All this swept through his mind like a waking dream, as he gazed in silence at the immeasurable sea. Then, coming to himself, and turning round, his eyes met those of Quintus. They were the very eyes--those dear, beautiful, unforgettable eyes--of his loved Claudia, only less sweetly thoughtful, less tenderly dreamy. Suddenly his resolve was taken. As soon as it should be possible, this very day if it might be, he would learn his fate from the woman he loved, and make an end of this miserable uncertainty. “Was all prepared?” asked Quintus, as Cneius Afranius withdrew to one side and wrote some notes on his tablets. “All quite ready,” replied Aurelius. “He will be cared for, as if he were my own brother.” “And what did he tell Afranius?” “I do not know; they were alone together. Afranius begged to keep it secret, until he had everything ready to complete his case against Stephanus.” Afranius seemed to be entirely absorbed in thinking over what he had learnt on board the trireme, and Aurelius had to call him twice by name, before he roused him from his reverie. They were now walking along the quay in the direction previously taken by the chariot The two-wheeled cisium, which had been waiting on the opposite side of the market-place in front of a tavern, followed them with Magus and Blepyrus, while Afranius’ slave led the grey hack and his own mule. “What a tremendous crowd and bustle!” exclaimed the lawyer. “Not such an emporium as Puteoli, to be sure, but busy enough and not less noisy! Look at that barge with those gigantic blocks of marble--each big enough to fill an average store-room! And there--that is really stupendous!” He pointed to a spot on the quay, where the crowd was thickest. A crane there stood up, from which a gigantic rhinoceros was hanging in mid-air, supported by broad bands and girths. “A cargo of beasts for the centennial games,”[379] said Quintus. “There, to the left, are a dozen of iron cages ready to receive them. Half Asia and Africa have been plundered for the amphitheatres.” They went nearer, for an interest in wild beasts was a natural instinct, in all who had ever breathed the air of Rome. The hum and clatter of the seaport were dully drowned now and again by a hoarse roar--the growl of one of the lions from Gaetulia, restlessly pacing up and down behind the bars of their prison, which had just been landed. “That is something like a cageful!” said the Batavian. “The freight of two vessels,” remarked Quintus, glancing at the two large ships, one of which had already unloaded and gone to its moorings. “Our gladiators may pray for good-luck.”