“That is the language of courtesy,” Julia said shortly; “I mean would you be ready to run some risk?”
“Certainly,” Sempronius answered readily.
“You will do it the more readily, perhaps,” Julia said, “inasmuch as it will gratify your revenge. You have reason to hate Malchus, the Carthaginian slave.”
Sempronius nodded.
“Your suspicion was true, he loves the Gaulish slave; they have been questioned and have confessed it. I want them separated.”
“But how?” Sempronius asked, rejoicing inwardly at finding that Julia's wishes agreed so nearly with his own.
“I want her carried off,” Julia said shortly. “When once you have got her you can do with her as you will; make her your slave, kill her, do as you like with her, that is nothing to me—all I want is that she shall go. I suppose you have some place where you could take her?”
“Yes,” Sempronius said, “I have a small estate among the Alban Hills where she would be safe enough from searchers; but how to get her there? She never goes out except with Lady Flavia.”
“She must be taken from the house,” Julia said shortly; “pretty slaves have been carried off before now, and no suspicion need light upon you. You might find some place in the city to hide her for a few days, and then boldly carry her through the gates in a litter. None will think of questioning you.”
“The wrath of Lady Flavia would be terrible,” Sempronius said doubtfully.