Gaul. (Britannus bows stiffly.) This gentleman is Rufio, my
comrade in arms. (Rufio nods.) Pothinus: I want 1,600 talents.

The courtiers, appalled, murmur loudly, and Theodotus and
Achillas appeal mutely to one another against so monstrous a
demand.

POTHINUS (aghast). Forty million sesterces! Impossible. There is
not so much money in the King's treasury.

CAESAR (encouragingly). ONLY sixteen hundred talents, Pothinus.
Why count it in sesterces? A sestertius is only worth a loaf of
bread.

POTHINUS. And a talent is worth a racehorse. I say it is
impossible. We have been at strife here, because the King's
sister Cleopatra falsely claims his throne. The King's taxes have
not been collected for a whole year.

CAESAR. Yes they have, Pothinus. My officers have been collecting
them all the morning. (Renewed whisper and sensation, not without
some stifled laughter, among the courtiers.)

RUFIO (bluntly). You must pay, Pothinus. Why waste words? You are
getting off cheaply enough.

POTHINUS (bitterly). Is it possible that Caesar, the conqueror of
the world, has time to occupy himself with such a trifle as our
taxes?