“Listen to a story that is no fiction,” continued Simon. “Florus sent a secret messenger offering me free license to plunder and slay Roman and Gentile alike, on condition of his receiving half the spoil.” “A lie as black as Erebus!” thundered the procurator. “It is one thing to accuse, another thing to prove,” remarked Tertullus quietly, secretly delighted at the turn events were taking. “I have no proof in writing. Florus is too artful a fox to employ ink and parchment on such a matter. His intermediary in this business was his freedman, Nymphidius.” “Is it worth while sending for this Nymphidius,” asked Tertullus of Florus, “that he may deny this allegation?” “It is useless sending for him,” observed Rufus, “for he died this morning--suddenly.” “Who helped him to die?” asked Simon. “For it appears to me that his death has occurred at a time very convenient for Florus.” A significant question, this! Men looked at each other, little doubting that Florus had by foul means removed an awkward witness from his path. “Bear with me, noble Florus,” said Tertullus, “if I assume for a moment the truth of this knave’s story. What answer,” he continued, addressing Simon, “what answer did you give to Nymphidius?” “This was my answer: ‘Tell the uncircumcized dog of a Florus that Simon will plunder without asking _his_ leave. Let him send to Manahem, the son of Judas, who will doubtless be glad to purchase license on such terms.’” Tertullus now dropped his mask and became, like Simon, an accuser of the procurator. “It was this Manahem, O Florus,” said he quietly, “who a fortnight ago robbed me of a myrrhine drinking-cup, which last night appeared upon _your_ table.” Now, during all this time Crispus had been listening with a strange conflict of emotions. Hatred of Simon’s crimes was mingled with admiration for his daring spirit. He was also compelled to admit that the existence of the Zealots was, to a certain extent, justified by Roman misgovernment, a fact very unpalatable for a patriot like Crispus, ever striving to believe that Rome and justice were convertible terms. From the rule of wicked and rapacious governors like Pilate and Felix, Albinus and Florus, what other spirit could develop in Judæa but a burning hatred of Roman rule, combined with a determination to throw off the yoke whenever a favorable occasion should arise? Though Simon was doubtless deserving of death, yet nevertheless Crispus’ sense of justice revolted against his condemnation by judges like Florus and Ananias, themselves guilty of malefactions. He resolved to disassociate himself from the council. “Since the prisoner,” said he, “questions the integrity of two of his judges, and, as it seems to me, with some show of reason, I herewith decline to take any further part in this trial.” Suiting the action to the word, Crispus rose from his seat and withdrew from the bema. “And I do the like,” said Theomantes, moved in his action mainly by his feud with Ananias.