‘Know you which friends?’
‘Flaccus, Marinus, Priscus, the philosophers, and the Roman lady,’ replied the legionary.
The three first named were companions of Tiberius, the third of whom we have already known. The Roman lady Martialis knew to be Plautia. He passed his hand across his forehead. The question was as useless as the answer. The slaves, who idled here and there in twos and threes about the court, were the natural repositories of household secrets and tattle. He eyed them and gnawed his nether lip.
‘Have you been in the palace long?’ he asked again.
‘I have wellnigh worn out my spell of duty, I should say, Centurion—at least I brought Caesar hither from his dressing-room.’
‘Tell me, Asca,’ said Martialis, dropping his voice, ‘since you have been here within-doors, have you seen or heard anything of the arrival of some of Caesar’s slaves bearing with them a woman—a young girl?’
‘Only a few minutes ago, Zeno, the worshipful steward, marshalled a couple such into Caesar’s presence—they had a woman with them, and they are there now.’
‘Ah, and she?’ demanded the young man, with an energy which caused the soldier to recoil a step. ‘What was she like—her appearance? Quick, Asca, speak!’
‘Truly, Centurion, I scarce gave her any heed, except that she was taller than common—her face was well shrouded moreover,’ quoth the surprised Asca.
‘Was that all? Was there nothing said? Did you not hear whence they came? Can you tell me nothing of her looks, her voice, dress, or anything to guide me?’