‘Ah!’ quoth Fabricius quietly, ‘he creeps up the ladder apace; but these matters interest me not. Time was when I would have paid it more heed, but now I live apart, and allow consuls and pretors and the like to pass on, almost unheeded—with all respect to your commander, Lucius.’
‘I understand you accompany him on his pleasant expedition, Centurion?’ said Afer.
‘As a most intimate friend of the Prefect, you have, no doubt, been already acquainted with most, or all, of his arrangements,’ answered the other.
‘What—you going?’ observed Fabricius, with a disappointed air; ‘when then will you return?’
‘I cannot tell you, Fabricius. Your nephew will, most probably, know more than myself.’
‘Indeed, uncle, my knowledge is overrated,’ responded Afer; ‘but, if you will take the opportunity, you will commission your preserver to bring you, when he does return, some pottery ware from the adjacent Surrentum—it is a town famed for its excellence in this manufacture, is it not, Centurion?’
The glance and the sneer of the speaker were malicious enough, whilst the cheeks of the young soldier flushed deeply at the allusion. The swift eyes of his host drank all in; he had already gathered sufficient to see that his guests were not altogether so ignorant of each other and each other’s affairs as he had at first supposed. The mounting colour on the Pretorian’s face, as well as the flash of his dark eyes, denoted that his nephew’s last words, from some reason, had proved as disagreeable as his former remarks. It became evident, also, that they were designedly so; and, therefore, without waiting for any reply, he proceeded quietly to discourse upon the artistic merits of pottery in general, with the fluency of a critic familiar with his subject. Afer, as a man of elegant taste in matters of art, was led into the discussion, which lasted for some time, during which the Centurion sat silent, lending only fitful attention to the conversation.
The subject had no charm for him, and his mind rankled with the irritating bearing of the man opposite. His last allusion astonished him not a little, inasmuch as the pointed manner of its delivery revealed to him the knight’s knowledge of his connection with Surrentum; but, after the potter’s communication to the Prefect, the matter would easily and naturally filter to the ear of the confidant, Domitius Afer. Nevertheless, the blood burned in his veins and flamed in his cheeks when his mind, so sensitive on this question, tortured itself by imagining how the loose and irreverent tongues of his commander and the sneering individual across the table, had, doubtless, amused themselves with the purest and most delicate feeling his heart could know. This thought added to the disgust and fierce hostility which bubbled in his breast, on account of the nephew of Fabricius, for whose disagreeable manner he was able to ascribe no reason, except [pg 126]a paltry feeling of spite and envy. But even these distempered reflections gave way to the soothing and delightful contemplation of his speedy removal to the immediate neighbourhood of his beloved; and, in an interval of these self-communings, he became aware that the dialogue upon the merits of artistic ware was flagging and moribund. The pleasure of his visit had long departed, and he seized the opportunity of taking his leave. Rising, therefore, he pleaded the exigency of some camp regulation, and Fabricius left his seat also, to escort his guest to the porch.
‘My nephew has not made himself altogether agreeable to you,’ said the latter, as they stood hand in hand ere they parted; ‘something has probably tried his humour ere he came; but you will not allow that to militate between us twain. You can afford to pass over his whims, for they are not worth your serious thought.’
‘Easily!’