“Virtuous man!  No wonder that the legions love him who cannot withdraw one lot from a sale of thousands, even to please an only brother,” soliloquised Domitian.

“If you wish for the maid,” went on Titus, taking no heed of the insult, “the markets are open—­buy her.  It is my last word.”

Suddenly Domitian grew angry, the false modesty left his face, his tall form straightened itself, and he stared round with his blear, evil-looking eyes.

“I appeal,” he shouted, “I appeal from Caesar the Small to Caesar the Great, from the murderer of a brave barbarian tribe to the conqueror of the world.  O Caesar, Titus here declared that all he has is mine.  Yet when I ask him for the gift of one captive girl he refuses me.  Command, I pray you, that he should keep his word.”

Now the officers and the secretaries looked up, for of a sudden this small matter had become very important.  For long the quarrel between Titus and his jealous brother had smouldered, now over the petty question of a captive it had broken into flame.

The face of Titus grew hard and stern as that of some statue of the offended Jove.

“Command, I pray you, father,” he said, “that my brother should cease to offer insult to me.  Command also that he should cease to question my will and my authority in matters great or small that are within my rule.  Since you are appealed to as Caesar, as Caesar judge, not of this thing only but of all, for there is much between him and me that needs to be made plain.”

Vespasian looked round him uneasily, but seeing no escape and that beneath the quarrel lay issues which were deep and wide, he spoke out in his brave, simple-minded fashion.

“Sons,” he said, “seeing that there are but two of you who together, or one after the other, must inherit the world, it is an evil-omened thing that you should quarrel thus, since on the chances of your enmity may hang your own fates and the fates of peoples.  Be reconciled, I pray you.  Is there not enough for both?  As for the matter in hand—­this is my judgment.  With all the spoils of Judaea, this fair maid is the property of Titus.  Titus, whose boast it is that he does not go back upon his word, has decreed that she shall be sold and her price divided between the sick soldiers and the poor.  Therefore she is no longer his to give away, even to his brother.  With Titus I say—­if you desire the girl, Domitian, bid your agent buy her in the market.”

“Aye, I will buy her,” snarled Domitian, “but this I swear, that soon or late Titus shall pay the price and one that he will be loth to give.”  Then followed by his secretary and an officer, he turned and left the audience hall.

“What does he mean?” asked Vespasian, looking after him with anxious eyes.

“He means that——­” and Titus checked himself.  “Well, time and my destiny will show the world what he means.  So be it.  As for you, Pearl-Maiden, who, though you know it not, have cost Caesar so dear, well, you are fairer than I thought, and shall have the best of places in the pageant.  Yet, for your sake, I pray that one may be found who, when you come to the market-place, may outbid Domitian,” and he waved his hand to show that the audience was at an end.