“Well,” said Agias, still simulating hesitancy, “I will report to my superiors.  Perhaps you are not a willing accomplice of your master.  In that case, if he is apprehended, your life will doubtless be spared.  But we must thwart his plot before it can be carried out.  This you must aid us to do.  When will Dumnorix start for Praeneste?”

Again Sesostris quailed.  “I don’t know,” he faltered, “there has been a postponement.  There was a plan that if Drusus came to the city he was to be lured outside the Esquiline gate, as if going to some villa, and murdered in the sand-pits, as have been many people.”

“But this plan has been given up?  Speak the truth!” sharply demanded Agias.

“Yes; for Drusus will not stir from Praeneste.  So there the scheme must be executed, as originally arranged.”

“And Dumnorix will go soon?”

“I think in a few days.  I will find out.”

“As you love your own life do so!  I will call on each day at this hour.  If Pratinas is at home, leave some bright garment outside near the door, that I may not stumble on him.  Deceive or betray me, and my masters will take a terrible revenge on you; for you haven’t the least idea what is the power of the men Pratinas has for enemies.”

Agias turned to depart.  Then to Artemisia:—­

“And you, my pretty,—­when I come again, I will try to stay longer, and make you feel as glad to see Agias, as Agias will be to see Artemisia.”

Agias was descending the stairs, when Sesostris called him back with a whisper.

“You are a dreadful youth; but since I am so utterly in your power, hear something that may prove that I am not a knave at heart.  You have a fancy to the girl?”

“Certainly I have eyes for her face, and ears for her sweet little voice,” said Agias, smiling.

“Then listen,” went on the Ethiop; “I care for the dear more than anything else in the world.  She said she was Pratinas’s niece.  It isn’t true.  She is a slave-girl he picked up when very little at Delos,[100] as he told me, though I doubt it.  He took a fancy to her, and really thought of adopting her.  Then his soul became so set on money, that he saw she would fetch a great price when grown; and sell her he will.  He still pretends to call her his niece; but that won’t be for long.  He is teaching her to sing, to add to her value. A! But my old heart is almost breaking for her sake. Mu, mu!” and Sesostris puffed his groans through his nostrils.  “Think of it!  He has an idea to sell her to that rich Roman, Lucius Calatinus—­and then I don’t dare hint what will be her fate.”

  [100] At this period the great slave emporium of the world.

“Calatinus!” hissed Agias, concentrating volumes of scorn into a word.

“You know him!  You hate him!” cried Sesostris.  “Then by Ammon-Ra, by Isis, by every god in whom you believe, save my darling from worse than death!  Do that, and I will die for you!”