It drew toward evening. The days were still long, and Martius planned to return home by moonlight. At seven o'clock, they were eating supper in an arbor at the side of the Villa. The big, round moon was rising over the Alban Hills, soon it would be a great lamp in the sky.
All over the Campagna the Feast of the Grapes had been celebrated that day. The sounds of boisterous laughter, of loud singing, came to their ears from the crowds who were passing outside the high walls surrounding the entire estate.
"There is more noise than usual," remarked Octavia.
The sounds had changed. They grew menacing. People were quarreling with each other. "It is nothing," replied Marcus. "Always on this Feast, there is much drunkenness and revelry."
But his mother was uneasy.
"It is wiser for thee to return home at once, Martius," she said. "I will carry thy chair, Virgilia. The bearers have been resting long."
"I have a strong stick," Martius said, laughing, "and Alexis is armed.
We can easily protect Virgilia."
"Is it not better for you to remain here," suggested Marcus. "We will send a messenger to thy father."
"Nonsense. There is no danger. But it is wiser that we should start at once. Later, there will be thousands returning home."
At that moment, the porter from the gate came running toward the arbor. He was, plainly, very much excited. With him was a man of dark swarthy skin, and a scar across his forehead.