Of the numerous doors which opened therefrom, one at the south side was guarded by the inevitable armed Pretorian. From the frequent passing in and out of stealthy-footed slaves this would seem to be the Imperial supper-room, but, instead of proceeding thither, Tigellinus pushed open a door within a yard of the passage by which he had entered. It was a kind of office containing only a bench and table, at which was seated a man engaged in reading, what seemed to be, a paper of accounts. Disturbed by the sound of the incomer he looked up and gave an ejaculation of surprise, ‘What, Tigellinus! At last! I have been looking for you long.’
His accent was distinctly Greek. His figure was slender and supple, and his complexion fair. His features were perfectly handsome, but a cold penetrating expression of eye overbore their beauty with an air of repellence.
‘Yes, Zeno; it is no other than myself,’ replied Tigellinus, closing the door behind him; ‘and, old comrade, how go things with yourself?’
‘Just in the humour for fellowship such as yours,’ answered Zeno.
‘Delighted at the compliment,’ rejoined the new-comer; ‘but Caesar first and you next, worthy steward. Are the omens favourable that I see my royal patron this evening?’
‘Without fear,’ said the steward.
Drawing their heads together they conversed in whispers for a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time Tigellinus drew a signet ring from his finger and gave it to his friend. Zeno departed and Tigellinus awaited his return, which did not occur until fully twenty minutes had elapsed. ‘Come!’ said the steward, thrusting in his head at the door. In the meantime the sentinel had changed his post to another door [pg 146]in the peristyle. Through this Tigellinus was ushered by the warrior, and the steward returned to his accounts.
Within the apartment, which was simply enough appointed, the ruler of the world sat awaiting his agent, with his cheek resting on his hand. At his feet a newly-kindled fire of wood burned brightly, and close to his elbow was a small table, upon which stood a gold cup filled with wine. Tigellinus stepped forward into the Imperial presence and knelt down, but not without giving a swift and anxious glance to read, if possible, his master’s mood.
To a stranger, the countenance which met his gaze would surely have caused apprehension by reason of its stern lowering appearance, but, in reality, it was nothing more than its native, unruffled expression, which Tigellinus was well accustomed to, and consequently relieved to see.
The Emperor had now almost completed the allotted age of man. The weight of threescore years and ten had been aided by the undermining of continued excesses, of which we have such dark and doubtless exaggerated tales. Yet both had failed to break the iron constitution of the man. It was certainly the result most naturally to be expected; but here was prodigy of physical organisation, which still remained unimpaired under the strain of age and a ruler’s cares, as well as the self-imposed waste of vicious indulgence.