"Why shouldn't I, if I choose?" said Juba. "If I must take service, willy nilly, I'd any day prefer the other's to that of your friend. I've not left the master to take the man."
"Blaspheme not the great gods," she answered, "or they'll do you a mischief yet."
"I say again," insisted Juba, "if I must lick the earth, it shall not be where your friend has trod. It shall be in my brother's fashion, rather than in yours, Gurta."
"Agellius!" she shrieked out with such disgust, that it is wonderful she uttered the name at all. "Ah! you have not told me about him, boy. Well, is he safe in the pit, or in the stomach of an hyena?"
"He's alive," said Juba; "but he has not got it in him to be a Christian. Yes, he's safe with his uncle."
"Ah! Jucundus must ruin him, debauch him, and then we must make away with him. We must not be in a hurry," said Gurta, "it must be body and soul."
"No one shall touch him, craven as he is," answered Juba. "I despise him, but let him alone."
"Don't come across me," said Gurta, sullenly; "I'll have my way. Why, you know I could smite you to the dust, as well as him, if I chose."
"But you have not asked me about Callista," answered Juba. "It is really a capital joke, but she has got into prison for certain, for being a Christian. Fancy it! they caught her in the streets, and put her in the guard-house, and have had her up for examination. You see they want a Christian for the nonce: it would not do to have none such in prison; so they will flourish with her till Decius bolts from the scene."
"The Furies have her!" cried Gurta: "she _is_ a Christian, my boy: I told you so, long ago!"
"Callista a Christian!" answered Juba, "ha! ha! She and Agellius are going to make a match of it, of some sort or other. They're thinking of other things than paradise."
"She and the old priest, more likely, more likely," said Gurta. "He's in prison with her--in the pit, as I trust."
"Your master has cheated you for once, old woman," said Juba.
Gurta looked at him fiercely, and seemed waiting for his explanation. He began singing,--
"She wheedled and coaxed, but he was no fool; He'd be his own master, he'd not be her tool; Not the little black moor should send him to school.
"She foamed and she cursed--'twas the same thing to him; She laid well her trap; but he carried his whim;-- The priest scuffled off, safe in life and in limb."