Chapter 2

Mark Varus continued to drag her about in a manner that made it difficult to maintain any dignity at all, as if he were exhibiting a blooded colt, pinioning her arm tightly under his, while he gaily shouted greetings to new arrivals. Arnon turned about to look for Antipas, but he was lost in the crowd; probably had forgotten her.

Presently an elaborate dinner was served, the guests lounging languidly on an elbow in the deep upholstery of divans drawn close together about a long table. Mark, seated next to Arnon, was most attentive, embarrassingly attentive, finding frequent occasion to bend over her in an effort to serve her plate personally with some delicacy. She instinctively drew away from these intimate contacts; and Mark’s ardour, after a few unmistakable rebuffs, suddenly cooled. Turning from her, he attempted to attract the attention of Herodias on the other side, but finding her wholly preoccupied with Antipas, he laboriously resumed his attention to the Arabian Princess, scolding her gently for her abstinence. Arnon tried to explain that it was not a custom among her people to drink intoxicants. Sometimes, she said, their men had a glass of wine, but it was not considered suitable for an Arabian woman to drink at all.

Philip, who was seated next to her, overheard the conversation and leaned forward to remark that one was expected to drink deeply at Roman banquets.

‘It annoys half-drunken people,’ he went on drolly, ‘to talk to anybody who remains sober. It embarrasses them. That’s why Varus presses you to imbibe, Princess Arnon. He means it well enough. He is your host—and he wants you to be a social success.’

Mark listened with a frown, but made no comment.

‘And I won’t be a success—unless I’m a little bit drunk?’ inquired Arnon.

‘Well,’ drawled Philip, with a chuckle, ‘that’s one way of saying it—but I never heard it put so briefly and clearly before.’

He caught Mark’s eye and was rewarded with a scowl and a shrug.

‘I’m afraid I am not going to like it very well—in Rome,’ murmured Arnon. It was some time before Philip commented on that. Regarding her soberly, he said, ‘No—you couldn’t. My brother should not have brought you here. You are of a texture much too fine to be soiled with this degradation.’

For an instant Arnon searched Philip’s eyes, suspecting that he was taunting her, but found him seriously sincere.

‘Perhaps you too would be happier—somewhere else,’ she said.

‘Anywhere else,’ he replied.

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