replied Cestus. ‘It was my delight which let it slip. Euge, Cestus! Five hundred sestertia for simply helping an old man on the road to the Elysian fields – why, patron, the pay is so princely, and the task so light, that I feel somewhat ashamed of accepting the terms.’
‘You are perfectly at liberty to return whatever your conscience considers to be superfluous,’ remarked Afer.
‘Well, we will see how matters turn out,’ answered Cestus, with a grin. ‘No doubt when the sad news is brought to your wondering ears, you will be in a dreadful state of mind, and will lay the bloodhounds on the track of the villains all over the city?’
‘It may, very probably, be necessary to act in some such way,’ responded the knight, with a shadowy smile. ‘Let me see,’ he murmured, as he passed his hand over his brow, and remained in deep thought for a few moments; ‘come to-night, and we will arrange everything.’
‘To-night!’
‘And, Cestus, be secret; and beware of the wine-pot.’
‘Never fear; it is only when Cestus is idle that he amuses himself in that way. Give him work, and work to some purpose, like this, and his head remains clear as water – and when your honour lays the plan there is no more to be added.’
‘Engage your comrades to-day. To-morrow I shall go to Tibur – the day after to-morrow meet me at the Sublician Bridge at nightfall.’
‘But I shall see you to-night, as you said?’
‘Yes; and on the evening of the day after to-morrow I will be at the Sublician Bridge. It will involve much riding, but I can be nigh you and yet return to Tivoli before morning breaks.’
Cestus held up his hands in affected admiration.
‘You are inspired, patron! But hold; how if the old man will not come forth with me? What then comes of all this fine scheme?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Afer calmly. ‘We shall have to wait and devise again.’
‘I care not for this complicated notion. I prefer to have not so many cooks to the broth. There is nothing so sure, and so easy, as a little dust of a certain kind in his wine or meat.’
The knight shook his head.
‘It is too effective, my Cestus, and too common. It would not fail to be talked about. No; our rough footpads leave the least suspicion.’
‘Well, you are perhaps right; for when the watchmen find the old man in the gutter next morning, it will be said that he met his end at the hands of thieves, who gave him a knock a little too heavy – not the first since this good city was built.’
Afer nodded and said,
‘Come to-night, as I bade you.’
‘I will. Am I not to have the honour of following you toward the city?’
‘No,’ replied the knight, turning away; ‘I go to the camp. Be discreet – this will make us or mar us.’
Cestus bowed and loitered away leisurely in the direction of the Esquiline Gate, whilst Afer walked quickly toward the Viminal Plain, on the border of which lay the ramparts of the Pretorian camp.
CHAPTER VI
Whilst this conversation, which we have related, was passing between Afer and his client, a small coasting vessel was ascending the river Tiber, making slow headway against the current. In the little poop-house, along with the captain of the craft, was standing Masthlion, an interested observer of all that passed within view, as they wound up the famous stream.
To go back a little. We left the potter retiring to rest full of a determination to proceed to Rome. He arose next morning with a mind unchanged, and soon after dawn took his way to the cliffs. As he was about to set his foot to descend the steps which led down to the Marina, the head of an ascending individual showed up above the level. He was a short, thick-set man, with a mahogany complexion, shaggy beard and moustache. Each made an exclamation and then shook hands.
‘I was coming with no other reason than to seek tidings of you, Silo.’
‘Good! – here I am myself, Masthlion.’
‘I thought it about your time. Are you for the Tiber?’
‘Direct.’
‘When?’
‘At noon, or before. I don’t want to lose this wind,’ said the sailor, casting his eye to the eastward.
‘I have business in Rome – give me a passage.’
‘In Rome! You? What has bitten you? Come, and welcome.’
‘I will come about noon then.’
‘An hour before, Masthlion; and if I want thee before that I will send.’
The potter went home, and after gathering a few articles of clothing and food together in a wallet, he quietly resumed work until the time came for departure. During this period Neæra glided into the workshop. A new and radiant expression beamed on her face and sparkled in her beautiful gray eyes. The delicate colour of her cheek was deeper. An unconscious smile seemed to play on her lips, as though responding to the springs of joy and hope within. The loosely-girded tunic of coarse, poor fabric could not hide the graceful curves of her lithe figure, which promised a splendid maturity. Her household work had caused her to tuck up her sleeves, and her revealed arms and wrists gleamed white and round. Her loveliness seemed to the potter literally to bloom afresh as he glanced at her.
‘Father,’ said she, ‘you are going to Rome?’
‘I am, child, and Silo’s felucca sails by noon at the latest,’ he answered, without raising his head.
‘You are going because of me, father?’ she continued, drawing nearer.
He did not answer.
‘It is I who am sending you to Rome, father?’
‘You have said it, child. But I shall, at the same time, satisfy a lifelong desire to see the great city; and I may be able, likewise, to pick up a hint or two from the Roman shops.’
‘As far as I am concerned, father, you need not give yourself the trouble.’
‘Wherefore?’ asked the potter, in doubt as to her meaning.
‘Because I can save you the journey.’
Masthlion smiled.
‘You go to seek to know whether Lucius be a true man or false,’ she continued, with animation and a heightened colour; ‘you may stay at home, for I can tell you.’
‘And whence did you gain the knowledge I am truly in want of, child?’ he said.
‘Here!’ she answered proudly, as she laid her hand over her heart.
A smile of admiration, and yet compassionate, rested on her father’s lips, as he gazed into her kindling eyes, and watched the glowing hues spread over her exquisite face. New graces, fresh nobility and dignity, unknown before, seemed to blossom forth upon the maiden beneath his wondering eyes. His acute brain comprehended the change; it was no longer the child, but the woman.
‘The foolish heart is so often mistaken, Neæra,’ he said, touched by her simple faith; ‘it would not be wise to trust entirely thereto.’
But she only shook her head.
‘Facts are against you,’ he continued; ‘how many have acted from their impulse and have lived to use their eyes and minds soberly afterwards? But no, – no more of that! I had rather try and bale the bed of the sea dry than attempt to cure a lovesick girl of her folly. Meanwhile, I shall go to Rome, as I intended, and try to satisfy my own mind, after the fashion of cold, heartless men.’
‘You expect to come back with bad news of Lucius, and thus forbid me to think of him again.’
‘That I never said.’
‘No, but you think it. I warn you that you will be disappointed, and that your journey will go for nothing.’
As