“Even if the high priest of the Jews _had_ the right to this seat, it is not thine, seeing that thou art not high priest.” Now, it is not at all improbable that in their struggle for precedency these two graybeards might have come to unseemly blows before a delighted audience, but for the intervention of Terentius Rufus, who, with a body of spearmen, was stationed in front of the tribunal for the purpose of preserving order among the spectators. “I never thought my services would be required upon the bema,” said he. And mounting the tribunal, he threatened unless Ananias settled down quietly in some other seat that he would remove him, as having wantonly and purposely created a disturbance in a court of justice. “Let Ananias possess his soul in patience,” he cried, “till it shall please Florus to make known Cæsar’s decree on this matter.” The humiliated Ananias made as if he would retire altogether from the court, but finally, thinking better of it, sat down upon the left-hand seat, just as Florus made his pompous entry. Crispus appeared about the same time, and, as being a distinguished visitor, was assigned a place among the council. Florus, having seated himself in his curule chair, demanded to know what business was set down for the day, and as it appeared that there were many cases requiring his judicial decision, he announced that he would begin with the trial of Simon. A thrill of excitement ran through the basilica when the order was given, “Go, lictors, bring hither Simon, surnamed the Black.” Without delay the prisoner was brought. Walking between two guards, his hands tied behind his back with a cord whose end was held by a third soldier, came the terrible Zealot, who had hanged so many Romans that men had lost all count of the number. A man, tall and muscular, and having a singular breadth of chest, with black hair, black eyes, and black beard. Clothed in the dress he wore when captured, a gabardine all slashed with sword-cuts, and black with dried blood; with face unwashed, and beard and hair long and unkempt, he made a wild and savage figure. Captivity and darkness, chilling damps and meager diet, had failed, however, to tame his spirit; he stood, dark, scowling, defiant, the living incarnation of enmity to Rome. Florus, after a brief and (as it seemed to Crispus) uneasy glance at the captive, turned to a table where sat the advocates, and asked: “Who conducts the prosecution?” Tertullus arose. “Be brief. No oratory,” said the procurator. In a Roman trial proceedings usually began with the questioning of the accused in the endeavor to prove out of his own mouth the charge brought against him. Should this procedure fail, or should the prisoner, through obstinacy, refuse to answer, it became necessary to call upon witnesses.