Chapter 1
by Douglas, Lloyd C.‘Thick enough to turn the point of a stiletto,’ assisted Marcellus.
‘It is a hazardous occupation,’ nodded Gallio, ‘but I do not think our excellent friend Gallus will ever be exposed to its dangers.’
‘I wonder how Diana would like being a princess,’ remarked Marcellus, absently. He glanced up to find his father’s eyes alight with curiosity.
‘We are quite far afield, aren’t we; discussing Diana?’ observed Gallio, slyly. ‘Are you interested in her?’
‘Not any more than Lucia is,’ replied Marcellus, elaborately casual. ‘They are, as you know, inseparable. Naturally, I see Diana almost every day.’
‘A beautiful and amazingly vivacious child,’ commented the Senator.
‘Beautiful and vivacious,’ agreed Marcellus—’but not a child. Diana is nearly sixteen, you know.’
‘Old enough to be married: is that what you are trying to say? You could hardly do better—if she can be tamed. Diana has fine blood. Sixteen, eh? It is a wonder Gaius has not noticed. He might do himself much good in the esteem of the Emperor—and he certainly is in need of it—if he should win Diana’s favor.’
‘She loathes him!’
‘Indeed? Then she has talked with you about it?’
‘No, sir. Lucia told me.’
There was a considerable interval of silence before Gallio spoke again, slowly measuring his words.
‘In your present strained relation to Gaius, my son, you would show discretion, I think, if you made your attentions to Diana as inconspicuous as possible.’
‘I never see her anywhere else than here, sir.’
‘Even so: treat her casually. Gaius has spies everywhere.’
‘Here—in our house?’ Marcellus frowned incredulously.
‘Why not? Do you think that Gaius, the son of Agrippa, who never had an honest thought in his life, and of Julia, who was born with both ears shaped like keyholes, would be too honorable for that?’ Gallio deftly rolled up the scroll that lay at his elbow, indicating that he was ready to put aside his work for the day. ‘We have discussed this fully enough, I think. As for what occurred last night, the Prince’s friends may advise him to let the matter drop. Your best course is to do nothing, say nothing—and wait developments.’ He rose and straightened the lines of his toga. ‘Come! Let us ride to Ismael’s camp and look at the Hispanians. You will like them; milk-white, high-spirited, intelligent—and undoubtedly expensive. Ismael, the old rascal, knows I am interested in them, unfortunately for my purse.’