“Well, that was what the caravan folk thought, until they passed the place of execution and saw no body there.”

“The robbers possibly themselves removed it and were seeking to avenge Maternus.”

“Much more likely somebody was bribed to let him escape!  We all know Maternus was scourged, for that was done in Antioch; but they did not scourge him very badly, for fear he might die on the way to the place of execution.  There is no doubt he was crucified, but he was only tied, not nailed.  It would have been perfectly simple to substitute some other criminal that first night—­somebody who looked a little like him; they would give the substitute poppy juice to keep him from crying out to passers-by.”

“Substitution has often been done, of course.  But it takes a lot of money and considerable influence to bribe the guard.  They are under the authority of a centurion, who would have to look out for informers.  And besides, you can’t persuade me that a man who had been scourged, and crucified, if only for one day, could walk into Daphne two or three nights afterward and carry on a conversation.  Why should he visit Daphne?  Why should he choose that place, of all places in the world, and midnight, to destroy the identification parchment?  Having destroyed it, why did he then tell the slaves who he was?  It sounds like a tale out of Egypt to me.”

“Well, the priests are saying—­”

“Tchutt-tchutt!  Priests say anything.”  “Nevertheless, the priests are saying that Maternus, after he was captured, managed to convey a message to his followers commanding them to offer sacrifices to Apollo, who accordingly intervened in his behalf.  And they say he undoubtedly went to Daphne to return thanks at the temple threshold.”

“Hah-Hah!  Excellent!  Let us go to the baths.  You need to sweat the superstition out of you!  Better leave word where we are going, so that our factors will know where to find us in case any important business turns up.”

In the palace, in the office of the governor, where the lapping of water and irises could be heard through the opened windows, Pertinax sat facing the governor of Antioch across a table heaped with parchment rolls.  A dozen secretaries labored in the next room, but the door between was closed; the only witnesses were leisurely, majestic swans, seen down a vista of well pruned shrubbery that flanked the narrow lawn.  An awning crimsoned and subdued the sunlight, concealing the lines on the governor’s face and suggesting color on his pale cheeks.

He was a fat man, pouched under the eyes and growing bald—­an almost total contrast to the lean and active, although older Pertinax.  His smile was cynical.  His mouth curved downward.  He had large, fat hands and cold, dark calculating eyes.

“I would feel more satisfied,” he said, “if I could have Norbanus’ evidence.”

“Find him then!” Pertinax answered irritably.  “What is the matter with your police?  In Rome, if I propose to find a man he is brought before me instantly.”