“What do they say now?” she demanded with slowly-whitening face, turning to Diomed, who watched the scene with a satirical curl of his handsome lips.
“They are demanding the crucifixion of some criminal, your noble highness,” replied the Greek, smirking courtier-like. “But why trouble thyself, dear princess, over the doings of the wild rabble? The man, Jesus, is no more than a Jewish peasant—a carpenter, they say. What [pg 158]can such an one be to the fairest princess in—”
“Go, see what is passing without,” ordered the lady, with a look which froze the insolent smile on the lips of the Greek. “Go, and return quickly.”
The Greek reappeared almost immediately with a white, scared face. “The scene without beggars description, noble lady,” he began hurriedly, answering the command in the eyes of his mistress. “The whole city is at the doors demanding the crucifixion of the Nazarene. The most noble Pilate believes him innocent of any crime, and would save him if possible; but—hear the mob!”
It was impossible to hear anything else. Those awful beast-like cries penetrated the ears of the very slaves so that they cowered and trembled. “My tablets, Maia,” whispered the wife of [pg 159]Pilate. With shaking fingers she wrote a few words upon the wax. “Take this,” she said, turning to the Greek, “and give it into the hand of Pilate himself—no other. Go quickly!”
The Greek drew back in manifest terror. “What, art thou afraid?” sneered the princess. “Hold, I will go myself. Perhaps I can save him so.” She arose and was descending the steps of the terrace, when the child Felicia flung herself at her mother’s knees with a scream of terror. “Do not go out into that dreadful place, mother,” begged the child. “They are horrible—those Jews. Stay with me!”
The princess paused, hesitated, and finally yielded the tablets into the outstretched hand of Diomed. “Go—quickly!” she urged.