“His name?”
“His name is Jesus; also they call him the Nazarene.”
The princess uttered a faint exclamation.
“Pardon me, I beseech thee, honorable mistress, if I have fastened that last plait too tightly,” hastily interposed the maid, withdrawing a jeweled pin from its place and readjusting it with elaborate care.
“Didst thou say they were bringing the Nazarene here—to the palace?” de[pg 149]manded the princess, turning her large dark eyes upon her servant.
“Honorable lady, the man is already here, and my lord, the governor, is attending the case without upon the seat of judgment. The Jews refused to await the proper hour, and my lord Pilate, with his wonted indulgence, came forth to them. These barbarians have no hearts, noble lady, they are without consideration for the sleep of an illustrious Roman. They should be scourged as slaves.”
“What will they do with him?” muttered the wife of Pilate, clenching her white hands. “Nay, my lord should have nought to do with this prophet. He must dismiss the case.”
The maid stared at her mistress in some perplexity. “The morning is warm and fair,” she said at last. “Will [pg 150]it please your highness to breakfast upon the terrace? The lady Felicia is already playing in the garden of the inner court.”
In the secluded spot where slaves had spread a table with the breakfast-service of the princess, the morning sun struck sparks of splendor from burnished plates and crystal, gem-rimmed goblets. Flowers of every delicate color and odor, violets from Gethsemane, lilies from the deep vale of Kedron, roses from the nearer gardens of the palace, heaped a golden bowl in the center, while around it glowed the richer hues of fruit, brought from distant parts of the country, and flagons of delicate wine, cooling in beds of snow fetched from the crown of Lebanon for this spoiled daughter of Rome.
The lady cast a dissatisfied glance [pg 151]about the garden. “Where is Felicia?” she asked sharply.