He never talked "baby-talk," a form of linguistic aberration for which doting mothers are largely responsible and to which he was never exposed. One might as easily have conceived of Cingetorix playing with dolls as of Agrippina talking baby-talk. The result was that Little Boots was addicted to words and forms of speech often several sizes too large for him. He was a pretty nice little kid, only terribly spoiled. Even at this early age his mother had succeeded in impressing upon his childish mind that he was a Julian, the grandnephew of the emperor of the world, and that everyone else was scum put on earth merely to do the bidding of Julians and to be spit upon if they felt so inclined.

When he became vexed with me, he would call me a vile barbarian, taking the cue from his sainted mother. Once he spit on me and I slapped him down. I did not at the time realize that I was slapping down a future emperor of Rome; though, had I done so, it would have made no difference, for even future emperors of Rome cannot spit on the great-grandson of Cingetorix with impunity. We are a proud line, neither insane nor scrofulous.

He started screaming that time and ran in search of Agrippina. I made my way rather hurriedly to the picket lines and insinuated myself between two very large cavalry horses. I was there but a short time when I heard a most unusual commotion about the camp: men were running in all directions-tribunes, centurions, and common legionaries.

Perhaps, I thought, the Germans are about to attack us. I hoped so, but it was nothing so nice as that. They were looking for me, as I had more than half suspected, though I tried not to admit it. Presently one of them found me: it was Tibur, the legionary who had been a gladiator, the one who had offered his sword to Germanicus that time the general had threatened to kill himself.

"Oh-ho!" he exclaimed. "So there you are! What did you do, kid? The old bitch is raring around like a horse with the colic and threatening to have you skinned alive. What in hell did you do?"

"He spit on me," I said.

"And you?"

"I slapped him down."

"Good boy!" cried Tibur, slapping me on the back. "She'll have you killed for it, but it's worth it. Now, come along with me. I hate to do it, but there's no sense in both of us being killed."

Tibur led me back to the tent of Germanicus. He was there, and Agrippina, and Caius Caetronius, and Little Boots. Little Boots made a face and stuck his tongue out at me.

Agrippina was trembling all over. "Did you dare strike Caius Caesar, you vile barbarian?" she demanded.

"No, ma'am," I replied, "but I slapped Little Boots' face. He spit on me." I had never heard Caligula's real name before, so I didn't know whom she was talking about, and it occurred to me that maybe it wouldn't go so hard with me if I had only slapped Little Boots rather than Caius Caesar; that Caesar sounded impressive.

Agrippina was so angry that she could scarcely speak, but she finally found her voice.