Erigone was gone in the night, and Fabia went to her chamber.  She was reproaching herself for having sent the letter.  Rome by darkness was an evil place for a young maid to traverse, and never worse than that night.  Fabia repeated to herself that she had committed an act of selfish folly, possibly sacrificing an implicitly loyal servant to the mere gratification of a perfectly ungrounded panic.  She was undressed by her other women, and lay down with Livia fast asleep in her arms; and she kissed the little one again and again before slumber stole over her.

IV

Demetrius had been astonishing his cousin that evening by the quantity of strong wine he could imbibe without becoming in the least tipsy.  Agias marvelled at the worthy pirate’s capacity and hardness of head, and, fortunately for his own wits, did not attempt to emulate the other’s potations.  Consequently, as the evening advanced, Demetrius simply became more and more good-natured and talkative, and Agias more entranced with his cousin’s narration of the Indian voyage.

The younger Greek was about to order his yawning servants to fill up another krater,[159] when the conversation and drinking were interrupted by the arrival of Erigone.  She, poor girl, had set out bravely enough; but once outside of the Atrium Vestae every shadow had been a refuge of cutthroats, every noise the oncoming of goblins.  Fortunately for her, she did not know the contents of the tablets she carried pressed to her breast, or she would have been all the more timorous.  Once a few half-sober topers screamed ribald words after her, as she stole past a low tavern.  She had lost her way, in the darkness and fright, among the alleys; she had dodged into a doorway more than once to hide from approaching night rovers.  But at last she had reached her destination, and, pale and weary, placed the letter in Agias’s hands.  The young Greek read and grew grave.  Even better than Fabia he understood how reckless a profligate Publius Gabinius might be, and how opportune was the night for carrying out any deed of darkness.

  [159] Wine-mixing bowl.

“Brave girl!” he said, commending Erigone for persevering on her errand.  “But how long ago did you leave your mistress?”

“It was the second hour of the night[160] when I started,” she replied.

[160] The Romans divided the night into 12 hours (from sunrise to sunset); thus the length of the hour varied with the seasons:  but at the time here mentioned the “second hour” was about 8 P.M.  The water-clocks could show only regular, not solar, time.

Agias glanced at the water-clock.

“By Zeus!” he cried, “it is now the fourth hour!  You have been two hours on the way!  Immortal gods!  What’s to be done?  Look here, Demetrius!”

And he thrust the letter before his cousin, and explained its meaning as rapidly as he could.