and the two candidates who had so long been waiting were at
last admitted. The prefect of the praetorians had, by the Magian's
desire, recommended the Egyptian; but Caesar wished to see for himself,
and then to decide. Both the applicants had received hints from their
supporters: the Egyptian, to moderate his rigor; the Greek, to express
himself in the severest terms. And this was made easy for him, for the
annoyance which had been pent up during his three hours' waiting was
sufficient to lend his handsome face a stern look. Zminis strove to
appear mild by assuming servile humility; but this so ill became his
cunning features that Caracalla saw with secret satisfaction that he
could accede to Melissa's wishes, and confirm the choice of the
high-priest, in whose god he had placed his hopes.

Still, his own safety was more precious to him than the wishes of any
living mortal; so he began by pouring out, on both, the vials of his
wrath at the bad management of the town. Their blundering tools had not
even succeeded in capturing the most guileless of men, the painter
Alexander. The report that the men-at-arms had seized him had been a
fabrication to deceive, for the artist had given himself up. Nor had he
as yet heard of any other traitor whom they had succeeded in laying hands
on, though the town was flooded with insolent epigrams directed against
the imperial person. And, as he spoke, he glared with fury at the two
candidates before him.

The Greek bowed his head in silence, as if conscious of his
short-comings; the Egyptian's eyes flashed, and, with an amazingly low
bend of his supple spine, he announced that, more than three hours since,
he had discovered a most abominable caricature in clay, representing
Caesar as a soldier in a horrible pygmy form.

"And the perpetrator," snarled Caracalla, listening with a scowl for the
reply.

Zminis explained that great Caesar himself had commanded his attendance
just as he hoped to find the traces of the criminal, and that, while he
was waiting, more than three precious hours had been lost. At this
Caracalla broke out in a fury:

"Catch the villain! And let me see his insolent rubbish. Where are your
eyes? You bungling louts ought to protect me against the foul brood that
peoples this city, and their venomous jests. Past grievances are
forgotten. Set the painter's father and brother at liberty. They have had
a warning. Now I want something new. Something new, I say; and, abov