“There is some mistake,” said Benoni. “This girl can have harmed none. Let her be dismissed.”
The other judges looked up.
“Best hear the charge against her first?” said one suspiciously, while another added, “Is not this the woman who dwelt with you at Tyre, and who is said to be a Christian?”
“We do not sit to try questions of faith, at least not now,” answered Benoni evasively.
“Woman, is it true that you are a Christian?” queried one of the judges.
“Sir, I am,” replied Miriam, and at her words the faces of the Sanhedrim grew hard as stones, while someone watching in the crowd hurled a fragment of marble at her.
“Let it be for this time,” said the judge, “as the Rabbi Benoni says, we are trying questions of treason, not of faith. Who accuses this woman, and of what?”
A man stepped forward, that captain who had wished to put Miriam to death, and she saw that behind him were Caleb, who looked ill at ease, and the Jew who had guarded Marcus.
“I accuse her,” he said, “of having released the Roman Prefect, Marcus, whom Caleb here wounded and took prisoner in the fighting yesterday, and brought into the Old Tower, where he was laid till we knew whether he would live or die.”
“The Roman Prefect, Marcus?” said one. “Why, he is the friend of Titus, and would have been worth more to us than a hundred common men. Also, throughout this war, none has done us greater mischief. Woman, if, indeed, you let him go, no death can repay your wickedness. Did you let him go?”