But Caracalla furiously broke in: 

“And woe to you if your god refuses me the only thing I crave in return for so many sacrifices—­revenge, complete and sanguinary; atonement from great and small alike!” But he interrupted himself with the exclamation:  “He grants it!  Now for the tool I need.”

The tool was ready—­Zminis, the Egyptian, answering in every particular to the image which Caracalla had had in his mind of the instrument who might execute his most bloodthirsty purpose.

With hair in disorder and a blue-black stubble of beard on his haggard yellow cheeks, in a dirty gray prison shirt, barefoot, and treading as silently as Fate when it creeps on a victim, the rascal approached his sovereign.  He stood before Caracalla exactly as the prefect, in a swift chariot, had brought him out of prison.  The white of his long, narrow eyes, which had so terrified Melissa, had turned yellow, and his glance was as restless and shifting as that of a hyena.  His small head on its long neck was never for a moment still; the ruthless wretch had sat waiting day after day in expectation of death, and it was by a miracle that he found himself once more at the height of his ambition.  But when at last he inquired of Caracalla, in the husky voice which had gained an added hoarseness from the damp dungeon whence he had been brought, what his commands were, looking up at him like a starving dog which hopes for a titbit from his master’s hand, even the fratricide, who himself held the sword sharpened to kill, shuddered at the sight and sound.

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?”