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 wo