What might have happened I know not, for Pilate, who had ceased from his talk with Ambivius and for some time had sat grinning, broke the pause.

“A rabbi, a Teutoberg rabbi!” he gibed.  “A new preacher and a new doctrine come to Jerusalem.  Now will there be more dissensions, and riotings, and stonings of prophets.  The gods save us, it is a mad-house.  Lodbrog, I little thought it of you.  Yet here you are, spouting and fuming as wildly as any madman from the desert about what shall happen to you when you are dead.  One life at a time, Lodbrog.  It saves trouble.  It saves trouble.”

“Go on, Miriam, go on,” his wife cried.

She had sat entranced during the discussion, with hands tightly clasped, and the thought flickered up in my mind that she had already been corrupted by the religious folly of Jerusalem.  At any rate, as I was to learn in the days that followed, she was unduly bent upon such matters.  She was a thin woman, as if wasted by fever.  Her skin was tight-stretched.  Almost it seemed I could look through her hands did she hold them between me and the light.  She was a good woman, but highly nervous, and, at times, fancy-flighted about shades and signs and omens.  Nor was she above seeing visions and hearing voices.  As for me, I had no patience with such weaknesses.  Yet was she a good woman with no heart of evil.

* * * * *

I was on a mission for Tiberius, and it was my ill luck to see little of Miriam.  On my return from the court of Antipas she had gone into Batanaea to Philip’s court, where was her sister.  Once again I was back in Jerusalem, and, though it was no necessity of my business to see Philip, who, though weak, was faithful to Roman will, I journeyed into Batanaea in the hope of meeting with Miriam.

Then there was my trip into Idumaea.  Also, I travelled into Syria in obedience to the command of Sulpicius Quirinius, who, as imperial legate, was curious of my first-hand report of affairs in Jerusalem.  Thus, travelling wide and much, I had opportunity to observe the strangeness of the Jews who were so madly interested in God.  It was their peculiarity.  Not content with leaving such matters to their priests, they were themselves for ever turning priests and preaching wherever they could find a listener.  And listeners they found a-plenty.

They gave up their occupations to wander about the country like beggars, disputing and bickering with the rabbis and Talmudists in the synagogues and temple porches.  It was in Galilee, a district of little repute, the inhabitants of which were looked upon as witless, that I crossed the track of the man Jesus.  It seems that he had been a carpenter, and after that a fisherman, and that his fellow-fishermen had ceased dragging their nets and followed him in his wandering life.  Some few looked upon him as a prophet, but the most contended that he was a madman.  My wretched horse-boy, himself claiming Talmudic knowledge second to none, sneered at Jesus, calling him the king of the beggars, calling his doctrine Ebionism, which, as he explained to me, was to the effect that only the poor should win to heaven, while the rich and powerful were to burn for ever in some lake of fire.