‘Tush!’ answered Croto. ‘I am King of the Grove and priest of Diana and of Virbius--whoever Virbius was,’ he added under his breath. ‘The women give me so many offerings that, but for the never knowing where or when the sword will smite, I should be as fat as a Salian, and I feed nearly as well. Nay, poor lad, I can well do something for thee and never feel the loss. I have more money than I know what to do with, for I can never leave the grove. Take some. I dare say you will need it.’ He forced into the youth’s hands a leather bag, full of silver coins, and turned away. Onesimus stood abashed in the moonlight. Then he burst into tears. He had found pity and magnanimity in the heart of the doomed and murderous fugitive! Was there no hope for such a man? Shall any germ of good in man’s soul perish unperfected? Shall generosity and forgiveness pass without their reward? The unexpected mercy extended to him by the grim priest of Virbius, in that dark wood of Nemi, brought a blessing to Onesimus, and as he went back to Dromo’s hut, the whole scene--the lake, the white mist, the moonlit-silvered foliage, the twinkling of the stars, the song of the nightingale, the silence of the hills--fell with a healing touch on the anguish of his heart. CHAPTER XLII _A MASSACRE OF SLAVES_ ‘Frigidus a rostris manat per compita rumor.’ HOR. _Sat._ II. vi. 50. ‘Servos in numero hominum esse non pateris?’--SEN. _Ep._ xlvii., ap. Macrob. _Sat._ i. 11. Rome was in a state of wild excitement. The city had hardly been more agitated when the news of Caligula’s murder had spread among the citizens. The assassination of an emperor was always a possible event. The little human divinity was certain to make so many enemies, and was envied by so many powerful rivals, that the fate of Cæsar after Cæsar made it no more than a nine days’ wonder if another fell. But the victim this time was not a Cæsar. It was one of the chief men in the city, a man of consular rank--no less a person than the Præfect of the city, Pedanius Secundus. And the dread news was whispered from mouth to mouth that he had been murdered by one of his own slaves! The people in the Forum and the Velabrum and the Subura and at Libo’s Well, and the merchants at the Janus, and the patricians in their palaces, and the priests in the temples, and the boys of Rome as they played on the steps of the Julian Basilica, were all discussing this sinister event. Tigellinus and Petronius, and a group of courtiers, were standing together under the porch of the Temple of Castor when the news reached them. They eagerly questioned the messenger. ‘Is it certain that the murderer was a slave?’ asked Tigellinus in tones of horror. ‘He was caught red-handed,’ said the messenger. ‘The dagger was wrenched from him, dripping with blood. His name is Vibius and he does not deny the crime.’ ‘And what was his motive?’