But Libyan bearers carried a litter into the garden.

The litter was close-curtained with blue canvas, against the rain.

And a veiled woman peeped through a slit in the curtains and beckoned to Caleb:

“Is he at home?” she asked.

Caleb recognized her, but he answered with an air of innocence and asked:

“Who, gracious lady?”

“He,” repeated the woman. “The young Roman, Publius Lucius Sabinus.”

“He is at home, gracious lady,” said Caleb. “But he is unwell. He will not see any one.”

“If he is at home, I want to see him,” said the woman.

And she alighted on the stone steps of the portico. She was closely wrapped in her veils, but Caleb had recognized her. And she offered Caleb a gold coin, which Caleb did not refuse, because business was business and a well-invested stater brought him still a little nearer to his native land, for which he was longing.

“I do not know whether I can let you in,” said Caleb, hesitatingly.

The woman produced a second piece of gold. It disappeared in Caleb’s girdle as though by witchcraft.

“Where is he staying?” she asked.

“In the princes’ building, of course,” said Caleb, proudly. “Where his little black slave is squatting.”

The veiled woman went up to Tarrar, squatting on a mat outside a door:

“I want to see him,” said the woman. “I want to speak to him. Take me to him.”

“The master is asleep,” said Tarrar.

“Wake him.”

“The master is sick,” said Tarrar.

“Tell him that I can cure him.”

“I dare not,” said Tarrar. “He would be angry. It would be against his orders. He is accustomed to have us obey him.”

“Announce me.”

“No,” said Tarrar.

“You’re a little monkey,” said the woman.

And she opened the door and lifted a curtain.

Tarrar and Caleb, dismayed, tried to stop her:

“She’s inside!” said Caleb.

“The master will beat me!” said Tarrar, shivering. “That impudent wench!”

But Caleb, with his finger to his mouth, told him to be silent ... and listened at the door.

The veiled woman stood in Lucius’ room. Lucius lay on a couch in mournful meditation. He opened his eyes wide with amazement.

“I am Tamyris,” said the woman. “Lucius, I am Tamyris. I am famed for my beauty; and I have kept kings waiting on the threshold of my villa on Lake Mareotis merely out of caprice. I once kissed a negro slave while the King of Pontus was waiting; and, when my black lover held me in his arms, I called the king in ... and then showed him the door and drove him away.”

“That’s not true,” said Lucius.

Tamyris opened her veils and laughed:

“No, it’s not true,” she said. “But what is true is this, that I have been burning with love for you since the day when I saw you, beautiful as a god, on the threshold of Amphris’ pyramid. Lucius, I want to be your slave. I want to serve and love you. I will cure you and make you laugh. I shall make you forget all your sorrow. Lucius, I have served the sacred goddess Aphrodite since I was a child of six. She has taught me, through oracles and dreams, the utter secret of her science, the secret of her highest voluptuousness, which she herself did not know until she loved Adonis. Lucius, if you will love me, I shall be your slave and reveal the secret of Adonis to you.”

“Go away,” said Lucius.

“Lucius,” said Tamyris, “I have never asked a man to love me. But my days, since I looked into the mournful depths of your eyes, have been like withered gardens and my nights like scorched sands. I suffer and I am ill. I have an everlasting thirst here, in my throat, despite draughts cooled with snow and fruit steeped in silphium. See, my hands shake as though I were in a fever. See, Lucius, how my hands shake. They want to fondle you, to fondle your limbs and....”

“Go away,” said Lucius.

“Lucius, I long to be your slave. I, Tamyris, the famous hetaira, who possess treasures, as you do, and the largest beryl discovered in Ethiopia, I long to be your slave and I long to shake your pillows high and soft and to lave your feet in nard and to dry them with my kisses, kiss after kiss until they are dry.”

Lucius struck a hard blow on the gong. Caleb and Tarrar appeared.

“Call the guards,” Lucius commanded. “And drag this woman away if she does not go.”

“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, when I am dead, O Lucius, burnt out with love, I shall haunt you and my ghost will twine around you, without your being able to prevent it, and I shall suck your soul from your lips ... until I have you inside me ... inside me.”

“Gracious lady,” said Caleb, obsequiously, “the rain has ceased and your litter waits.”

“I am going,” said Tamyris. “The Prince of Numidia expects me. He has come with twenty swimming elephants, over the sea and straight across the lake, to love me. I am giving an orgy to-night, just to amuse him. Lucius, if you call on me to-night, we will tie up the Prince of Numidia and tickle the soles of his feet till he dies of laughing. Will you come?”

“You lie,” said Lucius. “There is no prince come to see you and there are no swimming elephants. You weary me. Go away, or I shall have you scourged from my presence with long whips.”

“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, at a moment when you are not thinking of it, I shall bewitch you. Then you, without knowing it, will drink a philtre which I have prepared for you; and you will come to me and I shall embrace you. And in my embrace you shall know what otherwise would have always remained a secret to you. I am going.”

That night Lucius went to Tamyris.

But he returned, the next morning, disillusionized and disappointed.