“He,” repeated the woman. “The young Roman, Publius Lucius Sabinus.”
“He is at home, gracious lady,” said Caleb. “But he is unwell. He will not see any one.”
“If he is at home, I want to see him,” said the woman.
And she alighted on the stone steps of the portico. She was closely wrapped in her veils, but Caleb had recognized her. And she offered Caleb a gold coin, which Caleb did not refuse, because business was business and a well-invested stater brought him still a little nearer to his native land, for which he was longing.
“I do not know whether I can let you in,” said Caleb, hesitatingly.
The woman produced a second piece of gold. It disappeared in Caleb’s girdle as though by witchcraft.
“Where is he staying?” she asked.
“In the princes’ building, of course,” said Caleb, proudly. “Where his little black slave is squatting.”
The veiled woman went up to Tarrar, squatting on a mat outside a door:
“I want to see him,” said the woman. “I want to speak to him. Take me to him.”