‘Wanted, a fugitive slave,
Aged about 17.
Handsome, with dark curly hair,
Named Onesimus.
Any one who will give him up, or indicate where he may be arrested, shall receive a reward of a thousand sesterces.’
To be quite sure of his prey, Dama stole away so as to approach Onesimus from behind, and coming up to him tapped him smartly on the shoulder and said ‘Onesimus.’
‘Yes?’ said Onesimus with a violent start, taken completely off his guard.
‘I thought so,’ said Dama, with an unpleasant smile. ‘Come with me, my gay fugitive. Cæsar can’t possibly spare such a lively and good-looking slave as you; and I shall be very glad of a thousand sesterces.’
Onesimus tried to dart away in flight, but the remorseless hand of Dama clutched his shoulder with too tight a grasp, and with a gesture of despair he remained silent.
‘Rescue! rescue!’ cried some of the crowd who pitied him, and with whom he was a favourite; and as no soldiers or police were in sight one or two stepped forward to give the youth a chance.