To the north of the gardens lay that portion of the plain which was called the field of the Viminal. This extended to the Pretorian camp, and was, therefore, the natural drill and exercising ground of the troops. Thither the litter of Plautia was carried by her direction; skirting the outside of the rampart of Servius, after it had passed through the Esquiline Gate. There were a number of the guards in the plain, busily engaged in exercising. Approaching within convenient distance for witnessing their movements, the slaves were ordered to set down the litter and rest themselves. Plautia, reclining with the curtains withdrawn, scanned the cohorts eagerly and keenly. After a lengthened survey a look of disappointment gathered gradually on her face. She ordered her litter to be raised, and from her elevated position once again scrutinised the moving ranks. She seemed to get no more satisfaction than before, and gave the word to return homeward. The morning was bright and bracing, and the streets were full of citizens. As her litter passed through the crowded Subura it was rudely jostled in a narrow way, and in danger of being overturned by a crowd of slaves, who preceded the litter of some presumably great personage. Amid the struggle, clamour, and curses of angry voices, the litter of Plautia was rocked and tilted, so violently, that she gave vent to a cry, more in anger than fear. She thrust her face outside the curtains to look on the turbulent scene, and grasped the side of her litter with her hand, in imminent dread of being thrown out. Such struggles were very common in the narrow streets, and called for no particular interference; but the sight of her handsome face, perhaps, inspired the friendly interference of a tall young man, who, along with a crowd of people, had been dammed up by the contention. He hastily thrust himself forward, and Plautia’s face became suffused with a deep flush when she perceived it was Lucius Martialis. With one hand he grasped one of the foremost poles of her litter, and raised it, so as to allow the burly slave, who held it, to recover his overweighted grasp and position, whilst, with the other arm, he thrust back the foremost of the opposing menials. There was something in the stern resistless strength of the action which bade them think better of their uncompromising manner of proceeding, and they edged away more to one side, though not without much abuse. In another moment both parties were free and disentangled, and the great personage, who had never thought fit to show himself and notice the squabble, was carried on. Plautia’s countenance was brilliant in colour, and her proud eyes soft and lustrous as they dwelt on the Centurion, who was clothed as a private citizen. She thanked him for his service, and her voice was tremulous and rich. He merely bowed, and muttered some commonplace words in return, and, ere she could say more, he turned away and disappeared amid the throng of passers‐by.