At last in they came, and Sabinus, embracing me affectionately, thrust into my hand a piece of parchment, which I perceived to be nothing less than an order for my immediate release. Then taking off his riding-cap, and rubbing with his handkerchief his most audacious and soldier-looking brows, “My dear boy,” quoth he, “I see you are going to thank me—but wound not modesty by fine speeches. There was war before Helen—have a better care another time, and don’t pay Rome such a poor compliment, as to say that you can find nobody to charm you but a Christian damsel, and no place for flirtation but a gloomy tomb lined with urns and lachrymatories. My honest friend here was quite frightened with the idea of having such [pg 235]an unbelieving reprobate as they said you were, under the same roof with her children. But now her fears are dispelled, for good souls are always tolerant to the little vagaries of young blood; so thank your hostess, my lad, kiss her hand, take one cup to the hearth of the old tower, and tighten your girdle.”
“Well!” quoth the woman; “who should have thought when the soldiers brought him in with such mystery, that it was all for kissing by moonlight! I protest to Venus, they would have made me believe he had been caught eating an infant; but still I cannot quite pardon him. Well—well—we must e’en take good hope he will mend ere he dies.”
“Die?” cried the Centurion; “do you talk of dying to one that has scarcely yet begun to live!—Come, come, Caius, I hope, after all, you may never get into a worse scrape.”
“And if I do,” said I, “I hope I shall always be equally fortunate in my jailers.”
“By the beard of Jove!” quoth Sabinus, “it needs no great skill to see that you have been fortunate in that respect. I swear that, if the truth were known, you are almost as unwilling to leave this tower now, as you were last night to be torn away from another.”
“Oh, Master Kæso,” quoth she again, “when will you have done with your joking? Well, your father loved a jest in his time himself; but now he, I suppose, is quiet enough. And he, good old man, how does he wear?—Can he still sit in his porch of a fine morning, and listen to the news, as he used to do, with his cup at his knee?”
“I trust the old grasshopper can still chirp when the [pg 236]sun shines. But to tell you the truth, it is long since I have seen him; and if this young blade has no objection, I mean to pay him a visit this very night. I am only just come home from Britain, and have not yet had leisure to salute my Lares.”
I said something about being anxious to return as soon as possible to Rome; but the Centurion answered me with another shout, “Come, come; she’s safe enough. I suppose you think every one gets out of jail as easily as yourself.”
I found it was out of the question to disapprove of any of the schemes of Sabinus; so, having saluted the hostess, and flung my purse to her children, (who, by the way, still regarded me with looks of apprehension,) I accompanied him with a good grace to the gate. I made inquiry before I went forth concerning the old jailer likewise; but I could easily gather from the expression of face with which his wife accompanied her indistinct reply, that he had, long before that time, reached a state in which she felt little desire to exhibit him. The Centurion whistled as he stepped across the threshold, and there forthwith drew near a soldier, wearing the Prætorian helmet, (now sufficiently familiar to my sight,) and leading in his hand three horses. In the rear, I recognized, not without satisfaction, the busy countenance of my friend Dromo, whose ass did not appear quite so eager to join the party as its rider. A few sturdy thumps, however, at last brought the Cretan close to us, who saluted me with great appearance of joy, and then whispered into my ear, “Great Jove! we must keep silence for the present. What a story I have to tell; and I suppose there is one to hear [pg 237]likewise—but all in good season. We must not crack nuts before monkeys. I have a letter for you,” he added, “from Sextus, and another from Licinius.”
The Centurion sprung on his trusty war-horse, who seemed to rejoice in the feeling of his weight; and we were soon in motion. I asked no questions either about the course or distance, but rode by his side so silently, that he bestowed on me many good-natured rebukes, for suffering a little affair of love to distress me so greatly. “Cheer up now,” quoth he, “and do not make me repent of carrying you to my father’s house, by shewing the old man, who has had enough of troubles, such a countenance as must make him think of Orcus, even although he did not know himself to be near its gates. It is more than a year since I have seen him.”