"Let the slave pass," said Pollux sternly.
The point of the guard's weapon was lowered; but another of the soldiers was about to remonstrate. "It is against orders," he began, when Pollux interrupted him.
"Methinks you are one who served under me in the force of Giorgias," observed the courtier, with presence of mind.
"Ay, my lord," answered the soldier.
"When we next see Maccabeus, we must come to closer quarters with him," observed the noble. "Here, my brave men,"—he drew forth a purse heavy with gold—"share this among you, and drink success to the brave."
The soldiers could scarcely repress a shout at the unexpected liberality of Pollux. Not one of them so much as looked at Zarah as she glided forth into the open air.
Oh, transporting sense of liberty! How delicious was the breath of early morn on the fugitive's cheek; how glorious the open vault spread above her, blushing in the first light of dawn! Pollux experienced, though in a very inferior degree, some of the pleasure felt by his daughter, as he joined her on the broad marble steps which led down from the Grecian-built palace of Antiochus to the platform on which it erected.
"This way, my child," whispered Pollux, as drew Zarah in the direction of one of the high narrow streets of Jerusalem. "We must put as much space as possible between us and pursuers before sunrise. Would that we had started hours ago! Many dangers yet are before us."
One was nearer than the speaker was aware of. Scarcely had the fugitives entered the nearest street when they encountered a Syrian courtier, splendidly attired, whose unsteady gait betrayed in what manner he had been passing the night. More than half intoxicated as he was, Lysimachus instantly recognized Pollux.
"Ha! whither bound?" exclaimed Lysimachus, standing, or rather staggering, in the narrow path directly in front of the fugitives.