"He has declared himself Israel's king!"

"Ah!" And Pilate smiled wearily. "You are always expecting one; why not take him?"

"Why not, my lord? Because it is treason to do so."

Pilate nodded with affected approval. "I admire your zeal." And with a glance at the prisoner, he added: "You have heard the accusation; defend yourself. What!" he continued, after a moment, "have you nothing to say?"

Caiaphas exulted openly. The corners of his mouth had the width and cruelty, and his nostrils the dilation, of a wolf.

"My lord," he cried, "his silence is an admission."

"Hold your tongue! It is for me to question." And therewith Pilate gave the high-priest a look which was tantamount to a knee pressed on the midriff. He glanced again at the tablet, then at the prisoner.

"Tell me, do you really claim to be king?"

"Is it your idea of me?" the Christ asked; and in his bearing was a dignity which did not clash with the charge; "or have others prompted you?"

"But I am not a Jew," Pilate retorted. "The matter only interests me officially. It is your hierarchy that bring the charge. Why have they?

What have you done? Tell me," he continued, in Latin, "do you think yourself King?"

"_Tu dixisti_," Jesus answered, and smiled as he had before, very gravely.

"But my royalty is not of the earth." And with a glance at his bonds, one which was so significant that it annulled the charge, he added, still in Latin, "I am Truth, and I preach it."

Pilate with skeptical indulgence shook his head. Truth to him was an elenchicism, an abstraction of the Platonists, whom in Rome he had respected for their wisdom and avoided with care. He turned to Caiaphas.

The latter had been regretting the absence of an interpreter. This amicable conversation, which he did not understand, was not in the least to his liking, and as Pilate turned to him he frowned in his beard.

"I am unable to find him guilty," the procurator announced. "He may call himself king, but every philosopher does the same. You might yourself, for that matter."

"A philosopher, this mesith!" Caiaphas gnashed back. "Why, he seduces the people; he incites to sedition; he is a rebel to Rome. It is for you, my lord, to see the empire upheld. Would it be well to have another complaint laid before the Caesar? Ask yourself, is this Galilean worth it?"

The thrust was as keen and as venomous as the tooth of a rat. Pilate had been rebuked by the emperor already; he had no wish to incur further displeasure. Seja.n.u.s, the emperor's favorite, to whom he owed his procuratorship, had for suspected treason been strangled in a dumb dungeon only a little before. Under Tiberius there was quiet, a future historian was to note; and Pilate was aware that, should a disturbance occur, the disturbance would be quelled, but at his expense.

An idea presented itself. "Did I understand you to say he is a Galilean?"

he asked.

"Yes," Caiaphas answered, expecting, perhaps, the usual jibe that was flung at those who came from there. "Yes, he is a Nazarene."

"Hm. In that case I have no jurisdiction. The tetrarch is my guest; take your prisoner to him."

"My lord," the high-priest objected, "our law is such that if we enter the palace we cannot officiate at the Pa.s.sover to-night."

Pilate appeared to reflect. "I suppose," he said at last, "I might ask him whether he would care to come here. In which case," he added, with a gesture of elaborate courtesy, "you may remain uncontaminated where you are. Ressala!"

An official stepped forward; an order was given; he disappeared. Presently a ma.s.sive throne of sandalwood and gold was trundled out. Caiaphas had seen it before, and in it-Herod.

"The justice that comes from there," he muttered, "is as a snake that issues from a tomb."

His words were drowned in the clamors of the crowd. The sun had crossed the zenith; in its rays the waters that gushed from the fountain-mouths of bronze lions fell in rainbows and glistened in great basins that glistened too. There was sunlight everywhere, a sky of untroubled blue, and from the Temple beyond came a glare that radiated from Olivet to Bethlehem.

Pilate was bored. The mantle which Mary wore caught his eye, and he looked at her, wondering how she came in his wife's apartment, and where he had seen her before. Her face was familiar, but the setting vague. Then at once he remembered. It was at Machaerus he had seen her, gambling with the emir, while Salome danced. She was with Antipas, of course. He looked again; she had gone.

The Sanhedrim consulted nervously. The new turn of affairs was not at all to their liking. The clamors of the mob continued. Once a fanatic pushed against a soldier. There was a thud, a howl, and a mouth masked with liquid red gasped to the sun and was seen no more.

Behind the procurator came a movement. The officials ma.s.sed about the entrance parted in uneven ranks, and in the great vestibule beyond, Antipas appeared. Pilate rose to greet him. The elders made obeisance. The tetrarch moved forward and seated himself in his father's throne. At his side was Pahul, the butler, balancing himself flamingowise on one leg, his bold eyes foraging the priests.

Caiaphas formulated the complaint anew, very majestically this time, and, thinking perhaps to overawe the tetrarch, his voice a.s.sumed the authority of a guardian of the keys of heaven, a chamberlain of the sceptres of the earth.

Antipas ignored him utterly. He plucked at his fan-shaped beard, and stared at the Christ. He could see now he bore no resemblance to Iohanan.

There was nothing of the hyena about him, nor of the prophet either.

Evidently he was but a harmless vagabond, skilled in simples, if report were true; perhaps a thaumaturge. And it was he whom he had feared and fancied might be that Son of David for whom a star was created, whom the magi had visited, whom his father had sought to destroy, and whom now from his father's own throne he himself was called upon to judge! He shook his head, and in the sunlight the indigo with which his hair was powdered made bright blue motes.

"I say--"

Just beyond, where the a.s.sessors stood, Mary suddenly appeared. He stopped abruptly; for more than a year he had not seen her. Pahul had told him she had gone to Rome. If she had, he reflected, the journey had not improved her appearance. Then for the moment he dismissed her, and returned to the Christ.

"See here: somebody the other day told me you worked miracles. I have wanted to see one all my life. Gratify me, won't you? Oh, something very easy to begin with. Send one of the guards up in the air, or turn your bonds into bracelets."

The Christ did not seem to hear. Pahul laughed and held to the throne for support. Antipas shrugged his shoulders.

"He looks harmless enough," he said. "Why not let him go?"

Caiaphas glowered, and his fingers twitched. "He claims to be king!"

At this statement the tetrarch laughed too. He gave an order to Pahul, who vanished with a grin.

"He has jeered at the Temple your father built," Caiaphas continued. "He has declared he could destroy it and rebuild a better one, in three days at that."

"He is king, then, but of fools."

"And he has called you a fox," Caiaphas added, significantly.

"He doesn't claim to be one himself, does he?"

"He is guilty of treason, and it is for you, his ruler, to sentence him."

"Not I. The blood of kings is sacred. Pahul, make haste!"

The butler, reappearing, held in his hand the glittering white vestment of a candidate. The tetrarch took it and held it in air.

"Here, put this on him, and let his subjects admire him to their hearts'

content."

"Antipas, you disgrace your purple!"

At the exclamation, the Sanhedrim, the guards, the a.s.sessors, the officials, Pilate himself, everyone save the prisoner, turned and looked.

On the colored pavement Mary stood, her face very pale.

The tetrarch flushed mightily; anger mounted into his shifting eyes. For a moment the sky was blood-red; then he recovered himself and answered lightly: