Sejanus was sitting thoughtfully in a chair, with his brows contracted and deep lines furrowing his forehead.
‘Ah, Martialis!’ he cried eagerly, as his eyes rested on the form of his officer; ‘I heard you had returned.’
‘I followed you, Prefect, to the Palatine,’ replied Lucius.
‘To the Palatine! Ah, then you must know what has happened there. It will be all over Rome to-morrow. You have a despatch?’
He held out his hand, and the Centurion placed a sealed letter therein.
Turning his back on the messenger, the Prefect tore open the cover and read the contents by the soft light of a silver lamp, which barely illuminated the luxurious apartment. Pleasure and delight straightway broke over his face like the first light of dawn shooting athwart the dark earth. He perused the epistle twice, and smoothed his countenance ere he turned to the waiting Centurion.
‘You have been an expeditious courier, as usual, my Lucius,’ he said, in a brisk, elated tone. ‘When did you leave Capreae?’
Martialis related the time and particulars of his journey.
‘Thou art made of iron, I verily believe,’ returned the Prefect smilingly; ‘after such fatigue I am loth to use thee again. I work thee too hard; but there is another service imminent, and I would have none perform it but whom I could trust.’
‘I am ready. What fatigue I feel will pass with a night’s rest,’ answered his officer.