“Has the woman confessed where she hid the Roman?” he asked of Caleb.

“No,” he answered, “she says that she knows nothing of any Roman.”

“Is it so, woman?”

“It is so, Rabbi.”

“Bring her up,” he went on sternly, and they passed through some stone chambers to a place where there was a staircase with a door of cedar-wood.  The judge unlocked it, locking it again behind them, and they climbed the stairs till they came to another little door of stone, which, being opened, Miriam found herself on the roof of the gateway.  They led her to the centre pillar, to which was fastened an iron chain about ten feet in length.  Here Simeon commanded that her hands should be bound behind her, which was done.  Then he brought out of his robe a scroll written in large letters, and tied it on to her breast.  This was the writing on the scroll: 

“Miriam, Nazarene and Traitress, is doomed here to die as God shall appoint, before the face of her friends, the Romans.”

Then followed several signatures of members of the Sanhedrim, including that of her grandfather, Benoni, who had thus been forced to show the triumph of patriotism over kinship.

This done the end of the chain was made fast round her middle and riveted with a hammer in such fashion that she could not possibly escape its grip.  Then all being finished the men prepared to leave.  First, however, Simeon addressed her: 

“Stay here, accursed traitress, till your bones fall piecemeal from that chain,” he said, “stay, through storm and shine, through light and darkness, while Roman and Jew alike make merry of your sufferings, which, if my voice had been listened to, would have been shorter, but more cruel.  Daughter of Satan, go back to Satan and let the Son of the carpenter save you if he can.”

“Spare to revile the maid,” broke in Caleb furiously, “for curses are spears that fall on the heads of those that throw them.”

“Had I my will,” answered the Rabbi, “a spear should fall upon your head, insolent, who dare to rebuke your elders.  Begone before me, and be sure of this, that if you strive to return here it shall be for the last time.  More is known about you, Caleb, then you think, and perhaps you also would make friends among the Romans.”

Caleb made no answer, for he knew the venom and power of this Zealot Simeon, who was the chosen friend and instrument of the savage John of Gischala.  Only he looked at Miriam with sad eyes, and, muttering “You would have it so, I can do no more.  Farewell,” left her to her fate.