But shall you--shall you truly throw your swords into the Tiber?"
"Would I might," said he, sadly. "And now I must tell you--" He
paused, and Arria turned quickly, her lips trembling as her color faded.
"In three days I go to Jerusalem," he added, "by command of the
emperor."
"For how long?" she whispered, her eyes taking years upon them as the
seconds flew.
"For two years."
Quickly she hid her face in the cushions and her body quivered. That
old, familiar cry, which had in it the history and the doom of Rome,
rang in the great halls around them--that cry of forsaken women.
"The iron foot is upon us," said he. "Do not let it tread you down as
it has other women. Be my vestal and guard the holy fire of love."
Then he told of Cyran, the slave-girl, and added: "I leave her in your
care. Every day she will cause you to think of me."
CHAPTER 8
It was near the middle hour of the night. Many, just out of
banquet-hall, theatre, and circus, thronged the main thoroughfares of
the capital. Cries of venders, ribald songs, shouts of revelry, the
hurrying of many feet roused the good people who, wearied by other
nights of dissipation, now sought repose.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81