He stood a moment looking at the sun-glow behind roof and dome and tower. A bridge of light, spanning the hollow of the city, had laid its golden timbers from hill to hill; and for a little the young man felt as if he were drowning in the shadows under it. He turned presently and hurried into the palace.
CHAPTER 3
"He is more honored than Jupiter these days," the philosopher was saying as Vergilius re-entered.
"Who?" inquired the young man.
"Who else but Caesar, and it is well. The gods—who are they?"
"The adopted children of Vergil and Homer," said Appius, brother of
Arria, who had just returned from the baths.
"But our great father Augustus—who can doubt that he deserves our worship?" said the philosopher, a subtle irony in his voice. It was this learned man who had long been the instructor of Vergilius.
"Who, indeed?" was the remark of another.
"But these gods!"
"At least they are not likely to cut off one's head," said Aulus.