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The bars of the lattice shook; the old man peered out. “Don’t touch my house, you vagabond! Move on!” he cried. Calcol had turned to Simon, who was raising the cross. “Carry it for him,” he commanded. Baba Barbulah still shook at the lattice. “Move on!” he repeated. “Seducer of the people, remitter of sins, upholder of adultery, move on; don’t touch my house, it will fall down on you!
Instinctively Mary turned. In the retreating figure she recognized Ahulah, and at once, without conscious effort, she divined that the dwelling against which she leaned was that of Baba Barbulah, the husband of the woman whom the Master had declined to condemn.
Baba Barbulah stood up and turned to whence the voice had come: “In the footprints of the Anointed impudence shall increase, and the face of the generation shall be as the face of a dog. It may be,” he added, significantly—“it may be that you speak the truth.” The sarcasm was lost.
However, he would not be balked; he stood up and, through the din, he shouted at the little man: “Baba Barbulah, I tell you he is the Messiah!” His voice was so loud it dominated the hubbub, and suddenly the hubbub ceased. From the dais Pontius Pilate listened indifferently. Antipas held his hands behind his ears that he might hear the better. The emir paid no attention at all.
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