‘And you are sure that no soul has passed from the palace outwards since supper?’
‘Especial orders were given to all the guards.’
‘Come, then!’
They stepped through the secret opening and drew down the shutter after them. It closed with a subdued, but clear ‘click,’ which denoted the hidden instrumentality of a highly-perfected spring. Zeno went on first with the lamp. They descended two narrow winding flights of steps cut in the rock; and at their foot, another door, as cunningly contrived and hidden away, gave way to their potent touch in the same mysterious manner. They were now in a wider gallery, all rock-hewn and faced with brick. On either side were ranged doors; and, at a little distance away, a lamp hung from the [pg 364]ceiling, like a yellow beacon light struggling with the subterranean gloom. Immediately beneath this lamp Zeno halted before a door.
‘Are there none but ourselves below?’ muttered Tiberius.
‘No one,’ returned Zeno; ‘I despatched every one on one pretence and another, and having seen all clear, locked up the main outlet myself.’
The steward pushed with his finger one of the many iron studs or bolt-heads which strengthened the door. It slid back a couple of inches and disclosed a small peep-hole, through which he peered. Satisfied with his scrutiny he unlocked the door and they went in. The chamber was about twelve feet square, and furnished with a small tripod stand, a stool, and a pallet bed. From the ceiling hung a lamp which threw down a dismal light on the cheerless place.
On the bed was stretched the form of Martialis in careless grace, with one sinewy arm hanging down at length over the pallet-side, toward the floor. His appearance was corpse-like. His closed eyes, his bold, handsome features, his dark hair curling crisply over his brow, seemed all fixed in the tranquil marble beauty of the early moments of death. Not a breath seemed to part his moulded lips, and the steel cuirass which encased his body hid effectually all sign of movement beneath. Tiberius started and turned a frowning, inquiring glance on his companion. Zeno pointed to some victuals and an empty pitcher which stood on the small stand.
‘He has eaten nothing and drunk every drop—he will give no trouble.’
‘How—have you killed him?’ demanded the Emperor sternly.