d listen, he turned to a
passing eunuch and caught him by the arm--"Jeshua does more; he works
miracles, and not with the cnyza either."

The eunuch eluded him and escaped. However, he would not be balked; he
stood up and, through the din, he shouted at the little man:

"Baba Barbulah, I tell you he is the Messiah!"

His voice was so loud it dominated the hubbub, and suddenly the hubbub
ceased.

From the dais Pontius Pilate listened indifferently. Antipas held his
hands behind his ears that he might hear the better. The emir paid no
attention at all. On his head was a conical turban; about it were loops of
sapphire and coils of pearl. He wore a vest with scant sleeves that
reached to the knuckles, and trousers that overhung the instep and fell in
wide wrinkles on his feet; both were of leopard-skin. Over the vest was a
sleeveless tunic, clasped at the shoulders and girt at the waist. His hair
was long, plentifully oiled; his beard was bushy, blue-black, and specked
with silver.

Mary had approached. From the lessening waist to the slender feet her
dress opened at either side. Beneath was a chemise of transparent
Bactrianian tissue. From girdle to armpits were little clasps; on her
ankles, bands; and above the elbow, on her bare white arm, two circlets of
emeralds from the mines of Djebel Zabur.

The emir spoke to her. She listened with a glimpse of the most beautiful
teeth in the world. He put out a hand tentatively and touched her: the
tissue of her garment crackled and emitted sparks. He raised a goblet to
her. The wine it held was yellower than the marigold. She brushed it with
her lips; he drank it off, then, refreshed, he looked her up and down.

In one hand she held a cup of horn, narrower at the top than at the end;
in it were dice made of the knee-joints of gazelles, and these she rattled
in his beard.

"That beautiful Sultan, will he play?"

With an ochre-tipped finger she pointed at the turban on his head. The
eyes of the emir vacillated. He undid a string of gems and placed them on
the table's edge. Mary unclasped a coil of emeralds and rattled the dice
again. She held the cup high up, then spilled the contents out.

"Ashtaroth!" the emir cried. He had won.

Mary leaned forward, fawned upon his breast, and gazed into his face. Her
breath had the fragrance of his own oasis, her lips were moist as the
pomegranate's pulp, her teeth as keen as his own desire.

"No, beautiful Sultan, it is I." With t