“Caleb,” she thought to herself, “Caleb, escaped and in Rome! So Domitian has another rival.” Then she went back to the door-keeper and asked him the name of the man.
“A merchant of Alexandria named Demetrius,” he said.
Nehushta returned to her place. In front of her two men, agents who bought slaves and other things for wealthy clients, were talking.
“More fit for a sale of dogs,” said one, “after sunset when everybody is tired out, than for that of one of the fairest women who ever stood upon the block.”
“Pshaw,” answered the other, “the whole thing is a farce. Domitian is in a hurry, that’s all, so the auction must be held to-night.”
“He means to buy her?”
“Of course. I am told that his factor, Saturius, has orders to go up to a thousand sestertia if need be,” and he nodded towards a quiet man dressed in a robe of some rich, dark stuff, who stood in a corner of the place watching the company.
“A thousand sestertia! For one slave girl! Ye gods! a thousand sestertia!”
“The necklace goes with her, that is worth something, and there is property at Tyre.”
“Property in Tyre,” said the other, “property in the moon. Come on, let us look at something a little less expensive. As I wish to keep my head on my shoulders, I am not going to bid against the prince in any case.”