her, certainly, but she might give him courage; and besides, in spite

of his dislike, not all the bonds were yet broken of that sorcery
which once she had woven about him.

When he entered her chamber, he was met by the pungent odour of
cinnamon burning in a porphyry vase and the perfume of powders,

unguents, cloud-like gauzes and embroideries light as feathers, filled
the air with fragrance.

He did not speak of Phanuel's prophecy, nor of his own fear of the
Jews and the Arabs. Herodias had already accused him of cowardice. He

spoke only of the Romans, and complained that Vitellius had not
confided to him any of his military projects. He said he supposed the

proconsul was the friend of Caligula, who often visited Agrippa; and
expressed a surmise that he himself might be exiled, or that perhaps

his throat would be cut.
Herodias, who now treated him with a kind of disdainful indulgence,

tried to reassure him. At last she took from a small casket a curious
medallion, ornamented with a profile of Tiberius. The sight of it, she

said, as she gave it to Antipas, would make the lictors turn pale and
silence all accusing voices.

Antipas, filled with gratitude, asked her how the medallion had come
into her possession.

"It was given to me," was her only answer.
At that moment Antipas beheld a bare arm slipping through a portiere

hanging in front of him. It was the arm of a youthful woman, as
graceful in outline as if carved from ivory by Polyclitus. With a

movement a little awkward and at the same time charming, it felt about
the wall an instant, as if seeking something, then took down a tunic

hanging upon a hook near the doorway, and disappeared.
An elderlyfemaleattendant passed quietly through the room, lifted

the portiere, and went out. A sudden recollection pierced the memory
of the tetrarch.

"Is that woman one of thy slaves?" he asked.
"What matters that to thee?" was the disdainful reply.

CHAPTER III
The great banqueting-hall was filled with guests. This apartment had

three naves, like a basilica, which were separated by columns of
sandalwood, whose capitals were of sculptured bonze. On each side of

the apartment was a gallery for spectators, and a third, with a facade
of gold filigree, was at one end, opposite an immense arch at the

other.
The candelabra burning on the tables, which were spread the whole

length of the banqueting-hall, glowed like clusters of flaming flowers
among the painted cups, the plates of shining copper, the cubes of

snow and heaps of luscious grapes. Through the large windows the
guests could see lighted torches on the terraces of the neighbouring

houses; for this night Antipas was giving a feast to his friends, his
own people, and to anyone that presented himself at the castle.

The slaves, alert as dogs, glided about noiselessly in felt sandals,
carrying dishes to and fro.

The table of the proconsul was placed beneath the gilded balcony upon
a platform of sycamore wood. Rich tapestries from Babylon were hung

about the pavilion, giving a certain effect of seclusion.
Upon three ivory couches, one facing the great hall, and the other two

placed one on either side of the pavilion, reclined Vitellius, his son
Aulus, and Antipas; the proconsul being near the door, at the left,

Aulus on the right, the tetrarch occupying the middle couch.
Antipas wore a heavy black mantle, the texture of which was almost

hidden by coloured embroideries and glittering decorations; his beard
was spread out like a fan; blue powder had been scattered over his

hair, and on his head rested a diadem covered with precious stones.
Vitellius still wore the purple band, the emblem of his rank, crossed

diagonally over a linen toga.
Aulus had tied behind his back the sleeves of his violet robe,

embroidered with silver. His clustering curls were laid in carefully
arranged rows; a necklace of sapphires gleamed against his throat,

plump and white as that of a woman. Crouched upon a rug near him, with
legs crossed was a pretty white boy, upon whose face shone a perpetual

smile. Aulus had found him somewhere among the kitchens and had taken
a violent fancy to him. He had made the child one of his suite, but as

he never could remember his protege's Chaldean name, called him simply
"the Asiatic." From time to time the little fellow sprang up and

played about the dining-table, and his antics appeared to amuse the
guests.

At one side of the tetrarch's pavilion were the tables at which were
seated his priests and officers; also a number of persons from

Jerusalem, and the more important men from the Grecian cities. At the
table on the left of the proconsul sat Marcellus with the publicans,

several friends of the tetrarch, and various representatives from
Cana, Ptolemais, and Jericho. Seated at other tables were mountaineers

from Liban and many of the old soldiers of Herod's army; a dozen
Thracians, a Greek and two Germans; besides huntsmen and herdsmen, the

Sultan of Palmyra, and sailors from Eziongaber. Before each guest was
placed a roll of soft bread, upon which to wipe the fingers. As soon

as they were seated, hands were stretched out with the eagerness of a
vulture's claws, seizing upon olives, pistachios, and almonds. Every

face was joyous, every head was crowned with flowers, except those of
the Pharisees, who refused to wear the wreaths, regarding them as a

symbol of Roman voluptuousness and vice. They shuddered when the
attendants sprinkled them with galburnum and incense, the use of which

the Pharisees reserved strictly for services in the Temple.
Antipas observed that Aulus rubbed himself under the arms, as if

annoyed by heat or chafing; and promised to give him three flasks of
the same kind of precious balm that had been used by Cleopatra.

A captain from the garrison of Tiberias who had just arrived, placed
himself behind the tetrarch as protection in case any unexpected

trouble should arise. But his attention was divided between observing
the movements of the proconsul and listening to the conversation of

his neighbours.
There was, naturally, much talk of Iaokanann, and other men of his

stamp.
"It is said," remarked one of the guests, "that Simon of Gitta washed

away his sins in fire. And a certain man called Jesus--"
"He is the worst of them all!" interrupted Eleazar. "A miserable

imposter!"
At this a man sprang up from a table near the tetrarch's pavilion, and

made his way towards the place where Eleazar sat. His face was almost
as pale as his linen robe, but he addressed the Pharisees boldly,

saying: "That is a lie! Jesus has performed miracles!"
Antipas expressed a long-cherished desire to see the man Jesus perform

some of his so-called miracles. "You should have brought him with
you," he said to the last speaker, who was still standing. "Tell us

what you know about him," he commanded.
Then the stranger said that he himself, whose name was Jacob, having a

daughter who was very ill, had gone to Capernaum to implore the Master
to heal his child. The Master had answered him, saying: "Return to thy

home: she is healed!" And he had found his daughter standing at the
threshold of his house, having risen from her couch when the gnomon

had marked the third hour, the same moment when he had made his
supplication to Jesus.

The Pharisees admitted that certain mysterious arts and powerful herbs
existed that would heal the sick. It was said that the marvellous

plant known as "baaras" grew even in Machaerus, the power of which
rendered its consumer invulnerable against all attacks; but to cure

disease without seeing or touching the afflicted person was clearly
impossible, unless, indeed, the man Jesus called in the assistance of

evil spirits.
The friends of Antipas and the men from Galilee nodded wisely, saying:

"It is evident that he is aided by demons of some sort!"
Jacob, standing between their table and that of the priests,

maintained a silence at once lofty and respectful.
Several voices exclaimed: "Prove his power to us!"