One of the most reckless talkers, in a group that had gathered round Martial, was Clodianus; his rubicund face beamed with Dionysiac excitement. The poet, wrapped over his ears in his sheet, had just delivered himself of an epigram, in his most pungent style, on an incident in the life of a certain attorney-at-law.[51] This man, Sabellus by name, a perfect model of incapacity, was never chosen to conduct a case by any but people of the lowest class, and from the beginning of his career had never once been successful. At last he had gained his first cause. The matter in dispute had been a cart-horse belonging to a wagoner. His client had offered the triumphant advocate a honorarium paid in kind, and the worthy Sabellus, in the excess of his joy, was talking of the brilliant success of his efforts in every public place in Rome. The poet described with malicious glee, how Sabellus had already told the story of the great horse case eight times, and at each repetition held his head a little higher. Martial concluded with these improvised lines: "All these jubilant airs our friend Sabellus Founds on half a measure of meal and lentels, Three half-pounds of frankincense and pepper, Falernian chitterlings[52] and a Lucanian sausage,[53] A Syrian jug of black and muddy liquor, A jar of Libyan figs that might be fresher."[54] The whole story, told with a mixture of infinite relish and irony, was irresistible; but not one of the party laughed so immoderately, so long, and so loud, as the starch adjutant. He could not get over it; laughter as of a cyclops filled his throat; it was as though the honest clumsiness of the soldier stood revealed in this naive and noisy amusement. His demeanor was so frank and blunt, that it might have satisfied Caesar himself. Still, this loud joviality was somewhat belied by the glances which Clodianus cast from time to time, when he thought himself unobserved, at a corner of the hall, where a man with piercing eyes and a strong aquiline nose, was beguiling the quarter of an hour spent in cooling himself, by reading. When the loud shout of laughter echoed through the room like the rattle of thunder, the reader raised his reddened eyelids. “What, Stephanus!” shouted Clodianus, holding his sides. “You are once more to be seen here? You have neglected us too much these last weeks. Martial grows more audacious every day. He is a splendid rascal, this Hispanian bully; by Incitatus! but he makes mince-meat of our Quirites. The story of Sabellus is delicious, a thing to revel in! And what are you studying here, in the intervals of discus-throwing?” He had slowly gone up to the steward, while the group round the witty epigrammatist were already drawn into the current of another story.