Narcissus beckoned the centurion toward the corner, between fire and wall, where he could whisper without risk of being overheard.

“Marcia told me to bring this man tonight in hope of making Caesar change his mood.  He is a javelin-thrower—­an expert.”

“Has he a javelin under the cloak?” the centurion asked suspiciously.

“He is unarmed, of course.  Do you take us for madmen?”

“All Rome is mad tonight,” said the centurion, “or I wouldn’t be arguing with a gladiator!  Tell me what you know.  A sentry said you saw the death of Pavonius Nasor.  All the sentries who were in the tunnel at the time are under lock and key, and I expect to be ordered to have the poor devils killed to silence them.  And now Bultius Livius—­have you heard about it?”

“I have heard Caesar sent for him.”

“Well, if Caesar has sent for this friend of yours, he had better first made sacrifices to his gods and pray for something better than befell poor Livius!  Yourself too!  They say Livius is being racked—­doubtless to make him tell more than he knows.  I smell panic in the air.  With all these palace slaves coming and going you can’t check rumor and I’ll wager there is already an exodus from Rome.  Gods!  What a night for travel!  Morning will see the country roads all choked with the conveyances of bogged up senators!  Let us pray this friend of yours may soften Caesar’s mood.  Where is his admission paper?”

“As I told the decurion, I have none.”

“That settles it then; he can’t enter.  No risks—­not when I know the mood our Commodus is in!  The commander might take the responsibility, but not I.”

“Where is he?” asked Narcissus.

“Where any lucky fellow is on such a night—­in bed.  I wouldn’t dare to send for him for less than riots, mutiny and all Rome burning!  Let your man wait here.  Go you into the palace and get a written permit for him.”

But nothing was more probable than that such a permit would be unobtainable.

Sextus stepped into the firelight, pulling back the hood to let the centurion see his face.

“By Mars’ red plume!  Are you the man they call Maternus?”

Sextus retorted with a challenge: 

“Now will you send for your commander?  He knows me well.”

“Dioscuri!  Doubtless!  Probably you robbed him of his purse!  By Romulus and Remus, what is happening to Rome?  That falling star last night portended, did it, that a highwayman should dare to try to enter Caesar’s palace!  Ho there, decurion!  Bring four men!”

The decurion clanked in.  His men surrounded Sextus at a gesture.

“I ought to put you both in cells,” said the centurion.  “But you shall have a chance to justify yourself, Narcissus.  Go on in.  Bring Caesar’s written order to release this man Maternus—­if you can!”

Narcissus, like all gladiators, had been trained in facial control lest an antagonist should be forewarned by his expression.  Nevertheless, he was hard put to it to hide the fear that seized him.  He supposed not even Marcia would dare openly to come to Sextus’ rescue.