overing their breasts. Their dark mantles, held upon their heads by
embroidered tiaras, swept to their stirrups in heavy folds. The Roman
ensign, over-topped by the wolf, was carried by a strong _classiarius_,
and behind it rode the legates, their round, shaven heads uncovered. One
was obese, and had a fat, triple chin; the other was spare, nervous,
with a sharp aquiline nose; both wore embossed bronze cuirasses; their
legs were covered with metal greaves, and over their protuberant thighs
hung skirts the color of wine-lees, trimmed with loose strips of gold
which quivered at the slightest movement of their steeds.

As the procession reached the wharf, where swarmed groups of sailors,
fishermen, and slaves, they met a band of women wrapped in their
mantles, who were walking along guided by an old man with insolent eyes
and sunken mouth, wearing that repulsive aspect acquired by eunuchs who
live perpetually in the company of enslaved women. They were the dancing
girls from Gades, who, as they left Polyanthus' ship, passed unnoticed
in the hubbub of the leave-taking.

Some women, issuing from the fish-wharves, offered the legates crowns of
flowers gathered from the neighboring hills, and lilies from the
lagoons. Acclamations arose throughout the entire length of the quay,
witnessed by groups of indifferent sailors from all countries.

"Hail to Rome! May Neptune protect you! The gods accompany you!"

Actaeon heard a mocking laugh behind him, and as he turned he saw the
Celtiberian shepherd who had killed the legionary in the tavern the
night before.

"You here?" the Greek exclaimed with surprise. "Are you alone, and do
you not hide from the Romans who seek you?"

The imperious eyes of the shepherd, those strange eyes which aroused in
the Greek confused and inexplicable memories, looked at him with
arrogance.

"The Romans! I hate and despise them! I would go without fear even to
the deck of their ship! Mind your own affairs, Actaeon, and don't meddle
in mine."

"How do you know my name?" exclaimed the Athenian with growing
amazement, wondering also at the perfection with which the rude shepherd
used the Greek tongue.

"I know your name and your life. You are the son of Lysias, a captain in
the service of Carthage, and, like all of your race, you wheel around
the world, without finding contentment in any part."

The Greek, so strong and sure of himself on most occasions, felt
intimidated in the presence of this e