Chapter 2

‘I thanked him,’ said Lucia, exasperatingly deliberate, ‘and told him I thought it was wonderful of him—and I do think it was, Diana—to let me keep his precious ring; and—and—I said I hoped they would both come home safely—and I promised to take good care of his keepsake.’

‘That was all right, I suppose,’ nodded Diana, judicially. ‘And— then what?’ They had stopped on the tiled path, and Lucia seemed a little confused.

‘Well,’ she stammered, ‘he was still standing there—and I gave him my hand.’

‘You didn’t!’ exclaimed Diana. ‘To a slave?’

‘To shake, you know,’ defended Lucia. ‘Why shouldn’t I have been willing to shake hands with Demetrius? He’s as clean as we are; certainly a lot cleaner than Bambo, who is always pawing me.’

‘That’s not the point, Lucia, whether Demetrius’ hands are cleaner than Bambo’s feet—and you know it. He is a slave, and we can’t be too careful.’ Diana’s tone was distinctly stern, until her curiosity overwhelmed her indignation. ‘So—then’—she went on, a little more gently—’he shook hands with you.’

‘No—it was ever so much worse than that.’ Lucia grinned at the sight of Diana’s shocked eyes. ‘Demetrius took my hand, and put the ring on my finger—and then he kissed my hand—and—well—after all, Diana—he’s going away with Marcellus—maybe to die for him! What should I have done? Slap him?’

Diana laid her hands on Lucia’s shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes.

‘So—then—after that—what happened?’

‘Wasn’t that enough?’ parried Lucia, flinching a little from Diana’s insistent search.

‘Quite!’ After a pause, she said, ‘You’re not expecting to wear that ring; are you, Lucia?’

‘No. There’s no reason why I should. It might get lost. And I don’t want to hurt Tertia.’

‘Is Tertia in love with Demetrius?’

‘Mad about him! She has been crying her eyes out, this afternoon, the poor dear.’

‘Does Demetrius know?’

‘I don’t see how he could help it.’

‘And he doesn’t care for her?’

‘Not that way. I made him promise he would say good-bye to her.’

‘Lucia—had it ever occurred to you that Demetrius has been secretly in love with you—maybe for a long time?’

‘He has never given me any reason to think so,’ replied Lucia, rather vaguely.

‘Until today, you mean,’ persisted Diana.

Lucia meditated an answer for a long moment.

‘Diana,’ she said soberly, ‘Demetrius is a slave. That is true. That is his misfortune. He was gently bred, in a home of refinement, and brought here in chains by ruffians who weren’t fit to tie his sandals!’ Her voice trembled with suppressed anger. ‘Of course’—she went on, bitterly ironical—’their being Romans made all the difference! Just so you’re a Roman, you don’t have to know anything—but pillage and bloodshed! Don’t you realize, Diana, that everything in the Roman Empire today that’s worth a second thought on the part of any decent person was stolen from Greece? Tell me!—how does it happen that we speak Greek, in preference to Latin? It’s because the Greeks are leagues ahead of us, mentally. There’s only one thing we do better: we’re better butchers!’

Diana frowned darkly.

With her lips close to Lucia’s ear, she said guardedly, ‘You are a fool to say such things—even to me! It’s too dangerous! Isn’t your family in enough trouble? Do you want to see all of us banished—or in prison?’

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