"On my soul I would have seen the show."
"My lord Pilate emerges from the tomb," and Claudia laughed as he poured another cup.
"And for a purpose," Pilate answered her. "As Antipas hath taken the pleasures of Rome to Tiberias, so will Pilate bring Rome to Jerusalem this night for the pleasure of his guests. Where, Claudia, my love, is thy maiden whose limbs are like the milky marble Greece boasts and whose feet fly like the wings of a chased butterfly? Summon thou the slave. Yet stay—not seven veils shall hide her marble loveliness. Here," and snatching a wreath of flowers from a pedestal he flung them to Claudia, "bid her robe her beauteous nakedness in this. Here's to the dancer whose virgin charms unhidden by such dense and senseless draperies as veils, shall set our blood racing as blood doth race at Rome. Bid the slave come!"
"My maiden doth not choose to come clad only in a wreath," and Claudia tossed the flowers aside.
"Slaves have no choice when masters do the bidding."
"Thy words sound large, yet hath Claudia a choice for her maiden. Confusion will take the buoyancy from her supple limbs, and so drawn will her arms be to her face to hide its shame, that the sensuous swing thou dost desire will be stiff as the scabbard on thy wall. Lest she be veiled my maiden can not dance to do Rome pleasure."
"A veil! A veil!" shouted Pilate, laughing.
"Give the maiden a veil," the guests added.
"A veil! One veil—one but not two, Claudia. One veil!" and again
Pilate laughed loudly.
"A veil. One veil," Claudia repeated, bowing as she left the room.