Marcus laughed bitterly, then turning to Nehushta, said: 

“You hear, woman, you hear.  If such is the judgment of my steward and freedman, what will be that of Caesar and my peers?” Then he added, “Now, Stephanus, that what you thought impossible—­what I myself should have thought impossible—­has happened.  I was taken prisoner by the Jews, though through no fault of mine.”

“Oh! if so,” said the old steward, “hide it, my lord, hide it.  Why, two such unhappy men who had surrendered to save their lives and were found in some Jewish dungeon, have been condemned to walk in the Triumph this day.  Their hands are to be tied behind them; in place of their swords they must wear a distaff, and on their breasts a placard with the words written:  ‘I am a Roman who preferred dishonour to death.’  You would not wish their company, my lord.”

The face of Marcus went first red, then white.

“Man,” he said, “cease your ill-omened talk, lest I should fall upon my sword here before your eyes.  Bid the slaves make ready the bath and food, for we need both.”

“Slaves, my lord?  There are none here, save one old woman, who attends to me and the house.”

“Where are they then?” asked Marcus angrily.

“The most part of them I have sent into the country, thinking it better that they should work upon your estates rather than live here idle, and others who were not needed I have sold.”

“You were ever careful, Stephanus.”  Then he added by an afterthought, “Have you any money in the house?”

The old steward looked towards Nehushta suspiciously and seeing that she was engaged with the horses out of earshot, answered in a whisper:  “Money?  I have so much of it that I know not what to do.  The strong place you know if is almost full of gold and still it comes.  There are the rents and profits of your great estates for three years; the proceeds of the sale of slaves and certain properties, together with the large outstanding amount that was due to my late master, the Lord Caius, which I have at length collected.  Oh! at least you will not lack for money.”

“There are other things that I could spare less readily,” said Marcus, with a sigh; “still, it may be needed.  Now tie up those horses by the fountain, and give us food, what you have, for we have ridden these thirty hours without rest.  Afterwards you can talk.”

It was mid-day.  Marcus, bathed, anointed, and clad in the robes of his order, was standing in one of the splendid apartments of his marble house, looking through an opening in the shutters at the passing of the Triumph.  Presently old Nehushta joined him.  She also was clad in clean, white robes which the slave woman had found for her.

“Have you any news?” asked Marcus impatiently.

“Some, lord, which I have pieced together from what is known by the slave-woman, and by your steward, Stephanus.  A beautiful Jewish captive is to walk in the Triumph and afterwards to be sold with other captives in the Forum.  They heard of her because it is said that there has been a quarrel between Titus and his brother Domitian, and Vespasian also, on account of this woman.”