“I have seen Him, Lodbrog,” she whispered.  “I have seen Him.”

“The gods grant that he is not so ill-affected by the sight of you, whoever he may be,” I laughed.

She took no notice of my poor-timed jest, and her eyes remained full with vision, and she would have passed on had I not again blocked her way.

“Who is this he?” I demanded.  “Some man raised from the dead to put such strange light in your eyes?”

“One who has raised others from the dead,” she replied.  “Truly I believe that He, this Jesus, has raised the dead.  He is the Prince of Light, the Son of God.  I have seen Him.  Truly I believe that He is the Son of God.”

Little could I glean from her words, save that she had met this wandering fisherman and been swept away by his folly.  For surely this Miriam was not the Miriam who had branded him a plague and demanded that he be stamped out as any plague.

“He has charmed you,” I cried angrily.

Her eyes seemed to moisten and grow deeper as she gave confirmation.

“Oh, Lodbrog, His is charm beyond all thinking, beyond all describing.  But to look upon Him is to know that here is the all-soul of goodness and of compassion.  I have seen Him.  I have heard Him.  I shall give all I have to the poor, and I shall follow Him.”

Such was her certitude that I accepted it fully, as I had accepted the amazement of the lepers of Samaria staring at their smooth flesh; and I was bitter that so great a woman should be so easily wit-addled by a vagrant wonder-worker.

“Follow him,” I sneered.  “Doubtless you will wear a crown when he wins to his kingdom.”

She nodded affirmation, and I could have struck her in the face for her folly.  I drew aside, and as she moved slowly on she murmured: 

“His kingdom is not here.  He is the Son of David.  He is the Son of God.  He is whatever He has said, or whatever has been said of Him that is good and great.”

* * * * *

“A wise man of the East,” I found Pilate chuckling.  “He is a thinker, this unlettered fisherman.  I have sought more deeply into him.  I have fresh report.  He has no need of wonder-workings.  He out-sophisticates the most sophistical of them.  They have laid traps, and He has laughed at their traps.  Look you.  Listen to this.”

Whereupon he told me how Jesus had confounded his confounders when they brought to him for judgment a woman taken in adultery.

“And the tax,” Pilate exulted on. “’To Caesar what is Caesar’s, to God what is God’s,’ was his answer to them.  That was Hanan’s trick, and Hanan is confounded.  At last has there appeared one Jew who understands our Roman conception of the State.”

* * * * *

Next I saw Pilate’s wife.  Looking into her eyes I knew, on the instant, after having seen Miriam’s eyes, that this tense, distraught woman had likewise seen the fisherman.