s the palace, the heart of all Rome,
where the rain and hail dinned down on marble. There was havoc in the
clumps of ornamental trees--crashing of pots blown down from balconies--
thunder of rent awnings and the splashing of countless cataracts where
overloaded gutters spilled their surplus on mosaic pavement fifty or a
hundred feet below. No light showed, saving at the guard-house by the
main gate, where a group of sentries shrugged themselves against the
wall--ill-tempered, shivering, alert. However mutinous a Roman army, or
a legion, or a guard might be, its individuals were loyal to the routine
work of military duty.

A decurion stepped out beneath a splashing arch, the lamplight gleaming
on his wetted bronze and crimson.

"Narcissus? Yes, I recognize you. Who is this?" Narcissus and Sextus
were shrouded in loose, hooded cloaks of raw wool, under which they
hugged a change of footgear. Sextus had his face well covered.
Narcissus pushed him forward under the guard-room arch, out of the rain.

"This is a man from Antioch, whom Caesar told me to present to him," he
said. "I know him well. His names is Marius."

"I have no orders to admit a man of that name." Narcissus waxed
confidential.

"Do you wish to get both of us into trouble?" he asked. "You know
Caesar's way. He said bring him and forgot, I suppose, to tell his
secretary to write the order for admission. Tonight he will remember my
speaking to him about this expert with a javelin, and if I have to tell
him--"

"Speak with the centurion."

The decurion beckoned them into the guard-house, where a fire burned in
a bronze tripod, casting a warm glow on walls hung with shields and
weapons. A centurion, munching oily seed and wiping his mouth with the
back of his hand, came out of an inner office. He was not the type that
had made Roman arms invincible. He lacked the self-reliant dignity of
an old campaigner, substituting for it self-assertiveness and flashy
manners. He was annoyed because he could not get the seed out of his
mouth with his finger in time to look aristocratic.

"What now, Narcissus? By Bacchus, no! No irregularities tonight! The
very gods themselves are imitating Caesar's ill-humor! Who is it you
have brought?"

Narcissus beckoned the centurion toward the corner, between fire and
wall, where he could whisper without risk of being overheard.

"Marcia told me to bring this man tonight in hope of making Caesar
change his mo