"For Pilate is the friend of Caesar."
"Thus ever with those Rome hath cause to fear," the first soldier observed as he shook the dice in his helmet. Then in turn the soldiers rattled their dice and spoke.
"Look thou! Look thou!"
"Aye, but look here."
"Yea, but cast thine eyes on my luck!"
"I throw well!"
"I throw better!"
"I throw best! Look! The garment is mine!"
While they had been casting lots for the robe, several bystanders had collected. Among them was a thickly built man with a peculiar mark on his face. Straight above the line of his black beard it lay across one cheek like a red and purple band ending in a black mark at the tip on his ear. He wore a handsomely embroidered turban and carried a blue cloak. When the game, which he watched with interest, was finished and the new owner of the robe had taken possession of it, the bystander said, "How fareth the King whose robe now becometh thine?"
"When we left him but a short time since, he no longer begged for water and his head hung limp."