The City of Delight

There was so much challenge in his manner that Julian accepted it. He

reached into his tunic and drew forth a pair of dice.

"We will play for her," he said.

The Maccabee put the tesserae aside.

"We will not use them," he said. "I know them to be cogged. Let us

have the judgment of a coin."

A bronze coin of Agrippa was produced. Julian in getting at his purse

brushed against the sleeping girl and as the pair glanced at her

before they tossed, her large eyes opened full in Julian's face. A

moment, almost breathless for the two, and terror flared up in her

eyes. She started up, but Julian's hand dropped on her.

"Peace, Phryne!" he said.

She shrank from his touch, literally into the arms upon which

Philadelphus rested his weight. She looked up into his eyes, and saw

them soften with a smile, and moved no farther. Philadelphus took the

coin.

"Let Vespasian decide for me," he said.

"For me Fortunatus," said Julian.

Philadelphus filliped the coin and flung out a strong and fending hand

against his fellow covering it. Under the brightening day, the

lowering profile of the old plebeian emperor Vespasian showed

distinctly on the newly minted bronze.

Julian made a sharp menacing sound, and with clenched hands rose on

his knees. But Philadelphus looked at him steadily, half-amused at the

implied threat, half-inviting its fulfilment, and under his gaze,

Julian rose slowly and drew away. Philadelphus tossed the coin after

him. His cousin picked it up and put it in his purse.

[Illustration: Philadelphus looked down upon his prize.] Philadelphus looked down at his prize.

She had not flinched from him when she had found him beside her, with

Julian threatening her. But now her wide open eyes fixed upon his

brimmed with an agony of appeal. Innocent of the world's wickedness,

she could only sense supreme peril in this mysterious game without

understanding the stake. Momus was not in sight--dead for all she

knew--and the desert was an ally against her. Over her, now, bent a

face characteristic of a great spirit, yet one which was coeval with

the times--times of violence and the supremacy of force. His lips were

thin, the contour of his face angular at the jaw, the nose straight

and long, his brows black and low over dark blue eyes of a fathomless

depth, the forehead strongly molded, and marked with deep

perpendicular lines between the eyes. He was dark, heavy-haired,

young, lean, broad and of fine height even as he knelt beside her.

Laodice did not note any of these things. She was only conscious of

the immense power her terror and her helplessness had to combat. Back

of all this iron selfishness, she hoped that somewhere was a

gentleness, even if inert and useless. All her strength was

concentrated in the effort to bring it to life.