—my eunuch—that Jew is him whom thy soul loveth—him whose disciple thou art to be!"

"Jesus of Nazareth?" the eunuch cried sharply.

"Yea, yea—the Jew!"

The eunuch raised his face toward heaven and lifting high his hands said in the voice of one imploring, "God of the Jew, God of the Jew, hear and deliver him from the hand of Rome."

"Hear thou the dream," said Claudia, stepping close to him. "At the turning of the dawn came it to me. The shout of battle! The screams of those pierced by spears! The groans of those trodden under the hoofs of mad chargers! The curses of those tortured! And above the din did I hear children's voices calling, 'Help—help!' and the voices of women calling, 'Help! Help! In God's name, 'help!' and the voices of men shouting, 'Help! Help! 'Cometh no help!' And no help came save the Angel of Desolation with sweeping black wings! And, oh, my eunuch! Out of the darkness and the desolation, I saw the hands of Pilate rising scarlet with wet blood and over against them the pale face of the Jew!"

Before she had finished speaking with the eunuch, Claudia's cries for help had drawn the household, and soldiers and servants crowded into the room and filled the passageway as she brought fear and trembling to them by her dramatic recital of her tragic dream.

"It is a dream—a dream! But in that dream, between my vision and the darkness, passeth a purple robe, a crown of thorns, a lonely cross on a far hillside, a white face drawn in agony and parched lips moving as to moan! Then again the tumult and the carnage! Ah, see! Canst thou not see? There are soldiers upon the city walls! There are balls of fire flying in the gloom! There are stones crashing through the air—yea, even the marble of the Temple of the Jews! Canst thou not see? Aye—look! The Temple falleth! It is scattered until not one stone is left upon another! And ever above the thunder-din cometh the cry, 'Help! Help!' Famine do I see until mothers eat the tender flesh that hugs their bosoms! And pestilence do I see until death hath devoured all life! The Roman plow is driven over the Holy Place of the Jew and scavengers of the desert revel in naked tombs! And here from this place of abominations arise the hands of Pilate! Crimson like dye they are. And there gathers from the gray and awful stillness, the pale face of the Jew! Again—and yet again I see them!"

When Claudia had reached this part of her vision she screamed and covered her eyes, and the soldiers and servants who had crowded about, drew back in terror, their gaze transfixed.

Suddenly she cried, throwing her hands out to the eunuch: "I must have speech with Pilate. Fly thou to the Judgment Seat! Let no door stop thee! Let no guard stay thy feet! And when thou hast gained the ear of Pilate, tell into it, 'Thus sayeth thy wife—have nothing to do with this just man for I have this day suffered many things in a dream because of him!' Thus shall it be that Claudia shall raise her voice to save the hands of Pontius Pilate from the livid stain of innocent blood and the pale face of the Jew from forever haunting the centuries."



CHAPTER XXXI

KING OF THE JEWS

"Jove, but my eyes are tired! Since the third watch hath my service been required, yet am I feverish to see the end of this matter. Look! Yonder housetops are black with men, eager-eyed, and the streets are swarmed with early risers running hither and thither like ants much stirred up. When did ever the morning sun shine on such a scene?"

"Where is he now, this enemy of our Tiberius that hath thus stirred up the populace?"

"To the barracks of the Tower of Antonio they have taken him for the flagellum horrible."

"And will they be long in laying open the flesh of his back?"

"Nay, for twelve brawny armed and deaf to the cries of pity will lay on the scourge. Soon will he be brought again before Pilate." The speaker was a scribe in the palace of Herod the Great. With two Romans visiting in Jerusalem, he stood on the steps of the Praetorium looking out over the open court which united its two colossal wings.

"Didst thou see the mighty procession which heralded the new King?" asked one of the visitors.

"Yea, by the gods it was a great outpouring! Peoples from all nations of the earth were there to bear back the news that one had arisen to take the throne of Caesar. And well hath the time been chosen for revolt when the city is gorged with strangers, and the flower of Rome's legions in Palestine, is called to Syria. Of him who betrayed the Galilean revolutionist and hatched the plot for his deliverance, Rome should make a divinity."

"A betrayer was there?"

"Yea, a betrayer and a plot else those pious dogs of the Sanhedrin had not yet laid hands on him who stirred the people, for by day his followers, who were many, kept near him, and by night hath he cunningly concealed himself. Cowards and curs are these Jews whose faces are solemn and whose prayers are long. Rome shows her hand in the open. But these move under dark cloaks of piety, spin webs and heap up much spoil."

"Hast thou seen this stirrer up of strife?"

"Yea, and heard his speech. Daily he taught in the Temple and though he is called a Galilean peasant, he hath much knowledge. A strange people were those of his race, and strange were the kings that once sat on their thrones, for out of the Galilean's mouth their law allowed no usury, left fruit on the vine for the poor, and turned vast estates back to be redistributed. Aye, this stirrer up of sedition makes much of the poor. Perchance hunger hath gnawed at his own vitals. By traffic in 'traditions' and sacrifices have their priests grown rich filching from the poor. For this did the Galilean call them a den of thieves and curse and beat them, and for this gained he their hatred. Yet they did not dare lay hands on him openly for fear of the populace. Yesternight his hiding-place was learned. At midnight as his followers lay sleeping on the hills outside the city, a body of armed men with the midnight guard of the Temple, crossed Kedron and found the revolter at an old olive farm. Then was he brought before the Sanhedrin—sly foxes, evil beasts—for by their own law it is not lawful to hold council until sunrise. But fearing lest his followers should rescue him if daylight found him uncondemned, even at the cock crowing was he led before Caiaphas. Then was he led before Pilate. By Pilate was he sent to Herod. A raw joke, this that Pilate did poke at Herod in the face of much people."

"Doth Pilate not love the Tetrarch of Galilee?"

"Nay, and yet more than Herod doth love him. The father of Herod, he who was called the Great, was crowned a king by the Senate at Rome. Yet did Pilate fall heir to the glory thereof and the hurt hath worked on Herod like a running sore. Yet must his lips be ever sealed. Now hath Pilate sent one accused to this man, knowing that he hath no power of life and death under the Roman law in Jerusalem. But if he had, yet would the joke be a raw one, for is not the following of the Galilean from the province of Herod? With what wisdom could he lift his arm against the chosen one of so great and zealous a following? So Herod did send the accused back to Pilate and while the man passed back and forth, the mob gathered and those pious murderers from the Temple, like worms of corruption, worked in and out among the mob whispering, 'Traitor! Traitor! Treason! Revolt!' throwing into the face of Pilate that he is no friend of Caesar if this one be not crucified. Then gave Pilate the rebel to the flayers. Next comes the cross."

"So shall ever perish those who espouse the cause of the poor. None but a fool dreams crowns come to the poor. What reason hath this man who would be king, for befriending the poor? Hath he a reason?"

"Aye. He teacheth of that which he doth call 'Liberty.' By his way there would be no more slave, but all masters."

"Strange—passing strange! How then if there is no articulata implementa, could there be Roman property? And who would pay for the circus?"

"I know not. But the arm of Caesar will see that no chance is given this wild teaching of liberty. Not since Sparticus lifted the sword to get freedom for his kind has the head of our Caesar rested on an easy pillow. Revolt and insurrection rumble in the hearts of the slave and the poor rabble, as still fire smolders in the heart of Vesuvius. Like a brand in a dry corn field will this revolt grow into insurrection unless it is put down. The arm of Rome is sufficient—but see! The mob parts! They are coming from the scourge with him who is to be crucified. The death warrant hath been already written."

"Dost write death warrants for all crucified ones?"

"Nay, no more than for flies or vermin, else the earth would be running over with warrants. But a stirrer up of sedition, this is the one crime that Rome doth not forgive. Look! Yonder he comes! Lo, he weareth a gaudy robe. His face is pale from loss of blood. Look you! It drips from under the gaudy robe and follows his feet in plotches which stain the mosaic. The thongs must have cut deep. Ha! ha! He weareth a crown—a crown for a King—a crown of prickly thorns. It hath left its mark on his forehead, and across one cheek there lieth a purple stripe!"

"Listen—they are calling 'Staurosate! Staurosate!' Like demons do they yell as he is being led before Pilate."

"Canst see?"

"Yea. Pilate doth have him mount the steps so that the mob may see him. Look you; what manner of man is he, who moveth like a conqueror among those shouting his praises? There is majesty in the tread of the feet that leave a trail of blood! And look! Across his breast doth he fold his arms; he lifteth his head; he looketh out over the multitude as Julius Caesar might look upon a handful of chained slaves who had breathed against his power invincible. Why hath this Galilean this majestic presence? See thou—it doth impress the mob until their tongues stop wagging and the buzz dieth to the stillness of the dead. Look—look! The Procurator ariseth. He is full robed! And about to speak!"

Pontius Pilate moved himself so that the hungry mob, awed for the moment into silence by the sight of one condemned, might look upon the voice of power back of the Judgment Hall and Tower of Antonio. When every eye had turned from the royal-robed figure looking out on the mob with god-like calm, Pilate himself turned his eyes from the solitary man to the multitude and after prolonging the silence a moment said, "Ecce homo!"

For the spell of a few short breaths, as if something heavy hung over the heads of the gaping crowd, the silence lasted. Then from a dozen sources, like the fierce yelping of the pack came the cry, 'Staurosate! Crucify him!"

"Hear! Hear!" exclaimed the scribe to his visitor, "those curs of long prayers and dangling frontlet do much loyal shouting for Caesar whom in their hearts they curse. Neither for Caesar care they, neither for their Temple, but for the favor of Caesar and the gold of the Temple will they swear lies and lick the hand of power. But let me turn aside for a brief spell to deliver up the superscription that Pilate hath commanded be fastened on the cross above the thorn-cut brow of him who would be king. Look you—read: 'Jesus Nasarenus, Rex Judaeorum.'" The scribe and his visitors laughed heartily. "And lest among the multitude that hath heard of a new king, there are those unfamiliar with our own tongue, Pilate hath given command that the superscription be written in Greek and in the ancient letters of the Jews' own Law. Also I would put the seal on the death sentence. Wouldst thou see this too?"

"Yea, for not before hath it been given my eyes to read the death sentence of a 'King.'"

The scribe spread a fresh parchment[1] on the table and the Romans bent over it to read. "Yet a moment!" the scribe called to the men at the table. "Something strange is happening—look! Pilate is washing his hands in a basin! What hath so defiled them that ablution doth take place in the eyes of the shouting mob?"

"A mystery—yea. But look you—aye, look you! To mystery is added yet more mystery! Herod the Tetrarch doth approach Pilate. He smileth until the rising light doth sparkle on his teeth. He holdeth forth his hand! Will the Procurator whose hands are yet wet from their strange cleansing give him greeting? Look you! Steady thine eyes for a rare sight. He doth not hesitate! Now is the hand of Pontius Pilate gripped together with that of Herod Antipas. By Castor and Pollux—by Jove himself a rare fellowship hath been born of this tempest. What next?" and laughing, the Romans turned back to the death sentence.



[1] The original of what is accepted as Pilate's sentence was discovered about the year 1380 in an iron tube among the marble ruins of a temple in the city of Aquila, Italy, written in Hebrew characters on parchment. It is now in the custody of the Keeper of the Royal and General Archives of Simancus, Spain. The following is the translation from the original parchment:

In the year 17 of Tiberius Caesar, Emperor of Rome and of all the world, unconquerable monarch: In the CXXI Olympiad; in the XXIV Illiad and of the creation of the world according to the number and count of the Hebrews, four times 1157; of the propagation of the Roman Empire, the year 73; of the deliverance from slavery to Babylon the year 430; and the restitution of the Holy Empire, the year 497. Lucius Marius Sauricus being Consuls of Rome and Pontiff, Proconsuls of the unconquerable Tiberius; Public Governor of Judea, Regent and Governor of the City of Jerusalem, Flavius IV; its graceful president Pontius Pilate; Regent of Lower Galilee, Herod Antipas; Pontiff of the High Priesthood—Caiaphas; Ales Maelo, Master of the Temple; Rababan Ambe, Centurion of the Consuls and of the City of Jerusalem. Quintas Cornelius Sublimius and Setus Pompilius Rufus, on the 25th, I Pontius Pilate, representative of the Roman Empire, in the Palace of Larchi, our residence, judge, condemn and sentence to death, Jesus, called Christ, the Nazarene, of the multitude of Galilee, a man seditious of the Mosaic Law, against the Great Emperor Tiberius Caesar, I determine and pronounce by reason of the explained, that he shall suffer death nailed to the cross, according to the usage of criminals, because having congregated many men, rich and poor, he hath not ceased to stir up tumults throughout Galilee, pretending to be the Son of God, and King of Israel, threatening the ruin of Jerusalem and the Holy Empire, and denying the tribute to Caesar; having the boldness to enter with palms of triumph and accompanied by a multitude as King within the City of Jerusalem in the Sacred Temple.

I therefore command my Centurion, Quintas Cornelius, that he conduct publicly through the City of Jerusalem this Jesus Christ and that he be tied and flogged, dressed in purple and crowned with prickly thorns, with his own cross on his shoulders, so that he may serve as an example to malefactors; and to take with him two homicidal thieves; all of whom shall leave by the Giarancola Gate, designed to-day Antonia, and will proceed to the mount of the wicked, called Calvary, where crucified and dead, the body shall remain on the cross so that it may be a spectacle and example to all criminals, and on said cross there shall be the inscription in three languages, Hebrew, Greek and Latin, in Hebrew 'Jesu Aloi Alisidin'; in Greek 'Iesous Nazarenos Basileus ion Iouoaion'; in Latin 'Jesus Nazarenus Rex Judaeorum.' We likewise command that no one of whatever class he may be, shall attempt imprudently to impede this justice by us commanded, administered and followed with all rigor, according to the decrees and laws of the Roman and Hebrews, under penalty which those incur who rebel against the Empire."

[Transcriber's note: The Greek phrase in the above footnote was transliterated as follows:

Iesous: Iota, eta, sigma, omicron, (rough breathing mark) upsilon, final sigma.

Nazarenos: Nu, alpha, zeta, alpha, rho, eta, (rough breathing mark) omicron, final sigma.

Basileus: Beta, alpha, sigma, iota, lambda, epsilon, (soft breathing mark) upsilon, final sigma.

ion: iota, omega, nu.

Iouoaion: (soft breathing mark) Iota, omicron, upsilon, (soft breathing mark) omicron, alpha, iota, omega, nu.]



CHAPTER XXXII

BY THIS SIGN

At the side of a roadway leading up the sloping ascent of a bald hill, on the outskirts of Jerusalem, stood a rock, which by the stone rolled against it, was evidently a tomb of ancient days. This roadway, which had been tramped into fine dust by the tread of many feet, ran along the edge of a ravine, the far side of which was cut with sepulchres and fissured into narrow caves. Just beyond the tomb, the road turned to the top of the hill which was hidden by a solitary dying olive that cast its black branches across a pile of bleached gray rock. On this bald hill three crosses had been set up and since sunrise a vast crowd had thronged the roadway, for it had early become news that he who had been acclaimed King of the Jews had been hanged between two thieves, and many there were who were curious to see the sad plight of the King.

As the mocking crowd surged about the hill-top, and the sun was shining high in the heavens, the victim on the center cross uttered a cry which seemed to vibrate into the very element and turn the light of midday into impenetrable darkness and shake the earth with a mighty trembling. Rocks rattled down the ravine; tomb-doors were shaken from their holdings; the moaning of wind, like a dying breath, passed the length of the valley below and from the black depths a leper cried, "Unclean! Unclean!" his despairing wail answered by the scream of a maniac.

In the midst of the darkness there were fitful outbursts of dull green light, like the expiring effort of a perishing sun, and in these ghostly gleams people could be seen running to and fro. Among them were a woman and a man; the woman wrapped in a long cloak, the man, mighty in size, with scarce enough garments to cover his body, but to these the woman clung as they crept behind the wayside rock for shelter. Scarcely had they settled close to the rock than it began to tremble, and then the stone rolled away from before it and a skeleton toppled out, falling at the very feet of the woman.

With a scream she cried, "My dream! My dream! Even now it cometh to pass! Help! Help!"

The man drew the woman away from the skeleton and closer to the trembling rock.

"Even the dead come forth!" she wailed. "It is the end of all things! By the death of us all shall the gods avenge the death of the Jew! Oh, my eunuch, save me! Thou art strong! Thou wert a follower and a believer. Save me!" and she threw herself into his arms.

"Calm thyself, most noble Claudia," the man said in quiet tones. "That which maketh the earth tremble until stones roll from the grave, is naught but the same power that piles still water into waves of rocking mountains and that breaks the cedars of the hills as if they were dead grass. Fear not."

"Thou sayest—but feel the rocking of the earth."

"Yea, it doth tremble. Yet hath it trembled before and will tremble again. In Thrace have I seen the earth shake open in yawning pits."

"But the sun is dark at midday! What meaneth it?"

"Something hath come between the sun and thy vision. The sun yet shineth."

"Nay! Nay! Even the sun doth darker, its face in shame that the Jew, that just man, should be hung upon a cross to die! Oh, Pilate! Pilate! How could you?"

While they were speaking the darkness lightened and two soldiers crossed the road. When they reached the skeleton whose white outlines could be dimly seen in the gray light, they stopped suddenly.

"The dead come forth! Wherefore?" exclaimed one.

"Because this thing came of a race that knowest nothing, not even that it is dead." He kicked the skull which separated itself from the body and rolled toward him. Stopping it with his boot he said, "Aye, good Jew, art thou dead or alive? Speak!"

"He is lacking a tongue," and the second soldier laughed. The first ran his sword through the ribs of the skeleton and flinging it into the ravine kicked the skull after it.

In the silence that followed this clearing of the roadway, a moan was heard from the hidden hill-top. It was one of the malefactors begging for a stupefying potion to stay his torment.

"Hear," said one of the soldiers. "He beggeth with a good tongue."

"Yea, but the Jew that hangeth between the two refused the draught."

"He refuseth nothing now. The tongue of the 'King of the Jews' waggeth no longer in profane bragging against Caesar. Let us see to him."

When the soldiers had turned up the hill, the woman behind the rock spoke again. "Oh, my eunuch," she said, "go thou to the cross and inquire of the Jew. They say he is dead—dead," and her voice ended in a sob.

"Be comforted, most gracious Claudia. Methinks they speak what they know not. Yet will thy servant inquire."

While the eunuch was gone a group of soldiers came down the road bearing a purple robe. Near the rock behind which Claudia stood concealed they seated themselves, removed their helmets and dropped dice in them.

"A goodly apparel," one soldier said, holding forth the robe.

"Yea, and a crown went with it," a second said.

"Yea, and a cross followed after it," a third added.

"For Pilate is the friend of Caesar."

"Thus ever with those Rome hath cause to fear," the first soldier observed as he shook the dice in his helmet. Then in turn the soldiers rattled their dice and spoke.

"Look thou! Look thou!"

"Aye, but look here."

"Yea, but cast thine eyes on my luck!"

"I throw well!"

"I throw better!"

"I throw best! Look! The garment is mine!"

While they had been casting lots for the robe, several bystanders had collected. Among them was a thickly built man with a peculiar mark on his face. Straight above the line of his black beard it lay across one cheek like a red and purple band ending in a black mark at the tip on his ear. He wore a handsomely embroidered turban and carried a blue cloak. When the game, which he watched with interest, was finished and the new owner of the robe had taken possession of it, the bystander said, "How fareth the King whose robe now becometh thine?"

"When we left him but a short time since, he no longer begged for water and his head hung limp."

"Perhaps he hath but fainted," the man with the blue cloak suggested.

"Then shall the breaking of bones make sure his end."

"Knowest thou where the bone-breaker is?"

"I am he."

"And when wilt thou break the bones of his body?"

"What matter to thee when his bones are broken?"

"None save this. When the vast darkness that just now is lifting, was blackest, I heard a company of his followers whispering, and they did say he swore that, though dead, yet on the third day would he rise from the grave."

"And thou wouldst know of a surety that his legs are broken so that if he be stolen from the tomb his legs carry him not far?" and the soldiers laughed. "Fret not, the bones of the Jew will soon be broken."

"Wouldst thou break them sooner for a piece of gold?" and he drew from his cloak a wallet.

The soldier sprang up eagerly and held out his hand saying, "A coin upon the palm doth grant thy desire before thine eyes. The coin—then come, let us to the bone-breaking."

The man with the wallet had his hand on the gold, and the man with the heavy sword had his hand well held out for the gift, when a woman appeared suddenly before them and said to the soldier, "Lift not thy hand against the bones of the Jew!"

"What meanest thou—follower of the Jew?" the soldier replied angrily.

"Nay, not a follower of the Jew am I. Yet I know he was a just man."

"Thou dost lie with clumsy tongue," the soldier declared. "Thou art one of his followers."

"Whether I lie, or whether I lie not, break not a bone of the Jew's body!"

"Thou art a cunning follower of the Jew, and bold. Yet shall his bones be broken. Move thou on farther from the cross. Stand to one side," and he lifted his broad sword.

"And when did it come to pass," she said without moving, "that a dog of a soldier lifted the sword against a Roman?"

"A Roman? In my eye, a Roman," and the soldier laughed.

"Yea, a Roman—and more than a Roman. Let thine eyes look!" With the words Claudia threw back the long cloak and stood forth in the gorgeous apparel of a Roman noblewoman. The soldiers moved back a step and looked in wonderment as she spoke again. "A Roman? More than a Roman is Claudia Procula, wife of Pontius Pilate! Knowest thou, bone-breakers of the Tower of Antonio, who Pilate is? Not a follower of the Jew am I, but by the ring upon my hand I am the wife of the Roman Procurator, and I say to thee, not a bone of this just man's body shall be broken, else with thy broken body wilt thou pay bone for bone!"

The soldiers moved back a few steps farther. Then one said, "And when hath it come to pass that Pilate's wife giveth orders?"

"When Pilate washeth his hands of the tragedy, then doth Claudia command."

"Thou dost talk strangely for a Roman."

"This is a time of strange things. Strange darkness—strange trembling of the earth—strange bravery of a just man. Yea, a time of strange happenings. But break thou not the bones of the Jew."

The bystander with blue cloak and open wallet had moved aside a short distance. To him Claudia now turned, and after a moment of scrutiny she said, "By thy nose made fast against thy head and the twist of thy tongue when it doth barter where gold is passed, thou art a Jew. A Jew—and such a Jew! For the hardness of thy heart may the dark and ugly stripe thou wearest stay with thee ever. Even as thou standest before me in the dust, my eyes behold thee shrink into a viper! Get thee hence!"

When the soldiers and the Jewish bystander had gone down the roadway toward the city, Claudia stepped back behind the rock. During the time she had been talking the dim light had given way again to the brightness of the day. From her place she watched the passers-by and harkened their comment. Some, mocking, said, "He saved others, himself he could not save." Some marveled that his last breath should be a prayer of forgiveness for those who had robbed him of his life; some declared the show were not worth the dusty pilgrimage from Jerusalem on a hot day; some laughed to find a King in so sad a plight. Some wept. One such a woman in black who came slowly, leaning on the arm of a young man, and sobbing: "He is dead! He is dead!" And when the young man sought to comfort her as a son would comfort a mother, her moaning heart cried only, "He is dead! My son—my little Jehu—he is dead!" And the suffering of the woman moved the heart of Claudia until tears wet her face.

Gradually the number of passers-by grew less and by the conversation of the stragglers Claudia knew that the body had been taken from the cross. After what seemed hours of waiting, the eunuch returned to her.

"Long hast thou been gone!" she said.

"Yea, most noble Claudia, for it hath been given thy scarred servant to take in his strong arm the body of the Galilean from his cross. Holy service!"

"And he is dead—dead—" and Claudia's voice broke under its burden of pain.

"Weep not! Weep not!" said the scarred eunuch. "Thy falling tears drop heavily on thy servant's heart. Weep not."

"Thy kind heart hath never been the heart of a bond-slave," Claudia sobbed. "But he is dead—he is dead!"

"Dead? Yea—and nay, for of his promise cometh the glorious hope that turneth the waters of bitterness into the oil of joy and sobs into singing."

"What promise is this?"

"On the third day he shall rise from the dead and come forth from the grave."

"Rise from the dead! Come forth from the grave!" and Claudia lifted her eyes in astonishment.

"Yea, most noble Claudia—alive forever more. When he hath so often said, 'I and the Father are One,' he hath meant in power over life and death, for hath he not said of his life, 'I have power to lay it down and power to take it up again?'"

"He that is dead shall come forth to everlasting life?" Claudia repeated as if dazed.

"Thou speakest. Of his divine love for humankind hath the Nazarene laid down his life, that of the sacrifice may be knitted together the hearts of all races and kinds of men into the Brotherhood for which he lived and died. And when he shall take up that life, then will there be victory over death and the grave forever more to all who believe. According to the faith he hath taught hath the Galilean this day achieved immortal victory. Wouldst thou see from whence the body of the Conqueror hath been taken?"

"Yea, I would see."

He led the way up the road and as they turned on to the brow of the hill, three upright crosses came boldly into view. On two of them hung human forms with drooping heads from the half opened mouths of which a tongue point protruded. Their hand palms were filled with clotted blood and their legs, freshly mangled by the bone-breakers, hung limp. They were too well dead now longer to attract sight-seers, and the few guards left kept tired watch at a distance. The center cross stood tall, its outstretched arms overtopping the lesser crosses. On its highest point was the superscription of Pilate. There was nothing to show it had been the death bed of a human being, other than the red stains at its center made by the scourge-cut back that had lain against it. In the full light of a western sun, this red center took on a ruddy glow.

Silent the two stood a moment. Then she said, "And thou callest him 'conqueror' whose wounded body doth even now lie in the tomb?"

"According to the mystery of the Way, he is more than conqueror."

"What is the Way, my eunuch?"

"The way of a seed of corn that passeth into the abundance of new life."

"Thy message reacheth the heart of Claudia but dimly. Hast thou not words to name this Way?"

"Yea, most noble mistress. In thine own tongue can thy servant name the Way."

"I listen."

"Via crucis."

"Via crucis," Claudia repeated. "And this meaneth?" and she lifted her eyes to the face of the man.

"That when in thy heart thou hast overcome fear and unbelief, then hast thou the victory over death and the grave. This be the Way."

"Oh, that I might have victory over fear and doubt and death! That I might enter into the faith! My scarred eunuch, thou hast led my feet thus far. Take thou my hand and lead me yet a little nearer to the cross."

Hand in hand the Roman noblewoman and the scarred eunuch moved nearer the bloodstained emblem of baptism to the Way. The man released the hand of the woman that he might hold both hands over his heart as he lifted his face to some blessed hope or vision that lay beyond sight of the woman's eyes. Yet she read on his calm and shining face that he too was a conqueror and that yet in his body he had victory over death. She turned her eyes once again to the crimson wood just before her, lifted her hand and reverently made the sign of the cross over her heart. As she did so a peace greater than her understanding flooded her being and her breath came like that of one new born, as she whispered, "Crux rosatus! In hoc signo vinces!"



CHAPTER XXXIII

I AM

Thirty-six hours had passed since the execution of Jesus of Nazareth, bringing the first day of a new week. Very early in the morning Mary and Martha had arisen. With Anna and Debora, Martha was going to Jerusalem, where, just outside the city gate, she was to meet Mary, the mother of James and other women who had followed their acclaimed King from his own Galilee, and were now going to his sepulchre. These women had rested over the Sabbath as the Law required, and had prepared spices and sweet ointment with which to anoint the body so hastily put away on the evening the third day before.

Mary had chosen to remain in her garden that she might be alone, and in the dawning of the morning, she walked slowly. Her heart had been wrung by pain; her tears had been spent. The will to grieve had left her and the calm of resignation had settled where the storm had torn her soul. As she walked in white the surrounding gray gave her the appearance of an ethereal being, dim and unreal, walking in a garden of shadows, quiet as a sleeping child, and perfumed with dewy lilies.

Beside the lily bed she paused where she had once stood on a glad day with her beloved Master. She did not break a stem. She did not even stoop over the blossoms. She did not sigh. She did not for the moment seem conscious of her own existence. As she stood she felt her heart grow warm with a warmth as penetrating as sunshine and as vital as life itself, a strange unfathomable warmth that seemed to flood her being and yet be at one with it. Strangely moved by this pulsing warmth, she turned in the pathway, and as she turned, the hush of the sleeping garden was stirred by a vibrant voice which spoke the one word, "Mary!" With wildly beating heart she paused. The voice seemed to have come from under the olive tree where the old stone bench stood empty and wrapped in gloom. When she had strained her vision for a moment she saw a form in the shadows, at first misty and gray as the morning, but taking distinct shape before her bewildered eyes until a face looked toward her with unutterable love.

"Mary." Again her name sounded on the stillness like a holy call. "It is I, be not afraid."

She knew now, and in a voice of ecstasy she replied, as with flying feet she ran to him, "Master—oh, my Master!"

"Touch me not," he said when she would have thrown her arms about him. "Thy hands are not yet ready. Yet because thou hast eyes to see, thou seest. Blessed art thou among women! The things that I have taught thee, forget not, nor add to. I am the Beginning and the End. I have the keys of Death and the Unseen and lo, I am with thee always, even unto the end of the Ages."

And when Jesus had seen the face of Mary illumined with the immortal joy of the mystery of Deathless Love revealed, he passed again into the Unseen.



THE END