Wandering to and fro among these
people was that crazed man Jesus, the son of Annas, who had met them
with his wild prophetic cry as they entered into Jerusalem, and whose
ill-omened voice Miriam had heard again before Marcus was taken at the
fight in the Old Tower. To and fro he went, none hindering him, though
many thrust their fingers in their ears and looked aside as he passed,
wailing forth: "Woe, woe to Jerusalem! Woe to the city and the Temple!"
Of a sudden, as Miriam watched, he was still for a moment, then throwing
up his arms, cried in a piercing voice, "Woe, woe to myself!" Before the
echo of his words had died against the Temple walls, a great stone cast
from the Court of Women rushed upon him through the air and felled him
to the earth. On it went with vast bounds, but Jesus, the son of Annas,
lay still. Now, in the hour of the accomplishment of his prophecy, his
pilgrimage was ended.
All the day the cloisters that surrounded the Court of Women burned
fiercely, but the Jews, whose heart was out of them, did not sally
forth, and the Romans made no attack upon the inner Court of Israel. At
length the last rays of the setting sun struck upon the slopes of the
Mount of Olives, the white tents of the Roman camps, and the hundreds
of crosses, each bearing its ghastly burden, that filled the Valley of
Jehoshaphat and climbed up the mountain sides wherever space could be
found for them to stand.
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