“Who is He?” asked Lucius.
“I do not know, unless He be Jahve’s Son!” cried the seer. “He was like Habel, he was like Horus. But I do not know, unless He be Jahve’s Son!”
Thrasyllus approached:
“Lucius,” he said, “let us go. The night is falling and the guards have warned us against wild animals and robbers.”
“Let Caleb give the prophet a gold piece,” said Lucius.
Caleb produced a stater; but the prophet’s laugh of thunder sent him staggering back:
“Gold!” cried the prophet, laughing like thunder. “What do I want with dead gold! I have seen living gold; I have seen the Child That was radiant gold as the sun itself, radiant as the burning bush! What do I want with dead gold!”
“He’s mad! He’s mad!” cried Caleb. “He doesn’t want gold!”
And, terrified, Caleb slipped back the stater—but into another purse, in which he collected his savings—and rushed to his camel, which was already kneeling in the sand.
In the light of the stars that twinkled over the sea of sand the travellers rode back to Memphis.