‘I love my Pretorians, and cannot bear to see them come to harm,’ he muttered. The words reached the ears of Martialis, whose heart throbbed with renewed hope which would not be denied. Then Caesar returned to his seat and said, ‘The Prefect has spoken to me concerning you—has he seen you here?’
‘He came for the despatches I bore,’ answered the Centurion; ‘I know he would speak favourably of me.’
‘He did so—you often act as his courier?’
‘Very frequently.’
‘I remember to have seen you before in that capacity.’
‘I have often had the honour of carrying important letters between the Prefect and yourself.’
‘Yes, you are favoured with his confidence. Do your missions ever include any diplomatic or political business?’
‘No—I know nothing of either, and have no desire to learn. My profession suffices to fill my entire attention.’
‘Good,’ said the Emperor approvingly; ‘you are a soldier, pure and simple, as you ought to be. It is all the more pity you have committed this fault.’
He rose from his seat and walked the cell again. Martialis watched him anxiously.