The day was near its end.

Soldiers of the cohort, bearers of the dead, harpers and singers filed through the gate of Herod's palace.

Hard by, in Temple Street, were many people.

An old man stood among them, his white beard falling low upon a purple robe, his face turned to the sky.
He sang as if unconscious of all around him.

Often he raised his hand, which trembled like a leaf in the wind.