“Yes, yes,” answered the chamberlain, “still I had rather stand.  I met with an accident last night, a most unpleasant accident,” and he coughed as though to cover up some word that leapt to his lips.  “You also, worthy Demetrius—­that is your name, is it not?” he added, eyeing him keenly—­“look as though you had not slept well.”

“No,” answered Caleb, “I also met with an accident—­oh! nothing that you can see—­a slight internal injury which is, I fear, likely to prove troublesome.  Well, noble Saturius, how can I—­serve you?  Anything in the way of Eastern shawls, for instance?”

“I thank you, friend, no.  I come to speak of shoulders, not shawls,” and he twitched his own—­“women’s shoulders, I mean.  A remarkably fine pair for their size had that Jewish captive, by the way, in whom you seemed to take an interest last night—­to the considerable extent indeed of fourteen hundred sestertia.”

“Yes,” said Caleb, “they were well shaped.”

Then followed a pause.

“Perhaps as I am a busy man,” suggested Caleb presently, “you would not mind coming to the point.”

“Certainly, I was but waiting for your leave.  As you may have heard, I represent a very noble person——­”

“Who, I think, took an interest in the captive to the extent of fifteen hundred sestertia,” suggested Caleb.

“Quite so—­and whose interest unfortunately remains unabated, or rather, I should say, that it is transferred.”

“To the gentleman whose deep feeling induced him to provide five hundred more?” queried Caleb.

“Precisely.  What intuition you have!  It is a gift with which the East endows her sons.”

“Suppose you put the matter plainly, worthy Saturius.”

“I will, excellent Demetrius.  The great person to whom I have alluded was so moved when he heard of his loss that he actually burst into tears, and even reproached me, whom he loves more dearly than his brother——­”

“He might easily do that, if all reports are true,” said Caleb, drily, adding, “Was it then that you met with your accident?”

“It was.  Overcome at the sight of my royal master’s grief, I fell down.”

“Into a well, I suppose, since you managed to injure your eye, your back, and your leg all at once.  There—­I understand—­these things will happen—­in the households of the Great where the floors are so slippery that the most wary feet may slide.  But that does not console the sufferer whose hurt remains, does it?”

“No,” answered Saturius with a snarl, “but until he is in a position to relay the floors, he must find chalk for his sandals and ointment for his back.  I want the purchaser’s name, and thought perhaps that you might have it, for the old woman has vanished, and that fool of an auctioneer knows absolutely nothing.”

“Why do you want his name?”

“Because Domitian wants his head.  An unnatural desire indeed that devours him; still one which, to be frank, I find it important to satisfy.”