‘Shall we really see a Jewish High Priest in Rome?’ asked Pomponia.
‘Yes, lady,’ answered Julius; ‘but a very unworthy one. He rules by terror. He robs and defrauds the inferior priests to such an extent that they die of starvation, and his blows have become proverbial. To the disgust of the Jews he wears silk gloves when he is offering sacrifice, in order to keep his hands clean. And yet, so scrupulous are these oddest of people, that they would not let his father perform the very greatest sacrifice in their whole year because of the most insignificant accident.’
‘What was it?’ asked Pomponia.
‘You will really hardly believe it. On the eve of the great festival which they call the Kippurim—a sort of day of expiation—the father of this High Priest was talking to Aretas, king of Arabia, and by an accident a speck of the Emir’s saliva fell on Ishmael’s beard. This made him “unclean,” in their opinion; and a deputy, whom they call the Sagan, had to perform its principal function!’
The guests laughed.
‘But tell us now,’ said Vespasian, ‘about these new Christians. I suppose they, and their Christus, are more turbulent even than the Jews?’
‘So we Romans are led to believe,’ said Julius. ‘It is exactly the reverse. The Christians are the most peaceful of men, and they reverence the Roman power.’
‘Have you seen much of them?’ asked Aulus.
‘I witnessed a remarkable scene,’ said Julius, ‘just before I left Jerusalem. Festus, as you are aware, died the other day, worn out with cares and worries. Pending the appointment of his successor, Agrippa appointed a new High Priest—Annas, son of the priest before whom Christus was tried. This Annas took upon himself unwonted authority. He summoned the head of the Christians—James, a brother of their Christus—before their Sanhedrin, and ordered him to be stoned to death. But this James was almost worshipped by the people, who called him “the Just.” To give him a chance of life, they asked him what he thought of Christus, and he called him a God. On hearing this answer they flung him down from the roof of the Temple. The fall did not kill him; he was able to rise to his knees and pray for them. It was a wonderful sight—that man of noble presence, with the long locks streaming over his shoulders, and his white robe stained with blood, kneeling in the Temple court among his furious enemies! One of the bystanders pleaded for him; but a fuller came up and dashed out his brains with a club.’
‘The cup of that nation’s iniquity is full,’ said Pomponia, who had listened with a shudder to this tale of martyrdom.