"For me! Thou becamest a prisoner to save me?" Marsyas repeated, astounded.
"Because I need thee as much as thou needest me," was the frank admission.
"What can I do for thee that thou shouldst need me?" Marsyas asked softly, but still wondering.
"Hast—hast thou ever lacked friends so wholly that thou wast willing to purchase one?" Agrippa asked.
"I am thy grateful servant; yet I am an Essene, poor, persecuted, homeless, hungry and heartbroken. What wilt thou have of me?"
In that was more earnestness than blandishment, more appeal than offering. The young man published his helplessness and asked after the other's use of him. Agrippa was silent; after a pause Marsyas put out his hand and lifting the hem of the pagan tunic pressed it to his lips. The act could not fail to reach to the innermost of the Herod's heart. His head dropped suddenly into his hands, and the young Essene's touch rested lightly on his shoulder.
Finally Agrippa raised his head.
"Dost thou know my history, brother?" he asked.
"From the lips of others, yes; but let me hear thee."
"Thou art a just youth; nothing so outrages a slandered man as to pen his defense within his lips. Hear me, then. To be a Herod once meant to be beloved by the Cæsars. In my early childhood, after the death of my young father, I was taken to Rome by my mother and reared among princes and the sons of consuls. Best of all my friends was Drusus, Cæsar's gallant son, and we studied together, raced and gambled and feasted together, loved and hated—and fought together, and never was there a difference between us except in purse!