n 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!