On that same day Tor was again a prisoner. The wife of Pilate in real pity had commanded that the child should be comfortably entertained in the servants’ quarters until all should be over.
Diomed, to whom the carrying out of this commission was entrusted, spoke softly to the beggar in the presence of his mistress, bidding him follow. Out of sight of the lady the Greek laughed aloud in his scorn. “Here is a guest for our honorable entertainment,” he said to the chief butler. “My lady the princess hath commanded it. In which of the chambers of state shall I lodge my lord?”
The official sniffed his disdain. “Is it an animal?” he demanded.
“It is an animal, most sapient Clodius,” laughed Diomed. “A Jewish swine—eh?—albeit a small one. Give him food and wine, excellent Clodius, for he is chiefly bone—this animal.”
Tor ate, for he was starving; also he slept fitfully, for he was exhausted with fear and weeping. The sun shone warm and friendly from the cloudless spring heavens, and the child, lying upon a rug which one of the slaves had flung down for him, drowsily watched the ceaseless dance of young grape leaves in the soft warm wind.
The tumult without had suddenly ceased, and an ominous silence lay heavily upon the city. Tor thought lovingly of his Master in the intervals between dreams. “He has gone away [pg 165]safely with the men,” he told himself. “I shall again find him, and he will heal blind folk as before.” So drowsing and murmuring soft prayers to his invisible Father, the beggar child rested in the house of Pilate, while without the walls of the city his Master, the King, was already hanging upon the cross.
Within the great kitchens of the palace cooks were busy preparing the noonday meal; dishes and cups clattered cheerfully, and the merry voices of maidens burnishing the great wine-flagons mingled with the chirp and whir of sparrows flitting back and forth in the blue air.
Suddenly, and without warning, the bright light of the spring noon began to fail. There was no fog, no storm, but a veil of lurid darkness was drawn heavily across the sky. Doors and windows [pg 166]were thrown wide, and terror-stricken faces stared up into the threatening heavens.
Marcus, the crusty porter of the palace, stood fast in his place, his dull face blanched and terrified in the failing light. “’Tis the vengeance of the gods,” he muttered. “The Man of Nazareth was innocent!”
Servants and underlings crowded the passages in terrified groups. “Open to us, Marcus,” they cried, beating upon the doors till they trembled upon their heavy hinges. “Earthquake!” wailed a voice from without. “The gods are shaking this evil city!”