“Throw the old one to the fishes immediately,” cried Hortensius in a loud and cruel tone. “Bind this young villain by the pond and guard him till I come. I will cut him up, strip by strip, with my own hands.” A murmur of approbation ran through the assembly. Thrusting the bystanders away, I confronted Hortensius face to face. “O most noble Roman,” I exclaimed, “pardon something in this poor man to the spirit of liberty. He was born free, a prince in his little realm; and like you, he has been a brave soldier. Misfortune in war, not crime, has enslaved him. He is honest, faithful and noble. It was a fierce and glorious love of his own race which has fired him to this rash deed. His sublime self-sacrifice, his desperate courage surely deserve a better fate at the hands of a Roman and a soldier. Spare him and forgive him!” It would be difficult to describe the fierce and haughty stare which Hortensius and his noble guests fixed upon me during this little speech. They wondered at my folly, my stupidity, my audacity. To plead for a black slave who had drawn his knife against a Roman senator! To accord the spirit of liberty to such vermin of the earth! To speak of them as brave, faithful, noble, glorious, sublime! They were stupefied at the novelty and heresy of such ideas. I was certainly either a fool or a madman. Hortensius, lowering his voice and infusing into it a little suavity,—for he suddenly remembered that I was his guest,—exclaimed: “The proper discipline of my palace, young man, demands the immediate death of this would-be assassin. I will replace your servant with a better.” “That is beyond your power,” I replied impetuously; “your whole household would not replace him. I am indebted to his brother for my sister’s life and honor. I am bound to this man’s flesh and blood as if they were my own. I cannot, I will not desert him in his extremity.” There were loud exclamations of surprise, contempt and disapproval. Many, however, were silent, touched perhaps by a latent magnanimity. “What will you do?” exclaimed a haughty old Roman in a most provoking tone. “Do?” said I rashly, striking my hand upon the hilt of my dagger, “do?—I will defend him: I will die with him.” This caused a great uproar in the assembly. Loud cries of “Away with him! out with him!” “Insult a Roman senator!” “Abettor of slaves and assassins!” “Insurrectionist! Madman! Idiot!” “Down with the base Judean!” resounded through the splendid Hall of Apollo. My friend Demetrius, who had hitherto stood near me, now slipped into the crowd and disappeared. Having defied the supreme power of the place, I would probably have shared the fate of the wretched Ethiopian, had not assistance come to me from an unexpected quarter. Pontius Pilate stepped between Hortensius and myself, and waving his hand with great dignity and grace, requested silence.