“But why all this pother?  Why not let me send a knave or two and knock the fellow some dark night in the head?  It will save us both time and trouble.”

“My excellent master of the gladiators,” said Pratinas, as smoothly as ever, “you must not take it ill, if I tell you that to have a taking off such as you propose would be a very bad thing both for you and the most noble Ahenobarbus.  This Drusus is not a helpless wight, without friends, waiting to become the fair prey of any dagger man.[64] He has friends, I have learned, who, if he were to be disposed of in such a rude and bungling manner, would not fail to probe deeply into the whole thing.  Flaccus the great banker, notably, would spare no pains to bring the responsibility of the matter home, not merely to the poor wretch who struck the blow, but the persons who placed the weapon in his hands.  All of which would be very awkward for Ahenobarbus.  No, your rough-and-ready plan won’t in the least work.”

  [64] Sicarius.

“Well,” replied Dumnorix, testily, “I’m a man of shallow wits and hard blows.  If I had been of keener mind, the gods know, I would have been a free chief among the Nervii, instead of making sport for these straw-limbed Romans.  If what I propose won’t answer, what can be done?”

“A great deal,” said Pratinas, who knew perfectly how to cringe low, yet preserve his ascendency; “first of all, it is very necessary that the murderers of the amiable Drusus should receive a meet reward for their crime—­that justice should be speedy and severe.”

“Man!” cried Dumnorix, griping the Greek’s arm in his tremendous clutch.  “What are you asking?”

“By Zeus!” burst out Pratinas, rubbing his crushed member.  “What a grip is yours!  Don’t be alarmed.  Surely you would be as willing to have one or two of your newest tiros hung on a cross, as stabbed on the arena—­especially when it will pay a great deal better?”

“I don’t follow you,” said the Gaul, though a little reassured.

“Simply this,” said Pratinas, who evidently felt that he was coming to the revealing of an especially brilliant piece of finesse.  “My general proposal is this.  Let you and your company march through Praeneste,—­of course carefully timing your march so as to find the innocent and unfortunate Drusus at his farm.  You will have a very disorderly band of gladiators, and they begin to attack Drusus’s orchard, and maltreat his slaves.  You try to stop them,—­without avail.  Finally, in a most unfortunate and outrageous outbreak they slay the master of the house.  The tumult is quelled.  The heirs proceed against you.  You can only hand over the murderers for crucifixion, and offer to pay any money damages that may be imposed.  A heavy fine is laid upon you, as being responsible for the killing of Drusus by your slaves.  You pay the damages.  Ahenobarbus marries Cornelia and enters upon the estate.  The world says that all that can be done to atone for Drusus’s murder has been done.  All of the guilty are punished.  The dead cannot be recalled.  The matter is at an end.  Ahenobarbus has what he wished for; you have all the money you paid in damages quietly refunded; also the cost of the poor rascals crucified, and a fair sum over and above for your trouble.”