“I leave you to guess, Valerius, how my heart beat when I saw the witch lead the soldiers straight to the place where I supposed you were still sitting—with what anxiety I saw the tower surrounded—its tenants brought out,—with what astonishment I saw you led out, the last of their number.—I had neither time to think by what means all this had happened, nor the least power to interfere. I saw you all mounted—guarded—borne away. Whither they carried you, I was unable to make the smallest conjecture. I saw Sabinus speak to you, and then I had hope,—but that too failed. In brief, I did not venture from my tree till the whole assembly, not forgetting Xerophrastes, had departed; and you may judge what a story I had to tell Sextus when I reached home.
“Instead of waiting to ponder and hesitate, as he used to do when his own matters perplexed him, he went from me straight to his father. But before they had done with their conversation, Sabinus himself arrived, and he was immediately taken into the same chamber where they were. Licinius and he went out together soon afterwards, and I think they walked towards the Palatine; but whithersoever they went, they had a good deal of work before them, for the day had advanced considerably before they returned. The Centurion’s horses were brought to the door shortly after; my master desired me to accompany him; and gave me letters for you, which I had almost forgotten to deliver.”
Such was the story of the faithful Cretan. The letter of Licinius I have still preserved:—
“Since our Sabinus desires that I should write to you, although his own kindness renders it unnecessary that I should do so, I cannot refuse. I understand little, my Valerius, of what has brought you into this condition, from which, not without difficulty overcome, you are, notwithstanding, speedily to be delivered. I guess, that hastiness of various sorts, not, however, entirely without excuse in a person of your age, has been the means of implicating you in the affairs of a sect, equally unworthy of your communication, whether you consider the country in which their superstition originated, or the barbarities with which it is stained. But even for beauty, my young friend, it becomes not a Roman, least of all a Valerius, to forget what is due to the laws of Rome, and the will of the Prince. Consider with yourself how nearly you have escaped serious evil. Return to us, and forget what has passed, except for the lesson it must teach you. Of Rubellia and Xerophrastes I am unwilling to believe, without farther examination, what has been told me by my slave Dromo. We shall speak of that and other matters, when (which I hope will be early to-morrow) you once more give me the pleasure of seeing you. I have then much to say. Farewell.”
BOOK III. CHAPTER I.
Day was far advanced before the Centurion and myself once more drew near to the city. When we reached the first declivity beyond the Anio, the sun was about to sink behind the Janicular. The innumerable sounds of the capital, blended together into one mighty whisper, seemed only to form part of the natural music of the air, and might almost have been confounded with the universal hum of insects. We rode slowly down the hill, the base of which is ever darkened by the solemn groves of the Appian.
We advanced in silence through that region of melancholy magnificence. I scarcely knew whether I should be able of myself to recognize, among so many similar edifices, the mausoleum of the Sempronii, and some feeling rendered me unwilling to put any questions concerning it to Sabinus.