The report that the men-at-arms had seized him had been a fabrication to deceive, for the artist had given himself up.

Nor had he as yet heard of any other traitor whom they had succeeded in laying hands on, though the town was flooded with insolent epigrams directed against the imperial person.

And, as he spoke, he glared with fury at the two candidates before him.
The Greek bowed his head in silence, as if conscious of his short-comings; the Egyptian's eyes flashed, and, with an amazingly low bend of his supple spine, he announced that, more than three hours since, he had discovered a most abominable caricature in clay, representing Caesar as a soldier in a horrible pygmy form.
"And the perpetrator," snarled Caracalla, listening with a scowl for the reply.
Zminis explained that great Caesar himself had commanded his attendance just as he hoped to find the traces of the criminal, and that, while he was waiting, more than three precious hours had been lost.

At this Caracalla broke out in a fury: "Catch the villain! And let me see his insolent rubbish.

Where are your eyes?
You bungling louts ought to protect me against the foul brood that peoples this city, and their venomous jests.