“In such weather!”
“God bless you!” said the old man, coming up to Quintus. “Who is this with you?”
“Blepyrus, my trusted friend. He will not betray us.”
“My lord, what return can I ever make....”
“Go on, push on!” was the young man’s answer. “Only look how the black clouds are driving over the hills; it gets worse every minute. Have we far to go?”
“About three thousand paces,” said Barbatus.
“Then lead the way, my good Euterpe. Come, old friend, lean on me. Blepyrus, support him on the left.”
“You are too careful of me, my lord,” said the old man, flinging his wet cloak over his shoulder. “A merciful Providence still grants me strength, that my white hairs belie, and I am used to rougher roads than you suppose. It is you, the son of a noble house, accustomed to tread only on polished marble or soft carpets....”
“Nonsense—why, even this storm is nothing to speak of.”
They turned eastwards, and leaving the high-road, soon reached a wooden bridge across the waters of the Almo,[351] a rivulet now swollen by the storm. From hence the path led them across the Via Latina and through a dense wood. The pine-tops sighed weirdly under the lashing wind that rocked and bowed them, while now and again, as one bough crashed against another, there was a sound as of distant axe-strokes. They first followed a foot-path, which crossed the wood in a south-easterly direction, but presently—about half way through the pine forest—their guide pushed aside the boughs of a sturdy laurel, that stood on the right side of the alley, and they plunged into the brushwood. Here another path was presently discernible, though overgrown by a seemingly impenetrable tangle of shrubs, and this presently brought them out close to a grass-grown mass of rocks. By walking round one of the huge boulders, they reached an opening into an old and long-disused stone-quarry. A low passage was visible, sloping down underground.