The guest showed surprise.

" Really, Procurator, you don't owe me anything."

" Yes I do! Remember the crowd of beggars when I entered Yershalaim... I wanted to throw them money, but I didn't have any, so I borrowed some from you."

" Oh, Procurator, that was such a trifle! "

" Even trifles should be remembered."

Pilate then turned, lifted his cloak, which was lying on the chair behind him, took a leather pouch out from underneath, and handed it to the guest Bowing, the latter accepted it, and hid it under his cloak.

" I shall expect your report, " Pilate began, " on the burial and also on this matter of Judas of Kerioth tonight. You hear me, Afranius, tonight. The escort will be given orders to wake me as soon as you appear. I shall be expecting you."

" It has been an honor, " said the chief of the secret service, and he turned and left the balcony. A crunching sound was heard as he walked over the wet sand on the terrace, and then the shuffling of his sandals sounded on the marble surface between the two lions. Then his legs, torso, and finally, his hood disappeared from view. Only then did die procurator see that the sun had already set and twilight had come.

XXVI

The Burial

erhaps it was the twilight that made the procurator's appearance change so dramatically. He seemed to have aged on the spot, to have become stooped and to have grown anxious as well. Once he looked around and for some reason shuddered when his gaze fell on the empty chair which had his cloak thrown over its back. The holiday night was approaching, the evening shadows were playing their usual tricks and very likely the weary procurator imagined that someone was sitting in the empty chair. Letting faintheartedness get the best of him, and shifting the cloak, the procurator left it lying there and began pacing around the balcony, first rubbing his hands, then going over to the table to grab the wine-cup, then stopping to stare blankly at the mosaic floor as though trying to decipher something written there.

For the second time that day he was overcome by anguish. Rubbing his brow where there now remained only a dull, faintly nagging trace of the hellish morning pain, he kept straining to understand what was causing his mental torment And he quickly realized what it was but tried to deceive himself. It was clear to him that he had lost something irretrievably that day, and that now he wanted to make up for the loss with minor, inconsequential, and most importantly, belated measures. His self-deception consisted in his trying to convince himself that the actions taken that evening were no less important than the sentence passed that morning. But the procurator was having very little success in convincing himself.

On one of his turns about the balcony he stopped abruptly and whistled. In reply to his whistle, a low growl sounded in the shadows, and a gigantic gray dog with pointed ears and a gold-studded collar bounded onto the balcony from the garden.

" Banga, Banga, " cried the procurator weakly.

The dog stood up on his hind paws, lowered his front paws onto his master's shoulders, almost knocking him to the floor, and licked his cheek. The procurator sat down in his chair, and Banga, his tongue out and panting, lay down at his master's feet. The joy in the dog's eyes sig-