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no supper, wife; I have seen a turnip. Now lift your skirt and let me gaze, and I can sleep in peace.” No, Barbatus, to look at what you desire and not to touch it is only torment. The pleasure a lover takes in just lookingat the object of his affection is all very fine in poetry. Actually it’s only misery in fancy dress. Confess, now, Barbatus; doesn’t your true heart say: “Better to smash this Eurynome to pieces or throw her into the deepest part of the sea where no man will ever touch her again?” Eh?’
    Barbatus said: ‘I have already said that I would give all I have for her. This not being sufficient, I shall still be for ever grateful to Soxias for having allowed me to see her, if only once.’
    This seemed to displease Soxias. ‘And go home with a heartache?’ he said, with a sneer.
    ‘Yes, but the divine artist who fashioned this Eurynome will have given my vague longing its perfect form, and now my heart will know why it aches, and for what. I thank you, Soxias.’
    ‘So,’ said Soxias. He took the Eurynome cup and placed it carefully on the marble floor. It swayed in its graceful motions for a long time before it at last stood still. ‘So! You want her, Barbatus? Then you must play for her. Will you gamble your patrician dignity against my Eurynome?’
    ‘But how?’ asked Barbatus.
    ‘Simply like this. Stand on this floor with the big toe of one foot just touching the ball under the goddess’s foot.’ Barbatus did this, and Soxias went on. ‘Now measure, stepping backwards exactly four times the length of your foot.’
    ‘It is done,’ said Barbatus. ‘And now?’
    ‘Why,’ said Soxias, easily, ‘now all you have to do is, clasp your hands behind yourhead, and, standing on one foot, reach forward with the other; touch Eurynome’s toe very lightly, and come back to your original position. Do this, without taking your hands from your neck, without touching the floor with your engaged foot, and without pushing the ball so hard that the rim of the cup swings to the floor –’
    ‘And what then?’ asked Barbatus.
    ‘Why, then,’ said Soxias, with a gust of laughter, ‘then youmust fall on your backside with your legs in the air, and Little Lucius shall make a song about Barbatus’s Bouncing Bottom that’ll be sung from here to Joppa. But if you succeed, the cup is yours to keep. Well?’
    ‘Oh, unkind!’ Afranius protested.
    ‘Unfair,’ said I. ‘That is a trick to play on a young man, and a supple one, at that.’
    Barbatus was silent, considering; his cheeks were red with outraged dignity, but he wanted the cup so much, and the distance seemed so short.
    ‘I have seen a dancer pull a thigh muscle playing that game,’ said Melanion. ‘Diomed is right.’
    ‘Who asked Diomed to interfere?’ cried Soxias. ‘Unless, of course, he would like to have a try at the Eurynome for the honour of the Roman infantry? Eh, Diomed?’
    I replied: ‘I am not here as your clown, Soxias. I do not want your cup. And watch your jokes.’
    Paulus interrupted, smooth as oil: ‘Oh, but Diomed, why should Soxias watch his jokes? He can afford any kind of joke. And as for fair play – how foolish you are, Diomed, and you a police officer! Fair play is for children, don’t you understand? Could Soxias be where Soxias is if Soxias played like a perfect little gentleman? Soxias is Soxias because he is a perfect scoundrel. That’s what I like about Soxias – you know where you are with him.’
    There was nothing offensive in the way he said this. His tone was serious, admonitory, and he made ‘perfect scoundrel’ sound like a rare kind of compliment.
    ‘Oho!’ exclaimed Soxias. ‘Sound the shawms, blow the bombards, wind the ram’s horn trumpets, smash the cymbals! Here comes the champion of the I AM ! Way for the little Pharisee in the name of the God of the Jews! I dare you to gamble your Pharisaic pride, Paulus, at the risk of bumping your consecrated backside and exposing your sacred