iberty, but whose liberty was
circumscribed by the hallowed precincts of Studius, every soul was
plotting. And never, perhaps, in the corrupt Byzantine Court, where true
friendship had been unknown since Theodora quarrelled with Antonia, had so
near an approach to it existed as in this asylum of villains. A sort of
freemasonry came to prevail in the sanctuary: every one longed to know how
his neighbour's plot throve, and grudged not to buy the knowledge by
disclosing a little corner of his own. Thus rendered communicative, their
colloquies would travel back into the past, and as the veterans of intrigue
fought their battles over again, the most experienced would learn things
that made them open their eyes with amazement. "Ah!" they would hear, "that
is just where you were mistaken. You had bought Eromenus, but so had I, and
old Nicephorus had outbid us both." "You deemed the dancer Anthusa a sure
card, and knew not of her secret infirmity, of which I had been apprised by
her waiting woman." "Did you really know nothing of that sliding panel? And
were you ignorant that whatever one says in the blue chamber is heard in
the green?" "Yes, I thought so too, and I spent a mint of money before
finding out that the dog whose slaver that brazen impostor Panurgiades
pretended to sell me was no more mad than he was." After such rehearsals of
future dialogues by the banks of Styx, the fallen statesmen were observed
to appear exceedingly dejected, but the stimulus had become necessary to
their existence. None gossiped so freely or disclosed so much as Photinius
and his predecessor Eustathius, whom he had himself displaced--probably
because Eustathius, believing in nothing in heaven or earth but gold, and
labouring under an absolute privation of that metal, was regarded even by
himself as an extinct volcano.

"Well," observed he one day, when discoursing with Photinius is an
unusually confidential mood, "I am free to say that for my own part I don't
think over much of poison. It has its advantages, to be sure, but to my
mind the disadvantages are even more conspicuous."

"For example?" inquired Photinius, who had the best reason for confiding in
the efficacy of a drag administered with dexterity and discretion.

"Two people must be in the secret at least, if not three," replied
Eustathius, "and cooks, as a rule, are a class of persons entirely unfit to
be employed in affairs of State."

"The Court physician," suggested Photinius.