ONDERING the situation in all its bearings, Tros called Chloe back into the stateroom while the deck crew lowered Simon into the long-boat.
"Your Horatius Verres waits for Cæsar and is Cæsar's man. You have befriended Verres. Therefore Cæsar will befriend you. Why, then, should you be in haste to flee from Gades?"
"Torture!" she said and shuddered. "Horatius Verres sent a messenger who may reach Cæsar in time to warn him. But if Balbus dies and Cæsar comes, then Cæsar will investigate—"
"This is not his province. He has no authority in Spain."
"He is Cæsar," Chloe answered. "And I shall be tortured, because Pkauchios will certainly be found out and they will need my evidence against him."
"So, unless we save Balbus' life—"
Chloe looked into Tros' eyes. She laid the palms of her hands against his breast, her lip quivering for a second—on the verge of tears, but struggling to regain her self-control.
"Lord Tros," she said, "there isn't a slave in Gades but knows Cæsar would jump at an excuse to invade Pompey's province. Pompey and Cæsar pretend to be friends. They're as friendly as two lovers of one woman! Balbus is Pompey's nominee, and he is willing to win Gaul for Pompey or to betray Spain into Cæsar's hands, whichever of the two he thinks is stronger. All men know there will be war before long, and none can guess whether Pompey or Cæsar will win. Pompey is lazy, proud, rich, popular. Cæsar is energetic, loved, feared, hated, deep in debt."
"Wager your peculium on Cæsar!" Tros advised.
"Nay, on Horatius Verres! Have you ever loved a woman?" she asked.
Tros did not answer. He stroked his chin, watching her eyes. She asked him another question.
"Do you think it possible for me to tell the truth?"
He nodded. He expected a prodigious lie was coming. Her eyes were melting, soft, abrim with tears, held bravely back. The stage was all set for Gadean trickery. But she surprized him.
"I would die for Horatius Verres! I would submit to torture for him. But not for you, Pkauchios, Simon, Balbus, Cæsar nor any other man!"
"Pearls?" Tros asked her, studying her face.
She reached for the hem of her chlamys and produced the one pearl he had already given her, holding it out in the palm of her hand.
"You may keep them! Simon may keep my money unless you find a way of freeing me tonight! I will sing no more. I will dance no more and please none but myself. For they shall buy me where the other dead slaves' bodies rot if I lose Horatius Verres. Tros of Samothrace, if you have never loved a
"Come," said Tros.
The long-boat set them on the seaweed-littered beach, where an officer of Balearic slingers, aping Roman airs and very splendid in his clanking bronze, signed to Tros to pass on, but demanded to be told by what right Simon, the Jew, paid visits to a foreign ship in harbor. A party of Simon's slaves, with his great unwieldy, paneled litter in their midst had been detained some distance o£F, a detachment of slingers guarding them.
Simon began to argue excitedly, gesticulating, gasping as the nervousness increased his asthma. Chloe interrupted.
"Do you know me?" she asked.
"I pass you, exquisite Chloe!" the officer answered in Latin with an atrocious Balearic accent.
"I pass Simon!" she retorted. "Do you dare to prevent me?"
"But Chloe—"
"Bring me Simon's slaves or count me your enemy!" she interrupted.
With a half humorous grimace the officer beckoned to his men to let Simon's slaves advance.
"Remember me, O favorite of Fortune!" he said to Chloe. "My name is Metellus."
"I will mention you to Balbus. I will lie to him about your good looks and your loyalty," she promised, and motioned to Simon to climb into his litter.
"Be your memory as nimble as your wits and feet!" Metellus answered, shrugging his shoulders and signing to his men to let the party pass.
Those Balearic slingers lined along the beach were a godsend from Tros' point of view. There was a crowd of hucksters, pimps, idlers and loose women noisily protesting because the soldiers would not let them approach the shore. In the distance where the fishing boats were anchored three liburnians patrolled the waterfront and kept small boats from putting out. There was no chance of communication with the ship, no risk of the crew getting drunk or of Jaun Aksue and his Eskualdenak escaping.