Syrians have but one design: they seek to weaken our fatherland. They are the enemies of Caesar."
A number of them abstracted from the fruiterers' stalls gourds and locust-beans, others picked up oyster-shells, and flung them at the apostle, who was still vaticinating.
Thrown down the steps of the portico, he wended his way through the Forum, shouting, amid a storm of hooting, insults, and blows, pelted with dirt, bleeding, and half naked:
"My Master has said it, we are the sweepings of the world."
And he exulted in his joy.
The children pursued him on the Cenchreae road, yelling.
"Anastasis! Anastasis!"
Posocharis was not sleeping. Hardly had the friends of the proconsul gone away, when he raised himself upon his elbow. Seated on a step, a short distance from him, the swarthy Joessa was crunching between her teeth the shell of a sea-urchin. The cynic hailed her and showed her the glittering piece of silver he had just received. Then, having readjusted his rags and tatters, he rose, slipped his feet into his sandals, picked up his stick and wallet, and went down the steps. Joessa went up to him, relieved him of his wallet full of holes, which she gravely placed on her shoulder, as if to carry it as an
