“If the question is, what I want with you, Livius, the answer is, that I invite you.  Order your litter brought.”

“But Marcia, I am subprefect.  I am responsible to—­”

“Did you hear?”

“But if you will tell where we are going, I might feel justified in neglecting the palace business.  I assure you I have important work to do.”

“There are plenty who can attend to it,” said Marcia.  “The most important thing in your life, Livius, is my good-will.  You are delaying me.”

Livius glared at Caia Poppeia, the lady-in-waiting, who was smiling, standing a little behind Marcia.  He hoped she would take the hint and withdraw out of earshot, but she had had instructions, and came half a step closer.

“Will you let me go back to my office and—­”

“No!” answered Marcia.

He yielded with a nervous gesture, that implored her not to make an indiscretion.  A subprefect, in the nature of his calling, had too many enemies to relish repetition in the palace precincts of a threat from Marcia, however baseless it might be.  And besides, it might be something serious that almost had escaped her lips.  Untrue or true, it would be known all over the palace in an hour; within the day all Rome would know of it.  There were two slaves by the front door, two more on the last step of the stairs.

“I will come, of course,” he said.  “I am delighted.  I am honored.  I am fortunate!”

She nodded.  She sent one of her own slaves to order his private litter brought, while Livius attempted to look comfortable, cudgeling his brains to know what mischief she had found out.  It was nothing unusual that his litter should follow hers through the streets of Rome; in fact, it was an honor coveted by all officials of the palace, that fell to his share rather frequently because of his distinguished air of a latter-day man of the world and his intimate knowledge of everybody’s business and ancestry.  He was often ordered to go with her at a moment’s notice.  But this was the first time she had refused to say where they were going, or why, and there was a hint of malice in her smile that made his blood run cold.  He was a connoisseur of malice.

Marcia leaned on his arm as she went down the steps to her litter.  She permitted him to help her in.  But then, while her companion was following through the silken curtains, she leaned out at the farther side and whispered to the nearest eunuch.  Livius, climbing into his own gilt vehicle and lifted shoulder-high by eight Numidians, became aware that Marcia’s eunuchs had been told to keep an eye on him; two yellow-robed, insufferably impudent inquisitors strode in among his own attendants.