Marcian watched anxiously the course of the silver orb above them.  When it began to descend seaward, the animals were showing signs of weariness; before daybreak he must perforce call a halt.  In conversation with the leader of his guard, he told the reason of their hasting on by night (known already to the horseman, a trusted follower of the Bishop of Praeneste), and at length announced his resolve to turn off the Latin Way into the mountains, with the view of gaining the little town Aletrium, whence, he explained, they could cross the hills to the valley of the Liris, and so descend again to the main road.  It was the man’s business to obey; he let fall a few words, however, concerning the dangers of the track; it was well known that bands of marauders frequented this country, moving onward before the slow advance of the Gothic troops.  Marcian reflected, but none the less held to his scheme.  The beasts were urged along an upward way, which, just about the setting of the moon, brought them to a poor village with a little church.  Marcian set himself to discover the priest, and, when this good man was roused from slumber, spoke in his ear a word which had great effect.  With little delay stabling was found, and a place of repose for Marcian’s followers; he himself would rest under the priest’s roof, whither he conducted Veranilda and a woman servant who sat with her in the carriage.  The face which was so troubling his imagination he did not yet see, for Veranilda kept the hood close about her as she passed by candle light up steps to the comfortless and dirty little chamber which was the best she could have.

‘Rest in peace,’ whispered Marcian as the door closed.  ’I guard you.’

For an hour or more he sat talking with his host over a pitcher of wine, found how far he was from Aletrium, and heard with satisfaction that the brigand bands seemed to have gone higher into the mountains.  The presbyter asked eagerly for Roman news, and cautiously concerning King Totila, whom it was evident he regarded with no very hostile feeling.  As the day broke he stretched himself on his host’s bed, there being no other for him, and there dozed for two or three hours, far too agitated to enjoy a sound sleep.

When he arose, he went forth into the already hot sunshine, looked at the poor peasants’ cottages, and talked with Sagaris, whose half-smiling face seemed anxious to declare that he knew perfectly well on what business they were engaged.  At this hour, in all probability, the horsemen of Pelagius were galloping along the Latin Way, in hope of overtaking the fugitives.  It seemed little likely that they would search in this direction, and the chances were that they would turn back when their horses got tired out.  Of them, indeed, Marcian thought but carelessly; his hard-set brows betokened another subject of disquiet.  Should he, after Aletrium, go down again to the Latin Way, or should he push a few miles further to the valley of the Liris, and to his own villa?