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 Caesar."

"Rome hath ever its Caesar."

"Yea, of some sort. Augustus were not Caesar. Tiberius is not Caesar,
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 ki