Caius Marcellus, the consul.
AEmilius Paulus, the other consul, was a nonentity, not worth appealing
to, since he had virtually abdicated office upon selling his
neutrality to Caesar. But Marcellus gave her little comfort. She broke
in upon the noble lord, while he was participating in a drunken
garden-party in the Gardens of Lucullus. The consul--hardly sober
enough to talk coherently--had declared that it was impossible to
start any troops that day to Praeneste. "To-morrow, when he had time,
he would consider the matter." And Fabia realized that the engine of
government would be very slow to set in motion in favour of a marked
Caesarian.

But she had another recourse, and hastened her litter down one of the
quieter streets of the Subura, where was the modest house occupied by
Julius Caesar before he became Pontifex Maximus. This building was now
used by the Caesarian leaders as a sort of party headquarters. Fabia
boldly ordered the porter to summon before her Curio--whom she was
sure was in the house. Much marvelling at the visit of a Vestal, the
slave obeyed, and in a few moments that tribune was in her presence.

Caius Scribonius Curio was probably a very typical man of his age. He
was personally of voluptuous habits, fearfully extravagant, endowed
with very few scruples and a very weak sense of right and wrong. But
he was clear-headed, energetic, a good orator, a clever reasoner, an
astute handler of men, courageous, versatile, full of recourse, and on
the whole above the commission of any really glaring moral infraction.
He was now in his early prime, and he came before Fabia as a man tall,
athletic, deep-chested, deep-voiced, with a regular profile, a clear,
dark complexion, curly hair carefully dressed, freshly shaven, and in
perfect toilet. It was a pleasure, in short, to come in contact with
such a vigorous, aggressive personality, be the dark corners of his
life what they might.

Curio yielded to no man in his love of Lucrine oysters and good
Caecuban wine. But he had been spending little time on the dining couch
that evening. In fact he had at that moment in his hand a set of
tablets on which he had been writing.

"_Salve! Domina!_" was his greeting, "what unusual honour is this
which brings the most noble Vestal to the trysting spot of us poor
Populares."

And, with the courtesy of a gentleman of the world, he offered Fabia
an armchair.

"Caius Curio," said the Vestal, wasting very few words, "do y