"Welcome, Ahasuerus!"
"Baal greets you, Nebuchadnezzar!"
"Osiris, bless you, Pharaoh!" and so on, to Herod, Pilate, Nero, Sardanapalus—in all of whom I recognized my sir knights. My red-bearded patron answered to the name of Judas Iscariot. It was a distinguished company!
The greetings between the knights and the ladies ever, my patron turned toward me. I was standing near the door—and said:
"Malchus, come hither."
I looked around to see who Malchus might be, but finding no one near me, guessed that I too had been given a name suitable for the occasion—that of the chief priests' servant, who lifted his hand against the Savior.
My patron's next words assured me that I had guessed correctly:
"If your ears have really been cut off, Malchus—which they must have been, since you can't hear, we must ask Ben Hanotzri to fasten them to your head again!"
I had not yet learned to whom they alluded when they mentioned that name.
After his last speech to me, my patron took my hand and led me up to the knight they called Nebuchadnezzar. He had strings of costly pearls wound in his beard and hair—as one sees in ancient Persian statues, and pictures.