“Ilia used to call me uncle.”
“I am not Ilia, my lord.”
Tarrar appeared in the pillared portico.
But his appearance was a surprise. For Tarrar, no longer bandaged, looked like a little savage: he wore his Libyan festive garment; a girdle of feathers hung round his waist; he was crowned with a head-dress of feathers. And he stood grinning.
“Great gods, Tarrar!” cried Uncle Catullus, with a start. “What have you done to yourself? You look like a little cannibal! You frighten me! What’s happening?”
“We are going to Canopus, my lord, to-night!” cried Tarrar, jubilantly. “My Lord Lucius lets you know that we are all going to Canopus this very night! Here is his lordship himself!”
And Tarrar pointed triumphantly to Lucius, who appeared upon the threshold. Cora had risen and now curtseyed low to the ground, with outstretched arms.
Lucius looked like a young Egyptian god. He wore an Egyptian robe of striped byssus, with a border of hieroglyphics worked in heavy embroidery and precious stones; his legs were encased in hose of gold tissue; about his head was an Egyptian coif, like that of a sphinx, with broad, projecting, striped bands, which fell to his shoulders; he glittered with strange jewels and was wrapped from head to foot in fine gold net like a transparent cloak, like an immaterial shroud. And he approached with a smile, brilliantly, superhumanly beautiful.
“Great sacred gods! Great sacred gods!” exclaimed Uncle Catullus.
He rose; Thrasyllus rose too; and the merchants gathered round and, in salaam upon salaam, showed their admiration for the dazzling stranger.