As the Roman law gave to a master the power of life and death over his slaves, Florus’ peculiar practice did not evoke from Crispus the abhorrence that the man of the twentieth century would express at such a deed. As for Tertullus, he even went so far as to intimate that he might adopt the practice himself. “If a slave _must_ die,” argued he, “let him die in a way that will add to his master’s enjoyment.” Crispus sought to change the subject of conversation by asking Rufus the name of the richly-clothed man who reclined on the left of Florus; he was a majestic-looking, dark-skinned personage, with hair and beard finely dressed. At the beginning of the feast he had drawn forth a little ivory casket, from which he had produced an asp that had immediately twined itself around his bare arm, and there it remained partaking occasionally of such morsels as its master chose to give. “That,” replied Tertullus, “is Theomantes, the priest of Zeus Cæsarius, and a skilled diviner.” “And the serpent he carries with him, if you are fool enough to believe it,” remarked Rufus, “is an incarnation of the great Zeus himself. You can see by the place assigned to Theomantes how highly he is esteemed. Every Roman governor nowadays must have a soothsayer in attendance upon him, and Florus would not be out of the fashion. It is this Theomantes who supplies our procurator with the liquid for his daily bath.” “The liquid? What liquid?” “Well, not water, which is good enough for common mortals like you and me, nor yet milk, which the fair Berenice finds so excellent a cosmetic. Florus’ taste runs in favor of blood.” “_Blood!_” ejaculated Crispus. “Even so. Do you not know that by some physicians blood is deemed very efficacious in strengthening the human frame when exhausted by debauchery? So our dear governor bathes daily in a sanguinary fluid drawn from the veins of oxen slain in sacrifice, his superstitious fancy disposing him to believe that there will be more virtue in blood of that sort. Oh, it’s not an uncommon practice, I assure you. We’ve even drawn from the Greek a name for it, calling it taurobolium.” “Every man to his taste,” commented Crispus, dryly; and continuing his inquiries as to the guests, he asked, “Who is that fierce graybeard reclining next to Theomantes?” “Ananias, son of Nebedeus, at one time high priest of the Jews,” replied Rufus. “And a cheating knave!” commented Tertullus. “In his prosecution of Paul of Tarsus before Felix he employed me as advocate, and hath never yet paid me my fee. But I’ll be even with him.” “Do you mark,” continued Rufus, “how, from time to time, Ananias glowers at Theomantes? He considers that he himself should be sitting next the governor.” “He is welcome to the place for me,” laughed Crispus. “And who is the fair damsel beside him? His daughter?” “Daughter me no daughter, forsooth!” returned Rufus. “That is Asenath, a Syrian dancing-girl, and his latest favorite.”