The slaves—those who had lost ears and tongue and those who spoke no language save their own foreign one—had retreated to the far corners of the room, up against the columns of Phrygian marble or the hangings of Tyrian tapestries; their great uncomprehending eyes were fixed on that compact group at the head of the table, where round the bowls of roses and of lilies and the goblets of wine, the future of the Empire of Rome was even now being discussed.
"The tumult can be easily provoked," said one of the guests presently—a young man whose black hair and dark eyes bespoke his Oriental blood. "The Cæsar is certain to provoke it himself by some insane act of tyrannical folly. Ye must all remember how, two years ago, during the Megalesian games he ordered the women of his retinue to descend into the arena and to engage the gladiators in combat. At this outrage the discontent among the people nearly broke out into open revolt. It was thou, Caius Nepos, who checked the tumult then."
"The hour was not ripe," said the latter, "and we were not allied. It will be different to-morrow."
"How will it be to-morrow?"
"When the tumult is at its highest, he who has the surest hand shall strike the Cæsar down. I, in the meanwhile——"
"Then thou, Caius Nepos, art not certain of the sureness of thy hand?" interposed Hortensius Martius who hitherto had taken no active part in the discussion.
He lay on a couch at some distance from his host and had declined every morsel offered to him by the waiting-maids; but he had drunk over freely, and his good-looking young face looked flushed and dark beneath its wealth of curls. Unlike his usual self he was ill-humoured and almost morose to-night, and there was a dark, glowering look in his eyes as from time to time he cast furtive glances towards the door.
"Nay, good Hortensius," said the host loftily, "mine will be the greater part. The praetorian guard know and trust me. It will be my duty when the Cæsar is attacked to keep them from rushing to his aid. The army is apt to forget a tyrant's crime, and to think of him only as a leader to be obeyed. But when the guard hear my voice, they will understand and will be true to me."
"'Tis I will strike," now broke in young Escanes, with all the enthusiasm of his years. The ardour of leadership glowed upon his face, and he seemed to challenge this small assembly to dispute his right to the foremost place in the great event of the morrow.
But his challenge was not taken up; no one else seemed eager to dispute his wish. Somewhat sobered, he resumed more calmly: