“Where? what synagogue?”
Pahul made a gesture. “At Capharnahum,” he answered, and gazed in the tetrarch’s face. He was slight of form and regular of feature. As a lad he had crossed bare-handed from Cumæ to Rhegium, and from there drifted to Rome, where he started a commerce in Bœtican girls which had so far prospered that he bought two vessels to carry the freight. Unfortunately the vessels met in a storm and sank. Then he became a hanger-on of the circus; in idle moments a tout. It was in the latter capacity that Antipas met him, and, pleased with his shrewdness and perfect corruption, had attached him to his house. This had occurred in years [pg 97]previous, and as yet Antipas had found no cause to regret the trust imposed. He was a useful braggart, idle, familiar, and discreet; and he had acquired the dialect of the country with surprising ease.
“There were any number of people,” Pahul continued. “Some said he was the son of Joseph, the son of——”
“But he, what did he say? How tiresome you are!”
“Ah!” And Pahul swung his arms. “Who is Mammon?”
“Mammon? Mammon? How do I know? Plutus, I suppose. What about him?”
“And who is Satan?”
“Satan? Satan is a—He’s a Jew god. Why? But what do you mean by asking me questions?”
Pahul nodded absently. “I heard him say,” he continued, “that no man could serve God and Mammon. At first I thought he meant you. It was this way. I got into conversation with a friend of his, a man named Judas. He told me any [pg 98]number of things about him, that he cured the sick——”
“Bah! Some Greek physician.”