"A third," said Glaucon, hesitating, and watching the face of his comrade.
"Make it half."
"The old greed, Menelaos. The same that always claimed the fattest bird we snared together when we were boys."
"Greed! A proper taunt from the lips of the son of Elkiah, indeed. Who secured for you your office of tax-farmer? And how many other estates have you tapped like a wine-skin to fill your own jars, of which you have told me nothing? Simon ben Shem wants to be tax-farmer in your stead. He has done as much for me as you have, and will pay me a higher rate for protection at Antioch."
"Forgive me, Menelaos," cried Glaucon, quivering before the Priest's gaze like a bird bewitched by the eyes of a snake. "I always bantered you for taking the largest game; but in the end, as you know, always let you have it. Let it be play between us."
"Good!" replied Menelaos. "And what news of the Greek who loved you so well that he split your skull with the discus?"
"I fear," said Glaucon, "that we will get no news from Dion. He was in command of a company sent from our city garrison, and not a man has returned. Poor Dion! Next to yourself, Menelaos, I never had a truer friend. Thorough Greek that he was, he seemed to have a love for our people. He knew the legends of Moses as well as he knew the stories of Homer, and I think he loved them better. The Lord rest his soul if we see him no more!"
"Amen!" said the Priest. "May Pluto give him a high place at his banquets, for Dion was a good roysterer. He was as faithful to your father as Æneas was to his. And he could not have searched the camps for your brother and sister more thoroughly had he been her lover. But farewell! The blessing of Jehovah, or Jove, or both, be with you, Glaucon; and the smile of the Princess. Farewell!"
"Jehovah, Jove, damn him," ejaculated Glaucon, as he threw himself upon the divan the High Priest had left. "It is bad enough for one like me to have turned against one's people, one's own house; but for a High Priest to become a heathen—High Devil! Faugh! Wine, Ajax! My purple himation! The large mirror! Some oil, here! Do the locks curl at the neck? Call the litter. I'll away to the Princess, and cast my bread—Ha! ha!"