“To tell the truth,” said Juba, gloomily, “I did once think of her myself. I don’t see why I have not as much right to do so as Agellius, if I please. So I thought old mother might do something for me; and I asked her for a charm or love potion, which would bring her from her brother down to the forest yonder. Gurta took to it kindly, for she has a mortal hatred of Callista, because of her good looks, though she won’t say so, and because she’s a Greek! and she liked the notion of humbling the haughty minx. So she began one of the most tremendous spells,” he shrieked out with a laugh, “one of the most tremendous spells in her whole budget. All and everything in the most exact religious way: wine, milk, blood, meal, wax, old rags, gods, Numidian as well as Punic; such names; one must be barbarian to boot, as well as witch, to pronounce them: a score of things there were besides. And then to see the old woman, with her streaming grey hair, twinkling eyes, and grim look, twirl about as some flute girl at a banquet; it was enough to dance down, not only the moon, but the whole milky way. But it did not dance down Callista; at which mother got savage, and protested that Callista was a Christian.”

Jucundus looked much perplexed. “Medius fidius!” he said, “why, unless we look sharp, she will be converting him the wrong way;” and he began pacing up and down the small room.

Juba on his part began singing—

“Gurta the witch would have part in the jest;

Though lame as a gull, by his highness possessed,

She shouldered her crutch, and danced with the rest.

“Sporting and snorting, deep in the night,

Their beards flashing fire, and their hoofs striking light,

And their tails whisking round in the heat of their flight.”

By this time Jucundus had recovered from the qualm which Juba’s intelligence had caused him, and he cried out, “Cease your rubbish; old Gurta’s jealous; I know her spite; Christian is the most blackguard word in her vocabulary, its Barbar for toad or adder. I see it all; no, Callista, the divine Callista, must take in hand this piece of wax, sing a charm, and mould him into a Vertumnus. She’ll show herself the more potent witch of the two. The new emperor too will help the incantation.”

“What! something is coming?” asked Juba, with a grin.

“Coming, boy? yes, I warrant you,” answered his uncle. “We’ll make them squeak. If gentle means don’t do, then we’ll just throw in another ingredient or two: an axe, or a wild cat, or a firebrand.”

“Take care what you are about, if you deal with Agellius,” said Juba. “He’s a sawney, but you must not drive him to bay. Don’t threaten; keep to the other line; he’s weak-hearted.”