“My lord,” he said, “if I know Cornelia, sooner will she perish than break her faith with her lover. Nothing but a trick could give us the smallest chance of success, nothing but the mask of divinity.”
“Curse him!—And is another man to obtain what Caesar cannot win? Is a boy, a maundering lover, to stand in my way?”
“Well, you know he is the son of the Flamen. If he were of any other family—Cornelius or Ulpius....”
“You are right. I owe special consideration to the Claudia family.—So much the worse for you! And do you mean to say that, in all your mystical lore, you know of no charm that can part two turtle-doves? Are there not women, who make it their business to entrap young men—or sapient tongues to wag away a young girl’s reputation? Is not Lycoris a perfect mistress of all the arts of seduction—or Martial a writer, whose epigrams are poisoned shafts? Come, consider the matter; try, plot, scheme. I must clasp that incomparable creature in my arms!—I must—do you understand, Barbillus—or, to speak plainly, I will.”
“Your will rules the world,” replied Barbillus.
“To-morrow for the rest. I will send my chamberlain to you early. Domitian will not be slow to recognize your services.”
He drew the hood of his lacerna over his head and descended the stairs, followed by Barbillus.
CHAPTER V.
The noonday bustle was at its height in the baths of Titus. A constant stream of men, for the most part belonging to the rank of senators or the class of knights, flowed steadily through the wide Corinthian portico to the apodyterium,[47] where a host of slaves were busy in divesting the new-comers of their toga and tunic.