Chapter 10

Two days later, at sundown, the travellers arrived in the amazing city of Caesarea. If Voldi had been bewildered by the transitions from dirty and degraded Gaza, of the Philistines, to the marble splendour of beautiful Askelon, of the Greeks, and to the frowsiness of decayed Joppa, of the Judaeans, he was now even more astonished by the feverish confusions of this rapidly rising metropolis, which, according to Mencius, would one day be the focal point from which the Empire would move toward the utter subjugation of all Jewry.

Heretofore the Emperors had insisted only upon tribute in cash. The Jews were sheep to be shorn annually but not converted into mutton. Presently the Romans would want more than Israel’s fleece. They would march in and take everything, Mencius had declared; and when Voldi had inquired whether this threat was a secret, his friend had replied airily, ‘Secret? Not at all! The Jews know the invasion is sure to come! Preparations for it are going on right under their noses!’

Too tired that night for sight-seeing, they had ridden through the congested streets to the principal inn, The Agrippa, recently built by the Romans to accommodate three hundred guests. It was situated in the very heart of the city and crowded to capacity; but Mencius had a friend in the management and a room was found for them.

After an excellent supper, they strolled through the spacious, newly furnished foyer, where scores of opulently dressed Romans of self-assured and distinguished bearing stood in conversing groups or lounged in the richly upholstered chairs and divans. This unfamiliar view of flamboyant wealth dazzled Voldi’s senses. He wasn’t quite sure whether he was infatuated or infuriated. Every man in sight was extravagantly garbed and groomed. The air was heavy with pomades. Jewels flashed on well-kept hands. It was true then: the Romans were not only men of the world, they were the important, the impressive men of the world! It belonged to them—there could be no doubt of that!

Voldi’s memory—which he suspected of something like disloyalty—rolled back for a glimpse of King Zendi and his Council, carelessly clad in their unadorned burnouses; grave, hard-muscled men who despised ostentation. How their thin, haughty nostrils would have flared in contempt of this gaudy show! But—wasn’t it costing Arabia a pretty penny to maintain that attitude of scorn for prosperous people? Voldi wondered whether proud poverty wasn’t, in the long run, more expensive property than ropes of pearls.

Suddenly a tall, handsome, close-cropped Roman—on the left breast of whose scarlet tunic the imperial black eagle was appliquéd—detached himself from a small party of friends and came forward beaming a welcome.

‘Nick! You’re here at last! The gods be praised for your safe arrival! I was getting anxious.’

They clapped their hands on each other’s shoulders.

‘Why anxious, Tony? I’m not late. This was the day.’

‘No, you’re not late. But my distinguished passengers showed up this afternoon, hours before I expected them, and who knows when they might decide to sail! The wishes of Her Highness are never predictable…I hope you’ve attended to all your business—and are ready to be off at a moment’s notice.’