‘Wait until you hear, for this business must be carried out in a different manner, else I had not brought you here. It is necessary, for the reasons already given, that your absence be not known to any one. Whilst you are leagues away, the guard will still be stationed at the upper end of the corridor, under the belief that you are a prisoner. Provisions will still be supplied, and all details will go on, in order that no suspicion may be aroused. I, myself, and the Prefect are journeying down the coast, southward, for a few days, so that no one will interfere—you comprehend fully?’ ‘Quite.’ ‘This letter you must deliver at the earliest,’ said the Emperor, drawing a small packet from his bosom. ‘Never rest until you have placed it with your own hands in those of the lady to whom it is addressed. Guard it and care for it as your own life. I never wrote a more important and weighty despatch. You see, I place implicit faith in you.’ ‘You will have no occasion to repent your faith,’ replied Martialis, who now began to perceive that something more than personal interest in himself was answerable for his ruler’s clemency and strange proceeding. ‘That I fully expect,’ said Tiberius, ‘and, as your absence from confinement is not to be revealed here, it follows, naturally, that your presence must not be known in the city. Were it known there it would speedily be known here. For that end, therefore, you must not stir abroad in the city in daylight. That is all. It is simple. You will deliver the packet promptly at the first nightfall possible. The second night after that you will go and receive an answer and return straightway. The mean time you may use for your own concern; but I forbid you to run any risk of betraying your presence.’ The Emperor clapped his hands and Zeno entered. He bore an armful of clothing, and proceeded to disguise the outward appearance of the Centurion. The cuirass, high boots, and all vestiges of the military profession, were exchanged for the loose garments of a trader, in the breast of which the nimble‐fingered Greek adroitly concealed and secured the secret missive of his master. To complete all, a wig was drawn over the close, curling locks of the Centurion, which more than all effected a transformation in the young man’s appearance. ‘’Twill not blind every one, unless the Centurion can manage to alter his speech and bearing to suit,’ said Zeno. ‘It will serve his purpose sufficiently well. Let him never speak until compelled,’ said Tiberius. ‘Now you may start, Centurion. Here in writing is the name and place required for the delivery of the letter. Keep it in your pouch, and do not preserve it longer than necessary. Here is money, also, without which you cannot move. Do not spare it. Go now and be secret. Zeno will conduct you.’