“Nay,” said Marcus, holding up his hand, “don’t begin. I know it all. The times are full of trouble and danger. Such little ready cash as you have at command is out at interest in safer countries—Egypt, Rome, and Italy; your correspondent at Alexandria has failed to make you the expected remittance; and you have reason to believe that every ship in which you are concerned is now at the bottom of the ocean. So would you be so good as to lend me half a talent of silver—a thousand shekels in cash and the rest in bills of exchange on your agents at Brundisium?”
“No,” said Benoni, sternly.
“Yes,” replied Marcus, with conviction. “Look you, friend Benoni, the security is excellent. If I don’t get drowned, or have my throat slit between here and Italy, I am going to be one of the richest men in Rome; so this is your last chance of lending me a trifle. You don’t believe it? Then read this letter from Caius, my uncle, and this rescript signed by Nero the Cæsar.”
Benoni perused the documents and returned them.
“I offer you my congratulations,” he said. “If God permits it and you will walk steadily, your future should be brilliant, since you are of a pleasant countenance, and when you choose to use it, behind that countenance lies a brain. But here I see no security for my money, since even if all things go right, Italy is a long way off.”
“Man, do you think that I should cheat you?” asked Marcus hotly.
“No, no, but accidents might happen.”
“Well, I will make it worth your while to risk them. For the half-talent write a talent charged upon my estate, whether I live or die. And be swift, I pray you, for I have matters to speak of, of more importance than this miserable money. Whilst I was commissioner among the Essenes on the banks of Jordan——”
“The Essenes! What of the Essenes?” broke in Benoni.
Marcus considered him with his grey eyes, then answered: