The Silver Chalice by Thomas B. Costain Page B

in years. He had a kind and understanding eye but with enough of an air of resolution to make it clear that he was not one to be imposed upon. For his part, he gave a quick glance about the small shop, noting the cheapness of most of the things for sale, the oriental masks, the daggers and bronze swords, the incense lamps, the jewel boxes from the desert country. Then he allowed his eyes to rest on the owner and his wife, studying them with great care.
    “I must ask some questions,” he said. “You have in your household one Basil, a worker in silver and gold. I understand he made himself, without aid or suggestion, a figure of Athena, which was sold to the Greek banker Jabez, who is a collector of works of art. This is true?”
    Sosthene was on the point of answering, but his wife’s sharp elbow nudged him into silence. “Yes,” she said. “He is a slave and our property. He made the figure.”
    “And the silver vase with the head of Theseus in relief, which one of the magistrates in the city is fortunate enough to possess?”
    “That also was of his fashioning.”
    “And the plaque with moonstones, which a Jewish merchant bought from you as a gift for his wife?”
    Eulalia nodded. “He designed the plaque. Is there something you want him to make for you? We can promise that you will be more than satisfied.”
    The visitor continued his study of them, one hand smoothing the strands of his long silky beard. “It is not the work of his hands I desire tobuy from you,” he said finally. “It is his freedom. I come to offer you any reasonable amount you may name.”
    The woman of the house indulged in a cackling laugh. “The sum would be beyond your means, old man. My husband and I have our own idea of the value of this slave. It is high—very, very high.”
    There was a nod of agreement from the visitor. “The price might be fixed at a high figure if you had nothing in the future to consider. But what of tomorrow? Will it be high then, or the day after? You must be aware that—that this young man who is called Basil may have no value at all if you wait that long.”
    At this point Sosthene projected himself into the discussion. “The years have made you addled in the head,” he declared roughly. A sense of resentment took possession of him. “What is your purpose, dotard, in coming to us with such talk? Do you count us as stupid as the partridge that can be run down and clubbed to death? You are too well seasoned for such joking!”
    “I know the price you paid for the boy.” The visitor was speaking now in tones so low that no ears beyond the confines of the stiflingly hot room could have heard him. “Linus made it low purposely because it was his thought to put more shame on the victim of his plotting. He is sorry now that he sold the young man at any price. Why? Because he wants nothing so much as to have his victim removed from his path. He will never feel secure as long as Basil is alive. He is powerful and the law nods at his say-so.” There was a moment of silence. The visitor waited just long enough to let the full significance of what he had said sink deep into their selfish and acquisitive minds. “If the young man were killed tonight—or the day after—what compensation would Linus pay you? Would you dare go to law, thereby accusing him of murder? Or would you be wise enough to accept your loss and do nothing?”
    The silence remained unbroken. The old man was conscious of the deep breathing of his two auditors and the conflict of fear and cupidity in their eyes.
    “This may be stated as truth,” he went on. “If the boy remains within reach of the agents of Linus, he will not be alive a week from today.”
    “What knowledge do you have that you speak so boldly?” asked Eulalia in a whisper.
    “I am one who has no desire to see Linus succeed in his purpose. Need we probe any deeper?” The visitor glanced about him again and then took a seat at one end of the table where during the day