"And are you a Christian, too?" asked the soldier, "or do you suppose that I was in jest when I swore by my sword? I have served in Bithynia, in Syria, and in Judaea. I know these villains, good people. There were hundreds of Christians to be seen there who would throw away life like a worn-out shoe because they did not choose to sacrifice to the statues of Caesar and the gods."
"There, you hear!" cried the beggar. "And did you see a single man of them among the citizens who set to work to restore the statue to its place?"
"There were none of them there," said the sailor, who was beginning to share the soldier's views.
"The Christians threw down the Emperor's statue," the beggar shouted to the crowd. "It is proved, and they shall suffer for it. Every man who is a friend of the divine Hadrian come with me now and have them out of their houses."
"No uproar!" interrupted the soldier to the furious man. "There is the tribune, he will hear you."
The Roman officer, who now came past with a troop of soldiers to receive the Emperor outside the city, was greeted by the crowd with loud shouting. He commanded silence and made the soldier tell him what had so violently excited the people.
"Very possibly," said the tribune, a sinewy and stern-looking man, who, like Fuscus, had served under Tinnius Rufus, and had risen from a sutler to be an officer, "Very possibly—but where are your proofs?"
"Most of the citizens helped in reerecting the statue, but the Christians held aloof from the work," cried the beggar. "There was not one to be seen. Ask the sailor, my lord; he was by and he can bear witness to it."
"That certainly is more than suspicious. This matter must be strictly inquired into. Pay heed, you people."
"Here comes a Christian girl!" cried the sailor.