“Thou art early in thy zeal for the gods, brave Claudius, but thy strong arm yesterday did such good service that I am willing to leave thee in command here of a handful of soldiers large enough for the occasion. One of the women looks dead already, and will save us further trouble. As to the rest, I think the Governor may desire to apply torture before finally disposing of them. By the gods, Claudius, what fools these Christians are!”
“Fools, indeed,” said Claudius. “I do not care what short work I make with the men. I slew three yesterday, after a fierce tussle, but women—weak women—well, I’d as lief not crush them out.”
“Who are these two women?” Valens asked.
“One belongs to the family of the soldier who refused to strike off Alban’s head.”
“Ah! then she is a dangerous reptile. The other looks harmless, poor wretch; and what hair—like the autumn leaves with the sun on it!”
“Yes,” Claudius replied, hastily, “yes, she is a Briton, methinks.”
“Has aught been heard of the runaway slave of the noble Severus? He offered a high price for her head.”
“Nay, not that I know of. He has forgotten it ere now; the fair Cæcilia has supplied her place by a Greek, so Junia, my sister, affirms.”
Valens shrugged his broad shoulders. “The fair Cæcilia has freed herself of all burdens now. That little daughter of hers, and the weakling Casca, are sent off to Rome under Burrhus’s convoy; the maiden is to be buried for life in the Temple of Vesta. Why, her beauty, at this tender age, is enough to turn the heads of a legion. Perhaps it has turned thine, good Claudius!”
“I have something else to think of than fair faces,” said Claudius. “Has news arrived of Burrhus’s reaching Rome?” he asked, carelessly.