THE JUDGMENT OF DOMITIAN
Two hours had gone by and Caleb, with fury in his heart, sat brooding
in the office attached to the warehouse that he had hired. At that
moment he had but one desire—to kill his successful rival, Marcus.
Marcus had escaped and returned to Rome; of that there could be no
doubt. He, one of the wealthiest of its patricians, had furnished the
vast sum which enabled old Nehushta to buy the coveted Pearl-Maiden in
the slave-ring. Then his newly acquired property had been taken to this
house, where he awaited her. This then was the end of their long
rivalry; for this he, Caleb, had fought, toiled, schemed and suffered.
Oh! rather than such a thing should be, in that dark hour of his soul,
he would have seen her cast to the foul Domitian, for Domitian, at
least, she would have hated, whereas Marcus, he knew, she loved.
Now there remained nothing but revenge. Revenged he must be, but how?
He might dog Marcus and murder him, only then his own life would be
hazarded, since he knew well the fate that awaited the foreigner, and
most of all the Jew, who dared to lift his hand against a Roman noble,
and if he hired others to do the work they might bear evidence against
him. Now Caleb did not wish to die; life seemed the only good that he
had left. Also, while he lived he might still win Miriam—after his
rival had ceased to live. Doubtless, then she would be sold with his
other slaves, and he could buy her at the rate such tarnished goods
command. No, he would do nothing to run himself into danger. He would
wait, wait and watch his opportunity.
It was near at hand, for of old as to-day the king of evil was ever
ready to aid those who called upon him with sufficient earnestness.
Indeed, even as Caleb sat there in his office, there came a knock upon
the door.
“Open!” he cried savagely, and through it entered a small man with
close-cropped hair and a keen, hard face which seemed familiar to him.
Just now, however, that face was somewhat damaged, for one of the eyes
had been blackened and a wound upon the temple was strapped with
plaster. Also its owner walked lame and continually twitched his
shoulders as though they gave him uneasiness. The stranger opened his
lips to speak, and Caleb knew him at once. He was the chamberlain of
Domitian who had been outbid by Nehushta in the slave ring.
“Greeting, noble Saturius,” he said. “Be seated, I pray, for it seems
to pain you to stand.”
“Yes, yes,” answered the chamberlain, “still I had rather stand. I met
with an accident last night, a most unpleasant accident,” and he
coughed as though to cover up some word that leapt to his lips. “You
also, worthy Demetrius—that is your name, is it not?” he added, eyeing
him keenly—“look as though you had not slept well.”
“No,” answered Caleb, “I also met with an accident—oh! nothing that you
can see—a slight internal injury which is, I fear, likely to prove
troublesome. Well, noble Saturius, how can I—serve you? Anything in the
way of Eastern shawls, for instance?”
“I thank you, friend, no. I come to speak of shoulders, not shawls,”
and he twitched his own—“women’s shoulders, I mean. A remarkably fine
pair for their size had that Jewish captive, by the way, in whom you
seemed to take an interest last night—to the considerable extent indeed
of fourteen hundred sestertia.”
“Yes,” said Caleb, “they were well shaped.”
Then followed a pause.
“Perhaps as I am a busy man,” suggested Caleb presently, “you would not
mind coming to the point.”
“Certainly, I was but waiting for your leave. As you may have heard, I
represent a very noble person——”
“Who, I think, took an interest in the captive to the extent of fifteen
hundred sestertia,” suggested Caleb.
“Quite so—and whose interest unfortunately remains unabated, or rather,
I should say, that it is transferred.”
“To the gentleman whose deep feeling induced him to provide five
hundred more?” queried Caleb.
“Precisely. What intuition you have! It is a gift with which the East
endows her sons.”
“Suppose you put the matter plainly, worthy Saturius.”
“I will, excellent Demetrius. The great person to whom I have alluded
was so moved when he heard of his loss that he actually burst into
tears, and even reproached me, whom he loves more dearly than his
brother——”
“He might easily do that, if all reports are true,” said Caleb, drily,
adding, “Was it then that you met with your accident?”
“It was. Overcome at the sight of my royal master’s grief, I fell
down.”
“Into a well, I suppose, since you managed to injure your eye, your
back, and your leg all at once. There—I understand—these things will
happen—in the households of the Great where the floors are so slippery
that the most wary feet may slide. But that does not console the
sufferer whose hurt remains, does it?”
“No,” answered Saturius with a snarl, “but until he is in a position to
relay the floors, he must find chalk for his sandals and ointment for
his back. I want the purchaser’s name, and thought perhaps that you
might have it, for the old woman has vanished, and that fool of an
auctioneer knows absolutely nothing.”
“Why do you want his name?”
“Because Domitian wants his head. An unnatural desire indeed that
devours him; still one which, to be frank, I find it important to
satisfy.”
Of a sudden a great light seemed to shine in Caleb’s mind, it was as
though a candle had been lit in a dark room.
“Ah!” he said. “And supposing I can show him how to get this head, even
how to get it without any scandal, do you think that in return he would
leave me the lady’s hand? You see I knew her in her youth and take a
brotherly interest in her.”
“Quite so, just like Domitian and the two thousand sestertia man and,
indeed, half the male population of Rome, who, when they saw her
yesterday were moved by the same family feeling. Well, I don’t see why
he shouldn’t. You see my master never cared for pearls that were not
perfectly white, or admired ladies upon whom report cast the slightest
breath of scandal. But he is of a curiously jealous disposition, and it
is, I think, the head that he requires, not the hand.”
“Had you not better make yourself clear upon the point before we go any
further?” asked Caleb. “Otherwise I do not feel inclined to undertake a
very difficult and dangerous business.”
“With pleasure. Now would you let me have your demands, in writing,
perhaps. Oh! of course, I understand—to be answered in writing.”
Caleb took parchment and pen and wrote:
“A free pardon, with full liberty to travel, live and trade throughout
the Roman empire, signed by the proper authorities, to be granted to
one Caleb, the son of Hilliel, for the part he took in the Jewish war.
“A written promise, signed by the person concerned, that if the head he
desires is put within his reach the Jewish slave named Pearl-Maiden
shall be handed over at once to Demetrius, the merchant of Alexandria,
whose property she shall become absolutely and without question.”
“That’s all,” he said, giving the paper to Saturius. “The Caleb spoken
of is a Jewish friend of mine to whom I am anxious to do a good turn,
without whose help and evidence I should be quite unable to perform my
share of the bargain. Being very shy and timid—his nerves were much
shattered during the siege of Jerusalem—he will not stir without this
authority, which, by the way, will require the signature of Titus
Cæsar, duly witnessed. Well, that is merely an offering to friendship;
of course _my_ fee is the reversion to the lady, whom I desire to
restore to her relations, who mourn her loss in Judæa.”
“Precisely—quite so,” replied Saturius. “Pray do not trouble to explain
further. I have always found those of Alexandria most excellent
merchants. Well, I hope to be back within two hours.”
“Mind you come alone. As I have told you, everything depends upon this
Caleb, and if he is in any way alarmed there is an end of the affair.
He only has a possible key to the mystery. Should it be lost your
patron will never get his head, and I shall never get my hand.”
“Oh! bid the timid Caleb have no fear. Who would wish to harm a dirty
Jewish deserter from his cause and people? Let him come out of his
sewer and look upon the sun. The Cæsars do not war with carrion rats.
Most worthy Demetrius, I go swiftly, as I hope to return again with all
you need.”
“Good, most noble Saturius, and for both our sakes—remember that the
palace floor is slippery, and do not get another fall, for it might
finish you.”
“I am in deep waters, but I think that I can swim well,” reflected
Caleb as the door closed behind his visitor. “At any rate it gives me a
chance who have no other, and that prince is playing for revenge, not
love. What can Miriam be to him beyond the fancy of an hour, of which a
thief has robbed him? Doubtless he wishes to kill the thief, but kings
do not care for faded roses, which are only good enough to weave the
chaplet of a merchant of Alexandria. So I cast for the last time, let
the dice fall as it is fated.”
Very shortly afterwards in the palace of Domitian the dice began to
fall. Humbly, most humbly, did that faithful chamberlain, Saturius, lay
the results of his mission before his august master, Domitian, who
suffering from a severe bilious attack that had turned his ruddy
complexion to a dingy yellow, and made the aspect of his pale eyes more
unpleasant than usual, was propped up among cushions, sniffing attar of
roses and dabbing vinegar water upon his forehead.
He listened indifferently to the tale of his jackal, until the full
meaning of the terms asked by the mysterious Eastern merchant
penetrated his sodden brain.
“Why,” he said, “the man wants Pearl-Maiden; that’s his share, while
mine is the life of the fellow who bought her, whoever he may be. Are
you still mad, man, that you should dare to lay such a proposal before
me? Don’t you understand that I need both the woman and the blood of
him who dared to cheat me out of her?”
“Most divine prince, I understand perfectly, but this fish is only
biting; he must be tempted or he will tell nothing.”
“Why not bring him here and torture him?”
“I have thought of that, but those Jews are so obstinate. While you
were twisting the truth out of him the other man would escape with the
girl. Much better promise everything he asks and then——”
“And then—what?”
“And then forget your promises. What can be simpler?”
“But he needs them in writing.”
“Let him have them in writing, my writing, which your divine self can
repudiate. Only the pardon to Caleb, who I suppose is this Demetrius
himself, can be signed by Titus. It will not affect you whether a Jew
more or less has the right to trade in the Empire, if thereby you can
win his services in an important matter. Then, when the time comes, you
can net both your unknown rival and the lady, leaving our friend
Demetrius to report the facts to her relatives in Judæa, for whom, as
he states, he is alone concerned.”
“Saturius,” said Domitian, growing interested, “you are not so foolish
as I thought you were. Decidedly that trouble last night has quickened
your wits. Be so good as to stop wriggling your shoulders, will you, it
makes me nervous, and I wish that you would have that eye of yours
painted. You know that I cannot bear the sight of black; it reminds me,
who am by nature joyous and light-hearted as a child, of melancholy
things. Now forge a letter for my, or rather for your signature,
promising the reversion of Pearl-Maiden to this Demetrius. Then bear my
greetings to Titus, begging his signature to an order granting the
desired privileges to one Caleb, a Jew who fought against him at
Jerusalem—with less success than I could have wished—whom I desire to
favour.”
Three hours later Saturius presented himself for the second time in the
office of the Alexandrian merchant.
“Most worthy Demetrius,” he said, “I congratulate you. Everything has
been arranged as you wish. Here is the order, signed by Titus and duly
witnessed, granting to you—I mean to your friend, Caleb—pardon for
whatever he may have done in Judæa, and permission to live and trade
anywhere that he may wish within the bounds of the Empire. I may tell
you that it was obtained with great difficulty, since Titus, worn out
with toil and glory, leaves this very day for his villa by the sea,
where he is ordered by his physicians to rest three months, taking no
part whatever in affairs. Does the document satisfy you?”
Caleb examined the signatures and seals.
“It seems to be in order,” he said.
“It is in order, excellent Demetrius. Caleb can now appear in the
Forum, if it pleases him, and lecture upon the fall of Jerusalem for
the benefit of the vulgar. Well, here also is a letter from the
divine—or rather the half divine—Domitian to yourself, Demetrius of
Alexandria, also witnessed by myself and sealed. It promises to you
that if you give evidence enabling him to arrest that miscreant who
dared to bid against him—no, do not be alarmed, the lady was not
knocked down to you—you shall be allowed to take possession of her or
to buy her at a reasonable valuation, not to exceed fifteen sestertia.
That is as much as she will fetch now in the open market. Are you
satisfied with this document?”
Caleb read and scrutinised the letter.
“The signatures of Domitian and of yourself as witness seem much
alike,” he remarked suspiciously.
“Somewhat,” replied Saturius, with an airy gesture. “In royal houses it
is customary for chamberlains to imitate the handwriting of their
imperial masters.”
“And their morals—no, they have none—their manners also,” commented
Caleb.
“At the least,” went on Saturius, “you will acknowledge the seals——”
“Which might be borrowed. Well, I will take the risk, for if there is
anything wrong about these papers I am sure that the prince Domitian
would not like to see them exhibited in a court of law.”
“Good,” answered Saturius, with a relief which he could not altogether
conceal. “And now for the culprit’s name.”
“The culprit’s name,” said Caleb, leaning forward and speaking slowly,
“is Marcus, who served as one of Titus Cæsar’s prefects of horse in the
campaign of Judæa. He bought the lady Miriam, commonly known as
Pearl-Maiden, by the agency of Nehushta, an old Libyan woman, who
conveyed her to his house in the Via Agrippa, which is known as the
‘Fortunate House,’ where doubtless, she now is.”
“Marcus,” said Saturius. “Why, he was reported dead, and the matter of
the succession to his great estates is now being debated, for he was
the heir of his uncle, Caius, the pro-consul, who amassed a vast
fortune in Spain. Also after the death of the said Caius, this Marcus
was a favourite of the late divine Nero, who constituted him guardian
of some bust of which he was enamoured. In short, he is a great man,
if, as you say, he still lives, whom even Domitian will find it hard to
meddle with. But how do you know all this?”
“Through my friend Caleb. Caleb followed the black hag, Nehushta, and
the beautiful Pearl-Maiden to the very house of Marcus, which he saw
them enter. Marcus who was her lover, yonder in Judæa——”
“Oh! never mind the rest of the story, I understand it all. But you
have not yet shown that Marcus was in the house, and if he was, bad
taste as it may have been to bid against the prince Domitian, well, at
a public auction it is lawful.”
“Ye—es, but if Marcus has committed a crime, could he not be punished
for that crime?”
“Without doubt. But what crime has Marcus committed?”
“The crime of being taken prisoner by the Jews and escaping from them
with his life, for which, by an edict of Titus, whose laws are those of
the Medes and Persians, the punishment is death, or at the least,
banishment and degradation.”
“Well, and who can prove all this?”
“Caleb can, because he took him prisoner.”
“And where,” asked Saturius in exasperation, “where is this thrice
accursed cur, Caleb?”
“Here,” answered Demetrius. “I am Caleb, O thrice blessed chamberlain,
Saturius.”
“Indeed,” said Saturius. “Well, that makes things more simple. And now,
friend Demetrius—you prefer that name, do you not—what do you propose?”
“I propose that the necessary documents should be procured, which, to
your master, will not be difficult; that Marcus should be arrested in
his house, put upon his trial and condemned under the edict of Titus,
and that the girl, Pearl-Maiden, should be handed over to me, who will
at once remove her from Rome.”
“Good,” said Saturius. “Titus having gone, leaving Domitian in charge
of military affairs, the thing, as it chances, is easy, though any
sentence that may be passed must be confirmed by Cæsar himself. And
now, again farewell. If our man is in Rome, he shall be taken to-night,
and to-morrow your evidence may be wanted.”
“Will the girl be handed over to me then?”
“I think so,” replied Saturius, “but of course I cannot say for
certain, as there may be legal difficulties in the way which would
hinder her immediate re-sale. However, you may rely upon me to do the
best I can for you.”
“It will be to your advantage,” answered Caleb significantly. “Shall we
say—fifty sestertia on receipt of the slave?”
“Oh! if you wish it, if you wish it, for gifts cement the hearts of
friends. On account? Well, to a man with many expenses, five sestertia
always come in useful. You know what it is in these palaces, so little
pay and so much to keep up. Thank you, dear Demetrius, I will give you
and the lady a supper out of the money—when you get her,” he added to
himself as he left the office.
When early on the following morning Caleb came to his warehouse from
the dwelling where he slept, he found waiting for him two men dressed
in the livery of Domitian, who demanded that he would accompany them to
the palace of the prince.
“What for?”
“To give evidence in a trial,” they said.
Then he knew that he had made no mistake, that his rival was caught,
and in the rage of his burning jealousy, such jealousy as only an
Eastern can feel, his heart bounded with joy. Still, as he trudged
onward through streets glittering in the morning sunlight, Caleb’s
conscience told him that not thus should this rival be overcome, that
he who went to accuse the brave Marcus of cowardice was himself a
coward, and that from the lie which he was about to act if not to
speak, could spring no fruit of peace or happiness. But he was mad and
blind. He could think only of Miriam—the woman whom he loved with all
his passionate nature and whose life he had preserved at the risk of
his own—fallen at last into the arms of his rival. He would wrench her
thence, yes, even at the price of his own honour and of her life-long
agony, and, if it might be, leave those arms cold in death, as often
already he had striven to do. When Marcus was dead perhaps she would
forgive him. At the least he would occupy his place. She would be his
slave, to whom, notwithstanding all that had been, he would give the
place of wife. Then, after a little while, seeing how good and tender
he was to her, surely she must forget this Roman who had taken her
girlish fancy and learn to love him.
Now they were passing the door of the palace. In the outer hall
Saturius met them and motioned to the slaves to stand back.
“So you have them,” said Caleb, eagerly.
“Yes, or to be exact, one of them. The lady has vanished.”
Caleb staggered back a pace.
“Vanished! Where?”
“I wish that I could tell you. I thought that perhaps you knew. At
least we found Marcus alone in his house, which he was about to leave,
apparently to follow Titus. But come, the court awaits you.”
“If she has gone, why should I come?” said Caleb, hanging back.
“I really don’t know, but you must. Here, slaves, escort this witness.”
Then seeing that it was too late to change his mind, Caleb waved them
back and followed Saturius. Presently they entered an inner hall,
lofty, but not large. At the head of it, clad in the purple robes of
his royal house, sat Domitian in a chair, while to his right and left
were narrow tables, at which were gathered five or six Roman officers,
those of Domitian’s own bodyguard, bare-headed, but arrayed in their
mail. Also there were two scribes with their tablets, a man dressed in
a lawyer’s robe, who seemed to fill the office of prosecutor, and some
soldiers on guard.
When Caleb entered, Domitian, who, notwithstanding his youthful, ruddy
countenance, looked in a very evil mood, was engaged in talking
earnestly to the lawyer. Glancing up, he saw him and asked:
“Is that the Jew who gives evidence, Saturius?”
“My lord, it is the man,” answered the chamberlain; “also the other
witness waits without.”
“Good. Then bring in the accused.”
There was a pause, till presently Caleb heard footsteps behind him and
looked round to see Marcus advancing up the hall with a proud and
martial air. Their eyes met, and for an instant Marcus stopped.
“Oh!” he said aloud, “the Jew Caleb. Now I understand.” Then he marched
forward and gave the military salute to the prince.
Domitian stared at him with hate in his pale eyes, and said carelessly:
“Is this the accused? What is the charge?”
“The charge is,” said the lawyer, “that the accused Marcus, a prefect
of horse serving with Titus Cæsar in Judæa, suffered himself to be
taken prisoner by the Jews when in command of a large body of Roman
troops, contrary to the custom of the army and to the edict issued by
Titus Cæsar at the commencement of the siege of Jerusalem. This edict
commanded that no soldier should be taken alive, and that any soldier
who was taken alive and subsequently rescued, or who made good his
escape, should be deemed worthy of death, or at the least of
degradation from his rank and banishment. My lord Marcus, do you plead
guilty to the charge?”
“First, I ask,” said Marcus, “what court is this before which I am put
upon my trial? If I am to be tried I demand that it shall be by my
general, Titus.”
“Then,” said the prosecutor, “you should have reported yourself to
Titus upon your arrival in Rome. Now he has gone to where he may not be
troubled, leaving the charge of military matters in the hands of his
Imperial brother, the Prince Domitian, who, with these officers, is
therefore your lawful judge.”
“Perhaps,” broke in Domitian with bitter malice, “the lord Marcus was
too much occupied with other pursuits on his arrival in Rome to find
time to explain his conduct to the Cæsar Titus.”
“I was about to follow him to do so when I was seized,” said Marcus.
“Then you put the matter off a little too long. Now you can explain it
here,” answered Domitian.
Then the prosecutor took up the tale, saying that it had been
ascertained on inquiry that the accused, accompanied by an old woman,
arrived in Rome upon horseback early on the morning of the Triumph;
that he went straight to his house, which was called “The House
Fortunate,” where he lay hid all day; that in the evening he sent out
the old woman and a slave carrying on their backs a great sum of gold
in baskets, with which gold he purchased a certain fair Jewish captive,
known as Pearl-Maiden, at a public auction in the Forum. This
Pearl-Maiden, it would seem, was taken to his house, but when he was
arrested on the morrow neither she nor the old woman were found there.
The accused, he might add, was arrested just as he was about to leave
the house, as he stated, in order to report himself to Titus Cæsar, who
had already departed from Rome. This was the case in brief, and to
prove it he called a certain Jew named Caleb, who was now living in
Rome, having received an amnesty given by the hand of Titus. This Jew
was now a merchant who traded under the name of Demetrius.
Then Caleb stood forward and told his tale. In answer to questions that
were put to him, he related how he was in command of a body of the Jews
which fought an action with the Roman troops at a place called the Old
Tower, a few days before the capture of the Temple. In the course of
this action he parleyed with a captain of the Romans, the Prefect
Marcus, who now stood before him, and at the end of the parley
challenged him to single combat. As Marcus refused the encounter and
tried to run away, he struck him on the back with the back of his
sword. Thereon a fight ensued in which he, the witness, had the
advantage. Being wounded, the accused let fall his sword, sank to his
knees and asked for mercy. The fray having now become general he,
Caleb, dragged his prisoner into the Old Tower and returned to the
battle.
When he went back to the Tower it was to find that the captive had
vanished, leaving in his place a lady who was known to the Romans as
Pearl-Maiden, and who was afterwards taken by them and exposed for sale
in the Forum, where she was purchased by an old woman whom he
recognised as her nurse. He followed the maiden, having bid for her and
being curious as to her destination, to a house in the Via Agrippa,
which he afterwards learned was the palace of the accused Marcus. That
was all he knew of the matter.
Then the prosecutor called a soldier, who stated that he had been under
the command of Marcus on the day in question. There he saw the Jew
leader, whom he identified with Caleb, at the conclusion of a parley
strike the accused, Marcus, on the back with the flat of his sword.
After this ensued a fight, in which the Romans were repulsed. At the
end of it, he saw their captain, Marcus, being led away prisoner. His
sword had gone and blood was running from the side of his head.
The evidence being concluded, Marcus was asked if he had anything to
say in defence.
“Much,” he answered proudly, “when I am given a fair trial. I desire to
call the men of my legion who were with me, none of whom I see here
to-day except that man who has given evidence against me, a rogue whom,
I remember, I caused to be scourged for theft, and dismissed his
company. But they are in Egypt, so how can I summon them? As for the
Jew, he is an old enemy of mine, who was guilty of murder in his youth,
and whom once I overcame in a duel in Judæa, sparing his life. It is
true that when my back was turned he struck me with his sword, and as I
flew at him smote me a blow upon the head, from the effects of which I
became senseless. In this state I was taken prisoner and lay for weeks
sick in a vault, in the care of some people of the Jews, who nursed me.
From them I escaped to Rome, desiring to report myself to Titus Cæsar,
my master. I appeal to Titus Cæsar.”
“He is absent and I represent him,” said Domitian.
“Then,” answered Marcus, “I appeal to Vespasian Cæsar, to whom I will
tell all. I am a Roman noble of no mean rank, and I have a right to be
tried by Cæsar, not by a packed court, whose president has a grudge
against me for private matters.”
“Insolent!” shouted Domitian. “Your appeal shall be laid before Cæsar,
as it must—that is, if he will hear it. Tell us now, where is that
woman whom you bought in the Forum, for we desire her testimony?”
“Prince, I do not know,” answered Marcus. “It is true that she came to
my house, but then and there I gave her freedom and she departed from
it with her nurse, nor can I tell whither she went.”
“I thought that you were only a coward, but it seems that you are a
liar as well,” sneered Domitian. Then he consulted with the officers
and added, “We judge the case to be proved against you, and for having
disgraced the Roman arms, when, rather than be taken prisoner, many a
meaner man died by his own hand, you are worthy of whatever punishment
it pleases Cæsar to inflict. Meanwhile, till his pleasure is known, I
command that you shall be confined in the private rooms of the military
prison near the Temple of Mars, and that if you attempt to escape
thence you shall be put to death. You have liberty to draw up your case
in writing, that it may be transmitted to Cæsar, my father, together
with a transcript of the evidence against you.”
“Now,” replied Marcus bitterly, “I am tempted to do what you say I
should have done before, die by my own hand, rather than endure such
shameful words and this indignity. But that my honour will not suffer.
When Cæsar has heard my case and when Titus, my general, also gives his
verdict against me, I will die, but not before. You, Prince, and you,
Captains, who have never drawn sword outside the streets of Rome, you
call me coward, me, who have served with honour through five campaigns,
who, from my youth till now have been in arms, and this upon the
evidence of a renegade Jew who, for years, has been my private enemy,
and of a soldier whom I scourged as a thief. Look now upon this breast
and say if it is that of a coward!” and rending his robes asunder,
Marcus exposed his bosom, scarred with four white wounds. “Call my
comrades, those with whom I have fought in Gaul, in Sicily, in Egypt
and in Judæa, and ask them if Marcus is a coward? Ask that Jew even, to
whom I gave his life, whether Marcus is a coward?”
“Have done with your boasting,” said Domitian, “and hide those
scratches. You were taken prisoner by the Jews—it is enough. You have
your prayer, your case shall go to Cæsar. If the tale you tell is true
you would produce that woman who is said to have rescued you from the
Jews and whom you purchased as a slave. When you do this we will take
her evidence. Till then to your prison with you. Guards, remove the man
Marcus, called the Fortunate, once a Prefect of Horse in the army of
Judæa.”