"And he calleth himself our King," sneered another. "A pretty pass hath the chosen people come to when the rabble choose a Nazaritish carpenter for King. Aha, I laugh at him!"
"'Tis no time for mirth," growled another. "The multitudes are ever agog for some new thing; stoning or crucifixion is better than laughter for such an one. Hark you, the thing must be put down and speedily. I know a way and a man; he--" The voice dropped to low whispers, and Tor, trembling with vague fright, and scarce knowing what he did, wriggled his way through the crowd toward the white-robed figure of Jesus.
Peter, the Galilean, was also talking excitedly with a man in the outskirts of the crowd. Tor fixed his eyes upon the tall, broad-shouldered fisherman with some confidence. "I will tell him," he said to himself, and hovered expectantly near, waiting for an opportunity to speak. "He must declare himself unmistakably and at once," the small, dark-faced man was saying with an impatient gesture. "This telling of pretty tales and working of miracles has gone on over long, say I. We should arm ourselves and make ready, and the Sanhedrim must be won over by some great sign from heaven. We can do nothing without them."
"And I say let the Master work out his plans as it pleaseth him," said Peter boldly. "Saw you not his kingly air on Sunday, Judas? He is every inch a King, I tell thee, and able to make of us princes and high priests--ay, and to sweep away all oppressors by the word of his mouth."
"Able, perhaps," muttered Judas shaking his head, "but I doubt him. The man careth nothing for money--nothing for power. I know him. What are his plans? Does any one know them? Do we who are nearest him dare ask him? He is, perchance, nothing more than a dreamer, and our ambitions and hopes are founded upon the shifting sands of his visions. Nay, I know what thou wouldst say, Simon. But thou art no statesman--no patriot. I hear the chosen people groaning in their slavery. I see the iron heel of Rome about to crush out the last lingering life of the nation. Will this man save us? Can he, I ask? Or is he--" Judas choked convulsively, and tore at the neck of his garment with quivering hands. "I am half mad with the torture of it," he groaned, "the--the waiting--the doubt; I--I fear that he--"