But Caesar at once recovered himself, and when he asked the Egyptian: 

“Will you undertake to help me, as captain of the night-watch, to punish the traitors of Alexandria?” the answer was confident: 

“What man can do, I can do.”

“Good!” replied Caracalla.  “But this is not a matter of merely capturing one or another.  Every one—­mark me—­every one has merited death who has broken the laws of hospitality, that hospitality which this lying city offered me.  Do you understand?  Yes?  Well, then, how are we to detect the guilty?  Where are we to find spies and executioners enough?  How can we punish worst those whose wickedness has involved the rest in guilt, especially the epigramatists of the Museum?  How are we to discover the ringleaders of those who insulted me yesterday in the Circus, and of those among the youths in the stadium who have dared to express their vile disapproval by whistling in my very face?  What steps will you take to hinder a single one from escaping?  Consider.  How is it to be done so effectually that I may lie down and say ’They have had their deserts.  I am content’?”

The Egyptian’s eyes wandered round the floor, but he presently drew himself up and answered briefly and positively, as though he were issuing an order to his men: 

“Kill them all!”

Caracalla started, and repeated dully, “All?”

“All!” repeated Zminis, with a hideous grin.  “The young ones are all there, safe in the stadium.  The men in the Museum fear nothing.  Those who are in the streets can be cut down.  Locked doors can be broken in.”

At this, Caesar, who had dropped on to his throne, started to his feet, flung the wine-cup he held across the room, laughed loudly, and exclaimed: 

“You are the man for me!  To work at once!  This will be a day!—­ Macrinus, Theocritus, Antigonus, we need your troops.  Send up the legates.  Those who do not like the taste of blood, may sweeten it with plunder.”

He looked young again, as if relieved from some burden on his mind, and the thought flashed through his brain whether revenge were not sweeter than love.

No one spoke.  Even Theocritus, on whose lips a word of flattery or applause was always ready, looked down in his dismay; but Caracalla, in his frenzy of excitement, heeded nothing.

The hideous suggestion of Zminis seemed to him worthy of his greatness by its mere enormity.  It must be carried out.  Ever since he had first donned the purple he had made it his aim to be feared.  If this tremendous deed were done, he need never frown again at those whom he wished to terrify.

And then, what a revenge!  If Melissa should hear of it, what an effect it must have on her!

To work, then!

And he added in a gentler tone, as if he had a delightful surprise in store for some old friend: 

“But silence, perfect silence—­do you hear?—­till all is ready.—­You, Zminis, may begin on the pipers in the stadium and the chatterers in the Museum.  The prize for soldiers and lictors alike lies in the merchants’ chests.”