Chapter 14

But Voldi, unfortunately, would not be coming.

It had not occurred to him, so courteously had he been treated during his brief stop in Caesarea, when on his way to Tiberias in Galilee, that his association with Proconsul Mencius had accounted for the freedom he had enjoyed there.

Now that he had returned, alone, it was natural that the authorities should take a fresh interest in his movements. He was cordially welcomed at The Domus Agrippa and given the best of accommodations; but when, in reply to their query about the probable length of his stay, he informed them that he wanted to remain until spring, the management felt obliged to report; for the Prefect’s office had an active curiosity to learn what manner of business in Caesarea required the attention of foreign visitors.

Routine inquiries would have been made into the affairs of any Arabian, however insignificant he might be. But Voldi was conspicuous. He had the air of a person of privilege, he was well-dressed, he rode a valuable horse and the horse’s trappings were mounted with silver. He had plenty of money. But he had no business acquaintances—and no business.

And so it was that on the third day after his arrival, Voldi received a polite note requesting him to call at the Prefect’s office in the Praetorium. The interview, with no less a personage than Prefect Sergius himself, began cordially enough but soon settled down to serious business. The Captain of the Praetorian Guard was called in as an observer, and a scholarly young amanuensis began taking notes. The Prefect’s queries were courteous enough to befit an examination of a foreign nobleman, it having been already established that the guest was the grandson of Mishma, the King of Arabia’s Chief Councillor.

It would please the Prefect to know what errand had brought the young Arabian to Caesarea and whom he had come to see, and anything else that he wanted to say about his purposes.

Not having expected this inquisition, Voldi had made no preparation for it, and the story he hastily contrived was not very convincing to the shrewd old Roman, who had heard—and told—enough lies to be able to recognize one that had been so casually extemporized.

‘So—you went to Tiberias to examine some ancient manuscripts belonging to the Tetrarch,’ said Sergius dryly, ‘but you were already aware that the Tetrarch was not in residence. Now, what led you to believe that you might be welcome in His Grace’s absence?’

Voldi, appropriately embarrassed, explained that he had come a very long way to see these scrolls, that they really belonged in a museum available to the general public; adding that Lysias, the steward, had shown him every courtesy.

The old Prefect sniffed cynically and drawled, ‘Your interest in ancient literature must be profound, sir. No one has ever confided to me that the men of your country have shown so much concern for learning. You say these scrolls you went to see are reputed to have belonged to Aristotle. How many Arabians are conversant with the writings of Aristotle? I’ll wager that even your King Zendi doesn’t know enough Greek to bid the time o’ day to the Governor of Petra.’