“Quite delightful!” said Lucilia.
“And you, my worthy friend Cneius,” continued the Batavian, “what brings you here to Ostia? Do you suffer from your old longing to embrace your mother? Are you—escaping the noise of the city? Or have you business to attend to.”
“Something of all three. I am riding out as much from duty as for pleasure. You know of my proceedings against Stephanus, Domitia’s steward. All I have hitherto been able to do has been in vain; but now, at last, a person whose name I will for the present keep to myself, has revealed to me certain facts which very probably—well, I will say no more. But at any rate I propose this very day to hear what certain citizens of Ostia have to say. If only I could get at all the witnesses equally easily, then indeed—or at any rate one, the most important of all. Unfortunately I see no hope for it.”
“Why!” asked Quintus.
“Because he has vanished and left no trace.”
“Then have him hunted up,” said Lucilia.
“Others are doing that already. Perhaps there were never before so many persons in search of one escaped slave, as there are after this wretched Eurymachus.”
Quintus turned pale, and even Aurelius felt a certain embarrassment at the sound of that name.
“But how is it,” asked Quintus, “that Eurymachus did not long since deliver his testimony? What can have induced him to spare his prosecutor?”
“Eurymachus did not learn the facts he now knows, till within a few days of his flight, and it was his highly inconvenient knowledge which gave cause for his sentence of death.”