“Titus hath already decreed it. With a rope round thy neck thou wilt march through Rome in Cæsar’s great triumphal procession that all the citizens may see what manner of man it was that kept their soldiers at bay so long. As thou walkest, attendant lictors will beat thee with rods, for such is the custom. If it will give thee any pleasure thou wilt see borne aloft before thee the holy vessels of thy temple. But while these will be carried on to the journey’s end to be laid up in the temple of Peace, thou, at a certain point in the procession, wilt be led aside to the Tarpeian Rock, precipitated therefrom and slain. And a mighty shout of joy will go up from the multitude, for it is not till thy death has been announced that the sacrifices and the feasting will begin. Now, I might pity thee, but that the memory of the massacred Roman garrisons hardens my heart.” “Better to fall with Israel than to triumph with Rome,” retorted the Zealot. Rufus had no further parley with his prisoner, but dispatched him at once to Titus, who was then at Cæsarea. What must have been the feelings of Simon, when he found himself journeying along the same road as that on which he had gained his memorable victory over Cestius? Verily, the fortune of war had indeed changed! It was not till three months after the burning of the temple that Crispus was strong enough to leave his chamber in Hippicus, and walk with halting step among the shapeless heaps of stones which represented all that was left of the once proud city. Accompanied by Rufus he ascended the temple-hill. Its columns and cloisters, chambers and courts, had vanished, but the Legio Fretensis with all their toil had been unable to pull apart the masonry of the vast basement on which the temple structures had rested. It remained, and remains to this day, a part of it forming the celebrated “Wailing-place” of the Jews. Now as Crispus and Rufus stood there, they were surprised to see a band of men and women, quiet and orderly, ascending Mount Moriah from the Vale of Cedron. As they drew near, Crispus recognized in them his friends of Pella. There was the saintly bishop Simeon, who had baptized both him and Vashti; and there, too, were the two youthful grandsons of the apostle Jude, destined on account of their Davidic descent to be haled one day before the jealous tyrant Domitian, and by him to be dismissed again as innocent and foolish visionaries. “Now, who be ye?” asked Rufus, casting a suspicious glance at the throng. “We are natives of Jerusalem, who, four years ago, quitted the city, rather than take up arms against the Romans.” “That’s a point in your favor.” “These,” explained Crispus, “are the Christians who befriended me during the time of my proscription by Nero.” “And what would ye here?” asked Rufus, addressing them. “We seek to inhabit this place again, and to carry on our worship as heretofore.” “What! Think ye that Titus has destroyed this city merely to see it built again?”