“Possibly.—If I get up in time.”
“Well then—let us hope that the wine-cup of Lycoris may leave you free of headache.”
“The same to you! Farewell.” And with these words Quintus went on his way, while Clodianus turned off to the right.
“Cyprius street” grew at every step more select and consequently more deserted; to the left the Baths of Titus stood up, a sharply-defined mass, against the rose-tinted sky. Each time that Quintus Claudius walked up the street, this vast pile seemed to have a fresh spell for him. The contrast between the ponderous mass, and the tender flush of Autumn dawn behind him, filled him with pleasurable admiration, and his eye followed a flock of pigeons, which for some few minutes soared to and fro above the great building and then, with sudden swiftness, flew across the road.
“They came from the left,” said he to one of his companions. “Now, if I believed in augury from the flight of birds, I should be forced to suppose that some evil was hanging over me.”
He was still speaking, when from the same side, where a narrow path came down from the great Baths, a muffled figure rushed upon him and hit him a blow with a bare poniard. Happily the ruffian at the same instant slipped on the sloping pavement—which was rendered even more slippery by the early morning dew—so that the dagger missed its aim, and instead of piercing the young man’s throat, passed across his left shoulder and through the folds of his toga, which it cut through as sharply as a razor. And before Quintus quite understood what had happened, the assassin had glided away between the slaves with the suppleness of a panther, and vanished in the direction of the Subura. The young man gazed at his arm, where the toga and under-garment hung in long strips; the wound was but skin-deep, a spot of blood had here and there oozed out.
“Let it be!” said Quintus to the slaves, who had crowded round him when their first stupified astonishment was over. “I know very well where that blade was sharpened, and for the future I will be more cautious. But one thing I must say to you; my good people, each and all, be silent as to this attack. You too, my excellent friends and clients—you know how easily my noble father is alarmed. If he knew that there was in all Rome a villain, who had threatened my life, he would never know another moment’s peace.”
“My lord, you know us!” exclaimed the slaves and freedmen, and the clients too professed their devotion.
“His revenge is prompt!” thought Quintus, as he went onwards. “I always knew him to be an example of audacity and ruthlessness—still, such impatience as this is somewhat a surprise to me.”
Then suddenly he stood still, as a new and almost impossible idea flashed across his mind.—“If it were ... supposing.... Could Domitia...?”