Certainly there was a little cavalcade coming up the highway. Now it was a mere blotch moving in the sun and dust; then clearer; and then out of the cloud of light, flying sand came the clatter of hoofs on the pavement, the whir of wheels, and ahead of the rest of the party two dark Numidian outriders in bright red mantles appeared, pricking along their white African steeds. Chloë clapped her little hands, steadied her water-pot, and sprang up on the staging of the treadmill beside Mago.
"It is he!" she cried. "It must be Master Drusus coming back from Athens!" She was a bit excited, for an event like the arrival of a new master was a great occurrence in the monotonous life of a country slave.
The cortège was still a good way off.
"What is Master Drusus like?" asked Chloë "Will he be kind, or will he be always whipping like Mamercus?"
"He was not in charge of the estate," replied Laïs, the older woman, "when he went away to study at Athens[3] a few years ago. But he was always kind as a lad. Cappadox, his old body-servant, worshipped him. I hope he will take the charge of the farm out of the steward's hands."
"Here he comes!" cried Hasdrubal. "I can see him in the nearest carriage." And then all four broke out with their salutation, "Salve! Salve, Domine!"[4] "Good health to your lordship!"
A little way behind the outriders rolled a comfortable, four-wheeled, covered carriage,[5] ornamented with handsome embossed plate-work of bronze. Two sleek, jet-black steeds were whirling it swiftly onward. Behind, a couple of equally speedy grey mules were drawing an open wagon loaded with baggage, and containing two smart-looking slave-boys. But all four persons at the treadmill had fixed their eyes on the other conveyance. Besides a sturdy driver, whose ponderous hands seemed too powerful to handle the fine leather reins, there were sitting within an elderly, decently dressed man, and at his side another much younger. The former personage was Pausanias, the freedman and travelling companion[6] of his friend and patron, Quintus Livius Drusus, the "Master Drusus" of whom the slaves had been speaking. Chloë's sharp eyes scanned her strange owner very keenly, and the impression he created was not in the least unfavourable. Drusus was apparently of about two and twenty. As he was sitting, he appeared a trifle short in stature, with a thick frame, solid shoulders, long arms, and large hands. His face was distinctively Roman. The features were a little irregular, though not to an unpleasant extent. The profile was aquiline. His eyes were brown and piercing, turning perpetually this way and that, to grasp every detail of the scene around. His dark, reddish hair was clipped close, and his chin was smooth shaven and decidedly firm—stern, even, the face might have been called, except for the relief afforded by a delicately curved mouth—not weak, but affable and ingenuous. Drusus wore a dark travelling cloak,[7] and from underneath it peeped his tunic, with its stripe of narrow purple—the badge of the Roman equestrian order.[8] On his finger was another emblem of nobility—a large, plain, gold ring, conspicuous among several other rings with costly settings.
"Salve! Salve, Domine!" cried the slaves a second time, as the carriage drew near. The young master pushed back the blue woollen curtains in order to gain a better view, then motioned to the driver to stop.
"Are you slaves of mine?" was his question. The tone was interested and kindly, and Mago saluted profoundly, and replied:—
"We are the slaves of the most noble Quintus Livius Drusus, who owns this estate."