Through the tree-tops shone the outer fronts of the palace. Turning to the right, the party proceeded a short distance to a spacious square, on the west side of which stood the residence of the governor. An excited multitude filled the square. Every face was directed towards a portico built over a broad doorway which was closed. Under the portico there was another array of legionaries.
The throng was so close the friends could not well have advanced if such had been their desire; they remained therefore in the rear, observers of what was going on. About the portico they could see the high turbans of the rabbis, whose impatience communicated at times to the mass behind them; a cry was frequent to the effect “Pilate, if thou be a governor, come forth, come forth!”
Once a man coming out pushed through the crowd, his face red with anger.
“Israel is of no account here,” he said, in a loud voice. “On this holy ground we are no better than dogs of Rome.”
“Will he not come out, think you?”
“Come? Has he not thrice refused?”
“What will the rabbis do?”
“As at Cæsarea—camp here till he gives them ear.”
“He will not dare touch the treasure, will he?” asked one of the Galileans.
“Who can say? Did not a Roman profane the Holy of Holies? Is there anything sacred from Romans?”