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The variegated tiles of the quadrangle were nearly covered now. A flight of wide, low steps led to the main entrance of the palace, and there a high seat of enamelled ebony had been placed. In it Pilate sat, in his hand the staff of office. Beside him were his assessors, members of his suite, and Calcol, a centurion. On one of the steps Caiaphas stood, near him the elders of the college.
And Er, the firstborn of Judah, was evil in the sight of the LORD; and he slew him. And Tamar his daughter in law bore him Pharez and Zerah. All the sons of Judah were five. The sons of Pharez; Hezron, and Hamul. And the sons of Zerah; Zimri, and Ethan, and Heman, and Calcol, and Dara: five of them in all.
But now at the sight of the women beating their breasts, and the blood-stained face of the Master, an inkling came to her; she stared open-mouthed at the cross, at Calcol, and at the executioners that were there. Then immediately that horrible longing to know the worst beset her, and she darted to where the centurion stood. “What is it?” she gasped. “What are you to do with him?”
By way of answer Calcol extended his arms straight out from either side, his head thrown back. He was a good-natured ruffian, with clear and pleasant eyes. “Not crucify?” she cried. “Tell me, it is not that?” Calcol nodded. To him one Jew more, one Jew less, was immaterial, provided he had his pay, and the prospect of a return to Rome was not too long delayed.
The departing hierarchy, the dispersing mob, retreating before encroaching night, left her unimpressed. To her the setting sun was Christ. The soldiers passed. She did not see them. Calcol called to her. She did not hear. The women had gone from her; she did not notice it. She stood as a cataleptic might, her eyes on the cross.
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!
His wisdom, the Scriptures testify, was greater than the wisdom of Ethan the Ezrahite, and Heman, and Calcol, and Darda, the three sons of Mahol. This means that he was wiser than Abraham, Moses, Joseph, and the generation of the desert. He excelled even Adam. His proverbs which have come down to us are barely eight hundred in number.
The three burnt offerings were meant to recall the three Patriarchs. The kid of goats indicated Joseph; the two oxen corresponded to Moses and Aaron; the five rams to the five distinguished sons of Zerah: Zimri, Ethan, Heman, Calcol, and Dara; whereas the five goats and the five lambs symbolized the five senses of mankind by means of which the existence of things is determined.
“I wash my hands of it all,” he muttered. Caiaphas looked at the elders and sighed with infinite relief. He had conquered. For the first time that day he smiled. He became gracious also, and he bowed. “The blood be upon us, my lord, and on our children. Will you give the order?” “Calcol!” The centurion approached.
It was real; it was actual; it was life. She stared at Calcol, her fair mouth agape. There were many things she wanted to say; her thoughts teemed with arguments, her mind with persuasions; but she could utter nothing; she was as one struck dumb; and it was not until the centurion smiled that the spell dissolved and the power of speech returned.
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