Passing through the outer doors into the archway where the great gate by which the Romans had gained access to the Temple stood wide, the captain turned into the Court of Israel, where some soldiers who were engaged in dividing spoil looked up laughing and asked him whose baby he had captured.  Paying no heed to them he walked across the court, picking his way through the heaps of dead to a range of the southern cloisters which were still standing, where officers might be seen coming and going.  Under one of these cloisters, seated on a stool and employed in examining the vessels and other treasures of the Temple, which were brought before him one by one, was Titus.  Looking up he saw this strange procession and commanded that they should be brought before him.

“Who is it that you carry in your arms, captain?” he asked.

“That girl, Caesar,” he answered, “who was bound upon the gateway and whom you have orders should not be shot at.”

“Does she still live?”

“She lives—­no more.  Thirst and heat have withered her.”

“How came she there?”

“This writing tells you, Caesar.”

Titus read.  “Ah!” he said, “Nazarene.  An evil sect, worse even than these Jews, or so thought the late divine Nero.  Traitress also.  Why, the girl must have deserved her fate.  But what is this?  ’Is doomed to die as God shall appoint before the face of her friends, the Romans.’  How are the Romans her friends, I wonder?  Girl, if you can speak, tell me who condemned you.”

Miriam lifted her dark head from the shoulder of the captain on which it lay and pointed with her finger at the Jew, Simeon.

“Is that so, man?” asked Caesar.  “Now tell the truth, for I shall learn it, and if you lie you die.”

“She was condemned by the Sanhedrim, among whom was her own grandfather, Benoni; there is his signature with the rest upon the scroll,” Simeon answered sullenly.

“For what crime?”

“Because she suffered a Roman prisoner to escape, for which deed,” he added furiously, “may her soul burn in Gehenna for ever and aye!”

“What was the name of the prisoner?” asked Titus.

“I do not remember,” answered Simeon.

“Well,” said Caesar, “it does not greatly matter, for either he is safe or he is dead.  Your robes, what are left of them, show that you also are one of the Sanhedrim.  Is it not so?”

“Yes.  I am Simeon, a name that you have heard.”

“Ah!  Simeon, here it is, written on this scroll first of all.  Well, Simeon, you doomed a high-born lady to a cruel death because she saved, or tried to save, a Roman soldier, and it is but just that you should drink of your own wine.  Take him and fasten him to the column on the gateway and leave him there to perish.  Your Holy House is destroyed, Simeon, and being a faithful priest, you would not wish to survive your worship.”

“There you are right, Roman,” he answered, “though I should have been better pleased with a quicker end, such as I trust may overtake you.”