“I know nothing, my lord,” said Caleb.
“I am penniless, Caleb. The Emperor Tiberius has confiscated all my possessions; and even my title to the quadrireme is questionable.”
“O my lord, O my lord!” Caleb began to lament. “O my poor, poor, noble lord! What a terrible fate to befall you! If only you had consented faithfully to wear the Sabæan amulets! O my poor, poor, noble lord! What will you do now? You, who always lived in the lap of luxury! And now! How now? Alas, my poor, poor, noble lord and alas, poor, poor Caleb! For who, my lord, my poor, poor noble lord, will now pay my bill?”
And, wailing and lamenting and shaking his head and weeping, Caleb unfurled the long, long, long papyrus scroll of his bill, which uncoiled itself from his quivering fingers right down to the floor, like a rustling snake.
“We’ll look into your bill at once, Caleb,” said Lucius, encouragingly. “Call the stewards and Thrasyllus to me.”
They came and examined the bill and shook their heads and thought the expenses of the great Ethiopian hunt terribly high; but Caleb swore that, because of his growing affection for Lucius, he had charged less than he did to other noble lords:
“But there is a solution, my lord,” said Caleb, drawing Lucius aside. And he continued, “My lord, if you will make over Cora to me ... I will write off all the expenses of the Ethiopian hunt.”
“Caleb,” said Lucius, earnestly, “I know that you are fond of Cora. But I also am very fond of her, Caleb, and I mean to keep her as my only treasure.”
A loud sob came from a corner of the room. And Lucius, turning round, saw Tarrar sitting on the floor, looking profoundly dejected.
“And me, my lord?” sobbed Tarrar. “Won’t you keep me as your little slave, my lord?”