Before Stephanus went through to the anteroom, where Polycharma was waiting with the other slaves, he paused a moment to recover his breath. He drew himself up, and his face resumed its usual expression of supercilious indifference. He now could measure with calmer blood the extent of his success; that which, a few minutes since, had deprived him of his senses, now filled his spirit with elasticity, and he told himself that he had selected, with infinite psychological insight, the moment for realizing his long-cherished purpose—the moment in fact, when her first meeting with her husband had shaken the proud woman’s nature to the foundations. He believed, that the happy result was obviously to be ascribed to this fortunate coincidence, and this doubled his good opinion of his own judgment. His glance lingered with supreme satisfaction on the magnificent room, the statue of Venus, the little Eros and the purple pillows on the divans. The inarticulate language of the smile, that played upon his thin lips, was easy to interpret—it told of his hope ere long to rule as master in this apartment, as the declared favorite of its lovely mistress—lovelier and grander than the marble goddess there, and oh! a thousand times warmer and more gracious.

He dropped his right arm, letting his white robe sweep the ground like the mantle of an eastern prince, and went on to the anteroom. He favored the wily Polycharma with a gracious nod, marching past the other girls with the strut of a promoted peacock. The Sicambrian stared at him open-mouthed.

The steward’s apartments were on the farther side of the peristyle, on the side towards the Circus Maximus. His offices were lower down still, on the Quirinal, where the Empress had been living since her separation from her husband, excepting when she went every summer to her villa at Baiae. The elaborate paraphernalia of official papers made a prompt removal impossible, and only certain small branches of the steward’s business had as yet been reinstated in the palace.

Stephanus went into his private room, laid aside his toga, and stretched himself at full-length on a comfortable couch. His restless brain was already seething with a thousand plans, which chased each other like a flight of crows. Numbers of impressions and motives, which hitherto had lurked unheeded, started up in his memory as possible starting points for future operations; but foremost of all the figure of Eurymachus, as yet irretrievably lost, occupied his thoughts. To judge from the reports of the slaves, who had followed the fugitive, the behavior of Quintus Claudius had been strange enough to suggest its connection with the slave’s successful escape, even if no direct connection existed. Stephanus dimly felt, that here lay the fulcrum for his lever—but how could he use it? Well, he had solved harder problems than this in his time. The son of so influential a man as the Flamen was, no doubt, a more difficult subject to deal with than Thrax Barbatus, whose cries had easily been drowned; still—the higher the obstacle, the greater the triumph.

He lay gazing thoughtfully at the tips of his fingers. Wholly possessed by the idea of avenging Domitia, he had forgotten for the moment, that the escape of Eurymachus was of importance to him on far graver grounds, than the use he could make of it to injure Quintus; now, this consciousness pressed with double weight on his soul. He would have given half his fortune, to learn that Eurymachus was silent forever. By some accident, which to Stephanus remained an unsolved mystery, Eurymachus had learned a momentous secret.—Supposing that now, when he was no longer gagged, he should make himself heard—supposing he should shout it out in the ears of the world. A hundred times did the steward curse the fatal idea, of making the execution of his slave an entertainment for Lycoris’ guests. Quietly strangled, or thrown into a tank to feed the lampreys—that would have been the rational thing, and more like his usual good sense. To be sure, hatred and rage had spoken loudly, and Lycoris had entreated him so earnestly.—Still it was folly, madness. Who could tell what Fate might bring out of it, if such precious material should happen to fall into the hands of Cneius Afranius—that cruel vampire who, for more than six months, had had his clutches on the steward’s neck. His eyes were fixed vacantly on the ceiling, as the long train of his crimes passed before him. Each separate deed appeared clothed in flesh and blood, incarnate in the form of Cneius Afranius, who seized him by the hair and dragged him before the Senate; till, at last, the direst deed of all came forth and cried to Heaven, till the great city shook to its foundations, and Domitian himself, the blood-stained tyrant, hid his face in horror.

Stephanus started up.

“Be still, mad brain!” he exclaimed, striking his forehead with his fist. “I have been too easy; a prudent man should strike and hold; till now I only kept out of the way of the arrows of Afranius, now—let him see to it, that he hides himself from mine. Quintus and he! The same stroke may by good hap fall on both at once.”

He paced his room uneasily; suddenly he stood still—before him stood a lad with soft and girlish features.

“Antinous!” cried the freedman. “You glide about like a weasel.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I had asked three times to be admitted. I heard you speaking to yourself....”

“You heard?”

“Not a word, my lord. You muttered through your teeth—only disconnected words—I thought you were vexed and angry with the slaves....”

“And you came to comfort me?” asked Stephanus smiling. “It is well that I have you; for the next few weeks you will have heavy work on hand. Shut the door and sit down on the couch there.”

“Heavy work?” asked the boy disconsolately. “What, am I to carry water; or till the fields? Am I to be as miserable as the others are?”

Stephanus laughed, and patted the lad’s beardless cheek.

“Not yet, my boy. I have chosen you for something better than that. What I have for you to do is serious and very difficult, but amusing and interesting; and if you accomplish the task, you shall be—well, you shall be free. Do you hear, Antinous, free? And rich besides, for I will give you an estate....”

“My lord, you know that my devotion is boundless. Only a few hours since I risked my life for two thousand miserable sesterces....”“Not too rashly, I imagine. You thought that discretion was the better part of valor!”

“Pardon me, but you are mistaken. I rushed down upon him, when he was surrounded by his clients and slaves; and if I had not slipped away at the very instant....”

The boy shuddered.

“What is the matter?” asked Stephanus.

“I do not know, but I shiver whenever I think of it. As I struck him, I met his eye—so cool and contemptuous.—If at that moment he had seized me, I should have been lost....”

“You are childish, Antinous. I am afraid, that if you are so excitable you will not earn your freedom in a hurry.”

“What, again must I...?”

“No, his life is spared. You must do more than that.”

“More?” said the lad in astonishment.

“Aye, more, boy. Why any bandit from the Appian Way could stab him; what I want you to do requires not only zeal, skill and courage, but intelligence, readiness, and the craftiness of Ulysses[286]. Greek blood flows in your veins[287]—you are at once panther and fox. You shall hear the details in the course of the day; I shall expect you to dinner with me here in the study. Enough for the present. Now tell me where you have been so long? You had no sooner told me that your blow had missed, than, you rushed away again. I waited in vain ... you really abuse my kindness....”

“Oh! my lord, are you angry?” said the boy coaxingly. “Indeed, if I sinned, it was not from insolence, but from fear. I felt irresistibly driven to his house; I mixed with the people, that I might learn whether information had reached the prefects of the attack upon him....”

“Well?”

“Up to the present hour no one knows of it. Quintus Claudius seems inclined to keep it a secret. Even the gate-keeper, whom I began to talk to....”

“Are you mad?” interrupted Stephanus. “Do you want to find yourself imprisoned and crucified?”

“Nay, my lord. Antinous does not go to work so clumsily. When I stopped to talk to the gate-keeper, I was in girl’s clothes.”

“It is all the same; the whole thing was aimless.”

“Not altogether, an accident rewarded my daring. Only think, as I was standing there talking over the weather—he took me, as sure as I am alive, for some street hussy—a woman came towards us through the ostium, with an old man with a snow-white beard. As soon as I saw her, I knew her to be that saucy Euterpe, who so often played the flute for us at Baiae; do you not remember? The pretty girl from Cumae, who always looked so shy and stupid, when you praised her shape....”

“Well, and what does she matter to me?”

“Euterpe? nothing whatever; but the old man.—As they came past us, a vague remembrance crossed my mind. I said to myself: I must surely know that man. Then he used some little gesture, and at once I had found the trace. It was none other than Thrax Barbatus, that obstinate fool who wanted, a little while since, to force his way in to see you....”

“Thrax! with Quintus Claudius?” cried the steward horrified. “Ah! I understand now! Claudius and Afranius are plotting together, to restore the old idiot to his rights. The Flamen’s son has long honored me with his hatred. A reason the more, for disarming and disabling him....” Then he suddenly checked himself, pushed his fingers through his hair, and scowled.

“Listen,” he began eagerly. “I have an idea. Was it not Euterpe, who troubled herself so much about Eurymachus, when I had him flogged?”

“To be sure, Euterpe, the pretty Cumaean! He was supposed to be her lover, and while he was laid up she brought him herbs and salves; and she cried....”

Stephanus drew a deep breath.

“What more do you know of all this?”

“Very little,” said Antinous. “In Baiae I had something better to do, than to trouble myself about anything so commonplace as the love affairs of a flute-playing hussy. At any rate, the noble Eurymachus does not seem to have been very eager. Astraeus heard him once scolding her soundly.”

“Why?”

“It had something to do with her salves and ointments. She had bought the stuff of some Egyptian magician, and that vexed her lover....”

Stephanus nodded, and a gleam of malicious satisfaction lighted up his vulture face.

“Ah! I was not mistaken,” he muttered between his teeth; then, turning to the slave, he added: “And is that all you learnt from Astraeus?”

“All.”

“Very good, then I will question him myself; I foresee great results. Go now, Antinous; my head whirls with a multiplicity of wonderful possibilities. Claudius, Afranius, Thrax, Euterpe—you must watch them all with the eye of an Argus.”

“My lord, your confidence in me makes me vain. You have only to command, and I will obey. I will climb the Capitol like the invading Gauls[288]; I will dive to the depths of the sea and bring you a message from Thetis.[289] But then, do not forget your promise.”

“I will keep it,” replied Stephanus, stroking the lad’s cheek. “Freedom and gold are the charms, that give wings to your services.”

“You are the kindest master[290] in the whole Roman Empire! Farewell.”

He nodded to Stephanus with saucy familiarity, danced across the room with a graceful step, leaped lightly over one of the broad couches, and slipped out of the door like an eel.

“Hail, all hail to thee, Quintus!” Stephanus muttered mockingly. “This is a better beginning, than I dared to hope for. And if Fortune continues to favor me, I will raise on this foundation such a structure as you need not disdain to take your pleasure in.”