Chapter 10

‘Arabian, eh? And handy with a blade! Doesn’t ask what the fight’s about, so long as he can get in there—and gut somebody!’ He laughed with evident relish and poked Tony in the ribs with his thumb. ‘Hell of a time for an Arabian gladiator to turn up, I must say!…What part of Arabia do you hail from, my son?’

‘The southern mountains, sir,’ replied Voldi stiffly.

‘Anywhere near the King’s domain?’

‘Not very far, sir; a few miles.’

‘Your King Zendi seems a popular man.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I dare say you know him,’ ventured Atrius. The others were growing restless. The Commander was absently patting his be-ringed left fist with his right palm. Mencius shifted his weight and frowned.

‘Voldi’s grandfather, Mishma, is the King’s Chief Councillor, Atrius.’

‘Ah? So!’ Atrius grinned. ‘Well, if there is anything we can do for you while you are in Caesarea, Voldi, we will be happy to serve you…See you later, Tony…You’ll be glad to be home again, Mencius. Wish I were going with you. You will be arriving in time for Saturnalia.’

With the departure of Atrius, conversation lagged; and Voldi, surmising that the two Romans might wish to have some private talk, excused himself and sauntered through the lobbies to the loggia which half circled a pool where a beautifully wrought fountain played. He sat down on a deeply upholstered divan and reviewed the recent conversation…This Atrius might be a good man to know.

For some little time after Voldi had strolled away from them, Mencius and Tony found it difficult to sustain an interest in their talk about the forthcoming voyage. Finally Tony blurted out: ‘What’s this boy doing in Caesarea, Mencius?’

‘He is on his way north.’

‘Sight-seeing—or business?’

‘A little of both, I think.’

‘Meaning that you aren’t going to tell me.’ Tony’s voice showed annoyance.

‘He confided to me the nature of his errand,’ admitted Mencius. ‘It is nothing to cause you anxiety. He is looking for a fugitive. I shall be obliged if this much information contents you, Tony. I gave him my word.’