Antipas was waiting for assistance and reinforcements from the Romans, but as Vitellius, the Governor of Syria, had not yet arrived, he was consumed with impatience and anxiety.  Perhaps Agrippa had ruined his cause with the Emperor, he thought.  Philip, his third brother, sovereign of Batania, was arming himself clandestinely.  The Jews were becoming intolerant of the tetrarch’s idolatries; he knew that many were weary of his rule; and he hesitated now between adopting one of two projects:  to conciliate the Arabs and win back their allegiance, or to conclude an alliance with the Parthians.  Under the pretext of celebrating his birthday, he had planned to bring together, at a grand banquet, the chiefs of his troops, the stewards of his domains, and the most important men from the region about Galilee.

Antipas threw a keen glance along all the roads leading to Machaerus.  They were deserted.  Eagles were sweeping through the air high above his head; the soldiers of the guard, placed at intervals along the ramparts, slept or dozed, leaning against the walls; all was silent within the castle.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a distant voice, seeming to come from the very depths of the earth.  His cheek paled.  After an instant’s hesitation, he leaned far over the balcony railing, listening intently, but the voice had died away.  Presently it rose again upon the quiet air; Antipas clapped his hands together loudly, crying:  “Mannaeus!  Mannaeus!”

Instantly a man appeared, naked to the waist, after the fashion of a masseur at the bath.  Although emaciated, and somewhat advanced in years, he was a giant in stature, and on his hip he wore a cutlass in a bronze scabbard.  His bushy hair, gathered up and held in place by a kind of comb, exaggerated the apparent size of his massive head.  His eyes were heavy with sleep, but his white teeth shone, his step was light on the flagstones, and his body had the suppleness of an ape, although his countenance was as impassive as that of a mummy.

“Where is he?” demanded the tetrarch of this strange being.

Mannaeus made a movement over his shoulder with his thumb, saying: 

“Over there—­still there!”

“I thought I heard him cry out.”

And Antipas, after drawing a deep breath, asked for news of Iaokanann, afterwards known as St. John the Baptist.  Had he been allowed to see the two men who had asked permission to visit his dungeon a few days before, and since that time, had any one discovered for what purpose the men desired to see him?

“They exchanged some strange words with him,” Mannaeus replied, “with the mysterious air of robbers conspiring at the cross-roads.  Then they departed towards Upper Galilee, saying that they were the bearers of great tidings.”

Antipas bent his head for a moment; then raising it quickly, said in a tone full of alarm: 

“Guard him! watch him well!  Do not allow any one else to see him.  Keep the gates shut and the entrance to the dungeon closed fast.  It must not even be suspected that he still lives!”