At that every voice stilled and every face turned to our alcove-balcony where our captors, now four, gripped us and had lifted us to our knees.
"Throw 'em down!" came a chorus of voices, "throw 'em down!"
Down we were thrown, none too tenderly, but we landed without breaking any bones.
Two men clutched each of us and haled us towards the fire. There we had our first glimpse of Maternus, who sat on a pack, his back against the rock, not too close to the fire, the light of which played on his left cheek.
He looked plump and lazy.
"Strip them," he commanded.
As he was being obeyed somebody did something to the fire which increased the light it gave.
"Turn them round," Maternus commanded. "Humph," he commented, "by their faces they are a Roman gentleman and his Greek secretary; by their backs they are fugitive slaves with bad records."
"They are both branded," added Torix, who had been inspecting us.
"Where?" queried Maternus. "I don't see any brand marks."