Without a sound, without even so much as the rustling of a garment to
announce her, a woman emerged from a passage leading into the interior
of the house. He confronted the only person in Jerusalem who might
know him as an impostor.
The woolen chiton of her countrywomen draped a figure almost too
slender, yet perfect in its delicate modeling. Though her eyes were
black, her hair was fair and brilliant with a wash of gold powder. Her
features were Hellenic, cold, pure and classic, and for all her youth
and beauty there was an atmosphere about her of middle-age, immense
experience, and old sagacity.
The pretender braced himself for the scrutiny the eyes made of him.
"You are that Philadelphus, as my servant tells me?" she asked.
"I am he."
She inclined her head.
"Welcome; in the name of all the need of you!"
After a silence he came closer and lifted her hand to his lips. He
added nothing, but presently raised his eyes softened with feeling and
unexpressed appreciation.
"Certainly you have suffered, lady," he said finally in a subdued
tone. "But please God you will not suffer alone hereafter."
Amaryllis' non-committal front changed.
"You are gentler of speech than is common among the Maccabees," she
said.
"Nevertheless the Maccabees are the more touched by devotion," he
maintained.
He led her to the exedra, unslung his wallet and laid it on the
lectern before them.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148