“My lord,” the flute-player began again, “I will tell my story shortly. Eurymachus rebelled against the Empress’ steward, who wanted to persuade him to all sorts of disgraceful conduct. Stephanus flogged him first, and then obtained permission to crucify him at the next festival. This I heard from the gate-keeper. But there was no festival fixed for yesterday, so there is still some hope, and we entreat you....”
“Be calm—for the present your friend is in safety.”
“Impossible—he is lying in chains....”
“He was lying in chains. His execution was fixed for yesterday, but at the last moment he was snatched from the jaws of peril.”
“What?” cried Thrax Barbatus, speaking for the first time. “Did I hear you rightly, snatched from his fetters! Then Glauce was able to carry out what she proposed.”
“Free?” said Euterpe, looking up at Quintus in bewilderment.
“As I tell you.”
“Oh, now I see it all!” cried Thrax Barbatus. “This pretended journey to Ostia—what had your husband to do in Ostia? And Philippus, my son, who has hardly been in Rome a week—why should he want to accompany Diphilus....” Then, seized with terror, he sank on the ground before Quintus and threw his arms round his knees.
“Oh, my lord! do not take advantage of the rash words of a miserable father!” he exclaimed vehemently. “Do not betray, what my tongue let slip in my fear and anxiety.”
“Be easy, old man!” said Quintus benevolently. “I am not one of the spies of the city-guard. Your friend is a hero, and courage always commands my sympathy.”