“Now hearken you, Olaf,” he said. “It is true that I ordered fruit to be sent to that fool-Cæsar, my uncle, because the last time I saw him Nicephorus prayed me for it, and I was willing to do him a pleasure. But that I ordered the fruit to be poisoned, as my mother says, is a lie, and may God curse the tongue that spoke it. I will show you that it was a lie,” and plunging his hand into the spirit in the jar, he drew out two of the figs. “Now,” he went on, waving them about in a half-drunken fashion, “this General Olaf of yours says that these are the same figs which were sent to the Cæsar, I mean the blind priest, Father Nicephorus. Don’t you, Olaf?” “Yes, Sire,” I answered, “they were placed in that bottle in my presence and sealed with my seal.” “Well, those figs were sent by me, and this Olaf tells us they are poisoned. I’ll show him, and you too, mother, that they are _not_ poisoned, for I will eat one of them.” Now I looked at the Augusta, but she sat silent, her arms folded on her white bosom, her handsome face turned as it were to stone. Constantine lifted the fig towards his loose mouth. Again I looked at the Augusta. Still she sat there like a statue, and it came into my mind that it was her purpose to allow this wine-bemused man to eat the fig. Then I acted. “Augustus,” I said, “you must not touch that fruit,” and stepping forward I took it from his hand. He sprang to his feet and began to revile me. “You watch-dog of the North!” he shouted. “Do you dare to say to the Emperor that he shall not do this or that? By all the images my mother worships I’ll have you whipped through the Circus.” “That you will never do,” I answered, for my free blood boiled at the insult. “I tell you, Sire,” I went on, leaving out certain words which I meant to speak, “that the fig is poisoned.” “And I tell you that you lie, you heathen savage. See here! Either you eat that fig or I do, so that we may know who speaks the truth. If you won’t, I will. Now obey, or, by Christ! to-morrow you shall be shorter by a head.” “The Augustus is pleased to threaten, which is unnecessary,” I remarked. “If I eat the fig, will the Augustus swear to leave the rest of them uneaten?” “Aye,” he answered with a hiccough, “for then I shall know the truth, and for the truth I live, though,” he added, “I haven’t found it yet.” “And if I do not eat it, will the Augustus do so?” “By the Holy Blood, yes. I’ll eat a dozen of them. Am I one to be hectored by a woman and a barbarian? Eat, or I eat.” “Good, Sire. It is better that a barbarian should die than that the world should lose its glorious Emperor. I eat, and when you are as I soon shall be, as will happen even to an emperor, may my blood lie heavy on your soul, the blood which I give to save your life.” Then I lifted the fig to my lips.