No one in
Jerusalem knew Philadelphus Maccabaeus. Aquila, as fellow-conspirator,
would not dare to expose him if Julian appeared as his cousin.
Perilous at best, it seemed the only plan by which he was to get
possession of a fortune which even Caesar would be glad to have.
The resolution formed itself in a brain turbulent with passion and
desperation. He halted silently back of his cousin and with a sudden
flare of intent on his dead white face snatched a dagger from his
girdle and drove it between the shoulders of the Maccabee. Without a
word, Philadelphus turned upon his assailant and started to his feet.
But Julian, catching a glimpse of the dire purpose in his cousin's
darkened eyes, struck again. The knife, blindly wielded, glanced on
the Maccabee's head with wild force. Under a veil of scarlet
Philadelphus sank to the earth.
Julian with a sob of terror sprang out of range of his victim's gaze.
After a time he took courage and looked. The lids were fallen and the
breast was still.
Julian bent hastily and snatched the signet from the nerveless hand
and fumbling in the bosom drew forth the wallet there. He opened it,
finding within ancient parchments with heavy seals, new writings,
rolls of notes and a packet of letters. He rose, trembling violently,
and backed away. After a moment's fascinated gaze at the roadway to
see if the pilgrims passing had seen what he had done, he whirled
about, mounted his horse and galloped frantically toward Jerusalem.
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