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.
It was my observation that it was the custom of the country for

every man to call every other man a madman. In truth, in my
judgment, they were all mad. There was a plague of them. They cast

out devils by magic charms, cured diseases by the laying on of
hands, drank deadly poisons unharmed, and unharmed played with

deadly snakes--or so they claimed. They ran away to starve in the
deserts. They emerged howling new doctrine, gathering crowds about

them, forming new sects that split on doctrine and formed more
sects.

"By Odin," I told Pilate, "a trifle of our northern frost and snow
would cool their wits. This climate is too soft. In place of

building roofs and hunting meat, they are ever building doctrine."
"And altering the nature of God," Pilate corroborated sourly. "A

curse on doctrine."
"So say I," I agreed. "If ever I get away with unaddled wits from

this mad land, I'll cleave through whatever man dares mention to me
what may happen after I am dead."

Never were such trouble makers. Everything under the sun was pious
or impious to them. They, who were so clever in hair-splitting

argument, seemed incapable of grasping the Roman idea of the State.
Everything political was religious; everything religious was

political. Thus every procurator's hands were full. The Roman
eagles, the Roman statues, even the votive shields of Pilate, were

deliberate insults to their religion.
The Roman taking of the census was an abomination. Yet it had to be

done, for it was the basis of taxation. But there it was again.
Taxation by the State was a crime against their law and God. Oh,

that Law! It was not the Roman law. It was their law, what they
called God's law. There were the zealots, who murdered anybody who

broke this law. And for a procurator to punish a zealot caught red-
handed was to raise a riot or an insurrection.

Everything, with these strange people, was done in the name of God.
There were what we Romans called the THAUMATURGI. They worked

miracles to prove doctrine. Ever has it seemed to me a witless
thing to prove the multiplication table by turning a staff into a

serpent, or even into two serpents. Yet these things the
thaumaturgi did, and always to the excitement of the common people.

Heavens, what sects and sects! Pharisees, Essenes, Sadducees--a
legion of them! No sooner did they start with a new quirk when it

turned political. Coponius, procurator fourth before Pilate, had a
pretty time crushing the Gaulonite sedition which arose in this

fashion and spread down from Gamala.
In Jerusalem, that last time I rode in, it was easy to note the

increasing excitement of the Jews. They ran about in crowds,
chattering and spouting. Some were proclaiming the end of the

world. Others satisfied themselves with the imminentdestruction of
the Temple. And there were rank revolutionises who announced that

Roman rule was over and the new Jewish kingdom about to begin.
Pilate, too, I noted, showed heavy anxiety. That they were giving

him a hard time of it was patent. But I will say, as you shall see,
that he matched their subtlety with equal subtlety; and from what I

saw of him I have little doubt but what he would have confounded
many a disputant in the synagogues.

"But half a legion of Romans," he regretted to me, "and I would take
Jerusalem by the throat . . . and then be recalled for my pains, I

suppose."
Like me, he had not too much faith in the auxiliaries; and of Roman

soldiers we had but a scant handful.
Back again, I lodged in the palace, and to my great joy found Miriam

there. But little satisfaction was mine, for the talk ran long on
the situation. There was reason for this, for the city buzzed like

the angry hornets' nest it was. The fast called the Passover--a
religious affair, of course--was near, and thousands were pouring in

from the country, according to custom, to celebrate the feast in
Jerusalem. These newcomers, naturally, were all excitable folk,

else they would not be bent on such pilgrimage. The city was packed
with them, so that many camped outside the walls. As for me, I

could not distinguish how much of the ferment was due to the
teachings of the wandering fisherman, and how much of it was due to

Jewish hatred for Rome.
"A tithe, no more, and maybe not so much, is due to this Jesus,"

Pilate answered my query. "Look to Caiaphas and Hanan for the main
cause of the excitement. They know what they are about. They are

stirring it up, to what end who can tell, except to cause me
trouble."

"Yes, it is certain that Caiaphas and Hanan are responsible," Miriam
said, "but you, Pontius Pilate, are only a Roman and do not

understand. Were you a Jew, you would realize that there is a
greater seriousness at the bottom of it than mere dissension of the

sectaries or trouble-making for you and Rome. The high priests and
Pharisees, every Jew of place or wealth, Philip, Antipas, myself--we

are all fighting for very life.
"This fisherman may be a madman. If so, there is a cunning in his

madness. He preaches the doctrine of the poor. He threatens our
law, and our law is our life, as you have learned ere this. We are

jealous of our law, as you would be jealous of the air denied your
body by a throttling hand on your throat. It is Caiaphas and Hanan

and all they stand for, or it is the fisherman. They must destroy
him, else he will destroy them."

"Is it not strange, so simple a man, a fisherman?" Pilate's wife
breathed forth. "What manner of man can he be to possess such

power? I would that I could see him. I would that with my own eyes
I could see so remarkable a man."

Pilate's brows corrugated at her words, and it was clear that to the
burden on his nerves was added the overwrought state of his wife's

nerves.
"If you would see him, beat up the dens of the town," Miriam laughed

spitefully. "You will find him wine-bibbing or in the company of
nameless women. Never so strange a prophet came up to Jerusalem."

"And what harm in that?" I demanded, driven against my will to take
the part of the fisherman. "Have I not wine-guzzled a-plenty and

passed strange nights in all the provinces? The man is a man, and
his ways are men's ways, else am I a madman, which I here deny."

Miriam shook her head as she spoke.
"He is not mad. Worse, he is dangerous. All Ebionism is dangerous.

He would destroy all things that are fixed. He is a revolutionist.
He would destroy what little is left to us of the Jewish state and

Temple."
Here Pilate shook his head.