‘Do you know me?’ asked the priest.
‘I once gave an aureus to a man named Croto to let me escape from a slave-prison. You are like him.’
‘I am Croto,’ said the priest, again laughing grimly. ‘Is that how you repay your benefactor? Do you know that it is through you I am here, and am never sure any day of not being murdered before evening? Some sneaking slave betrayed that I had let you escape from Antium. I was threatened with chains and torture. I had seen enough of that sort of thing, so I fled. I thought of Aricia; plucked the golden bough, as I see you have done; and killed Manius, my predecessor.’
‘I did not know,’ answered Onesimus. ‘Kill me. I ask nothing better.’
But Croto still did not drive home the sword. ‘Poor wretch!’ he said. ‘You are but a youth, and are you tired of life already?’
‘Utterly tired, or I should not have been the wicked fool I have shown myself to-night.’
‘Why should I kill thee?’ said Croto. ‘Swear never again to attack me, and thou shalt go unscathed.’
‘It would be kinder to kill a wretch whom God hates.’
‘Go,’ said Croto. ‘Diana has so many victims, she can spare this one. Give me your “golden bough,” and let us part good friends.’
Onesimus rose, miserable and crestfallen. ‘I am penniless,’ he said, ‘or I would try to show myself grateful.’