John looked at her for a long time.

“Amaryllis veils thee in the enchantment of mystery.  I think she is tired of me and would have me interested in another woman.  She does all things well.  Who art thou, in truth?”

The Greek lifted her head and gazed with overt anxiety at the girl; Philadelphus turned toward her uneasily.  Here was an opportunity for Laodice either as a disappointed adventuress or as a supplanted wife, to take revenge by exposing this pair of conspirators pledged to undermine the Gischalan.  But the girl had no such thought.

“I am Laodice,” she said unreadily.  “What history I have belongs to another.  What future shall be mine depends on others.  I wait.”

“If you mean to throw me off, Amaryllis, I shall not miss you,” said John.

The Greek smiled and plucking Philadelphus’ sleeve led both men away.

“Do not commit yourself,” she said to John, “there is yet another woman under this roof.  You shall have a choice.”

They disappeared in the direction of her hall.

Laodice, stunned, amazed and shaken, stood still.  The stock of her troubles amounted to a sum of such magnitude that she could not grasp it clearly.  The entire structure which her life training and all her purposes, the hope of her house and her husband’s, the future of Judea and the King to come, had constituted, had been attacked and threatened to crumble and be swept away in a few hours’ time.

Out of the wreck she rescued one hope.  Momus would return from the west with proofs in a few days’ time—­only a few days!

Chapter XI

THE HOUSE OF OFFENSE

On his way to the oaken door that was for ever double-barred, in that small hall which led to the apartments of Amaryllis’ corps of artists, Philadelphus met Salome, the actress.  He would have passed her without a word, but the woman, armed with the nettle of a small triumph over the man who held her in contempt, could not forbear piercing him as he passed.

“Hieing away to excite your disappointment further?” she said.  “Has the forlorn lady convinced you, yet, that she is indeed your wife?”

“Had I that two hundred talents, I would confess her!” he declared.

“Cruel obstacle!  But that two hundred talents is locked away safely, out of your reach.  Why do you not run away with this pretty creature?”

Philadelphus glowered at her.

“I have been known to make way with those who stood in my way,” he declared.

“I sleep with my door locked,” she answered, “and I ever face you.  I need never be afraid, therefore.”

For a moment he was silent, while she sensed that overweening hate and menace which charged the air about him.

“It is not all as it should be,” he said finally.  “You are not rid of me.  I shall stay.”

“You should,” she responded comfortably.  “You are a show of domesticity which lends color to our claim of wedded state.  But you may go or stay.  As usual, you are not essential.”