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alone have no slave markets—and it is forbidden to have a block for the sale of men or women. In our law, if a master strikes a slave, the slave can claim his freedom; among civilized people, it is different—and therefore we watched with interest this first manifestation of the character of the new warden.
    His mercenaries pushed us back with their spears, and in the circle of space they made, Apelles strutted a bit and then struck an attitude. He drew in his chin, pushed out his stomach, and placed his feet wide, his hands clasped behind him. He licked his lips and then spoke—in lisping Aramaic with the high-pitched tones of a capon.
    â€œWhat village is this?” he asked. “This is a foul place—what village is it?”
    No one answered him, and he took out a lace handkerchief and passed it delicately under his nostrils. “Jews,” he lisped. “I detest the smell of Jews, the look of them, the air of them—and the pride of them, filthy, bearded beasts. To make it plain, I repeat, I do not like Jews. And you—” pointing a fat forefinger at David, the twelve-year-old son of Moses ben Simon. “What is this place called?”
    â€œModin,” the boy answered.
    â€œWho is the Adon?” he snapped.
    My father stepped forward and stood silently, wrapped in his striped cloak and his enormous dignity, his arms folded, his hawklike face utterly expressionless. “Are you the Adon?” Apelles demanded querulously. “Hundreds of stinking villages and hundreds of head men—Adons, the lord of this and the lord of that!” His sarcasm almost whined. “What is your name? You do have a name, don’t you?”
    â€œMy name is Mattathias ben John ben Simon,” the Adon replied in his deep, ringing voice, deepening it even further to contrast the squeak of the capon.
    â€œThree generations.” Apelles nodded. “Was there ever a Jew, whether he be the dirtiest, meanest beggar or slave, who couldn’t reel off three or six or twenty generations of his ancestry?”
    â€œUnlike some folk,” my father said softly, “we know who our fathers are.” And Apelles stepped forward and slapped him full in the face.
    The Adon didn’t move, but a cry, almost of anguish, came out of our people, and Judas, standing beside me, lurched forward. I caught him and stopped him, and the leveled spears stopped the others. It was only the beginning of my acquaintance with Apelles, but already I was recognizing that sick and perverted lust for blood that made so many wardens turn so many Jewish villages into shambles.
    â€œI don’t like insolence and I don’t like disobedience,” Apelles said. “I am warden and my duty is to spread through and among your benighted people some understanding and some appreciation of that noble and free culture that has made the name of Greece synonymous with civilization. It is hardly likely that the West will ever understand the East, or the East the West, but for the sake of mankind in general, certain attempts must be made. Naturally, this costs money, and the money will be forthcoming. I don’t want to be a hard master. I am a just man, and justice will be the rule. However, the representatives of the King must walk in safety; we cannot have it otherwise. Pericles did not walk into a cloud and vanish. Pericles was murdered, and that murder cannot go unavenged. Each village will have to share a degree of the responsibility. Thus will law and order be established throughout the land, and thus will peace and security prevail.”
    He paused, passed the handkerchief under his nose, and suddenly called out:
    â€œJason!”
    The captain of the mercenaries, dirty and sweating under his brass armor, strutted up.
    â€œAny one of them,” Apelles lisped.
    The captain of the mercenaries walked along the line of villagers. He stopped opposite Deborah, daughter of Lebel the schoolmaster.