“My tidings are, Olaf, that the waters have suited the Augusta very well.  She has lost several pounds in weight and her skin is now like that of a young child.”

“All health to the Augusta!” I said, laughing.  “But you have not come here to tell me of the state of the royal skin.  What next, Martina?”

“This, Olaf.  The Empress has read your report with her own eyes, which is a rare thing for her to do.  She said she wished to see whether or no you could write Greek.  She is much pleased with the report, and told Stauracius in my presence that she had done well in choosing you for your office while she was absent from the city, since thereby she had saved the lives of the Caesars and Nobilissimi, desiring as she does that these princes should be kept alive, at any rate for the present.  She accedes also to your prayer, and will relieve you of your office as soon as a new governor can be chosen.  You are to return to guard her person, but with your rank of general confirmed.”

“That is all good news, Martina; so good that I wonder what sting is hidden in all this honey.”

“That you will find out presently, Olaf.  One I can warn you of, however—­the sting of jealousy.  Advancement such as yours draws eyes to you, not all of them in love.”

I nodded and she went on: 

“Meantime your star seems to shine very bright indeed.  One might almost say that the Augusta worshipped it, at least she talks of you to me continually, and once or twice was in half a mind to send for you to the Baths.  Indeed, had it not been for reasons of State connected with your prisoners I think she would have done so.”

“Ah!” I said, “now I think I begin to feel another sting in the honey.”

“Another sting in the honey!  Nay, nay, you mean a divine perfume, an essence of added sweetness, a flavour of the flowers on Mount Ida.  Why, Olaf, if I were your enemy, as I dare say I shall be some day, for often we learn to hate those whom we have—­rather liked, your head and your shoulders might bid good-bye to each other for such words as those.”

“Perhaps, Martina; and if they did I do not know that it would greatly matter—­now.”

“Not greatly matter, when you are driving at full gallop along Fortune’s road to Fame’s temple with an Empress for your charioteer!  Are you blind or mad, Olaf, or both?  And what do you mean by your ‘now’?  Olaf, something has happened to you since last we met.  Have you fallen in love with some fair prisoner in this hateful place and been repulsed?  Such a fool as you are might take refusal even from a captive in his own hands.  At least you are different.”

“Yes, Martina, something has happened to me.  I have become a Christian.”

“Oh!  Olaf, now I see that you are not a fool, as I thought, but very clever.  Why, only yesterday the Augusta said to me—­it was after she had read that report of yours—­that if you were but a Christian she would be minded to lift you high indeed.  But as you remained the most obstinate of heathens she did not see how it could be done without causing great trouble.”