what they had seen; and for the first time in his
life Hortensius Martius felt a wave of cruelty pass over him, in an
insensate desire to make the slaves speak under pressure of torture.

At the time he was ashamed to seem too eager and had forborne to
question further. But he allowed his humiliation to breed the
quick-growing weed of hate. When first the name of Taurus Antinor was
mentioned he realised how that weed had grown apace, and now that he sat
beside him, and felt the inquisitive eyes of his host fixed with
ill-concealed mockery upon him, he knew in his innermost heart that
after this day there would no longer be room in the city of Rome for
himself as well as for this man who had vanquished and humiliated him.

For the moment, however, he did not care to proclaim before all these
men the hatred which he felt for Taurus Antinor. Thoughts of supreme
grandeur were coursing through his brain. He knew that no one stood so
high in Dea Flavia's graces as he himself had done this year past, and
that no one was so like to win her for wife, since she had in her own
proud and aloof way already accepted his respectful wooing.

Therefore, putting a rein upon his jealousy and upon his unruly tongue,
he took up a goblet and responded to the pledge of the man whom he
hated. But whilst Antinor drained the crystal cup to the dregs young
Hortensius scarcely wetted his lips, and pretending to drink deeply, he
kept his eyes fixed upon the praefect of Rome.

It seemed to him as if he had never really seen him before, so sharp are
the eyes of hate that they see much that is usually hidden to those of
indifference. Young Hortensius, over the edge of his goblet, embraced
with a steady glance the whole person of his enemy--the massive frame,
the strong limbs, the hands and feet slender and strong. He looked
straight into those deep-set eyes over which a perpetual frown always
cast a shadow, and saw that they were of an intense shade of blue and
with a strange look in them of kindliness and of peace, which belied the
stern fierceness of the face and the wilful obstinacy of the massive
jaw.

But now Caius Nepos began to speak. Taking the advice of Marcus Ancyrus
the elder, he spoke vaguely, trying to probe the thoughts that lay
hidden behind the Anglicanus' furrowed brow. He had received advice, he
said that the Caesar was tired of government and wished to spend some
quiet days in the Palace of Tiberius, on the island of Capraea; a