“Do not neglect me to-night as you did at Antioch,” she said half-jestingly, and then giving him a witching glance she passed on, with Florus, to her place at the banquet. While the procurator reclined at full length upon the triclinium, Berenice sat erect beside him, for the posture assumed by men at the banquet was deemed unbecoming in women. Crispus and Rufus had places assigned them at the triclinium adjoining that of Florus, and upon the same couch with them reclined a shrewd-looking, keen-eyed man, who, so Rufus informed Crispus, went by the name of Tertullus, and was a distinguished forensic orator. “Mark well his noble name,” said Rufus, laughingly. “Tertullus, thrice-Tully! What could be more suitable for an orator? Take my advice, Crispus,” continued he, “if you have a lawsuit while at Cæsarea, fail not to employ my friend Tertullus, who never undertook a case he did not win.” “Save once,” corrected Tertullus. “Paul of Tarsus escaped the stoning we had marked out for him.” “Ah! I am forgetting him. The dog, it seems, is a Roman citizen. He appealed to Nero, who let him off.” “And what was the result?” commented Tertullus. “A few months later Rome was in flames, lit by the hands of his disciples. The wretches! Haters of mankind! I know of only one class of men more vile than they, and that is the sect of the Zealots, whose latest victim I am.” “How mean you?” asked Rufus. “Have you not heard? No? Well, a few days ago I was journeying from Jericho to the Jewish capital. Knowing the state of the country, I traveled in the company of an armed caravan that was going the same way. We took a long circuit northwards to avoid the dreaded Pass of Adummim; all to no purpose. Manahem and his Zealots, like vultures scenting their quarry afar, swooped down upon us. I was one of the few that escaped. When is Florus going to dispatch an expedition against that robber crew?” “Did you lose aught?” “Some gold plate, and--what I treasured above all earthly things--a myrrhine vase, so precious that I weep when I think of it.” “Don’t think of it, then,” said Rufus. “Turn to a more pleasant theme, the Princess Berenice. She looks more charming and more youthful than ever to-night. Now, how old should you take her to be?” he continued, addressing Crispus. “Not much past twenty,” he hazarded. Rufus laughed pleasantly. “Why, ’tis sixteen years ago since she married Polemo. She cannot be a day younger than thirty-eight.” Crispus was surprised to hear it. “There is many a young girl here to-night,” said he, “who looks older than the princess.” “Berenice takes extreme pains to preserve her beauty,” remarked Rufus. “’Tis said that, like Poppæa, she bathes daily in asses’ milk to render her skin soft and supple.”