The rich tiaras of the Romans sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight, and
their glittering sword-hilts threw out glancing golden rays. The doves,
flying from their cotes, circled above the heads of the multitude.
It was the hour when Mannaeus was accustomed to feed them. But now he
crouched beside the tetrarch, who stood near Vitellius. The Galileans,
the priests, and the soldiers formed a group behind them; all were
silent, waiting with painful anticipation for what might happen.

A deep groan, hollow and startling, rose from the pit.

Herodias heard it from the farther end of the palace. Drawn by an
irresistible though terrible fascination, she made her way through the
throng, and, reaching Mannaeus, she leant one hand on his shoulder and
bent over to listen.

The hollow voice rose again from the depths of the earth.

"Woe to thee, Sadducees and Pharisees! Thy voices are like the tinkling
of cymbals! O race of vipers, bursting with pride!"

The voice of Iaokanann was recognised. His name was whispered about.
Spectators from a distance pressed closer to the open pit.

"Woe to thee, O people! Woe to the traitors of Judah, and to the
drunkards of Ephraim, who dwelt in the fertile valleys and stagger with
the fumes of wine!

"May they disappear like running water; like the slug that sinks into
the sand as it moves; like an abortion that never sees the light!