"I have done nothing else since his messenger arrived at daybreak. Little, little, did I think when I married Laodice to him, fourteen years ago, that the lad of ten and the little child of four might one day be king and queen over Judea!"
Philip shook his head slowly and his gaze settled to the pavement. Presently he drew in a long breath.
"He is twenty-four," he began thoughtfully. "He has all the learning of the pagans, both of letters and of war; he–Ah! But is he capable?"
"He is the great-grandson of Judas Maccabaeus! That is enough! I have not seen him since the day he wedded Laodice and left her to go to Ephesus, but no man can change the blood of his fathers in him. And Philip–he shall have no excuse to fail. He shall be moneyed; he shall be moneyed!"
Costobarus leaned toward his friend and with a sweep of his hand indicated the stripped room. It was a noble chamber. The stamp of the elegant simplicity of Cyrus, the Persian, was upon it. The ancient blue and white mosaics that had been laid by the Parsee builder and the fretwork and twisted pillars were there, but the silky carpets, the censers and the chairs of fine woods were gone. Costobarus looked steadily at the perplexed countenance of Philip.
"Seest thou how much I believe in this youth?" he asked.
A shade of uneasiness crossed Philip's forehead.
"Thou art no longer young, Costobarus," he said, "and disappointments go hard with us, at our age–especially, especially."
"I shall not be disappointed," Costobarus declared.
The friendly Jew looked doubtful.