Upon a night in the month of August we were with the Master on a heath not far from the lake. The heath was called by the ancients the Meadow of Skulls.
And Jesus was reclining on the grass and gazing at the stars.
And of a sudden two men came rushing towards us breathless. They were as if in agony, and they fell prostrate at the feet of Jesus.
And Jesus stood up and He said: “Whence came you?”
And one of the men answered: “From Machaereus.”
And Jesus looked upon him and was troubled, and He said: “What of John?”
And the man said: “He was slain this day. He was beheaded in his prison cell.”
Then Jesus lifted up His head. And then He walked a little way from us. After a while He stood again in our midst.
And He said: “The king could have slain the prophet ere this day. Verily the king has tried the pleasure of His subjects. Kings of yore were not so slow in giving the head of a prophet to the headhunters.
“I grieve not for John, but rather for Herod, who let fall the sword. Poor king, like an animal caught and led with a ring and a rope.
“Poor petty tetrarchs lost in their own darkness, they stumble and fall down. And what would you of the stagnant sea but dead fishes?