a surmise that he himself might be exiled, or that perhaps his throat
would be cut.

Herodias, who now treated him with a kind of disdainful indulgence,
tried to reassure him. At last she took from a small casket a curious
medallion, ornamented with a profile of Tiberius. The sight of it, she
said, as she gave it to Antipas, would make the lictors turn pale and
silence all accusing voices.

Antipas, filled with gratitude, asked her how the medallion had come
into her possession.

"It was given to me," was her only answer.

At that moment Antipas beheld a bare arm slipping through a portiere
hanging in front of him. It was the arm of a youthful woman, as graceful
in outline as if carved from ivory by Polyclitus. With a movement a
little awkward and at the same time charming, it felt about the wall an
instant, as if seeking something, then took down a tunic hanging upon a
hook near the doorway, and disappeared.

An elderly female attendant passed quietly through the room, lifted the
portiere, and went out. A sudden recollection pierced the memory of the
tetrarch.

"Is that woman one of thy slaves?" he asked.

"What matters that to thee?" was the disdainful reply.