w that for friends this heart
has naught but forgiveness."

"I have lost, and am ruined," thought Petronius.

Meanwhile Caesar rose, and the consultation was ended.

Chapter XLIX

PETRONIUS went home. Nero and Tigellinus went to Poppaea's atrium, where
they were expected by people with whom the prefect had spoken already.

There were two Trans-Tiber rabbis in long solemn robes and mitred, a
young copyist, their assistant, together with Chilo. At sight of Caesar
the priests grew pale from emotion, and, raising their hands an arm's
length, bent their heads to his hands.

"Be greeted, O ruler of the earth, guardian of the chosen people, and
Caesar, lion among men, whose reign is like sunlight, like the cedar of
Lebanon, like a spring, like a palm, like the balsam of Jericho."

"Do ye refuse to call me god?" inquired Nero.

The priests grew still paler. The chief one spoke again,--

"Thy words, O lord, are as sweet as a cluster of grapes, as a ripe
fig,--for Jehovah filled thy heart with goodness! Thy father's
predecessor, Caesar Caius, was stern; still our envoys did not call him
god, preferring death itself to violation of the law."

"And did not Caligula give command to throw them to the lions?"

"No, lord; Caesar Caius feared Jehovah's anger."

And they raised their heads, for the name of the powerful Jehovah gave
them courage; confident in his might, they looked into Nero's eyes with
more boldness.

"Do ye accuse the Christians of burning Rome?" inquired Caesar. "We,
lord, accuse them of this alone,--that they are enemies of the law,
of the human race, of Rome, and of thee; that long since they have
threatened the city and the world with fire! The rest will be told thee
by this man, whose lips are unstained by a lie, for in his mother's
veins flowed the blood of the chosen people."

Nero turned to Chilo: "Who art thou?"

"One who honors thee, O Cyrus; and, besides, a poor Stoic-"

"I hate the Stoics," said Nero. "I hate Thrasea; I hate Musonius and
Cornutus. Their speech is repulsive to me; their contempt for art, their
voluntary squalor and filth."

"O lord, thy master Seneca has one thousand tables of citrus wood. At
thy wish I will have twice as many. I am a Stoic from necessity. Dress
my stoicism, O Radiant One, in a garland of roses, put a pitcher of
wine before it; it will sing Anacreon in such strains as to deafen every
Epicurean."

Nero, who was pleased by the title "Radiant," smil