Part 10 (1/2)

”Art hurt?” she said gently, ”art hurt, child? I did not wish to hurt thee. Stop thy weeping--and I'll give thee that amber locket which thou dost covet so. Stop thy weeping, I say! Is it my white rabbit thou dost hanker after--thou shalt have it for thine own--or--or--the woollen tunic with the embroidered bands--or--or--Stop whining, girl,” she added impatiently, seeing that the girl, more frightened than hurt, was sobbing louder than before. ”Licinia, make her stop--she angers me with all this whining--stop, I tell thee. Oh, Licinia, where is thy whip? I vow I'll have the girl whipped if she do not stop.”

But Licinia, accustomed to her mistress's quick changing moods, had in her turn knelt beside the girl and was busy now with deft hands in staunching the blood and tying up the wound. This done she dragged the child up roughly, though not unkindly, from the ground.

”Get thee gone and lie down on thy bed,” she said; ”shame on thee for making such a to-do. My lady had no wish to hurt thee, and thou hast upset her with all this senseless weeping. Get thee gone now ere I do give thee that whipping which thou dost well deserve.”

She contrived to push the girl out of the chamber and ordered two others to follow and look after her; then once more she turned to her mistress, ready to tender fond apologies since what she had said had so angered her beloved.

Dea Flavia had thrown herself on the couch on her back; her arms were folded behind her head, her fair hair lay in heavy ma.s.ses on the embroidered coverlet. She was staring straight up at the ceiling, her blue eyes wide open, and a puzzled frown across her brow.

”My precious one,” murmured Licinia.

But Dea Flavia apparently did not hear. It seemed as if she were grappling in her mind with some worrying puzzle, the solution of which lay hidden up there behind that brilliant bit of blue sky which glimmered through the square opening in the roof.

”My precious one,” reiterated the old woman appealingly, ”tell me, Dea--was it aught that I said which angered thee?”

Dea Flavia turned large wondering eyes to her old nurse.

”Licinia,” she said slowly.

”Yes, my G.o.ddess.”

”If a man saith that there is one greater, mightier than Caesar ... he is a traitor, is he not?”

”A black and villainous traitor, Augusta,” said Licinia, whose voice at the mere suggestion had become hoa.r.s.e with awe.

”And what in Rome is the punishment for such traitors, Licinia?” asked the young girl, still speaking slowly and measuredly.

”Death, my child,” replied the old woman.

”Only death?” insisted Dea, whilst the puzzled look in her eyes became more marked, and the frown between her brows more deep.

”I do not understand thee, my precious one,” said Licinia whose turn it was now to be deeply puzzled; ”what greater punishment could there be for a traitor than that of death?”

”They torture slaves for lesser offences than that.”

”Aye! and for sedition there is always the cross.”

”The cross!” she murmured.

”Yes! Dost remember seven years ago in Judaea? There was a man who raised sedition among the Jews, and called himself their king--setting himself above Caesar and above the might of Caesar.... They crucified him. Dost remember?”

”I have heard of him,” she said curtly. ”What was his name?”

”Nay! I have forgot. Methinks that he came from Galilee. They did crucify him because of sedition, and because he set himself to be above Caesar.”

”And above the House of Caesar?”

”Aye! above the House of Caesar too.”