I was in bed before Dromo interrupted my reflections by saying, in a low tone of considerable confidence, “And now, Master Valerius, do you still continue, as much as two days ago, to disbelieve in philtres and despise enchantresses? You see what, with all my precaution, has come of this connection between Rubellia and the Neapolitan.”

“In truth, Dromo,” I replied, “it is visible that Pona had some share in leading the soldiers to the Sempronian Sepulchre; but I am doubtful if that had any thing to do with the private affairs of the lady Rubellia. As to that matter, I confess myself entirely in the dark.”—“Dark indeed,” quoth he, “must your observation have been, if you have yet to learn that, but for that accursed witch, nothing of all this had befallen; but if there be an edict against the Christians, there are twenty laws against sorcery; and that both Pona and she that consulted her shall know well ere long, if they do not as yet know it; or may Cretan change places with Bœotian!”—“Say on, good Dromo,” I replied, “I am all ears; and as you appear to have been all eyes, I shall probably soon be more enlightened.”

“Well,” quoth he, “I am glad to find that you are [pg 258]in a mood to listen to me decently. You remember where I took my station when you mounted those unfortunate steps upon the tower. I had not stood there many minutes before I heard somebody approaching; and having no doubt it was Rubellia, I was preparing myself for giving her such a salutation as I thought would put a speedy end to her wandering for that night. On came the steps, but no Rubellia. No; it was Xerophrastes himself; and although he had laid aside the Greek mantle, and donned a boatman’s black cloak for the nonce, I promise you I knew his stately gait well enough beneath all these new trappings. It was no part of my job, however, to attempt frightening the stoic.”—“And so you let him pass without doing any thing?”—“I did; I confess I gave one or two groans after he had gone on a few paces, but I did not observe him much quicken his walk, and I believe, to do the man justice, he set it all down to the wind rustling among the trees. But I thought not much of him at all, to speak the truth; for, said I to myself, Well, if it be as I have suspected for these two blessed days, and this master long-beard is really in league with the widow, the chances are, she herself is not far behind him. I lay by, therefore, and expected in silence till I should hear another tread; and in the meantime I spoke to you once or twice across the path, but you made me no answer, for which you know your own reasons.”—“The reason,” said I, “was a very simple one, I assure you. I had fallen asleep, and no wonder, for you know how long I had been a watcher.”—“Well,” said he, “I guessed as much, and it was nothing but the born tenderness of my dispo[pg 259]sition, which made me cease from offering you any disturbance. I thought I should surely be enough single-handed for the widow; and besides, in case of need, I knew your waking would always be in my power.”

“Admirably reasoned, Dromo,” said I; “and so it seems no need came, for you certainly never awakened me; for which I may thank the bonds from which the Centurion’s kindness has just set me free. But you have atoned abundantly—I pray you, get on with your tale.”

“Presently,” he resumed, “I heard footsteps, indeed, my good master, and not footsteps alone, but voices; and I moved from the place as hastily as I could, till I came to a tree, the branches of which, springing low on the trunk, offered an opportunity for mounting, which I should have been a Bœotian indeed had I neglected. I mounted, and hiding myself as well as I could among the boughs, awaited the arrival of the party, which consisted—ay, stare if you will—of Xerophrastes and the widow, walking in front, in earnest talk by themselves,—and the Neapolitan in the rear. They halted, and though they spoke low, I could hear them distinctly.”—“And what, in the name of Heaven, said they?”

“ ‘Are you sure,’ said the widow, ‘that this is indeed the girl whom Sextus went to see at the Villa? Can there be no mistake?’—‘Mistake, lady, there is none,’ replied the Stoic. ‘Pona was at the villa with her basket, and she saw them all walking together in the garden.’—‘And this little Christian,’ said the lady as if to herself, ‘it is she that has cost me all this [pg 260]trouble! It is for this Athanasia that I have been insulted as never woman was by man, and they are both here in the tower!’—‘They are, lady,’ quoth the witch; ‘they are both in the tower, for I saw her go in by her self first, and then in went some dozen of those muffled blasphemers, and, last of all, went in he himself. I saw him not enter indeed, but I swear to you, that I saw him here not twenty paces from hence, and he had with him that cunning slave of his, (meaning myself, sir,) whose ugly face, (the foul woman added,) I would know although it were disguised beneath all the washes that were ever mixed in the seething-pots of Calabria.’—‘But what,’ interrupted our long-beard, ‘what will Licinius say? At least, my lady and my friend Pona will take good care that no suspicion rests upon me. Sextus is a silly boy, without taste, judgment, or discretion; but Licinius is acute and powerful.’—‘Fear not,’ said Rubellia; ‘fear not, dear Xerophrastes. Nobody shall appear in the matter except Pona, and she tells you she has already given warning at the Capene Gate. There are always a hundred men stationed on the Cœlian. Nothing can save them!’

“These words were scarcely out of her mouth, ere the soldiers were heard approaching. Xerophrastes ascended with great agility a tree just over against mine; Rubellia retreated among the pines; and Pona alone awaited the guard. I would have periled a limb to have been able to give you the alarm; but little did I suspect, that had I sought you where I left you, I should have sought in vain.—How, I pray you, did you contrive to get into the accursed tower?”

I told him I should give him the story another time [pg 261]at full length, and mentioned briefly what had occurred. And then the Cretan proceeded with his narrative.

“I leave you to guess, Valerius, how my heart beat when I saw the witch lead the soldiers straight to the place where I supposed you were still sitting—with what anxiety I saw the tower surrounded—its tenants brought out,—with what astonishment I saw you led out, the last of their number.—I had neither time to think by what means all this had happened, nor the least power to interfere. I saw you all mounted—guarded—borne away. Whither they carried you, I was unable to make the smallest conjecture. I saw Sabinus speak to you, and then I had hope,—but that too failed. In brief, I did not venture from my tree till the whole assembly, not forgetting Xerophrastes, had departed; and you may judge what a story I had to tell Sextus when I reached home.

“Instead of waiting to ponder and hesitate, as he used to do when his own matters perplexed him, he went from me straight to his father. But before they had done with their conversation, Sabinus himself arrived, and he was immediately taken into the same chamber where they were. Licinius and he went out together soon afterwards, and I think they walked towards the Palatine; but whithersoever they went, they had a good deal of work before them, for the day had advanced considerably before they returned. The Centurion’s horses were brought to the door shortly after; my master desired me to accompany him; and gave me letters for you, which I had almost forgotten to deliver.”

Such was the story of the faithful Cretan. The letter of Licinius I have still preserved:—

[pg 262]

“Since our Sabinus desires that I should write to you, although his own kindness renders it unnecessary that I should do so, I cannot refuse. I understand little, my Valerius, of what has brought you into this condition, from which, not without difficulty overcome, you are, notwithstanding, speedily to be delivered. I guess, that hastiness of various sorts, not, however, entirely without excuse in a person of your age, has been the means of implicating you in the affairs of a sect, equally unworthy of your communication, whether you consider the country in which their superstition originated, or the barbarities with which it is stained. But even for beauty, my young friend, it becomes not a Roman, least of all a Valerius, to forget what is due to the laws of Rome, and the will of the Prince. Consider with yourself how nearly you have escaped serious evil. Return to us, and forget what has passed, except for the lesson it must teach you. Of Rubellia and Xerophrastes I am unwilling to believe, without farther examination, what has been told me by my slave Dromo. We shall speak of that and other matters, when (which I hope will be early to-morrow) you once more give me the pleasure of seeing you. I have then much to say. Farewell.”

[pg 263]