Snatching up the beaker he dashed it to the floor, spilling the wine, of which I, who wished to keep my head cool, was glad.
"Have done," he went on in his drunken rage. "Shall the Cæsars huckster over a piece of worked gold like Jews in a market? Give me those figs, man; I'll settle the matter of this poison."
I brought the jar of figs, and, bowing, set them down before him. That they were the same I knew, for the glass was labelled in my own writing and in that of the physician. He cut away the sealed parchment which was stretched over the mouth of the jar.
"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
