XLII
A CLOSE CALL FOR DION
"If the Lord give me strength to end it," said Gideon ben Sirach the day following, as he sat up on the edge of the couch, and rested his hands on the top of his staff. "If the Lord give me strength, I will tell the tale—if such you may call it—which has never yet passed my lips."
His black eyes, far sunken beneath his long and bristling brows, gleamed sharply with the effort to penetrate their partial blindness, and scan the faces of his auditors.
"As the Lord liveth! I may trust my words in your ears, Judas, son of Mattathias, whose father has a score of times taken from my hands the Passover Lamb, and slain it for the feast in my master's house. And in whom can I confide if not in the daughter of Elkiah, the just man, Nasi of our Sanhedrin in days when not even the gold of Egypt or Syria could bribe it to wrong judgment? And if this man be not Dion, page of King Philip of Macedon, and Captain in the army of his son Perseus, may my words be deafness evermore in his ears if he listens to them."
"Amen!" responded Dion. "I am your man so far."
"Aye, and let thy Amen be the anathema of an old man whose eyes in Sheol may soon look upon the face of my master, to whom and to God I go to render my account. My son, put thy hand beneath my thigh, and swear that thou art he."
Dion obeyed. As he did so Gideon put his hand upon the young man's brow, and pushed back the thick curling locks. He felt with his long thin fingers beneath the hair; then suddenly cried, with excitement that barely allowed distinct utterance:
"Thou art Dion, but not the Greek."
"I am Greek for as many generations as thou art Jew," replied Dion, laughing. "I swear, old man, that I am a Greek."