‘His master is here present, your Excellency, who will swear to the purchase.’
‘Or to anything else for the glory of God. Out of the way! And take care, you tall scoundrel, that I do not get a handle against you. You have been one of my marked men for many a month. Off!’
‘His master demands the rights of the law as a Roman citizen,’ said Peter, pushing forward Arsenius.
‘If he be a Roman citizen, let him come and make his claim at the tribune to-morrow, in legal form. But I would have you remember, ancient sir, that I shall require you to prove your citizenship before we proceed to the question of purchase.’
‘The law does not demand that,’ quoth Peter.
‘Knock that fellow down, apparitor!’ Whereat Peter vanished, and an ominous growl rose from the mob of monks.
‘What am I to do, most noble sir?’ said Philammon.
‘Whatever you like, till the third hour to-morrow—if you are fool enough to appear at the tribune. If you will take my advice’ you will knock down these fellows right and left, and run for your life.’ And Orestes drove on.
Philammon saw that it was his only chance, and did so; and in another minute he found himself rushing headlong into the archway of Pelagia’s house, with a dozen monks at his heels. As luck would have it, the outer gates, at which the Goths had just entered, were still open; but the inner ones which led into the court beyond were fast. He tried them, but in vain. There was an open door in the wall on his right: he rushed through it, into a long range of stables, and into the arms of Wulf and Smid, who were unsaddling and feeding, like true warriors, their own horses.
‘Souls of my fathers!’ shouted Smid, ‘here’s our young monk come back! What brings you here head over heels in this way, young curly-pate?’