“Do you think I care for the barbarian? What difference can it make to Valeria if such as this Briton were slain by hecatombs? It is for Myrrhina’s sake I grieve; and more, far more than this, to think that you can refuse me anything in the whole world!”
Duplicity was no new effort for the tribune. He had often, ere now, betaken himself to this mode of defence when driven to his last ward. He raised her hands respectfully to his lips.
“Be it as you will,” said he; “I make him over to you to do with him what you please. Esca is your property, beautiful Valeria, from this hour.”
A dark thought had flitted through his brain, that it would be no such difficult matter to destroy an inconvenient witness, and retain the favour of an exacting mistress at the same time. It was but a grain or two of poison in the slave’s last meal, and he might depart in peace, a doomed man, to Valeria’s mansion. He would take the chance of his silence for the few hours that intervened, and after all, the ravings of one whose brow was already stamped with death would arouse little suspicion. Afterwards it would be easy to pacify Valeria, and shift the blame on some over-zealous freedman, or officious client. He did not calculate on the haste with which women jump to conclusions. Valeria clapped her hands with unusual glee. “Quick! Myrrhina,” said she, “my tablets to the tribune. He shall write the order here, and my people can go for the slave and bring him back, before Placidus departs.”
“Nay,” interposed the latter in some confusion, “it is indispensable that I go home at once. I have already lingered here too long. Farewell, Valeria. Ere the sun goes down you shall see that Placidus is proud and happy to obey your lightest whim.”
With these words, he made a low obeisance, and, ere his hostess could stop him, had traversed the outer hall, and mounted in his chariot. Valeria seemed half stupefied by this sudden departure, but ere the rolls of his wheels had died away, a light gleamed in her eyes, and summoning the little negro, who had lain unnoticed and coiled up within call during the interview, she bade him run out and see which direction the chariot took, then she stared wildly in Myrrhina’s face, and burst into a strange, half-choking laugh.
CHAPTER III
“FURENS QUID FŒMINA”
“The chariot has turned into the Flaminian Way,” said the urchin, running breathlessly back to his mistress. “Oh! so fast! so fast!” and he clapped his little black hands with the indescribable delight all children take in rapidity of movement.