“I will give orders to that effect. You have a band of your own people here?”
“Yes, my galley is manned with a brave band, and lies in the Port to be ready at any moment. My ship is fitted with all things needful for her voyage, and it remains for you to give the word for starting from this fair city, the fairest that men’s eyes ever beheld.”
“Anna, are you ready?”
“Ready at my master’s word,” Anna said; “but the child, the sweet child, is it safe for her?”
“As safe as man can make it; the voyage in this fair weather ought to be a pleasurable one; there are no hardships to fear, good Anna! and I mistake me if any sea robbers will dare attack the ships manned by soldiers who have seen service under their commander in many a battle in the far north, with those rough Northmen who seem to be ever closing round the southern folk in increasing numbers and with added strength. Give but the word, Casca, and we will start ere the sun sets.”
“Nay, a week hence,” was Casca’s reply. “I have to deliver a lecture to-morrow in the south hall of the museum. I am pledged to expound a hard passage of a Greek Poet on the day but one after—I——”
“You have much to do truly,” said Claudius, impatiently. “Of such labours of the brain I know nought; but this, I say, I believe your sister hungers for a sight of you, and yearns to clasp your hand in hers. She cannot speak of her faith, which has slowly risen like the sun upon her soul, and dispersed the darkness. She may and does love those around her as her children, but she cannot talk openly with them, lest haply they should be condemned and punished with a punishment even more severe than that which might fall on her. But delay your departure if you will—it is not for a rough soldier like me to enter into the reasons which a subtle and learned scholar may have for remaining here. I know what a true heart means, and I have a strong sword-arm to prove it, but as to the brain of you philosophers and poets, I know nothing of it, having, as you will say, but a small share thereof myself.”
“Nay, now, good Claudius, do not misjudge me; do not be angry. We will be ready in the next week; meantime let us renew our close friendship, and let me show you the treasures of the past and of the present, contained within the walls of yonder stately pile of buildings, which is the museum of the world!”
Claudius’s temporary vexation passed away, and the two friends found themselves knit together by a hundred subtle ties in the far-off past of their early life.
Claudius listened with surprise to Casca, as he detailed all the varied phases of thought through which he and many hundreds of men had passed in Alexandria. Casca was a Christian—that is to say he had been baptised, and if questioned as to his faith, he would have given a direct answer that he believed in the true God and his Son Jesus Christ. But there could be no doubt that the learning of the schools had the greatest charm for him, and if he studied the manuscripts of the Gospels, it was more in a critical than a faithful spirit.