“Pardon, dear friends and most noble senators! pardon the wine which has made this rash youth forget both reason and duty. He is a subject of mine, being a native and resident of my province. I claim jurisdiction over him, and will punish him as he deserves. He is from this moment a prisoner in charge of my retinue. He shall be carried back to his native village, disarmed, bound and disgraced, so that all Judean youths may know what folly it is to insult a Roman senator.” There was a strong murmur of approbation throughout the assembly, and Hortensius nodded approval. Pilate continued: “I would not say a word to save this African from the death he so richly merits, were it not for one dark suspicion which crosses my mind and which will not permit me to be silent. I suspect this infuriate wretch to be a madman; and the insane, you know, are under the protection of the gods and, sacred from the fangs of the law. Permit me to convey this slave also in irons to Judea. I will have his case carefully studied by my own physician. If the gods have smitten him in their wisdom, let him go free as our laws direct. If he exhibits enough reason to be held responsible, I will have him driven into the dreadful desert beyond the Salt Sea, and sentence him to a perpetual exile in its awful solitudes. If he is ever discovered west of the river Jordan, his punishment shall be death, without question or delay.” Whether this proposition struck the hearers as remarkable, or what was more likely, the social and civil weight of Pontius Pilate bore down their opposition and silenced their scruples, Hortensius acceded to it and all seemed satisfied. After drinking again to the health of Hortensius, the company dispersed. I soon found myself a prisoner bound for Judea, deserted by Demetrius, exiled from Helena, full of sadness and dark forebodings, with the educational tour projected by my good uncle brought to a sudden and ignominious conclusion. The only comfort I experienced during the long and melancholy voyage was the thought that I had saved the life of my high-spirited Anthony, whom I was not permitted to see, and whose daring conduct I more admired the more I thought of it. I was struck also with the wonderful tact, courtesy and kindness of Pontius Pilate. I would gladly have thanked him for his services; but I was kept in strict confinement, and heard and saw nothing of the sedate governor. On our arrival at Jerusalem, I was unbound and taken privately before him. “You are now free,” he said. “I admire you too much to inflict any further punishment upon you for your incredible rashness. You cannot help being brave, but you can compel yourself to be prudent. Go, sir! When you get into trouble again, let me hear from you and I will befriend you, if possible.” “And my servant?” said I, hoping to intercede for Anthony. “He has been driven into the desert.”