“Well,” she said, “there is a horse, no doubt, in the stable--standing there since noon. It belongs to a trader out of Metapontum[70]--but I do not know whether he would allow it.” “He must; or, better still, why should he ever know it? I shall be back again in a few hours. I will leave all our horses in pledge with you, and pay for your nasty verjuice as if it were Falernian. Make no ceremony.” In five minutes the Metapontine trader’s steed stood saddled and bridled at the door. It was a small, square-set brute, but strong. The soldier mounted, desired his men to await his return, and set off at a round pace. Shortly before reaching Antium he met two riderless horses, one of which he at once recognized as that of his wounded comrade. There could no longer be a doubt; the fugitives were trusting to the sea. With renewed energy he struck spurs into his horse, and had soon got over the few hundred paces, that still lay between him and the harbor. Here, however, there was nothing to be seen or heard. He rode all round the bay and back again, keeping a sharp lookout. The ships lay motionless by the mole--the barges and shore-boats in the middle, farther out the larger merchant-vessels, and away to the left the imperial trireme, which through the summer months had cruised in search of pirates about the coasts of Egypt and Cyrenaica.[71] All was as silent as the dead, excepting when, now and then, the night-breeze whistled through the cordage. Then he stopped awhile, and gazed out to sea--not a speck was to be seen on the starlit expanse so far as the eye could reach. He was beginning to think that he had been wrong in his calculations, and was about to take his way back again in a very provoked frame of mind, when an unhoped-for incident arrested him in the very act. Was it the uncertain twilight that cheated his sight? The large barque at the farthest end of the harbor seemed to be slowly moving, and then he heard the distant stroke of oars. At the same moment he sprang from his saddle, and thundered with a powerful fist at the door of the nearest house. “A boat!” he shouted as the bewildered door-keeper opened to him. “In the name of the city-prefect I must row at once to the imperial guard-ship.” “My lord, you are under a mistake,” said the slave not very civilly. “We are neither boat-keepers nor oarsmen. Euterpius lives here, the harbor-master.” “So much the better. Take me to your master immediately, if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, fellow.”