‘No—save for a lying scoundrel,’ returned Afer; ‘but of what avail is my word?’
‘He must then be a scoundrel of exceptional ingenuity and imagination. What say you to this, Suburan?’
‘Why, it is easy enough for him to say that in this place,’ replied Cestus, with a laugh; ‘but in the city he would not dare. He is but plunging himself deeper into the mud when he denies me. It is not a simple thing to throw off altogether a friendship of eighteen years!’
‘Friendship!—execrable villain,’ hissed the knight.
‘As you please, patron; you were always fertile in pretty names,’ retorted the other, shrugging his shoulders.
‘It must be just as easy for you to prove the existence of eighteen years’ connection,’ said Tiberius.
‘Ay, in the city, where plenty of people could be found to help me; but here—stop! will you send for his slave, a Greek lad named Erotion?’
Afer started. These unlooked-for words shot a thrill of terror to his heart and roused him to desperation.
‘He shall not come,’ he cried fiercely. ‘You will terrify him into bearing false witness against me. You are banded against me. I claim a suitable delay, until I can reach Rome, to gather evidence against this conspiracy.’
‘You are unreasonably moved, Afer; we may as well listen to what your slave has now to say as to wait longer. It cannot make any possible difference to you, whether he speak the truth now or then,’ remarked Caesar grimly. ‘Bring the slave hither, if he be in the palace.’