I now went through the process used by the traveling jugglers, and if the deepest attention of an audience could reward my talents, mine received unexampled reward. My gazings on the sky, whisperings in the barb’s ear, grotesque figures traced on the sand, wild gestures and mysterious jargon, thoroughly absorbed the intellects of the honest legionaries. If I had been content with fame, I might have spread my reputation through the Roman camps as a conjurer of the first magnitude. I was, however, beginning to be weary of my exhibition, and longed for the signal, when Sabat approached, and loudly testifying that I had clearly performed my task, threw the bridle over the animal’s head and whispered, “Now!”
My heart panted; my hand was on the mane; I glanced round to see that all was safe, before I gave the spring, when Florus screamed out:
A Lesson in Horse-Stealing
“The Jew! by Tartarus, it is the Jew himself. Drag down the circumcised dog.”
With cavalry on every side of me, forcible escape was out of the question.
“Undone, undone!” were the words of my wild friend, as he passed me. And when I saw him once more in the most earnest conversation with Florus, I concluded that the discovery was complete. I was in utter despair. I stood sullenly waiting the worst, and gave an internal curse to the more than malevolence of fortune.
The conversation continued so long that the impatience of those around me began to break out.
“On what possible subject can the procurator suffer that mad fellow to have so long an audience?” said a young patrician.
“On every possible subject, I should conceive, from the length of the conference,” was the reply.