‘You are going to Capreae—I have one thing to say to you. Formerly I busied myself in matters of state, though I have long retired therefrom. But I still live here above the city; and I have yet a few friends of high influence and large information in that busy hive of toil, ambition, and passion down there; therefore, it is impossible that I can exist without knowing something of what is passing. I have watched the course of your Prefect Sejanus. He goes to become the Emperor’s son‐in‐law; such honour and elevation would satisfy an ordinary man’s ambition, but not his. I know him not personally, though the general whisper of public opinion seldom errs; but Tiberius Caesar I have known thoroughly of old. Strange and noisome tales of his island dwelling are, even now, wandering through Rome like fitful, noxious night‐airs. You may possibly be better acquainted with this than I, and I trust they may never infect you. But apart from this, I would bid a man beware of Tiberius Caesar. His intellect is strong and clear, and his energy unfailing. A tiger is not more ruthless—the deep ocean is not more dark, mysterious, and subtle than his nature; and his suspicions are clothed with the eyes of an Argus and the tentacles of a polypus. I pity a man, from a Prefect to a slave, who jars upon them. Take the advice of an old man, not inexperienced, and have the greatest care to let your action be bounded scrupulously by the duties of your military office. Do not be tempted beyond them by any one. Remember that while you obey the Prefect there is yet one above all to whom you owe allegiance—Caesar himself. If there be those who choose to underrate his power, leave them alone to their folly. If events follow the course I anticipate for them, you will, perhaps, at some time, be thankful, that you allowed nothing to tempt you beyond the limits of your Centurionship. Obey your legitimate orders and seek to know nothing more. You are a soldier; remain one, and beware of adding the trade of politician—at the present time. A volcano may burst beneath our feet before long. You will ponder on my advice, boy?’ ‘Fear not,’ replied Martialis; ‘I am in no hurry to change my occupation. I prefer a sword to a pen. I have plenty to do without loading myself with politics.’ ‘Yes; Mars was in the habit of relieving his gory business with softer pursuits,’ said the old man, smiling gently. ‘Success in both. Farewell. I shall await your return with impatience, for I yearn to make a son of you.’ When the Centurion arrived at his quarters in the camp he found two strange slaves awaiting him with weary looks. One of them bore something in his hands covered with a cloth of gold; the other presented him with dainty small tablets, which he opened and read as follows:—