t could
he do--a slave? After all, what did it matter? Nothing mattered then,
save Varia. He lay devising ways and means of seeing her again, since
this he was bound to do, though gods and men might say him nay. The
voices at the table droned on, as from a great distance, and Nicanor lay
and listened. They spoke of some woman. No name was mentioned, but the
description of her, as it fell from the old man's maudlin lips, sent his
heart pounding. So might be described another woman, who for him held
life and death and all that lay between. The voice of Valerius at his
ear made him start.

"Awake, lad? Art better? So, then; it's time to start."

Nicanor got out of the bunk. Once on his legs, he discovered that he was
by no means steady. The three at the table ceased talking as he rose,
more from prudence than curiosity, it seemed. The soldier glanced at
him, with keen eyes, indifferent at first, lighting to faint
professional interest, that noted every point of bearing and physique;
the lean flanks, swelling upward to muscular torso and the shoulders of
a chariot-racer; the knotted muscle of forearm and back; finally rested
on the broad collar circling the brown massive throat.

"That fellow would look well in the ranks," he observed casually. His
father glanced at Nicanor as one might at a dog whose good points were
under discussion, and nodded. Marius added, continuing what had gone
before:

"You can't kill a man with hard work if you know how to handle him. I
tell Fabian that these brushes with barbarians at least serve the
purpose of keeping the men in condition."

His father sighed.

"Always thou wert a hard taskmaster, Marius," he said gently. "It may be
that thou drivest the men farther than thou knowest. Men are not brute
beasts, that they must be goaded even to the breaking-point."

"Most men are, my father," Marius returned. "Most men will do what they
are made to do, no more. As for driving them to breaking-point, I think
you need not fear for that. Men need a lot of killing."

He fell into silence, staring into the amber depths of his cup of wine.
His father glanced at him, sighed once more, and turned away. Nicodemus
and Myleia hurried in to prepare fresh beds for their lordly guests.
Valerius and Nicanor went out into the night.

The keen air struck Nicanor like a dash of cold water. He drew a deep
and grateful breath of it, and felt revived.

"How long have I been from the house?" he asked, with