“Hanan will attend to that. They will bring him before the Sanhedrim. The sentence will be death. They may stone him.”
“But the Sanhedrim has not the right to execute,” I contended.
“Jesus is not a Roman,” she replied. “He is a Jew. By the law of the Talmud he is guilty of death, for he has blasphemed against the law.”
Still I shook my head.
“The Sanhedrim has not the right.”
“Pilate is willing that it should take that right.”
“But it is a fine question of legality,” I insisted. “You know what the Romans are in such matters.”
“Then will Hanan avoid the question,” she smiled, “by compelling Pilate to crucify him. In either event it will be well.”
A surging of the mob was sweeping our horses along and grinding our knees together. Some fanatic had fallen, and I could feel my horse recoil and half rear as it tramped on him, and I could hear the man screaming and the snarling menace from all about rising to a roar. But my head was over my shoulder as I called back to Miriam:
“You are hard on a man you have said yourself is without evil.”