“As a patrician? A knight?”
“No.”
“As a soldier?”
“No.”
“No. Yes, he is clad as a sailor, I think, my lord. But I no longer see him,” said the priest, opening his eyes. “And I shall never be able to tell you anything more.”
He gave Lucius back the sandal. The other priests returned, took up the torches. Quivering with suppressed rage, Lucius walked out of the black pyramid. Uncle Catullus was already sitting on his camel.
Lucius also mounted his. The Cypriote’s image now stood clearly before his eyes. But he said nothing; his lips were tightly shut, his forehead frowned; his grief seemed to be restrained and subdued in his heart by his outraged pride.
And, while Caleb paid the lordly fee, as he always did, Lucius slipped into the old priest’s hand a purse heavy with gold.