“Then I will go with you,” said the young man calmly. “But may I not first communicate my situation to my friends, that they may have an opportunity to set me right with the authorities?”
“We were not authorized to allow delay for any purpose.”
“You will have to delay,” said Aleph, “for the purpose of hearing and allowing these by-standers” (several of the guests of the khan had by this time come up) “to hear me declare that I am innocent of the charges brought against me, and can prove as much, opportunity being given me.”
A soldier approached to bind him. Aleph motioned him away with his cane. “I have said that I will go with you. I now say that I will go with you without attempting to escape while going, provided you leave me free and in possession of this cane. Otherwise the man who approaches me does so at his peril.”
After some consultation his demand was granted; and he went off quietly with the party, saying to the landlord as he went, “You can at least tell what you have seen and heard.”
Such was the account given to Seti. He remained merely to ask a simple question: “Could there be any doubt as to the party being real Roman soldiers?” The landlord thought not: they had the equipment of Roman soldiers; and, besides, their bearing and step together were professional.
The high-priest hastened back to the Serapeum, assumed his pontifical robes, summoned a large train of servants, and proceeded in his official chariot, drawn by four white mules, to the Roman headquarters in Bruchium. Arrived at the palace of the governor, a herald stepped before the gate, blew a trumpet, and cried: “Seti of the Serapeum, high-priest of Egypt and metropolitan, desires audience of Avilleus Flaccus, Proprætor and Legate of Cæsar and Governor of Egypt.”
In a few moments the gates were thrown open, and the whole party entered a large court, where, at the foot of a flight of marble steps, Seti alighted and was conducted by an obsequious usher into the audience-room and presence of the Roman governor.
Seti was dignified and formal; coolly saluting his excellency with all the usual formalities, but not a jot beyond. On the other hand, Flaccus, an ordinary man to look at but wearing the extraordinary toga permitted to the imperial representative, was exceedingly demonstrative and deferential in welcoming his illustrious visitor. He seemed to feel that, belonging only to the Equestrian Order and with no ancestors save those whose names had been written with water and in water, he was socially far from being equal to the freezingly cold and stately Egyptian pontiff whose sires had reigned in palaces and temples before Rome was founded.