Anxiously, in the palm-garden, the travelling merchants whispered about the wealthy Roman, who was sick with sorrow, and Uncle Catullus whispered in their company. Thrasyllus consoled himself by visiting the libraries of the Museum and the Serapeum. Lucius refused to hear any music. He did not leave his bed. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He looked unshaven, lean-cheeked and hollow-eyed, as one who was desperately sick.
They were sad days. The first charm of Alexandria was past; and Lucius cursed his journey, his whole life and everybody. In his impotent pain he groaned, sobbed and raved. Master Ghizla ordained silence and quiet around his rooms. Not a sandal creaked, not a voice sounded.
Lucius listened to this stillness. It was after luncheon, which Uncle Catullus had taken alone with Thrasyllus. And in the burning sunny stillness of that glowing June Lucius suddenly heard a child sobbing.
He rose from his couch. The sobs came from the back-garden; and Lucius raised the curtain and looked out. There, listening for his master's gong, sat Tarrar, huddled, like a little monkey, in a gaudy coat. He wore a napkin round his head as a bandage. And he was weeping, with little sobs, as if he were in great sorrow.
And he rose and approached with comical reverence and sobbed.
"Tarrar," said Lucius, "why are you weeping? Are you in pain?"
"No, my lord," said Tarrar. "I beg pardon, my lord, for weeping. I must not weep in your august presence. I humbly beg your pardon, my lord. But I am weeping because ... because ... because I am so unhappy."
"And why are you unhappy? Because I struck you? Because you are in pain? Because you fell and made a hole in your head?"
"No, my lord," said Tarrar, trying to control himself, "not because you struck me. I am your little slave, my lord, and you have the right to strike me. And also not because I am in pain: there is only a little burning pain now, for Caleb bandaged my head this morning with cool ointment. The hole is not so very deep either; and, when it is healed, the scar will remind me that I belong to you, my lord, and that I am your little slave."
"But then why are you weeping, Tarrar, and why are you unhappy?"
"I am weeping, my lord," Tarrar began, "because...."