Laodice sat very still and listened. There was enough similarity in
this story to interest her.
The Maccabee, seeing that he had made an impression with this
deception and feeling somehow a relief in making it, went on,
delighted with his deceit.
"He has not seen her since he married her in his childhood, but he
knows full well how she will look when he meets her."
Surprise paralyzed Laodice. Was the smiling and dangerous companion of
this man, her husband?
The Maccabee, meanwhile, deliberately remarked her charms and
recounted their antithesis in making up a picture of the woman he
expected to meet as his wife.
"She will, according to his expectations, be meager and thin, not
plump! Thoughtful women and women with a purpose are never plump! And
she will be black and pale, all eyes, with a nose which is not the
noble nose of our race. She will be religious and it will not make her
happy. She will realize her value to her husband and he will not be
permitted to forget it. She will be ambitious and full of schemes. She
will be the larger part of his family, though by the balance she will
weigh not so much as an omer of barley."
Laodice got upon her feet in her agitation and raised her veil to
stare at this slander. Was this a picture of herself she heard? The
Maccabee was enjoying himself uncommonly.
"She will wear the garments of a queen, but--how little a slip of
silver tissue will become her!"
Laodice looked down in alarm at her gleaming garment, and reached for
her mantle. The Maccabee had no idea how much pleasure he was to
derive in making his own story, Julian's. He continued, almost
recklessly, now.
"Small wonder that he is so delinquent in the wilderness, with such
square-shouldered righteousness awaiting him in town! Forgive him,
lady, for his iniquities now, for he will be a good man after he
reaches Jerusalem; by my soul, you may be sure he will be good!"
Laodice gasped under the pressure of astonishment and indignation. It
was bad enough to be pictured thus unprepossessing, but to be suddenly
made aware of her husband in a man whom she feared, was desperate. She
stared with frank and horrified eyes at her tormentor.
"But--but--" she stammered.
"True," he sighed. "One can not know what calamity forces another into
misdeeds. Now were I my unfortunate friend, perhaps I should afflict
you with my hunger for sweetness also."
And that smooth, insinuating, violent pagan was Philadelphus
Maccabaeus! But what had her father said of him, as a child? "Quick in
temper, resourceful, aye, even shifty, stubborn, cold in heart, hard
to please!" And to this man she must present herself, late, penniless
and unhelpful. Panic seized her! How could she go on to Jerusalem!