The rich tiaras of the Romans sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight, and their glittering sword-hilts threw out glancing golden rays.  The doves, flying from their cotes, circled above the heads of the multitude.  It was the hour when Mannaeus was accustomed to feed them.  But now he crouched beside the tetrarch, who stood near Vitellius.  The Galileans, the priests, and the soldiers formed a group behind them; all were silent, waiting with painful anticipation for what might happen.

A deep groan, hollow and startling, rose from the pit.

Herodias heard it from the farther end of the palace.  Drawn by an irresistible though terrible fascination, she made her way through the throng, and, reaching Mannaeus, she leant one hand on his shoulder and bent over to listen.

The hollow voice rose again from the depths of the earth.

“Woe to thee, Sadducees and Pharisees!  Thy voices are like the tinkling of cymbals!  O race of vipers, bursting with pride!”

The voice of Iaokanann was recognised.  His name was whispered about.  Spectators from a distance pressed closer to the open pit.

“Woe to thee, O people!  Woe to the traitors of Judah, and to the drunkards of Ephraim, who dwelt in the fertile valleys and stagger with the fumes of wine!

“May they disappear like running water; like the slug that sinks into the sand as it moves; like an abortion that never sees the light!

“And thou too, Moab! hide thyself in the midst of the cypress, like the sparrow; in caverns, like the wild hare!  The gates of the fortress shall be crushed more easily than nut-shells; the walls shall crumble; cities shall burn; and the scourge of God shall not cease!  He shall cause your bodies to be bathed in your own blood, like wool in the dyer’s vat.  He shall rend you, as with a harrow; He shall scatter the remains of your bodies from the tops of the mountains!”

Of which conqueror was he speaking?  Was it Vitellius?  Only the Romans could bring about such an extermination.  The people began to cry out:  “Enough! enough! let him speak no more!”

But the prisoner continued in louder tones: 

“Beside the corpses of their mothers, thy little ones shall drag themselves over the ashes of the burned cities.  At night men will creep from their hiding-places to seek a bit of food among the ruins, even at the risk of being cut down with the sword.  Jackals shall pick thy bones in the public places, where at eventide the fathers were wont to gather.  At the bidding of Gentiles, thy maidens shall be forced to cease their lamentations and to make music upon the zither, and the bravest of thy sons shall learn to bend their backs, chafed with heavy burdens.”

The listeners remembered the days of exile, and all the misfortunes and catastrophes of the past.  These words were like the anathemas of the ancient prophets.  The captive thundered them forth like bolts from heaven.