XXXVIII
THE POISONER
Deborah retired to the roof of the house. She gazed long to the west.
"Caleb, do you hear any sounds far away?"
"None, but there is a great mist rolling up from the Great Sea over Sharon, and up the mountains toward our city. Now a wind from the east rushes against the mist. I think it is a wind. Can you see a wind, sister?"
"One can see the dust it drives."
"That's it; a little cloud of dusty wind. And it drives away the mist. The mist rolls down the long hills and away—away. Now it is lost in the Sea. The dusty wind is Judas, I know."
A servant brought to Deborah a basket of fruit. Ripened pomegranates glowed ruddy beside tawny oranges in a bed of white blossoms which loaded the air with delicious spicery. Cakes of figs compressed with almonds were scattered through the tempting heap.
Caleb caught the odor; his face became a resistless appeal, which his sister answered by putting into his hand the largest of the luscious fruits.
Deborah recalled the servant to ask the donor of the fruit. Ephraim could not say, as it was brought to him by one of the Greek guards in the court who had taken it in at the gate. Deborah examined the basket, and recognized the pattern of its inwoven withes as one that the Princess had taught Lydia, the wife of Menelaos, and herself to make. She quickly turned to Caleb.