“No one, my lord!”
“You lie.”
“My lord, as I hope for the mercy of the gods, I do not lie.”
“Then you really assert, that you actually read in the stars the forecast you have uttered?”
“Yes, my lord; I have only declared, what my skill has revealed to me.”
The superstitious sovereign turned pale.
“Well then, wise prophet, you can of course foretell your own end?”
“Yes, my lord. Before this day is ended, I shall be torn to pieces by dogs.”
Domitian looked scornfully round on the circle of men.
“I fancy,” he said, “that I can upset the prophetic science of this worthy man. Carry him off at once to execution, and take care that his body is burnt before sundown.”