"Halt, Zeno of Byzantium!" cried the priest aloud--and one would not have credited the old man with this strength of voice--"I have to warn thee, thee and that voluptuous Tribune. I know too well of your sins: the measure is full. If you do not repent, I cannot longer suffer you in the fellowship of the saints." The merchant grew pale. "A usurer thou art; and he--he is a murderer of body and soul. You will not carry it out. Know that, if the letter is burnt, the pure wife shall not be given up to you. She is free--set free before me in the church."
"Thou canst easily say that," said Zeno, with a crafty look.
"I go to swear it before witnesses."
"Then no one knows it except the old man," thought the other.
"But thou who takest thirty and more per cent., I will bring thee to account before the congregation. And not for that alone. Think of thy poor Syrian slave! I will also accuse thee, on her account, before the secular tribunal." The Byzantian trembled. "And thou and that commander-in-chief of lust and power, if you cannot clear yourselves from the blood of Galla, I will expel you next Sunday from the Church."
Before Zeno could answer there was a clang of weapons and the sound of heavy steps, and a company of the Tribune's Isaurians turned the corner. The centurion hastened to the merchant:
"I seek thee! I was directed from thy house here, to the Judge. Read! From the Tribune!"
Zeno took the small wax tablet, "Open?" asked he suspiciously.
"Sealed for us," laughed the soldier; "we do not read; we only fight."
Zeno read: "It was only the knee. My Greek slave has by friction reduced the swelling. I shall to-morrow again mount my horse. Threefold, if thou gettest the woman to-morrow!"