“They were for the Master,” he said. “I thought he would sup with us to-night.”
“He may do so yet,” she answered. “Perhaps——”
“Never!” cried a voice from the lattice. “They are leading him to Gülgolta now.”
Beyond, through the palace gate, a mass undulated, the body elongated, expanding as it moved. It was black, but at the sides was the glisten that cobras have. About it dust circled, and from it came the rumble of thunder heard afar. As the bulk increased, the roar deepened; the black lessened into varying hues. To the glisten came the glint of [pg 232]steel; the cobra changed into a multitude, the escort of a squad of soldiery, fronted by a centurion and led by the banner of Imperial Rome.
Behind the centurion, Jesus, in his faded sagum, staggered, overweighted by the burden of a cross. Two comrades in misery were at his side, but they moved with steadier step, bearing their crosses with the brawn of muscular and untired arms. The soldiers marched impassibly, preceding the executioners—four stalwart Cypriotes, distinguishable by the fatness of their calves—while behind was the Sanhedrim, and, extending indefinitely to the rear, the rabble of yelling Jews.
In a cobra’s coils is death, its eyes transfix. Neither Mary nor Simon had spoken, and now, as the soldiery was upon them, they leaned yet nearer the wall. For a moment Mary hid her face. At her feet the Christ had fallen, and from her came one wail, choked down at once. She stooped to aid him, but he [pg 233]stood up unassisted and reached to the wall for support.
The bars of the lattice shook; the old man peered out.
“Don’t touch my house, you vagabond! Move on!” he cried.
Calcol had turned to Simon, who was raising the cross. “Carry it for him,” he commanded.
Baba Barbulah still shook at the lattice. “Move on!” he repeated. “Seducer of the people, remitter of sins, upholder of adultery, move on; don’t touch my house, it will fall down on you! Move on, I say!”