After Him came the chief men of Jerusalem, the Sanhedrists, with, perhaps, the High Priest at their head, followed by the chief priests and scribes, and a great crowd of people.
Now they reached the Hall of Judgment; and the foremost of them were dragging the poor Man up the noble flight of stairs.
The Roman knight scowled as they approached, and darted at them a look of bitterest resentment.
What faces they had! Did ever any one see features so distorted by wicked passions? How he would have liked to drive them all away! But he must not. They were evidently in a fury; and what might they not do, if he opposed them?
He turned to look at their prisoner, expecting to see some murderous-looking fellow, who had been taken in some act of wicked outrage. But what a different sight met his view!
Instead of a defiant thief or murderer, a pale and weary Man stood before him. A world of suffering was in His sorrowful eyes; but there was no trace of violence there. He had the purest, noblest, most open countenance that Pilate had ever beheld; and the governor's attention was arrested. In the face of that poor, worn-out sufferer were expressed the meekness and gentleness of a lamb, the deepest tenderness and pity, the most ineffable sweetness and perfect calmness, the majesty of a king, the perfection of a god. Who could He be? Was He really only human? Or had the spirit of some of the Roman gods come down and taken up its abode in Him? Pilate could not tell; but he was amazed and confounded; and in his contemplation of that wondrous countenance he forgot for a while his trouble and vexation.
All too soon, however, he was recalled to the business before him. The Jews were clamouring outside the Hall to have sentence of death passed upon their Victim.
But it was not so easy to gain their point as they had expected. The Roman knight, who had not hesitated to order his soldiers to fall upon the ignoble Jews, could not condemn, without trial, that Man who was undoubtedly the one perfect type of the human race. And he sternly demanded, "What accusation bring ye against this Man?"
Then came a storm of bitter invective and false accusations. He had been stirring up the people against the Roman government, they said. He had been forbidding them to pay tribute to Cæsar; and proclaiming Himself a King.
As Pilate looked upon Jesus, he felt that there was no sedition in Him. They were rioters, he knew too well; but as for that Man—well, there might be some truth in His kingship, there was something so noble, so majestic about Him. And entering the hall, into which Jesus had been led, he asked, "Art Thou the King of the Jews?"