The whole city meanwhile had been astir. The emperor's wrath and desire of revenge were excited to the utmost pitch. He suspected treachery even amongst the Prætorian guards,—his favourite and best-disciplined troops; and there was an apprehension of some terrible disgrace attaching even to them. Still, nothing further transpired implicating the soldiery, save that the assassin had escaped, and, apparently, through the very midst of the guard; yet no one chose to accuse his fellow, or say by whose means this mysterious outlet was contrived. Not even to his most confidential minister did the emperor reveal the discovery of his son's weapon. Neither that son, nor his guilty accomplices, if any, could be found; and the day was fast closing upon the monarch's threat, that on the morrow his vengeance should have its full work, unless the crystal goblet was restored.
There had been a public spectacle at the theatre, but the emperor was not present; and such was the consternation of the whole city, that the performance was but scantily attended. The city was apparently on the eve of some sad catastrophe, and the whole population foreboding some fearful event.
In the circus were yet some stray groups, who, having little employment of their own, were listening for news, and loitering about, either for mischief or amusement.
In one part was exhibited a narrow wooden box, not unlike to our puppet-show, wherein a person was concealed, having figures made of wood and earthenware, that seemed to act and speak, to the great wonder and diversion of the audience.
As the rays of the declining sun smote upon the city walls and the white sails of the barks below, there came into the circus the dwarf, who had charge of Cedric. The captive now looked like a sort of appendage to his person—being strapped to his arm by a stout thong of bull's hide, such as was used for correcting refractory slaves. The hours allotted for search were nearly gone. Day was drawing to a close, and Cedric had done little else than bemoan his hard fate. The whole day had been spent in wandering from place to place, urged on by the scoffs and jeers of his companion. Some furtive attempts to escape had been the cause of his present bondage. Hither, at length, they arrived. Tired and distressed, he sat down on one of the vacant benches, and gave vent to his sorrows in no very careful or measured language.
"What can I do?" said he, "a stranger in this great city—to set me a-finding what I never knew? A grain of wheat in a barn full of chaff, mayhap—a needle in a truss of hay—anything I might find, but what was sheer impossible. And now am I like to be thrown to the dogs, like a heap of carrion!"
"But the oracle, friend."
"Plague on the oracle, for——" Here his speech was interrupted; for happening to look up, he saw, as he fancied, the eyes of one of the little figures in the show-box ogling him, and making mouths in such wise as to draw upon him the attention of the spectators, now roaring with laughter at his expense. Reckless of consequences, and almost furious from sufferings, he suddenly jumped up, and dragging the dwarf along with him, made a desperate blow at the mimic, which, in a moment, laid sprawling a whole company of little actors, together with the prime mover himself, and the showman outside to boot. The fray, as may readily be conceived, waxed loud and furious. The owners and bystanders not discriminating as to the main cause of the attack, would have handled both the keeper and the captive very roughly, had not the noise awakened the attention of the soldiers in the neighbouring barracks. Hearing the affray, a party ran to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, and seeing two men whom a whole crowd had combined to attack, concluded they were culprits, and forthwith hailed them before the captain of the guard, a centurion, Diogenes Verecundus by name.
Cedric and the dwarf, being rescued from a sound beating, began to abuse one another, as the cause of the disturbance; but the officer, by dint of threats and inquiries, soon learned the truth of the matter.
"Thank the stars, I shall be rid of this pestilence to-morrow," said Merodac; "my master could not have found me such another; and how the Fates could pitch upon such a sorry cur for the business, seems passing strange. If he find the cup, I'll be beaten to a jelly in it. Thy carcase will be meat for the emperor's hounds to morrow."