Chapter 2

‘You will find on the barge a young, well-born Greek slave, whom I bought yesterday at considerable cost. She is your personal property. I hope you will take her with you. She reads, writes, and speaks Greek fluently. In addition to her other duties, perhaps she will teach my little daughter a more graceful language than the crude imitation of Aramaic that is spoken in Arabia.’

Arnon flushed a little.

‘Whether our language is crude or not,’ she retorted, ‘depends on who speaks it! And—I want no parting gift from you.’

‘As you like,’ said Antipas indifferently. ‘The Greek slave will be on the barge, and she is your property. If you do not want her—pitch her overboard.’

The Prince did not appear when the ship sailed. Arnon had not expected him, and was not disappointed. At the last minute before the hawsers were hauled aboard, Philip arrived in a surprisingly happy mood. He led her a little way apart on the afterdeck for a final word.

‘This is a good day for you,’ he said gaily—’and for me too! You are going home to people who love you, freed from everything that has made your life unpleasant.’

‘And you?’ queried Arnon.

‘I too am free! Herodias has informed me that she and my brother want to be married; and would I divorce her. Would I? I do not often move with so much alacrity. And I am sailing in a week, for Sicily.’

‘How fortunate you are, Philip,’ said Arnon. ‘I do hope you will be contented there. I shall often think of you—in your garden.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The Prince may have told you that he is divorcing me.’

Philip nodded.

‘I was gratified and a bit surprised that Antipas found the courage to tell you himself. My brother has always disliked to admit that he is a scoundrel.’

After farewells were said and the ship had cast off, Arnon was conducted to her commodious cabin, where an uncommonly bright and pretty young woman, of nearly her own age, was unpacking her boxes. She had quite forgotten about the slave. The girl made a deep curtsey, with eyes timidly averted, and continued with her task.

‘I am told that you belong to me,’ said Arnon kindly. ‘What is your name?’

‘Ione, Your Highness,’ said the girl, with another obsequious curtsey.

‘You may address me as “Princess Arnon”—and you need not curtsey. Are you a good sailor?’

‘I do not know, Princess Arnon.’

‘But this is not your first voyage?’

‘No, Princess Arnon. I was brought to Rome from Piraeus in a slave-ship when I was only ten, but we were crowded down deep in the hold, where it was always dark and there was no air. I was very sick, all the time. Perhaps I may do better if—’

‘If you are allowed to breathe,’ assisted Arnon. ‘We will see to that.’ She smiled reassuringly, and the girl’s eyes softened. ‘It will be a long voyage,’ she added. ‘I am taking you to Arabia.’

‘I am glad, Princess Arnon,’ murmured Ione.

‘You are not sorry to leave Rome? You will not be homesick?’

‘I have no home, Princess Arnon. I am glad to leave Rome. I shall be happy in Arabia.’

‘But you were never in Arabia,’ said Arnon, amused.

‘No, Princess Arnon,’ said Ione, ‘but I know I shall be happy—if you are there.’

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