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Updated: May 31, 2025
The priest was gone, and Alyrus, half-dazed, stood under the arch between two tall columns and gazed down at the bronze lizard he held in his hand. The lizard leered at him, he thought. Just at that moment a cry was heard, which drove the crowds of people aside. "Way! Way for the noble Lady, Octavia, widow of Aureus Cantus, Senator of the Roman Empire. Way! I say."
Lucius crouched down near the temple door at the side of the huge white building with its many columns, after he had heard the knock Alyrus gave at the small portal, and had heard the door clang behind the porter. No good could come from that temple and its priests. Even though they bowed before the statue of the god and burned incense, the Romans did not trust the priests.
The rain poured in torrents and it hailed, the ground was white with stones, some as large as pigeon eggs. Still, Lucius waited, calmly. He was accustomed to all sorts of weather and his finery could not be spoiled. He drew his bare legs up under him, threw the skin water bag over his head and shoulders and waited. Neither did Alyrus trust the priests.
The darkness settled down over Rome and still Virgilia dreamed on, but the dreams were not prophetic; in the visions which she had there were no forebodings of that which was to come. Alyrus crept out of the rear door of the house about sundown, while Virgilia, her head pillowed on a cushion of soft down, was dreaming of things past.
Then, Alyrus, intoxicated by the events of the past few moments, by his sudden transition from slavery to freedom, at the prospect opening before him of a speedy return to the home he loved, flattered at the homage shown him by the gladiator, poured out the whole story into ears only too willing to hear.
If they came, there was a chance of escape for them all. She told him of the ship belonging to Alyrus, his porter, now a freedman. It was he who had wrought the mischief. If possible God only knew! they would all sail away together. Whither, who could tell? Away from Rome, away from all this trouble and sorrow. Lidia possessed a lovely voice, thrilling sweet.
Hermione stretched out her hand to him and he grasped it warmly in his strong one. They were destined to be firm, true friends, these two young Christians who faced an unknown and dangerous future. Octavia arose. "Come, Hermione," she said, "we must be going." The lawyer rang a small silver bell on his desk, and Alyrus appeared at the door. "See that the Lady Octavia's chair is ready."
There was nothing attractive about his appearance, it was thoroughly animal. "I am not afraid," he replied, with such dignity that Alyrus stared at him. "When my time comes, I can die, trusting to a God whom thou knowest not, Alyrus, the Moor, doorkeeper in the house of Aurelius Lucanus." "Thou knowest me, then?" "I know thee well." His manner became cringing and servile.
It was not the custom for young girls to go upon the streets unaccompanied. Even when she paid a visit, Alyrus or one of the other slaves was waiting in the ante-chamber, to obey her lightest call. The other slave, who followed Alyrus with a glass carafe of iced water, was named Alexis.
Alyrus returned to the temple now to see Sahira who was in charge of the holy women and sallied forth again to sit in one of the shops and drink a glass of grape juice. He was a thoroughly temperate man, knowing that wine muddles the brain and perverts the judgment. It was now late in the evening.
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