At first I did not understand what the dealer meant. But he took a scourge from the hand of a keeper, and pointing with its handle to me, spoke to the purchaser in a low voice. The latter made a gesture of assent, and my master passed the scourge over to the centurion.
"The old fox, still suspicious, fears that I would not strike you hard enough, friend Bull," my master explained to me. "Come, do not make a slip. Do me this last honor, and gain me this last profit, by showing that you endure chastisement patiently."
Hardly had he pronounced the words, when the cripple rained a shower of blows on my shoulders and chest. I felt neither shame nor indignation, only pain. I fell down on my knees in tears and begged for mercy. Outside, the curious crowd, gathered at the door, roared with laughter.
The centurion, surprised at so much resignation in a Gaul, dropped the whip, and looked at my master who by his gesture seemed to say:
"Did I deceive you?"
Thereupon, patting me with the flat of his hand on my lacerated back, the same as one would pat an animal that pleased him, my master said to me:
"If you are a bull for strength, you are a lamb for meekness. I expected so. Now some questions as to your laborer's trade, and the sale is concluded. The customer wishes to know in what place you were employed."
"In the tribe of Karnak," I answered, with a cowardly sigh, "there my family and I cultivated the lands of our fathers."
The "horse-dealer" reported my answer to the cripple, who seemed both surprised and pleased. He exchanged a few words with the dealer, who continued:
"The customer asks where the lands and house of your fathers were situated."