The Maccabee signed toward the walls.
"My wife is there," he said briefly.
The Roman made an exclamation which showed the sudden change to
enlightenment.
"Solicitous after these many years?" he demanded.
"She has two hundred talents," the Maccabee replied.
Titus smiled and shook his head.
"I ought to keep her there. Rome must get treasure enough out of that
rebellious city to repay her for her pains in subjugating it."
"Pay yourself out of another pocket than mine. It will take two
hundred talents to repay me for all that I have suffered to get it. I
want the countersign, Titus. You owe me it."
"Will you come out of there, at once?" the Roman demanded. "Not that I
suspect you will make the city harder to take, but I should dislike to
make war on an old comrade in my Ephesian revels."
The Maccabee looked doubtful.
"I can not promise," he said. "At least do not hold off the siege
until you see me again without the walls. It might lose you prestige
in Rome."
Titus swung his bridle while he gazed at the Maccabee.
"I wish Nicanor were here," he said finally. "He might be able to see
harm in you; but I never could. You will have to promise me
something--anything so it is a promise--before I can let you in.
Something to appease Nicanor, else I shall never hear the last of
this."
The Maccabee laughed, the sudden harsh laugh of one impelled to
amusement unexpectedly.
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