"Let us move into the dark," the torch-bearer said, and they left the chamber. Under a sealed shelf of bones they stopped. The scarred man of great size and the bearded Phoenician stood in the dim light of the torch held at a little distance, by the bearer.
"This thou couldst know," said the man of the scar. "The strength of the Roman legions will not be in Jerusalem at the time of Passover. Weak will be the forces of the Tower of Antonio."
"How knowest thou this?" and there was eagerness in the question.
"My lips are sealed further. Yet as I love the Galilean, my words come to thee from the mouth of official Rome."
"Wilt thou be at the Passover?"
"That is my hope."
"And wilt thou lend aid in making the Galilean a king?"
"He is already a king—and more."
The Phoenician looked inquiringly into the calm eyes of the unknown.
"King of my heart he is." The words were offered as an explanation. "Whether there is wisdom in acclaiming him a king over mankind, I know not. From his own lips would I get my 'Yea' or 'Nay.'"