“My lord,” Blepyrus stammered out, “if I am to speak the truth, you have said many a hard word to your other slaves, but to me you have never been anything but a kind and just--indeed a considerate master. I could only say the same, even if the feast of Saturn really licensed me to complain.” “I am glad to hear you say so, my good friend. I mean well by you all, and if I ever.... Ah! I remember now what you have in your mind. You are thinking of the evening, when I struck Allobrogus in the face[344] for breaking that precious vase.--You are right; the poor fellow’s teeth were more precious than the broken jar. It was my first angry impulse. Believe me, Blepyrus, I have never hurt or injured any one of you out of ill-will; and you, especially, have always been a friend rather than a slave. You shared my earliest sports--do you remember by the Pons Milvius[345] how I sprang to your assistance, when your arm was suddenly cramped in swimming? And then again, on the wrestling-ground in the Field of Mars, where we enacted the fight of Varus against the Germans? You snatched me up and rescued me from my foes, like a young god of war, when the game suddenly became earnest....” “I remember, my lord,” said the slave with a gratified smile. “Well,” continued Quintus, “then tell me one thing. Are you still ready to stand in the breach for your master? Understand me, Blepyrus--this time it is not a question of fisticuffs or even thrashed ribs. It is for life and death, old fellow. To be sure, your reward now should not be, as it was then, a saucerfull of Pontian cherries, but the best of all you can ask....” “My lord,” said the slave, trembling with agitation, “I will do whatever you desire.” “Can you hold your tongue, Blepyrus? Be silent, not merely with your tongue, but with your eyes--your very breath? You have done me good service before now, I well remember, which required secrecy--but only in trifling matters. This time it is not a tender note to the fair Camilla, not even an assignation with Lesbia or Lycoris. Swear by the spirit of your father, by all you hold sacred and dear, to be silent to the very death.” “I swear it.” “Then be ready; at the second vigil we must set out on an expedition--out into the storm and darkness. You can tell your comrades, that I am going by stealth to Lycoris. The rest you shall hear later.” Three hours after this the little gate creaked open, which led from the cavaedium to the street, and Quintus and the slave, both wrapped in thick cloaks, slowly mounted the Caelian Hill,[346] and then took a side road into the valley. Here, on the southern slope, the storm attacked them with redoubled fury; the blast howled up the Clivus Martis and the Appian Way. The streets were almost deserted; only a solitary travelling-chariot now and then rolled thundering and clattering over the stones.