‘Whenever you are ready, Prefect.’
‘Be back within four days.’
‘No longer; and till then farewell—I leave you happy.’
‘Farewell! Remember our friends at Tibur!’
‘I will.’
Afer bowed, and left the Pretorian commander to ruminate with delight on his good fortune, and to indulge his mind with dreams, more intoxicating and glowing than ever, on the strength of the success of his last, and, perhaps, most important move.
At the gate of the camp, a light two-wheeled vehicle for rapid travelling, and drawn by a couple of handsome, speedy mules, was waiting for the knight. The two slaves, who formed on this occasion the modest retinue of the traveller, had been despatched on before.
After proceeding about nine miles from Rome, the hired vehicle was dismissed back to the city. A couple of hours [pg 83]before dusk Afer arrived, in a second carriage, at the outskirts of the ancient town of Fidenae, which stood on the steep banks of the Tiber, on the Salarian road, which led nearly due north from Rome. He had thus completed two sides of a triangle, and, as the first shades of evening began to gather, he began to traverse the third side in a third conveyance. The road entered the Colline Gate in the Agger of Servius; when he reached that point the dusk was thick enough to prevent recognition. Here the knight descended and paid the driver his fee; then he drew the hood of his cloak over his head, and bent his steps towards the Sublician Bridge beneath the Aventine. In less than half an hour’s rapid walking he arrived at his destination. The bridge was the oldest in Rome, and had been built by Ancus Martius, to connect the fortifications on the Janiculum with the city. It bore a sacred character, and was under especial care. Being constructed of wood, however, the increased traffic and burthens of the growing city began to overweight it. A stone bridge was then built close by, and the old one preserved as a venerable and sacred relic. In the proximity of these Afer loitered. It was now dark, and the feeble glimmering of two oil lamps, suspended in the gloom, denoted to passengers the foot of the modern bridge; its ancient fellow being buried in darkness. Across the river the lights of the Transtibertine portion of the city glimmered, extending up towards the slopes of the Janiculum Hill. Behind the knight the Aventine Mount arose with its answering gleams. The day’s toil was over, but the night was yet young, and there was sufficient stir in the city to pervade the air with a dim hum of life, broken by the tread and voices of passers-by, and the rumble of some belated waggon. Stealing silently along the pitchy stream glided the light of an occasional vessel, its hull shrouded and invisible. No one but the importunate beggars, sturdy, halt, and blind, who haunted the bridge and pestered the passengers, as yet kept the impatient knight company. Suddenly the figure of a man strode under the feeble glimmer of the lamps and bestowed a few hearty curses on the tribe of mendicants. Afer went up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder.
‘Oh, oh!’ said the new-comer in the voice of Cestus; ‘it is you, patron!’
‘It is yet too early,’ replied Afer.