The dog, Baladan, led a lonely life in these days. Confined to his own little quarter of Jerusalem by that unwritten yet inexorable law which prevails to this day among the half wild street dogs of oriental cities, he dared not follow his adopted master beyond the corner of the short, dark street which was his chosen haunt. After some mysterious fashion the dog was aware that should he venture alone into the streets and squares beyond he would be instantly torn in pieces.
’Tis seldom that an animal of the pariah breed shows the least regard or [pg 116]affection for men. But Tor was so like a little animal himself that the heart of the great, gaunt beast had gone out to him. And Tor responded in kind. The undivided love of a beast is better than no love at all. Perhaps it is because of this that the heart of a dog is so loving; more than once has it solaced pain that would otherwise be unbearable in the nobler heart of a child.
Baladan was licking with anxious care a fragment of leather once worn by his little master. This done, he laid his ugly head upon it, and dreamed a vague dream of delight in which one figure—the figure of Tor—moved always before him.
Suddenly he sprang up, his rough coat bristling, and listened, then with a whine of delight bounded forward and flung himself upon the small, half-naked figure [pg 117]that was stealing along in the shadow of the high walls.
Tor was breathing fast and his puny chest heaved with an occasional strangling sob as he flung himself down by the dog. “Oh, Baladan,” he whispered, “I can’t find him; what shall I do?”
Baladan covered the child’s feet with warm, wet kisses, his great yellow-brown eyes brimming over with tears of anxious affection. He moaned and gurgled and laid one hard paw on his master’s knee in token of his utter allegiance. Tor wound his thin arms about the dog’s neck, and buried his face in the scanty yellow fur. “Let us sleep, Baladan,” he said drowsily, after a time. And the two curled themselves in their old haunt under the dark archway and presently dreamed and slept.
[pg 118]The sound of voices lowered to a hissing whisper suddenly aroused the child. He touched the dog warningly, and listened. A name had been spoken—the name of his Master—he was sure of it.
“I have a score to settle with the Galilean, I tell thee,” said the whining voice of Chelluh. “The other man is nothing to me.”
“Did he not heal thee of blindness?” demanded the second voice with a touch of impatience.
“He did, and that I will swear to. Since then the matter has been noised abroad, and no one will give me so much as a denarius to buy my daily victual. They tell me to work—to dig—to cut stone—to build walls. May the Furies reward them! I will not work, and I will eat.”
[pg 119]“Thou shalt eat thy fill if thou wilt do my bidding. Listen. This man, Jesus, who has so taken thy living from thee, is either a God or a false prophet—may Jehovah help me, but I know not what he is! The priests and Pharisees hate him. The people are divided. He must declare himself either one way or the other. I have sworn that I will force him to it. And I have sworn further to deliver him into the hands of the priests without tumult. I have watched thee and thou art a tool fitted to my hand. Go thou among those of thine own sort and arouse them against the man. Thou canst do it. Thou hast a nimble tongue, and the rabble will hear thee.”
“What if he be a God,” demanded Chelluh, with a gesture of fear. “Nay, I will have none of it. He opened mine [pg 120]eyes, and I was born blind. I am afraid to lift my hand against such a man.”
“But if he be a God,” said the other eagerly, “he will make it known rather than die like a criminal. Hark you, they will stone him, or crucify him, if they are able.”
“I am afraid of the man,” growled Chelluh. “And who art thou to do this thing! I am no whining Levite; but thou—art verily a devil.”
“I am a patriot,” declared the other boldly. “I know the man well. He professes to be Messiah. If he is the true Deliverer not a hair of his head shall be hurt; if not, let him die the death. I have sworn it.”
Then was a short silence broken by the musical chink of silver. “There is naught to fear from Jesus of Nazareth,” said the voice of the man who had de[pg 121]clared himself a patriot. “He would render to no man evil for evil. I have heard him say it many times, and I know that he is true. He loves his enemies and forgives every one who offends—not once only, but seventy times seven. If he prove to be Messiah I shall confess my plans and my thoughts to him, and he will forgive me readily. I shall then be a great prince and potentate in the new kingdom. This paltry sum shall be multiplied to thee thrice over.”
“I will do it,” said Chelluh, shaking the silver pieces in his hard palms till they chinked again. “And I also will be forgiven, after I have worked my will with the man and with the multitude.” The beggar laughed aloud.
Tor shuddered at the evil sound as he lay quiet in his lair. After that the [pg 122]silence remained unbroken, and the child at length ventured to peep out from the archway. The two men were just emerging into the brightly-lighted square beyond, and the sun falling full upon the face of Chelluh’s companion revealed it as the face of Judas. Tor flung his arms about the neck of the dog. “Oh, Baladan,” he whispered, “I must find my Master. If I were only a great man with a great sword how I would fight for him!”
But the boy remained where he was for another hour till the sun had sunken behind the mountains. Then, emerging into the twilight of the narrow street, he trotted noiselessly away. Baladan followed at his heels like a shadow, and like a shadow refused to be left behind at the accustomed boundary. Some vague stirring in the dog’s loving heart [pg 123]told him that his master was going into danger, and forthwith his own imminent peril was forgotten.
To his unbounded joy, Tor saw not many rods distant the figure of Peter, the Galilean, walking swiftly along with bent head. He ran to him and, placing himself directly in the man’s way, bowed himself humbly before him. “I beseech thee to listen to me, honorable Galilean,” he began, “for I have evil tidings which concern my Master.”
The dog whined uneasily, and flattened his lean body against the stones. The man’s angry eyes cut him like a lash.
“Out of my way, companion of a pariah,” said the Galilean, with profound disgust. “What hast thou to do with the Master?”
He strode forward, shaking off with a shudder of loathing the small imploring [pg 124]hand of the beggar child. “They will kill him,” cried Tor. “The man said so. They hate him!”
The dog sprang forward with a low growl of anger and fastened his white teeth in the garments of the fisherman. That wail of anguish in his master’s voice had roused him to a frenzy.
The Galilean raised his stout oaken staff and smote the animal twice—thrice with all his strength. The gaunt body quivered, dropped, rolled over once, and was still.
The Jew hurried away, breathing deep in his anger and disgust. “I am defiled,” he muttered, “for the breath of an unclean beast hath polluted my garments.” He glanced back over his shoulder and beheld the beggar kneeling by the body of the dog. And his indig[pg 125]nation found vent in deep-mouthed, muttered curses.
That same night the passover was sacrificed, and all Jerusalem feasted with solemn rites and decorous rejoicings. But Tor crouched on the stones outside one of the low, dark houses within the third wall of the city. He had followed the Galilean afar off, had seen him at length with his Master and the eleven enter this house. The child drowsed between whiles as the hours passed, and the white moon looked down at him between the houses. He had forgiven Peter, the Galilean, for the death of Baladan, even as his Master had commanded, and that singular peace which the world neither gives nor takes away filled his soul.
He could have told no man why he was so strangely content, when, in the old [pg 126]days, fury would have scorched him. For the moment he had forgotten the evil words of Chelluh and the disciple called Judas; and, remembering them, he murmured a simple prayer to the mysterious, unseen Father, in whom he was coming to believe with all the strength of his childish being. “Our Father will take care of my Master,” he said aloud, and smiled alone in the darkness.
Within the house, in a large upper chamber, Jesus sat at his last meal upon earth with the few whom he had chosen, knowing all things that should shortly come to pass, and understanding to the full the pitiful ignorance and darkness in the hearts of the disciples.
Again they disputed among themselves as to which of them should be accounted greatest in that coming kingdom of glory which the Master now told [pg 127]them plainly had been appointed unto him. To sit upon twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel was, indeed, a glorious future; they accepted the idea with complaisance, but one must be greater than his fellows in any kingdom, and each of them coveted the supreme crown of power.
Then Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he came forth from God, and was going to God, arose from supper, and laying aside his garments, took a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded. And so he came in turn to Peter.
Peter said to him, “Lord, thou shalt never wash my feet.”
Jesus answered, “If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me.”
[pg 128]“Lord, not my feet only,” said Peter, “but my hands and my head.”
Then came that dark moment when the man called Judas received the morsel of bread dipped in wine. “What thou doest, do quickly,” said the Master, with a look of full understanding which penetrated the dismal labyrinth of the man’s soul like a flash of blinding light.
Judas ran violently out of the house, and the darkness swallowed him. He knew himself at last. He was no eager patriot, no doubting disciple, anxious to force a triumphant issue. He ground his teeth in a very fury of rage and hatred, as he sped on his terrible mission.
The beggar child, drowsing on the cold stones without, shuddered at sound of that ominous, hurrying footfall. “My Father will take care of him,” he murmured, and again slept.
[pg 129]Within that dimly-lighted upper chamber the compassionate Master was trying to prepare the little company of unsuspecting disciples for the darker hours just before them. “All ye shall be offended because of me this night,” he said sorrowfully. “For it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad. But after I am raised up, I will go before you into Galilee.”
Peter answered in his bold, positive way, “Although all shall be offended, yet will not I.”
Jesus said to him, “Verily, I say unto thee, that this night, before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice.”
But the Galilean answered with exceeding vehemence, “If I must die with thee, I will not deny thee!”
And so likewise said all the others.
The primal instinct which has ever led man to the kind bosom of earth in his darkest hour led the man Christ Jesus to Gethsemane. And there under the dense shadow of the ancient olives he threw himself down upon the ground for that last exceeding bitter struggle with his humanity.
And Peter, the Galilean, and the others—slept.
Tor had followed them, noiseless and unseen as a friendly shadow. He did not approach the King, his Master, nor did he again venture to accost Peter. Squatting motionless at the gate of the [pg 131]garden, the child thought confusedly but joyfully of his deliverance from the house of Pilate.
“It was because I prayed to my Father,” he told himself, and hugged his lean little body with a low laugh of pleasure. “Hereafter I need fear nothing. I will call and he will deliver me, and neither man nor demon can hinder.”
His soul went out in a flood of love toward the Man who had opened his eyes, and who was at that moment lying upon his face under the olives in a wordless agony, and the child’s pure thoughts mingled with the cloudy forms of angels which comforted him.
Somewhere, afar off, lights gleamed among the dark trees; stealthy footfalls and hushed voices beyond the garden wall reached the boy’s keen ears. He sprang up and listened intently.
[pg 132]The glare of smoking torches and the irregular tread of hurrying feet sent vibrations of horror through the shuddering night. But the Man of Nazareth no longer lay upon his face amid the shadows. He came forth to receive the brimming cup of his sorrows radiant with the power that had never failed him. Stooping over his sleeping disciples he called them: “Arise, let us be going: behold, he that betrayeth me is at hand.”
Now Judas had before agreed with the officers that he would greet his Master with a kiss. “So that ye may know the man from his disciples,—stupid dolts every one and not worth the taking.”
As the motley crowd of temple police, bearing torches, followed by a rabble of the curious, advanced into the gloom of the garden a superstitious awe fell upon them. They drew back to a man and [pg 133]hesitated, casting fearful glances at the dark masses of trees moving gently in the night wind. Some unseen, noiseless terror seemed to lurk amid the shifting shadows. “If the man be a prophet,” whispered one, “there be blasting lightnings at his call. Let us go back.”
But Judas turned his sneering face upon the speaker with a low laugh of scorn. “Master! Master!” he cried mockingly, and running forward he clasped and kissed the Saviour of the world.
Jesus said to him, “Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?”
“Lord, shall we smite with the sword?” cried one of the disciples.
Not waiting for an answer, Peter drew his weapon and aimed a mighty blow at the officer nearest him. The man fell back with a bellow of rage and pain, [pg 134]while his companions sprang forward and seized Jesus.
The eyes of the prisoner, grave, calm, and compassionate, were fixed upon the wounded man, from whose severed ear blood spurted in a torrent. “Permit me thus far,” he said gently to the officers who grasped him by the arms, and reaching forth he touched the ear and healed it.
Then that omniscient gaze turned full upon Peter, who stood staring in a frozen stupor at the being he had believed to be the invincible Messiah.
“Put up again thy sword into its place,” said the Master; “for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.” Then, answering further the thoughts that looked out of the bewildered, terror-stricken eyes of the man whom he had named “The Rock,” [pg 135]he said: “Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?”
But he uttered no prayer to his Father, and the ranks of the angelic host remained hid from the expectant eyes that searched the empty heavens.
In that same hour Jesus said to the multitude which gathered about him, threatening, yet awe-stricken by the miracle, “Are ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and staves? When I was daily with you in the temple, ye stretched forth no hands against me: but this is your hour, and the power of darkness.”
At that word the darkness closed in about him—and it was night.
[pg 136]In the courtyard of the high priest’s house Tor lurked in the shelter of a doorway and looked on. No one had noticed the child as he slipped in with the crowd that held at its core the silent Man of Nazareth. Peter had also followed. Tor watched the Galilean seat himself with the others at a small fire which was kindled in the midst of the place. He had turned his back upon the travesty of a legal examination which was going on at the upper end of the hall and was warming his fingers with an air of complete indifference.
“So the dangerous prophet is proven but a man of straw, after all,” quoth one of the lesser officers of the police with a contemptuous gesture toward the meek figure of the Nazarene. “Look you upon the fellow now, he hath never a word to say for himself, and there are [pg 137]no lightnings—no thunders. By the seven-branched candlestick, I declare to you that I was in a cold sweat when I laid hands on the man. But I felt nothing more terrible than an arm of flesh and blood under his rabbi’s robe.”
“A rabbi’s robe, indeed,” chuckled another. “He will wear another sort before many days, I promise you.”
“But what sayest thou to the healing of Ben-Joseph’s ear?” demanded a woman who had approached the fire. “I have just talked with the son of Joseph. He declares that from henceforth he is a believer.”
A great shout of laughter greeted this speech. “Ben-Joseph hath ever a nimble tongue,” quoth a black-bearded young fellow who carried a short sword stuck in his belt. “A nimble tongue, say I, [pg 138]and the long ears of an ass. One of the Galileans made a lunge at him, but, being a clumsy knave of a fisherman and knowing naught of the uses of a sword, he merely grazed the ear.”
“Nay, fellow, the ear was sliced clean off,” growled Peter, stung to retort by the sneering words of the Judean.
The woman bent forward to stare at the speaker. “Art not thou also one of the man’s disciples?” she asked curiously.
“I am not,” said Peter shortly. He was listening painfully to his Master’s voice in low-toned response to a question of the high priest. At sound of a violent, flat-handed blow, he twisted quite about in his place and beheld the colorless face of Jesus slowly reddening under the insult. “If I have spoken evil,” he was saying in a low, clear voice, “bear wit[pg 139]ness of the evil; but if well, why smitest thou me?”
The Galilean rose from his place at the fire, breathing deep, his strong hands clenched at his sides in futile anger. “Why doth he not blast them with the word of his power?” he asked himself as he stealthily watched the terrible mockery of justice which was now drawing to its close.
They were questioning the prisoner sharply now. Peter could see the dark looks of satisfaction on the faces of the priests and Sanhedrists and the sneering laughter of the rabble at their back. Then came a show of witnesses against the prisoner. Among the witnesses stood Chelluh, the beggar who had once been blind. “The man healed me of blindness—yes, it is so, most worshipful lords,” he whined. “’Twas accom[pg 140]plished by black magic and the power of Beelzebub, I declare to you, for he who would lightly destroy the temple of God must needs be of the devil.”
“What sayest thou of the temple, fellow?” demanded the high priest. “Did the man dare to threaten the temple?”
“Most holy and reverend high priest,” replied Chelluh, “the Nazarene said in my hearing, and in the hearing of this friend of mine—an honest craftsman, as thou seest—‘I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days!’ ”
The high priest arose in his place and fixed his eyes upon the prisoner. “Answerest thou nothing?” he hissed between set teeth. “What is the meaning of this saying which these reputable witnesses bring against thee?”
[pg 141]Jesus seemed not to have heard the question. His inscrutable eyes were bent upon the ground; upon his face shone a faint, mysterious light. The high priest bent forward and stared at him, unrelentingly. “I adjure thee by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God!” he cried in a terrible voice.
The Man of Nazareth lifted his meek head at that word. “I am,” he said slowly—distinctly. “And ye shall see the Son of man sitting at the right hand of power, and coming with the clouds of heaven.”
“He hath spoken blasphemy!” exclaimed the high priest, rending his garments with a gesture of outraged holiness. “What further need have we of witnesses? Ye have heard the blasphemy: what think ye?”
[pg 142]“Death—death! He is guilty!” came the deep-throated answer of the priests.
Cries of triumph, dreadful laughter, the sound of buffeting palms burst forth from judges and witnesses alike. Some one was tying a handkerchief over the face of the prisoner with the mocking words, “Behold the Prophet!”
“Prophesy unto us, thou Christ. Who is he that smote thee?” yelled the savage voice of the beggar who had received his sight; and he smote his blinded Saviour with open palms twice—thrice—many times.
A suffocating mist rolled blood-red before the eyes of Peter. “If he were the Messiah,” he groaned, “this could not be. The man hath mocked and deceived us from the beginning!”
Somewhere, not far away, sounded the cheerful crowing of a cock. “I will go [pg 143]back to Galilee,” he muttered. But his leaden feet carried him no farther from the awful scene than the porch. Here he loitered, listening with a frightful, strained attention to the sounds of ribaldry and laughter that came out to him through the half-open doors. “I will go,” he said aloud. “I must go. It is already day.”
The servants of the high priest’s household were astir and cheerfully busy with their morning tasks. One of them, a buxom maid bearing a jar upon her head, paused and stared attentively at the Galilean. “Aha!” she exclaimed. “This man also was with Jesus, the Nazarene.”
Peter raised his heavy eyes to the fresh-colored, inquisitive face of the woman. “I know not the man,” he snarled with an oath. The woman went [pg 144]her way with a laughing gesture of unbelief.
Then others of the bystanders began to cast curious glances at the haggard face and wild eyes of the stranger. They whispered among themselves for a space, then a man wearing the livery of the house of Annas advanced with an air of determination. “Certainly, thou art one of them,” he said authoritatively, “for thou art a Galilean.”
Peter turned upon the man with a torrent of angry oaths. “I tell thee, fellow,” he cried loudly, “that I know not this man of whom thou speakest.”
The cock crew for the second time.
The great doors of the judgment-hall were flung wide, and the motley throng of priests and underlings, glutted with their awful triumph, pushed through, dragging the piteous figure of their [pg 145]prisoner. The face of the Nazarene gleamed white and calm amid the dark looks of his persecutors; his loving eyes turned for the last time upon Peter and flashed into his darkened soul the remembrance of that sad word of prophecy: “Before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny me thrice.”
And Peter went out and wept bitterly.
The wife of Pilate arose from her couch with a troubled and haggard look on her fair face. The maid who attended the great lady’s toilet observed this with curiosity. “There is tumult about the gates of the palace this morning,” she said, as she combed out the long blonde tresses with a comb of gold and ivory, preparatory to weaving them into a graceful crown of braided strands.
The princess shrugged her fair shoulders with a slight gesture of weariness. “There is always tumult,” she said [pg 147]languidly. “Ah me, ’tis a dreary place—this Jerusalem. I would I were once more safely at Rome.”
“If my noble lady will but glance into the mirror, she will behold a fairer sight than even Rome can offer,” said the maid obsequiously, and skilfully fastened a fresh-blown rose so that its crimson petals rested on the white neck of her mistress. “But the tumult of this morning differs from that of other days, honorable princess,” she went on eagerly. “Diomed says that the Jews have seized their prophet and are about to put him to death—if, indeed, they are allowed.”
“What prophet, girl?” demanded the lady, a faint flush stealing into her pale cheeks. “Every man is a prophet—or a priest, is it not so, in this hateful Jerusalem? And the prophets have loud [pg 148]voices, and they are always creating a tumult.”
“I myself have seen this man,” said the girl. “He is quite unlike the other rabbis, as they call them—of a gentle voice, and a stature majestic. I bethought me of my gods in Athens. Yet is the man a Jew.”
“His name?”
“His name is Jesus; also they call him the Nazarene.”
The princess uttered a faint exclamation.
“Pardon me, I beseech thee, honorable mistress, if I have fastened that last plait too tightly,” hastily interposed the maid, withdrawing a jeweled pin from its place and readjusting it with elaborate care.
“Didst thou say they were bringing the Nazarene here—to the palace?” de[pg 149]manded the princess, turning her large dark eyes upon her servant.
“Honorable lady, the man is already here, and my lord, the governor, is attending the case without upon the seat of judgment. The Jews refused to await the proper hour, and my lord Pilate, with his wonted indulgence, came forth to them. These barbarians have no hearts, noble lady, they are without consideration for the sleep of an illustrious Roman. They should be scourged as slaves.”
“What will they do with him?” muttered the wife of Pilate, clenching her white hands. “Nay, my lord should have nought to do with this prophet. He must dismiss the case.”
The maid stared at her mistress in some perplexity. “The morning is warm and fair,” she said at last. “Will [pg 150]it please your highness to breakfast upon the terrace? The lady Felicia is already playing in the garden of the inner court.”
In the secluded spot where slaves had spread a table with the breakfast-service of the princess, the morning sun struck sparks of splendor from burnished plates and crystal, gem-rimmed goblets. Flowers of every delicate color and odor, violets from Gethsemane, lilies from the deep vale of Kedron, roses from the nearer gardens of the palace, heaped a golden bowl in the center, while around it glowed the richer hues of fruit, brought from distant parts of the country, and flagons of delicate wine, cooling in beds of snow fetched from the crown of Lebanon for this spoiled daughter of Rome.
The lady cast a dissatisfied glance [pg 151]about the garden. “Where is Felicia?” she asked sharply.
“She was here but a moment ago, noble lady,” replied the maid, who had followed her mistress with a fan of peacock’s feathers and an armful of embroidered pillows. “I will call Oonah.”
But neither Oonah nor the child were anywhere to be found, and after a little the princess began her repast with frowning brows. “There is too much noise about the place,” she observed in a displeased tone, as she tasted a silver fig smothered in wine and spices.
The servants glanced at one another with lifted brows. “It cannot be helped, honorable mistress,” ventured one of them, a young Greek lad, beautiful as a creation of Praxitiles in his short tunic bordered with blue. “All the loud-mouthed Jews of the city, it would seem, [pg 152]headed by their priests, are surrounding the judgment-seat before the palace. The guard would not have admitted them; but my lord, the governor, ordered it.”
“He could not do otherwise,” said the lady, with a slight curl of her haughty lip. “But what is it that they are saying over and again? ’Tis a horrid sound, like the cry of wolves hungering after their prey.”
Again the servants exchanged half-frightened glances, and again the beautiful young Greek answered his lady. “’Tis a custom in this Jerusalem for the governor to release a prisoner at feast time,” he said in a low voice. “Perchance, the people are demanding this pledge from the illustrious Pilate.”
The lady’s face cleared. “Ah, it is so,” she cried; “I remember how it befell last year. My lord will release to [pg 153]them the Nazarene, who is called Jesus. Is it not so, Diomed?”
The Greek hesitated, and in the moment of silence the child, Felicia, closely followed by her nurse, rushed into the garden. Her golden hair was disordered, and her blue eyes reddened with angry tears. “They shall not scourge the boy!” she cried, stamping her small foot. “I have said it; but that stupid, wicked Marcus declares that he will do it. Wilt thou not send for him, mother, and cause him to be punished for disobeying me?”
The princess turned her eyes severely upon Oonah. “Where hath the child been, and what is all this about Marcus? What has happened?”
Oonah trembled under the cold looks of her mistress. “’Tis the beggar boy again,” she faltered. “He was beating [pg 154]upon the door of the outer court like a mad thing, and demanding speech with your highness. But, of course, Marcus—”
“Marcus is a beast—an animal!” again interrupted Felicia passionately. “Listen to me, princess, I can explain everything far better than this stupid Oonah. Dost thou not remember the beggar lad whose eyes were restored by a King named Jesus? I brought him to this very spot two—three days ago. The boy amused me with his story. But Oonah thrust him forth because—”
“I remember,” said the wife of Pilate with a strange look. “What then?”
“The mob wish to kill his Master, the King, and the lad came hither to beg his life. Marcus was about to scourge him and thrust him forth, but I forbade it. I say he shall not harm the boy. Do thou [pg 155]command it also, my mother—and quickly, for Marcus will not obey me.”
“Fetch the lad to me, Diomed,” ordered the lady briefly.
The young Greek obeyed, and presently returned to the presence of his mistress followed by the irate porter, his big hand buried in the rough curls of the beggar’s head. Tor presented a pitiable appearance, his pallid face streaked with tears and dust, his great eyes wide with fear and horror.
At sight of the princess the child fell sobbing to his knees and lifted his lean arms in an agony of petition. “My Master—my Master!” he wailed. And again, “My Master, oh, my Master!”
The wife of Pilate signed to Marcus to release the boy, then she ordered Diomed to give him wine.
Tor obediently swallowed from the [pg 156]cup which was held to his lips; but not once did he remove his beseeching eyes from the beautiful haughty face of the princess. “Thou canst save him,” he whispered.
The lady shook her head. “I fear that I cannot,” she said. Then to the astonishment of every one present she laid her delicate hand on the beggar’s rough head. “Tell me why thou dost love this man—this Nazarene?” she asked softly. “Nay, do not weep and tremble so, child. I will do all that I can to save him.”
Tor choked back his tears and gazed steadfastly into the exquisite troubled face which leaned toward him. “I love him—because he loves—me,” he faltered. “He opened my eyes. He is good. He is the King—my Master. I love him.”
[pg 157]“Why do the Jews hate him so?” murmured the lady. “In my dream I saw him—as one altogether lovely, enthroned high above all the gods of Rome and Greece. Then I saw—” She broke off with a shudder. The wild tumult of voices in the square without had risen into an awful, insistent iteration of one terrible phrase.
“What do they say now?” she demanded with slowly-whitening face, turning to Diomed, who watched the scene with a satirical curl of his handsome lips.
“They are demanding the crucifixion of some criminal, your noble highness,” replied the Greek, smirking courtier-like. “But why trouble thyself, dear princess, over the doings of the wild rabble? The man, Jesus, is no more than a Jewish peasant—a carpenter, they say. What [pg 158]can such an one be to the fairest princess in—”
“Go, see what is passing without,” ordered the lady, with a look which froze the insolent smile on the lips of the Greek. “Go, and return quickly.”
The Greek reappeared almost immediately with a white, scared face. “The scene without beggars description, noble lady,” he began hurriedly, answering the command in the eyes of his mistress. “The whole city is at the doors demanding the crucifixion of the Nazarene. The most noble Pilate believes him innocent of any crime, and would save him if possible; but—hear the mob!”
It was impossible to hear anything else. Those awful beast-like cries penetrated the ears of the very slaves so that they cowered and trembled. “My tablets, Maia,” whispered the wife of [pg 159]Pilate. With shaking fingers she wrote a few words upon the wax. “Take this,” she said, turning to the Greek, “and give it into the hand of Pilate himself—no other. Go quickly!”
The Greek drew back in manifest terror. “What, art thou afraid?” sneered the princess. “Hold, I will go myself. Perhaps I can save him so.” She arose and was descending the steps of the terrace, when the child Felicia flung herself at her mother’s knees with a scream of terror. “Do not go out into that dreadful place, mother,” begged the child. “They are horrible—those Jews. Stay with me!”
The princess paused, hesitated, and finally yielded the tablets into the outstretched hand of Diomed. “Go—quickly!” she urged.