dead; that thought amused him. Suddenly it dawned on him how safe he
was, since none in Antioch would dare to question the word of Pertinax,
backed by Galen and all the witnesses whom Pertinax would be sure to
summon. He remembered then to protect the honest freedmen who had sent
him warning--strode to a fire near a caterer's booth and burned the
letter, stared at by the slaves who warmed their shins around the
embers.

One of those might have recognized him, in spite of the toga drawn over
his face.

"If any one should ask which way Maternus went, say I have gone home,"
he commanded, and strode away into the gloom.

He wondered why he had chosen the name Maternus. Not even his remotest
ancestor had borne it, yet it came to his lips as naturally, instantly,
as if it were his own by right. But as he walked away it came to mind
that ten, or possibly twelve, nights ago he and his friends had all been
talking of a highwayman Maternus, who had robbed the caravans on the
mountain road from Tarsus. For the moment that thought scared him.
Should he change the name? The slaves by the embers had stared; they
showed him respect, but there was a distinct sensation mingled with it--
hardly to be wondered at! Where was it he heard--who told him--that
Maternus had been caught? He could not remember.

It dawned on him how difficult it is to decide what to do when the old
familiar conditions and the expectations on which we habitually base
decisions are all suddenly stripped away. He understood now how a
general in the field can fail when suddenly confronted with the unknown.
Shall he do this, or do that? There was not a habit or a circumstance to