The dreadful order was obeyed, and for a while nothing was heard save the sound of heavy blows and the smothered moans of the miserable Saturius. “Wretches,” yelled the Imperial brute, “you are playing, you do not hit hard enough. I will teach you how to hit,” and snatching a rod from one of the slaves he rushed at his prostrate chamberlain, the others drawing back to allow their master to show his skill in flogging. Saturius saw Domitian come, and knew that unless he could change his purpose in another minute the life would be battered out of him. He struggled to his knees. “Prince,” he cried, “hearken ere you strike. You can kill me if you will who are justly angered, and to die at your hands is an honour that I do not merit. Yet, dread lord, remember that if you slay me then you will never find that Pearl-Maiden whom you desire.” Domitian paused, for even in his fury he was cunning. “Doubtless,” he thought, “the knave knows where the girl is. Perhaps even he has hidden her away for himself.” “Ah!” he said aloud, quoting the vulgar proverb, “‘the rod is the mother of reason.’ Well, can you find her?” “Surely, if I have time. The man who can afford to pay two thousand sestertia for a single slave cannot easily be hidden.” “Two thousand sestertia!” exclaimed Domitian astonished. “Tell me that story. Slaves, give Saturius his robe and fall back—no, not too far, he may be treacherous.” The chamberlain threw the garment over his bleeding shoulders and fastened it with a trembling hand. Then he told his tale, adding: “Oh! my lord, what could I do? You have not enough money at hand to pay so huge a sum.” “Do, fool? Why you should have bought her on credit and left me to settle the price afterwards. Oh! never mind Titus, I could have outwitted him. But the mischief is done; now for the remedy, so far as it can be remedied,” he added, grinding his teeth. “That I must seek to-morrow, lord.” “To-morrow? And what will you do to-morrow?” “To-morrow I will find where the girl’s gone, or try to, and then—why he who has bought her might die and—the rest will be easy.” “Die he surely shall be who has dared to rob Domitian of his darling,” answered the prince with an oath. “Well, hearken, Saturius, for this night you are spared, but be sure that if you fail for the second time you also shall die, and after a worse fashion than I promised you. Now go, and to-morrow we will take counsel. Oh! ye gods, why do you deal so hardly with Domitian? My soul is bruised and must be comforted with poesy. Rouse that Greek from his bed and send him to me. He shall read to me of the wrath of Achilles when they robbed him of his Briseis, for the hero’s lot is mine.”