“Oh, yes,” replied Menelaüs, “he is wandering about somewhere in the country of the Ammonites, and at his wits’ end, I am told, how to live.”
“Poor fellow!” said Cleon, sotto voce, “he was always very kind to me, and I can’t help being sorry for him.” He then went on aloud, “He will find it a great change from his way of living here.”
“Yes, yes!” said Menelaüs; “but still, some of his old ways and habits will come in usefully. He was always great about training, you remember. Every one should be ready to fight a boxing-match or run a race. Cold, hunger, fatigue; these, he used to say, are the things to bring out a man’s muscles. And now he has got them in perfection. He might really carry off some prize, only, unluckily, he is getting a little too old for that sort of thing. And then, you recollect, how he would go on about the [pg 45]beauty of the human form. Clothes, especially the gorgeous clothes of our people, obscured so tastelessly its magnificent proportions. Well, he has not much to complain of, I imagine, on that score. By the last account that I had of him he had as little in the way of clothing as a man could well have. Anyhow, he may console himself with thinking that his magnificent proportions are not obscured. Well, I don’t pity him. A man who has managed to get into a good place and then cannot stick to it is nothing better than a fool, and richly deserves everything that he may get.”
At this point in the conversation a servant announced the arrival of a message from Sostratus, Governor of the Castle.
“All the gods and goddesses confound the man!” cried the high priest, in a rage. He was fond of garnishing his conversation with a little Greek profanity. “Another dunning message, I suppose. Well, he must wait. No man can get any water by squeezing out of a dry sponge; and that is about what I am!”
The communication from Sostratus proved, however, to be on quite another subject, though it was, if possible, even more unwelcome. It ran thus:—
“Sostratus, Vicegerent of the Divine King, Antiochus, to Menelaüs, the High Priest, greeting.
“Know that I have this day received the summons of the Divine King, Antiochus, to attend him at his court at Antioch, within the space of thirty days, there to inform his Highness more fully of affairs [pg 46]concerning his province of Judæa. Know also that your presence is required at the same place and time, whereof the writing herewith enclosed, being sealed with the King’s seal, will be proof sufficient. Farewell.”
Menelaüs’s face visibly lengthened as he read this epistle. “By the dog!” (this was a Socratic oath which he sometimes affected, as giving to his conversation a certain philosophic tinge)—“By the dog! this is worse than being dunned! I like not a journey to Antioch. A very pretty place, but expensive, dreadfully expensive, especially when one has the honour of being entertained by the King.”
Cleon felt a certain pleasure in the high priest’s discomfiture. The new patron was more overbearing, less considerate, and generally more difficult to get on with than the old. Jason, coxcomb as he was, had always been kind, and Cleon felt as kindly for him as it was in his nature to feel for any one. And then the exquisite propriety with which this disturbing news followed the man’s taunts and boasts was irresistible.