"Then let it answer now!" Norbanus laughed. He pointed to a little
shrine beside the road, beneath a group of trees, where once the image
of a local deity had smiled its blessing on the passer-by. The bust of
Commodus, as insolent as the brass of which the artist-slaves had cast
it, had replaced the old benign divinity. There was an attendant near
by, costumed as a priest, whose duty was to see that travelers by that
road did their homage to the image of the human god who ruled the Roman
world. He struck a gong. He gave fair warning of the deference
required. There was a little guard-house, fifty paces distant, just
around the corner of the clump of trees, where the police were ready to
execute summary justice, and floggings were inflicted on offenders who
could not claim citizenship or who had no coin with which to buy the
alternative reprimand. Roman citizens were placed under arrest, to be
submitted to all manner of indignities and to think themselves fortunate
if they should escape with a heavy fine from a judge who had bought his
office from an emperor's favorite.

Most of the riders ahead dismounted and walked past the image, saluting
it with right hands raised. Many of them tossed coins to the priest's
attendant slave. Sextus remained in the saddle, his brow clouded with
an angry scowl. He drew rein, making no obeisance, but sent Scylax to
present an offering of money to the priest, then rode on.

"Your dignity appears to me expensive!" Norbanus remarked, grinning.
"Gold?"

"He may have my gold, if I may keep my self-respect!"

"Incorrigible stoic! He will take that also before long!"