His voice seemed to break a horrible fascination. Afer recovered himself, and drew a long silent breath as he glanced around. Fabricius had seen enough in his heart-stricken nephew’s face, and was now again sternly avoiding his gaze. A dull, sickly dread numbed the heart of the knight and whispered fatefully in his ear. But extremity of peril nerved him with the courage and coolness of despair, and, collecting his faculties, he stood at bay, in readiness for the ominous storm which threatened him.
Withdrawing his attention from Afer, the Emperor devoted a few moments’ scrutiny to the Suburan.
‘Is this the brother you speak of, woman?’ he asked of Tibia.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you claim the kinship, fellow? Are you her brother?’
‘Yes, so please you, I am her brother.’
‘Your name?’
‘Cestus.’
‘And dwelling?’
‘In Rome—in the Subura.’