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[113]
The sailors received this tale with a roar;
Tryphaena blushed deeply, and laid her face caressingly on Giton's neck. But there
was no laugh from Lichas; he shook his head angrily and said: “If the governor
of the province had been a just man, he should have put the dead husband back in
the tomb, and hung the woman on the cross.”
No doubt he was thinking once more of Hedyle and how his ship had been pillaged on
her passionate[p. 237] elopement. But the terms of our treaty forbade us to
bear grudges, and the joy which had filled our souls left no room for wrath.
Tryphaena was now lying in Giton's lap, covering him with kisses one moment, and
sometimes patting his shaven head. I was gloomy and uneasy about our new terms, and
did not touch food or drink, but kept shooting angry looks askance at them both.
Every kiss was a wound to me, every pleasing wile that the wanton woman conjured up.
I was not yet sure whether I was more angry with the boy for taking away my
mistress, or with my mistress for leading the boy astray: both of them were hateful
to my sight and more depressing than the bondage I had escaped. And besides all
this, Tryphaena did not address me like a friend whom she was once pleased to have
for a lover, and Giton did not think fit to drink my health in the ordinary way, and
would not even so much as include me in general conversation. I suppose he was
afraid of reopening a tender scar just as friendly feeling began to draw it
together. My unhappiness moved me till tears overflowed my heart, and the groan I
hid with a sigh almost stole my life away. . .
He tried to gain admission to share their joys, not wearing the proud look of a
master, but begging him to yield as a friend. . .
“If you have a drop of honest blood in you you will think no more of her than
of a common woman. Si vir fueris, non ibis ad spintriam” . .
Nothing troubled me more than the fear that Eumolpus might have got some idea of what
was going on, and might employ his powers of speech in attacking me in verse. . .
Eumolpus swore an oath in most formal language. . .
[p. 239]
Petronius Arbiter. Petronius. Michael Heseltine. London. William Heinemann. 1913.
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