While Mary the Jewess was sitting with the Galilean Rabbi in the moonlit garden at Bethany, Claudia Procula, the Roman noblewoman, was spending her last evening before the Passover in her gorgeously appointed apartment in the palace of Herod the Great. On one side of this pillared chamber, high-hung heavy curtains drawn apart, disclosed a sleeping apartment with a bed and couches. At the foot of the bed a swinging window opened out above the street and through its mullioned outlines the fading pink of a springtime sunset could be seen. Claudia’s two Greek slaves, Zenobe and Margara, were lounging on the couches discussing a new robe that had been brought from Rome, when their mistress, followed by her eunuch, entered the apartment.

“Light thou the lamps,” Claudia commanded as, without unfastening her outer wrap, she sat down and watched the big slave. When he had applied fire to the oil held high in silver basins set on polished cedar standards, he turned to his mistress. For a moment she did not heed him. Then she said, “Say to the servants, Pilate cometh soon. When thou hast done so, return to me drawing the curtains at thy back when thou hast entered.”

When the eunuch returned to the room he took his place against the curtained hanging, and stood like a statue until his mistress said, without looking toward him, “Stand thou before me.”

“What is thy command, most noble mistress?” he asked as he stepped before her and with squared shoulders and crossed arms waited her command.

She did not answer for a few moments. When she spoke it was an inquiry. “The Jew of the Temple his face do I see whether I look in the circle where the light falls or in the corners where the shadows gather his face. With such eyes doth he look into my eyes as it seemeth have been searching me out since the beginning of time. And those eyes are imploring me for something pleading as if for some withheld treasure.”

“Yea, most noble mistress.”

“‘Yea’ thou dost say. Dost thou know the request of the Jew’s eyes?”

“Yea, most noble mistress.”

“What sayeth those eyes to Claudia?”

“This sayeth those eyes to the heart of Claudia, ‘Give me thy heart.’”

“My heart!” Claudia exclaimed.

“Yea, most noble mistress. This is the treasure the Galilean doth implore of thee.”

Claudia arose. She stood in silent thought a moment. Then she turned her eyes to the face of the eunuch and after studying it said, “Thy scarred face did glow this day with a light that seemed not earthly. My slave hath had words with the Jew. Is it forbidden to tell them to a Roman woman?”

“With the Galilean there is neither Roman nor Jew. Neither is it forbidden to spread abroad his teachings. The words he did say to thy scarred slave were these: ’Blessed be the eyes which see the things that ye see; for many prophets and kings have desired to see those things which ye see and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them.’”

With her eyes on the face of the slave, Claudia pondered the words he had spoken before saying, “And he hath said thy eyes be blessed because thou seest something hidden. I would understand. Is this forbidden?”

“Nay. Yet there is an understanding of the heart which is unutterable. To another heart no words can make it known. Of this did he speak to thy slave. There is that, however, coming ever from the power unspeakable, that hath a name. This word wouldst thou hear?”

“Yea, yea, my eunuch. Speak it.”

“It is freedom.”

“Freedom? What sayest thou, slave of Claudia? What meanest thou? Art thou not the property of thy mistress?”

“There is freedom, and again there is other freedom. Thou dost own the hands, the toil, the obedience of this body that Rome hath mutilated and burned. But there is a man in me that the hand of Rome toucheth not. As this man thinketh in his heart, so is he. If in my heart I am a slave, then am I a slave though my body be free. But if in my heart I am free, then I am free though an implement of Rome. Aye, most noble mistress, the Jew hath given me freedom.”

“Freedom! How the heart doth hunger for freedom freedom from one’s self.” And she crossed the room and recrossing stopped again before the slave. “My scarred eunuch,” she said.

“I listen, my mistress.”

“It is not beneath the dignity of Claudia Procula to glean gems when she findeth them shining in her path. Out of thy mouth have come words of wisdom which bear not scars as doth thy body. Such have been treasured. Ah, as the tide is greater than the storm, as the sun is greater than the wind, as the mind of man is greater than the sword, so shall there come a Kingdom before which that of Caesar’s sword shall perish forever. What sayest thou? Is the Kingdom the Jew doth teach of, this Kingdom?”

“So it hath been revealed to the heart of thy slave.”

“A year hath passed since last thou wert in Jerusalem. In the arena at Rome hath been the clash of steel, and fangs, and the wild and soul-piercing music of screams and dying curses. Beyond Rome hath Rome held the nations of the earth under the sword-blade that her lords be drunk and her rich fed on the life-blood of the poor. Again we are at Jerusalem to the Passover Feast of the Jews. And again in their Temple find we one who teacheth against all this. My scarred eunuch, lovest thou this Jew?”

“Aye, most gracious mistress, even to the laying down of my life.”

“He hath disciples.”

“Yea blessed be they.”

“Wouldst thou be his disciple?”

“Such I am.”

“Yea, in thy heart. But wouldst thou be free to go abroad and of thy wisdom teach the wisdom of the Jew; spread news of that greater Kingdom which cometh not of the sword and wherein all men shall be free?”

“Most noble mistress, tempt me not to hate my bondage more by bringing to my ears such words.”

“To-night are the Jews celebrating the birthday of their nation with a great feast. To-night shalt thou also have a birthday for hereby give I thee thy freedom. When the sun doth rise on the morrow, go thou and sit at the feet of the Jew and hearing glad tidings, bear them to others.”

For a moment the slave stood as if dazed before his breath shaped the words “Freedom? Freedom?” and his lips trembled as he said, “Do my ears hear? Dost thou say ‘Freedom’ for thy scarred eunuch?”

“Yea, doubly free shalt thou go free by the word of the Jew and free by the hand of the Roman, and would that I too might be as free as thou art!” Then the slave fell on his knees before Claudia, bowed his head to her jeweled shoe and sobbed. There were tears in the eyes of Pilate’s wife as she said, “Arise thou art no longer a slave.”

Lifting his face, which appeared strangely noble, he said, “My mistress my most gracious mistress, thy feet are on the threshold of the Kingdom.”

“Arise arise. Go to thy bed. This night thou art free. To-morrow thou shalt go from me. As thou goest, forget not that the heart of Claudia doth beat with sympathy for the oppressed and that she too hath love for him whose love thou shalt spread abroad. Arise!”

The eunuch arose and extended his arms so that his mighty body stood before her like a cross of flesh. Before it she bowed her head.

“The blessing of the Jew who is called Jesus fill thy heart, most gracious Claudia, and the peace that cometh of his teaching rest thy soul. Farewell!” He again kissed the border of her cloak, hesitated, and turning abruptly, left the apartment.

When the curtain had swung into place shutting the slave from view, Claudia sat down and called her maids. “Unclasp my jewels and unbind my hair, Margara,” she said wearily, throwing her cloak aside. “And thou, Zenobe, summon Pilate’s servant with the wine. Thy master tarrieth, and delay improveth not the temper of a man when he would have his cups.”

The servant had placed a tray of wine beside the couch of Pilate and the maids had gone out with the cloak and jewels when the approach of the Procurator was announced by a shout, the tramping of feet and clanking of arms. The door was thrown open wide and between two rows of soldiery standing stiff and shining as the spears in their hands, the Roman in royal purple and glittering winged helmet, entered.

“Greetings, Claudia! Dry am I as the Law of the Jews. Hath my wine been made ready?”

“Thy wine is ready.”

He threw himself down on the couch saying, “And over it shall I return thanks, as do the Jews, that to-night doth end their uproar. No more for a year will they feed on lamb, roast whole with bitter sauce. For the impudence of the Jew would I fill his Temple with the gods of Rome and make of his holy place a dancing spot for virgins that be neither virgins nor veiled. The dogs!”

“Hath thy memory become shortened that thou dost not see back a space of months? Didst thou not try moving Caesarea to Jerusalem and putting thine image in the Temple? And did not these same dogs spread their necks at thy feet and court the sword rather than have their Temple desecrated? Yet more blood would have flown than that of the six thousand thou slew hadst thou not been made to remember that Pilate is not Cæsar. It is not right, my Lord, to do evil, nay not to the neck of a dog.”

“Whether the hand is that of Pilate or of Cæsar, the sword of Rome determines what is right.”

“Not so, my Lord Pilate. Might is not right unless it be right. In the jungle where hunters for the arena seek wild beasts, pythons and wolves and hyenas growl and scream, and the strong doth ever lick from his jaws the blood of the weak. To Rome all the earth is a jungle where Rome is the king lion, the fierce he-tiger, the unsatisfied she-wolf. And from the jaws of this Beast, the blood of nations drips and the groans of mangled slaves fall ever on the ear. Ever in my heart have I felt this is not right. Now hath arisen among the Jews, whose blood thou delightest to spill, one whose teaching I have felt before I ever heard of him. This one delighteth not in gleaming steel, nor screams of agony, nor running blood.”

“Ho! Claudia! Where is the Jew whose heart taketh not delight in flashing steel, dying screams and running blood? Thinkest thou there be such? Then should thou feast thine eyes on the Passover sacrifice. Here are ten thousand priests with whetted blades which they do plunge in bleating throats until two hundred thousand lambs are slaughtered before the eyes of their great god Jéhovah. Beside such slaughter as this that of the arena is but child’s play.”

“I mark thy words. The Jew is bloody and hath a bloody god. Yet from among them ariseth one who doth preach a new Kingdom and a god that delighteth not in the shedding of blood.”

“Where getteth thou thy knowledge?”

“From the eunuch thou gavest me, my Lord Pilate.”

“Ho! ho!” and Pilate threw up his hands and shouted with laughter. “From a slave the wife of Pontius Pilate doth get learning? Ho! ho! Claudia wouldst be a disciple of a eunuch whose back bears marks of the scourge, whose arm is branded with deep burning and whose face beareth the scar of a Roman blade? Or wouldst thou be a Jew, my fair Claudia?” and he drained three cups of wine between times of laughter.

Claudia stepped before Pilate and threw her hands across her breast “Nay not a Jew would I be!” she exclaimed. “A woman of the Proculas I am. But under the royal robe that hideth the breast of Pilate’s wife there is a heart, a heart, most mighty Pilate, that turns against blood and the quivering of flesh and the soul-sickening agony of death! A heart, my Lord, that cries out against this and doth ever hope for a power that doth not hate and torture. A Kingdom there shall be without the sword of Rome or the lamb’s blood of Jerusalem; a Kingdom without the arena of Rome or the Temple sacrifices. And in this Kingdom shall man render unto man as he himself would be rendered unto. Of this Kingdom doth he teach who hath arisen from among the Jews.”

Pilate poured another cup. “The lips of Pilate’s wife do babble like a babe,” he said. “Knowest thou not, my fair Claudia, that the coming of such a kingdom would mean naught save the passing of Rome?”

Claudia rested her hand on the arm of Pilate until he looked up at her. She said slowly, “And knowest thou not, my brave Pilate, that Rome is already passing? Aye, even the more that Rome doth enslave men, the more she doth bring to herself the weakness which death shall overtake, for no more do Roman women bear the sort of sons valor cometh of.”

“Ho! ho! What thou shouldst say is that Caesar’s wife is no more above suspicion.”

“Of a surety, my Lord, since Rome hath no more Caesars. On that day when the populace stood weeping where flames from the funeral pyre did cast their somber smoke against Castor and Pollux, perished Cæsar.”

“Rome hath ever its Cæsar.”

“Yea, of some sort. Augustus were not Cæsar. Tiberius is not Cæsar, neither is he Augustus. Who doth follow Tiberius? And then what next?”

“What next? Aye, Claudia, my fair one a cup of wine next. And after that shall Rome make Senators of her women and thou shalt be Brutus, for, by the gods, thou makest a ripe speech. Here’s to thee, Claudia, my love. A Roman thou art though much taken with the twaddle of a Jew. And here is to the Jew. May he live long to oil his beard, haggle over fish in the market place, cry ‘Unclean’ at sight of a Gentile and pray in musty synagogues for the kingdom greater than that of Rome. Let us now to bed and see thou hast no dreams to disturb thy rest,” and throwing down his cup, Pilate arose.

“Dreams are signs, my Pilate.”

“Dream then of the prosperity of Pilate.” As he paused under the drawn curtains, Pilate stopped to command his guard, “Waken me not until the sun doth clear the Temple tower. Draw the curtains tight and let no man pass them.”

When he had entered the bedchamber the curtains were lowered and the guards stationed themselves at the door. A moment later, Claudia paused as she pushed the curtain aside, saying to the guards, “Forget not thy Lord Pilate’s command. Wake him not.”