“Comrades,” he stammered, “what have I done that you should treat me thus? If I have offended or injured you, kill me, but not this.”
More than half possessed by a spirit of mischief, the assembly answered this piteous appeal by continuous shouts of “Long live the Emperor Decius!”
The good man grew desperate. He drew his sword from the scabbard, and pointed it at his own heart. “At least,” he cried, “you can’t forbid me this escape.”
The bystanders wrested the weapon from him; but the joke had gone far enough, and the man was too genuinely popular for the soldiers to allow him to be tormented beyond endurance. A voice from the crowd shouted, “Long live the Centurion Decius!” to which another answered, “Long live Decius the subject!” and the worthy man felt that the danger was over.
A number of candidates, most of whom were probably as little desirous of the honour as Decius, were now proposed in succession.
“I name the Tribune Manilius,” said one of the soldiers.
The name was received with a shout of laughter.
“Let him learn first to be Emperor at home!” cried a voice from the back of the assembly, a sally which had considerable success, as his wife was a well-known termagant, and his two sons the most frequent inmates of the military prison.
“I name the Centurion Pisinna.”
“Very good, if he does not pledge the purple,” for Pisinna was notoriously impecunious.