“Is that why you sacrificed a white bull recently?” asked Marcia.

Livius glanced at Cornificia, but her patrician face gave no hint.  Caia Poppeia’s was less under control, for she was younger and had nothing to conceal; she was inquisitively enjoying the entertainment and evidently did not know what was coming.

“I sacrificed a white bull to Jupiter Capitolinus, as is customary, to confirm a sacred oath,” he answered.

“Very well, suppose you break the oath!” said Marcia.

He managed to look scandalized—­then chuckled foolishly, remembering what Pertinax had said about the value of an oath; but his own dignity obliged him to protest.

“I am not one of your Christians,” he answered, stiffening himself.  “I am old-fashioned enough to hold that an oath made at the altar of our Roman Jupiter is sacred and inviolable.”

“When you took your oath of office you swore to be in all things true to Caesar,” Marcia retorted.  “Do you prefer to tell Caesar how true you have been to that oath?  Which oath holds the first one or the second?”

“I could ask to be released from the second one,” said Livius.  “If you will give me time—­”

Marcia’s laugh interrupted him.  It was soft, melodious, like wavelets on a calm sea, hinting unseen reefs.

“Time,” she said, “Is all that death needs!  Death does not wait on oaths; it comes to us.  I wish to know just how far I can trust you, Livius.”

Nine Roman nobles out of ten in Livius’ position would have recognized at once the deadliness of the alternatives she offered and, preserving something of the shreds of pride, would have accepted suicide as preferable.  Livius had no such stamina.  He seized the other horn of the dilemma.

“I perceive Pertinax has betrayed me,” he sneered, looking sharply at Cornificia; but she was watching Marcia and did not seem conscious of his glance.  “If Pertinax has broken his oath, mine no longer binds me.  This is the fact then:  I discovered how he helped Sextus, son of Maximus, to avoid execution by a ruse, making believe to be killed.  Pertinax was also privy to the execution of an unknown thief in place of Norbanus, a friend of Sextus, also implicated in conspiracy.  Pertinax has been secretly negotiating with Sextus ever since.  Sextus now calls himself Maternus and is notorious as a highwayman.”

“What else do you know about Maternus?” Marcia inquired.  There was a trace at last of sharpness in her voice.  A hint conveyed itself that she could summon the praetorians if he did not answer swiftly.

“He plots against Caesar.”

“You know too little or too much!” said Marcia.  “What else?”

He closed his lips tight.  “I know nothing else.”

“Have you had any dealings with Sextus?”

“Never.”

He was shifting now from one foot to the other, hardly noticeably, but enough to make Marcia smile.  “Shall we hear what Sextus has to say to that?” asked Cornificia, so confidently that there was no doubt Marcia had given her the signal.