So he and Caius walked on by themselves toward the palace and the Saxons gathered gladly around their jarl, feeling of his wounds that were healed and wondering greatly at his meeting with this son of the unseen god of the Jews.
[CHAPTER XXIX.]
Beautiful as Aphrodite.
At the Damascus gate of the city of Jerusalem halted a weary-seeming ass, upon whose back was a dusty and travel-worn rider.
"Wonderful indeed is the grandeur of this city," he had said, as his jaded beast toiled up the road from the bridge over the Kidron. "I would willingly have paused longer upon the Mount of Olives, but the lash of the procurator is close behind all who ride upon his errands. Somewhere in this city of the temple is my Sapphira even now, but how shall she be made to know that I am here? Not now, but I will climb over all barriers, even these great walls and forts, until I find her."
At the gate was a Roman guard, and to the sentinel on post rode Lysias, saying:
"O guard! From the procurator to the captain of the gate! In haste! I am Lysias, a messenger, with a token in writing. I may not dismount until he cometh."
The soldier saluted ceremoniously the name and authority of the procurator, but he stirred not from his place. He did but shout loudly, and an officer came forth, to whom the Greek repeated his utterances.
"Sit thou in thy saddle," said the officer. "I may not touch that which is in thy keeping. But the centurion cometh shortly—the captain to whom thou art commanded to make thy delivery."