The sudden reappearance of Eurymachus had been extremely agitating to the steward. Satisfaction, alarm, hatred and surprise, struggled in his mind for the upper-hand. He at once gave up all idea of going to the Amphitheatre, and, with his own hand he locked the slave, heavily fettered, into the remotest and securest hiding-place in his house. He was devoured by a feverish anxiety to know what Lycoris could have to say in the matter, and, having neglected, in his surprise, to question the two men-at-arms, he supposed the accidental meeting to have been planned beforehand, and thought that it was Lycoris, who had herself recognized the escaped slave and given him in charge. The whole day he tormented himself with trying to guess how it had all happened, and in his morbid restlessness he did nothing but walk about from one room to another. At last, as the supper-hour drew near, he began to wonder whether it would not be better to put the man, whose existence was a standing threat to him, out of the world at once, without waiting for the Massilian’s arrival. In pursuance of this idea he opened a case of weapons and took out a dagger. He slowly polished the keen blade, which had been the costly gift of a Parthian chief, whom he had been able to oblige. One blow with this blue, gleaming steel, and the incubus would be removed for ever.

He set his lips firmly; the idea gained ground as he thought it over. As a persecuted slave, who must have lived in the fear of being at any moment recognized and seized, Eurymachus could hardly, up to the present hour, have revealed the secret that incriminated his master, to any one but his fellow Nazarenes and accomplices; and they, under the ban of the law and threatened with the same punishment as himself, had the most urgent reasons for keeping it and themselves dark. But what if Eurymachus, even now, were to find an opportunity?—Perhaps even the men who had taken him?—But no; such sharp practitioners would have taken advantage of it ere this, in the hope of extracting a splendid bribe. But Lycoris? some bold hint from the wretch might have betrayed the secret to her, and then Stephanus would be as completely at the mercy of this woman, as she had, ere this, been at his. For she hated him—on that point he had no doubt whatever. And if she wished to see the slave, on what valid pretence could he, Stephanus, refuse.

He slipped the dagger into its sheath again and hid it in his tunic; then he called a slave and desired him to light a hand-lamp. This he took in his left-hand, and went to the room where Eurymachus lay, half-stunned as it seemed, on the stone floor.

“At last I have you in my power,” muttered the steward, setting the lamp down on the ledge. “And this time, by the gods, you do not escape me!”Eurymachus did not reply; he looked up with dull indifference.

“Where have you been hiding yourself this last half-year?” Stephanus went on. “Will you speak, or shall I loosen your tongue by the help of this dagger?”

He drew out the weapon and stepped forward. The slave raised his head with a melancholy smile.

“I understand,” he said, “you have come to finish your work. You are afraid of me. After suffering so long from the misery of terror, you want to make away with the witness of your crime. But you are mistaken. That dreaded secret will not die with me. Cneius Afranius knows it, and sooner or later he will make himself heard. But kill me all the same. For me death can hardly hold more terrors than life.”

Stephanus had dropped his arms by his side; a flash of implacable hatred glared in his eyes.

“Wretch! you dared.... But you triumph too soon; Afranius is an exile, banned as a traitor....”

“By Caesar,” added Eurymachus. “But even Caesars are mortal and human. Take my word for it, that exile will see an end. The wrath of God is hanging over the head of the tyrant, who gives the servants of God to be devoured by beasts. Your accuser will return and demand justice of a tribunal, that you cannot bribe as you did the judges to whom Thrax Barbatus appealed for his rights.”

“Mean slave!” cried Stephanus furious. “And what is there to prevent me from having you racked and tortured, till every nerve in your body writhes with anguish like a worm?”

“Well, satisfy your vengeance. Throw me into the lowest depths of your ergastulum, and leave me there to rot before I die. Send me to join your father—aye, your father—for I know it, and Afranius knows it—it was not your uncle even, but your own father, who was the victim of your brutal crime.”

“Silence!” roared Stephanus, “or I will murder you!” and he flew at the slave. But something in the man’s lofty indifference again stayed the blow.

“Is it loathing and horror of yourself, that hold you back?” asked Eurymachus. “Aye, shudder, Stephanus, and quail! Yes—I saw him, the hapless wretch, half-mad on his filthy bed of straw. I shuddered at it too, as if hell had shown me its horrors, and I thanked God, even with tears, when I knew that in that very hour the suffering soul was free. For three dreadful years, immured by his own son, bereft of life and hope, fed like a beggar’s dog—and this for the sake of filthy lucre, which you would certainly have had in the course of time! Why, the bloodiest patricide is meritorious, when compared with your crime!”

Then suddenly drawing himself up, he went on:

“Listen to me, and mark well what I say. I was in safety—free, and as a free man could laugh at your penalties and your threats. Then I learnt that Quintus Claudius, who once did me a great benefit, was cast into prison; I learnt that the Senate had condemned him to die for the faith’s sake. From that moment I had but one idea: to free him at the risk of my own life—as he once freed me. I hastened hither from Germania, where I had found a peaceful though laborious refuge, and across Gaul to the sea. At Massilia I took a place on board a galley that was short-handed, and served as a rower to reach Ostia—thus I got to Rome two days before your bloody sports began. Here indeed I find news to shake my soul; I heard, that the dearest treasure I possessed on earth had died a most pitiable death. But even this dreadful news could not divert me from the end I had in view. I thought, schemed, considered—all in vain. It was too late for any elaborate plans, and I had no means of effecting a bold stroke. So I determined at least to offer one last consolation to the friend I could not save: the consolation of knowing that one heart on earth beat true. For the glory of our common faith I intended, as soon as Quintus Claudius should appear on the arena, to hasten down to meet him, to thank him once more for the infinite, loving kindness he has shown to a poor slave, and to suffer the same death by his side. Then your spies seized me. Well, who knows whether this disaster, which at first drove me to despair, is not rather the merciful dealing of Providence? You are all-powerful; your wisdom rules the Empress. I swear to you by that God whom we confess, unshaken even in death, that I will not only be silent myself as to your crime, but that I will bind over Afranius to do likewise, if you will use your influence to save Quintus Claudius.”

“Impossible!” said Stephanus with a gasp. “I hate him, he is my enemy, he must die.”

“Does that mean, that you have reason to fear him too if he lives?”

“Precisely,” said Stephanus, scowling.

“Do not be uneasy; a Christian forgives his enemies. Believe me, Cneius Afranius is a far more dangerous foe; and yet, I swear solemnly....”

“Folly!” interrupted the steward. “Even if I took your word for it, so far as you are concerned, who shall warrant me, that Cneius Afranius will listen to you?”“My solemn oath. Afranius will do what I promise in his name, if I tell him that I pledged his word for the life of Quintus.”

“Stephanus! Stephanus!...” It was the girlish voice of the lad Antinous who, now that his master had given him his freedom, called him quite familiarly by his name.

The steward hastily sheathed and hid the dagger, and hurried out of the room. He locked the door carefully and went to meet the boy, who had come to announce the arrival of Lycoris and Leaina. They came in at the same moment; Leaina with formal politeness, Lycoris almost with vehemence.

“Where is he? where have you put him?” she asked. “I must speak to him, I must question him!”

“I do not understand,” said Stephanus evasively. “Explain yourself.”

“Presently, my good friend, after supper; but, for the present, just take my sweet Leaina into your handsomest parlor and pay her a few compliments on her fine scented hair.[154] You are expecting other guests of course—they may arrive at any moment. Meanwhile, leave me alone with your prisoner—I want to find out from him, how on earth he succeeded in making a Nazarene of Quintus Claudius.”

“What interest can you take in the question?”

“The interest of curiosity—and something more. Do you suppose we women remain quite indifferent, when the handsomest man in Rome is thrown to the lions?”“He ought to be left to us,” laughed Leaina; “we should demolish him more tenderly.”

“But, I beg of you....” said Stephanus, paying no heed to Leaina. “If it were known—what would people think?”

“Anything they please. Make haste; where is he? I am dying to hear what he has to say.”

“Very well....” said Stephanus, shrugging his shoulders, and with an unsteady hand he unlocked the door again, went into the room, and whispered to the slave. “I will see what can be done for Quintus Claudius—meanwhile, not a word—or....”

He ended with a horribly suggestive gesture. Then he added in a louder tone:

“Here is a lady, who wants some information as to your relations with Quintus Claudius; answer her with due respect and strict regard to truth.”

The bronze lamp was still standing on the shelf. Lycoris went in and closed the door behind her, while Stephanus, with a heavy heart, conducted Leaina to the peristyle where, in a few minutes, they were joined by Martial and a few other guests, who vied with each other in their attentions to the graceful and coquettish Asiatic.

Then they went to table. The first dish had been handed round, the first cup was emptied—Lycoris was still with the prisoner. At last Stephanus sent a messenger, who returned with an indefinite answer. A quarter of an hour slipped by; the steward was growing impatient. He sent a second messenger, who, to his great astonishment, brought back the reply that Lycoris felt ill, and begged to be excused if she did not join them in the triclinium.Stephanus started to his feet. What nonsense was this? Did this saucy jade take him for a fool? or was she making common cause with the foe? Who could tell whether this private meeting with Eurymachus had not been instigated by Parthenius? After all that Stephanus had heard from Clodianus, there was nothing he might not expect at the hands of the wire-puller at the Palatium....

He excused himself to his guests with a jest, and hastened to the room where he had left Lycoris. What was his astonishment at finding the young Massilian sitting on the floor by the slave, and bathed in tears; while Eurymachus, with a faint flush on his face, was exhorting her in grave and solemn tones, and only ceased speaking as Stephanus appeared in the doorway.

The Massilian rose and dried her eyes and cheeks.

“I thank you heartily,” she said with a deep sigh; “you have lifted a burden from my soul—ah! I never knew till now how intolerable it was.”

“What is going on here?” asked Stephanus, suspiciously. “You are weeping? Will you have the goodness to explain to me...?”

“Not now. No, nor presently! You could never understand what it is that moves me. How pale you are! I verily believe you are afraid of your slave there. You do not know, that his noble soul forgives you? But you, too, must try to overcome the hatred that possesses you. You must grant the slave his freedom, and give him the means of quitting Rome in secret and in safety. Nay, more; you must now, at once, make a last effort to mitigate the fate of Quintus Claudius. I wish it—I demand it—I insist upon it—and, let me tell you, I am in a position to enforce my commands. Nay, you need not scowl so; I mean it.”

“Lycoris!” exclaimed Stephanus, trembling in every limb, “do not forget to whom you owe everything, and what you rose from.”

“From bog and mire, I know it well—but not to struggle all my life-long in the slough of dependence. You have counted without your host, Stephanus! I am no longer your tool. It is you yourself who, without knowing it, have shown me the path to freedom. One sign from me, and Parthenius will crush you to the earth. I have paid dearly for my power, bought it with sin and disgrace—but I mean to use it. Go, Stephanus, and fulfil the behests of the miserable and despised creature, on whose neck you once could have set your foot.”

Before Stephanus could reply, Antinous, his familiar, was standing before him, offering him a note. “A message from the Empress,” he said, out of breath.

Stephanus opened it and read:

“Domitia to her Steward. I must speak with you at once, this instant”

“I will come,” said Stephanus, with a side glance at Lycoris. “The messenger can say, that I am close behind him. And now, Lycoris—I cannot wait—I promise you....”

“Well, what?”

“All—everything,” he said in utter bewilderment, “only give me time to breathe.”

They went together out of the cell, and Stephanus himself locked the door; then he seized Lycoris by her wrist and his eyes had a sinister roll.

“I beg of you,” he said, “take my place with my guests.”“Certainly,” she replied. “But you—do not forget.”

“Serpent!” he snarled between his teeth as he hastily quitted the room.

Domitia received him with unwonted ceremony, and in that same rose-colored room into which she had once before admitted him. She was handsomer than ever.

“Stephanus,” she began. “You have carried out your task with a mastery, that almost makes me tremble. I am standing face to face with a splendid triumph, and yet—the gods know! I do not rejoice in it. I am told that Quintus Claudius is as calm and unshaken as a demi-god. To-day, as I saw the beasts standing over their gory prey, I pictured him to myself—him...! Stephanus, even at this last moment, you must stem the current and divert it into some happier channel. You may call me faithless—false; I cannot help it, I refuse you the reward of your cruel services, unless you succeed even now in saving Quintus Claudius.”

“But Madam, you crush me to the earth,” cried Stephanus in accents of unfeigned despair. “You too...! But how can I...? If you yourself have not the power....”

“You must achieve, what your mistress has failed in doing. I have asked his pardon of Caesar, and have been refused—perhaps for no other reason, but that it was I who asked it. I loathe the fate, which thus humiliates me! And you, Stephanus, can you risk your life for your mistress?”

“For the prize of your love? my life a thousand times over.”

“Well then—but come close that I may speak low. I know, that during the last few months you have often in secret paid visits to Clodianus; ah! your surprise is in itself a confession. You are compromised, past all escape; but fear nothing! I know all. Now, perhaps, you may understand what has hitherto puzzled you: why I have tried to influence Parthenius through Lycoris.—Now, tell me, how would you like to see Domitia, your sovereign, Empress of the World?”

“Madam—I am bewildered, helpless; too much is coming upon me at once. I confess....”

“Now, consider what you have to do. If the sceptre were in my hand this day, Quintus Claudius would be pardoned. But, as it is, my will is a mere breath beating vainly against the rock of perversity and cruelty. It is all the same, you must save him—I swear it, by my wrath, by my love!”

“Oh! this is torment, martyrdom! What an incredible revulsion; is your revenge already slaked? And supposing I could save him—who knows whether you might not then reproach me, for having yielded to the request you insist on so vehemently to-day? Then, once more, I should be cheated of heaven and plunged deeper than ever into the gulf of despair.”

“I swear to you by Styx, that dark river by which the gods themselves swear: I am yours, as soon as Quintus is saved. You must see, Stephanus, offended pride has gone too far. Have you not heard, that his father is on his death-bed? Pity will have its way, if only for the guiltless father’s sake. I too will claim the privilege of the gods and forgive. Now, leave me, Stephanus—go, set to work at once.”

“I have no notion how.—But Domitia commands, and I obey. Such a passion as mine dares even the impossible.”He left the room.

“I am but a weak creature,” said Domitia to herself, “but I am under a spell. The idea came suddenly into my mind like an inspiration from heaven, and I was goaded by it into action. No, no, I cannot bear it; Quintus Claudius a victim to some ravening brute! That noble form, mangled and torn! Sooner would I strangle him with my own hands.”

Stephanus went to his own rooms, and there he demeaned himself like a madman. What curse was this, that had fallen upon him, in this absurd demand from three quarters at once? Had he triumphed so signally over Quintus Claudius, only to lose his vantage-ground; had he so painfully raised an edifice only to strike it into ruins with his own hand? Besides, how was he to do the odious task in so short a time? It was enough to drive him mad.

For the first time in many years the most unheard-of thing occurred: Stephanus, the courtly man of the world, entirely forgot his company. He had left them at table and did not even return to apologize. He paced his study incessantly like a tiger in his cage, and when at last Lycoris came in search of him, his face was furious, his eyes bloodshot, his lips livid.

“What has happened?” asked Lycoris horrified.

“Has the boy made fools of you all?” shrieked the steward, hoarse with rage. “Away with you—go! You see I am incapable of attending to you!”

“Oh! I am going. But do not forget—every minute is precious.”