Marcian's
convulsive piety, like the religion of most men in his day, regarded
only the salvation of his soul from eternal torment, nor did he ever
dream that this would be imperilled by the treacheries in which his
life was now inured.
Only a few hours after his departure, Heliodora, by means familiar
to her, had learnt that Marcian's confidential servant was a man
named Sagaris, a conceited and talkative fellow, given to boasting
of his light loves. Before sunset, Sagaris had received a mysterious
message, bidding him repair that night to a certain place of public
resort upon the Quirinal. He did so, was met by the same messenger,
and bidden wait under a portico. Before long there approached
through the darkness a muffled figure, followed by two attendants
with lanterns; the Syrian heard his name whispered; a light touch
drew him further away from the lantern-bearing slaves, and a woman's
voice, low, caressing, began to utter endearments and reproaches.
Not to-night, it said, should he know who she was; she could speak a
name which would make his heart beat; but he should not hear it
until he had abandoned the unworthy woman whose arts had won him.
Pages:
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328