Part 14 (1/2)

With that gentleness that was the flower of his parables Jesus raised his voice. ”No,” he replied, ”you can have no power against me unless it come from above.”

Again Pilate drew back. Unsummoned to his lips had sprung the words, ”Behold the man!” and now he exclaimed, ”Behold the king!”

But to the mob the vision he intercepted was lost. They saw the jest merely, and with it the stains that torture leaves. The sight of blood is heady; it inebriates more surely than wine. The mob, trained by the elders, and used by them as a body-guard, fanatic before, were intoxicated now. With one accord they shrieked the liturgy again.

”Sekaph! Sekaph! Let him be crucified.”

In that gust of hatred Pilate recovered. He turned to Caiaphas:

”I have released one prisoner; I will release another too.”

”My lord, be warned by one who is your elder.”

”One whom I can remove.”

”No doubt, my lord; but suffer him while he may to warn you not to cause a revolution on the day of the Paschal feast. You hear that mult.i.tude. Then be warned.”

”But your feast is one of mercy.”

The high-priest gazed curiously at his silk-gloved hands. You would have said they were objects he had never seen before. Then he returned the procurator's stare.

”We know of no such G.o.d.”

”Ah!” And the procurator drew a long breath of understanding. ”It is that, I believe, he preaches.”

”And it is for that,” Caiaphas echoed, ”that he must die. Yes, Pilate, it is for that. There is no such doctrine in the Pentateuch. We have done our duty. We have convicted a rebel of his guilt. We have brought him to you, and we demand his sentence. Pilate, it is not so very long ago you had hundreds ma.s.sacred without judgment, without trial either, and for what?-for one rebellious cry. You must have a reason for the favor you show this man. It would interest me to learn it; it would interest Tiberius as well. Listen to that mult.i.tude. If you pay no heed to our accusation nor yet to their demand, on you the consequences rest. We are absolved.”

”He is your king,” the procurator objected, meditatively.

Caiaphas wheeled like a feather a breeze has caught. One hand outstretched he held to the mob, with the other he pointed to the Christ.

”Our king!” he cried. ”The procurator says he is our king!”

As the thunder peals, a roar surged back:

”We have no other king than Caesar.”

”Think of Seja.n.u.s,” the high-priest suggested. The thrust was so well timed it told.

Pilate looked sullenly about. ”Fetch me water,” he ordered.

A silver bowl was brought, and borrowing a custom from the Jews he loathed, he dipped his fingers in it.

”I wash my hands of it all,” he muttered.

Caiaphas looked at the elders and sighed with infinite relief. He had conquered. For the first time that day he smiled. He became gracious also, and he bowed.

”The blood be upon us, my lord, and on our children. Will you give the order?”