‘Keep near me, mother,’ she whispered, as she clutched the dame’s hand tightly; ‘and yet, for the sake of Lucius, ought I not to be glad?’
The apartment into which they were brought was tolerably well filled with company. Tiberius sat on a slightly raised seat, and, in a lower chair, at one side, was seated his [pg 405]daughter-in-law Livia. Sejanus was at her side, whilst conversing in knots, at a respectful distance, were others of the court. Flaccus, Priscus, Marinus, Atticus, the devoted friends of the Emperor, were there, as well as Afer and two or three other followers of the Prefect. Caesar himself was speaking in a low tone with Thrasullus, the astrologer, who stood at his elbow; next to whom was Seleucus, another philosopher, buried in deep reflection. Behind the Imperial chair was, as usual, the gigantic Nubian, and still further in rear, other slaves in waiting, including the females in attendance on Livia. Neæra and the dame, marshalled by Zeno, entered the presence with hesitating steps, and halted near the door—Tibia, with the abashed feelings of her humble timid nature, and the maiden, with an agitation which the circumstances of her position rendered positively painful. She clung tenaciously to the hand of the dame as she ran her eyes hastily over the company. She was even comforted to observe Livia present, and her heart throbbed violently as she cast fugitive glances upon each gray head, in vain wonder as to the identity of her aged relative.
At Caesar’s sign the steward brought them forward in front of his chair. In the hollow of his left hand, Tiberius held the same intaglio which Fabricius had shown to Martialis, in the tavern under the Aventine. He studied it, in conjunction with the face of the maiden before him, with close attention, and then, without a word, handed it to Thrasullus. The philosopher, after a rapid comparison, returned it to the Imperial hand, giving a significant nod. Tiberius raised his voice and called to Afer, who immediately broke off his conversation and approached.
‘Hither—I want your opinion,’ said the Emperor, holding out the intaglio; ‘cast your eyes on this graven stone, and thence on the face of this maiden before us, and tell me if you perceive any resemblance.’
The rest of the company edged nearer with curiosity.
Afer took the likeness, and, as he did so, bent his gaze on Neæra’s beautiful face, with the same supercilious smile, which had proved so offensive to her in Masthlion’s shop. She recognised him readily, and coloured with displeasure, as she haughtily reared her head, and averted her eyes.
‘Have you met before?’ asked Tiberius, closely watching them.
‘Yes, Caesar, to the best of my memory,’ returned the knight, removing his eyes from her face and turning them to the miniature for the first time. He gave an almost imperceptible movement of surprise, and his brows knitted closely over his hooked nose, as he gazed at the portrait in his hand.
‘Where then was the meeting?’ asked Caesar.
‘In Surrentum—if I mistake not, in a potter’s shop. But she is better known, I believe, to the Centurion Martialis,’ replied Afer, with the unfailing curl of his lip, half smile and half sneer.