"Hear, if thou wilt; for I can no longer endure to bear my burden in silence. Hear and then strike; for I have well-merited death from the hand of a disciple."
So saying, Marcus flung himself down on the gnarled roots, which afforded a rude kind of seat, and signed to the Jew to take his place on a large stone near.
Asahel, such was his name, obeyed the sign, and prepared himself to listen.
But for some minutes only deep groans were heard from the unhappy Roman, who seemed to shrink from beginning his terrible confession. At last, averting his eyes, he thus began:
"Is it not enough to say that I was one of the Prætorian band on that day—not many moons have waxed and waned since then—when there was darkness and an earthquake; and the Temple curtain was rent in twain."
"What! Thou wast one of those Roman soldiers! Thou didst mock the Blessed One, and crown Him with thorns!"
"I did not!" cried Marcus fiercely. "I was not base enough for that. When I looked at that calm majestic Sufferer, I thought Him more kingly in His robe of mockery, than Pontius Pilate in all his state!"
"When I heard the yelling of the savage mob, thirsty for blood, I said to myself, 'Were I in the place of our Governor, those slaves might shout as they pleased, I would never give Him up, innocent as He is, to fanatic priest or frantic people! I would not so play the coward!'"
Asahel winced, as if some acute pain had suddenly struck him.
"But it was my duty, my detestable office, to execute the sentence which I thought unjust as well as cruel. I was accustomed as a soldier to obey orders without question, and without remorse. Hardened as I am by familiarity with executions, without mercy or scruple I crucified one of the wretched thieves. His yell of agony as I did my work did not even awake a feeling of pity in my heart."