Cornelius Cinna led the illustrious senator to a handsome marble seat covered with carpets, and a circle of reverent friends formed round him at once.
“By all the gods,” muttered Herodianus, “may I perish if that marble seat does not look for all the world like a throne; and they stand round him like the guard round Caesar.—And now, as he raises his right hand! If he were but thirty years younger, he would be like that image of Zeus we bought a while since in Gades; he only lacks the thunderbolt.”
“Silence!” repeated Aurelius angrily. “You have had no wine yet to-day—what will you not say when you have played your part at dinner, if you are as thirsty as usual?”
“I will not say another word,” replied the freedman.
Claudia, who till this instant had been talking eagerly with Ulpius Trajanus, a Hispanian friend of Cinna’s, of Cocceius Nerva’s—too eagerly, Aurelius thought—now went off with Cornelia under the colonnade to see the birthday gifts which, in accordance with an old Roman custom, had been sent to Cornelia early in the day. They were tastefully laid out in the arcade on brazen tables; gold brooches and necklaces among exquisite flowers; tissues mixed with silk;[226] handsome books with purple edges, rolled on cylinders of amber and ebony; little slippers worked with pearls; beaten silver vessels from the hand of Mentor,[227] the esteemed silversmith; Arabian and Indian perfumes from the stores of Niceros,[228] the famous druggist; ribbons and trimmings of amethyst-purple;[229] stuffed birds, fruits from Asia Minor, and a hundred other costly trifles from every quarter of the world made up the tribute sent to this spoilt daughter of a senatorial house.
Aurelius took advantage of the opportunity, and went to join the young girls. Claudia affected great surprise at seeing him, but immediately after gave the young man her hand with frank warmth, as though ashamed in truth of any disingenuous coquetry towards such a man as Aurelius. Still, the conversation they began was not particularly lively; they stood in front of the tables and made the usual remarks—this present was charming, that offering was splendid. Cornelia declared, that prettiest of all were the exquisite roses[230] that Quintus had given her—and Claudia sighed, very softly, still she sighed.
At this moment a grinning head appeared in the frame of a door close by. This was Chloe, Cornelia’s maid.
“I beg your pardon,” she said with comical importance. “But if I disturb you, it is from sheer necessity. The steward of the tables[231] cannot arrange the places for the company.”
“Indeed, how is that?” asked Cornelia severely. “Did I not give him full and exact instructions? He seems to have a short memory.”
“Excuse us, dear mistress—but he had not counted on Cocceius Nerva. Come and help us, pray.”