At the far end was a small carven table at which two Romans sat, a lamp and a crater of wine at their elbows, the tesseræ of a dice-game between them.
Without waiting for the orderly to speak, the man in scarlet stepped forward.
"Greeting, Vitellius. Capito, I salute you," he said. His voice was that of a composed man speaking with equals.
Vitellius turned his head toward the speaker; Capito drew up his lids and his lower jaw relaxed. Slowly then both men got upon their feet.
"By the bats of Hades—" Vitellius began.
"By the nymphs of Delphi!" Capito's aged falsetto broke in. "It is the Herod himself!"
"Herod Agrippa!" Vitellius exclaimed.
"From the faces of you," Agrippa declared, "I might have been the shade of my grandsire. But I have been hunting you. I need help. And as thou hopest to return three hundred thousand drachmæ to Cæsar from my purse, do thou aid me in urging Vitellius to yield it, Capito."
"Help," Capito repeated.
"What manner of help?" Vitellius demanded, fixing Agrippa with a suspicious eye.