"This is an Indian woman," he explained. "She wishes to exchange coin of her country for Roman money."

"Good!" the old man cried, rubbing his hands. "We shall oblige her.

Foreign coins are so much bullion; yet, we pay only its face value, in Roman moneys! Good! I shall melt it, and deliver it to the Roman mint! Good! But--but how shall I know one of these outlandish coins from another?"

"I can tell you," Marsyas answered.

The a.s.sembled group drifted out of the counting-room and the usurer, sighing his delight, opened a gate and bade Marsyas and the Hindu woman come into the apartment behind the screen. There the exchange was made, and the old usurer, trusting to the Hindu's ignorance of the language, permitted no moment to pa.s.s without comment on his profit.

Presently, Marsyas turned to the woman.

"You lose money by this traffic," he said deliberately.

"Rest thee, brother," was the calm reply, "I know it. Yet I must have Roman coin to carry me to Egypt."

Marsyas glanced at her apparel. In spite of its humble appearance, it was the owner of this treasure, that dwelt within it.

The exchange was made, amounting to something over twenty thousand drachmae. Marsyas, with wistful eyes, saw her put the treasure away in the sheepskin bag. He arose as she arose, and the two were conducted out by Peter.

Without, it had grown dark. The woman had made no effort to hide the nature of her burden. She made an almost haughty gesture of farewell to Marsyas.

"I shall serve thee, perchance, one day," she said and pa.s.sed out.

Marsyas followed her. At the threshold, he wavered and stepping into the street stopped.

She made a small, frail, dusky apparition, under the black shadows of the bulky buildings of Ptolemais--a profitable victim for some light-footed highwayman, less sorely in need of money than he. But she evidently felt no fear.

Then, he turned and went back into the counting-room.

Peter was behind his grating.

"Who and what art thou?" the usurer demanded, with no little admiration in his tone.

"I am," Marsyas answered, "a doctor of Laws, a master of languages, a doctor of medicines, a scholar of the College at Jerusalem, a postulant Essene."

The reply was intentionally full.

"And a steward for love, only!"

"Only for a time. When I can repay thee a debt long standing, I shall cease to serve at all."

The usurer's eyes brightened. "A debt," he repeated softly. "Is this my fortunate day? Which of the bankrupts who owe me has been replenished?"

"Not yet, the one of whom I speak," Marsyas replied. "Hast thou heard of Herod Agrippa?"

"Herod Agrippa! Evil day that he borrowed a talent of me, never to return it!"

"Perchance, some day--"

"Never! Whosoever lends him money pitches it into the sea!"

"Yet the sea hath given up its treasure, at times. But let me trouble thee with a question. What price did the costliest slave in thy knowledge command?"

"What price? A slave? In Rome? Nay, then, let me think. A Georgian female captive of much beauty was sold to Seja.n.u.s once for six hundred thousand drachmae--"

"I speak of serving-men," Marsyas interrupted.

"Nay, then: Caesar owns a physician worth eighty thousand drachmae."

"Hath he cured any in Caesar's house of poisoning; can he speak many languages; is he also a doctor of Laws and a good Jew?"

The usurer shook his head.

"What price, then, should I he worth to Caesar?" Marsyas demanded.

"Sell not thyself to Caesar," Peter cried, flinging up his hands. "It is forbidden!"

"I shall not sell myself," Marsyas said. "I have come only to find how to value my services."

"Whom dost thou serve?" the old man demanded. Marsyas was not ready to disclose his ident.i.ty.

"A Roman. Peace and the continuance of good fortune be thine."

He bowed and pa.s.sed out of the counting-room.

The usurer stood a moment, then summoned his servants, and, getting himself into street dress, hastened to follow the young man. Marsyas turned his steps toward the house in the suburbs.

There were several torches about the painted gate in the wall and the light shone on a group alighting from a curricle. Cypros and her children had returned from the city, and Agrippa had come forth to receive them. Marsyas joined the group and Peter's lectica was borne up to the circle of radiance under the torches. The old man's eyes filled with wrath when he recognized Agrippa. He stood up and surveyed him with scorn.

"A Roman!" he scoffed. "A Roman, only to add the vices of the race to the meanness of a Herod! Back to my house, slaves! We have taken profitless pains!"

Agrippa's anger leaped into his face and Marsyas pursued and overtook the litter.

"Thy pardon, sir," he began.

"I have a right to attach thee for the talent thy master owes me,"

Peter stormed.

"Peace, good sir! I am not a slave."

Peter chewed his mustache impotently, but the young Essene dropped his Greek and spoke in Hebrew, the language of the synagogue, the true badge of Judaism.

"Perchance we may bargain together. Wouldst have me for hire?"

Peter smoldered in sulky silence.

"I can not serve longer without compensation," Marsyas pursued.

"What sum in hire?" Peter demanded.