This was now repeated by Marcian, who professed himself overwhelmed by the event.
'You have here one Basilius,' said Chorsoman.
'The same whom your greatness saw on a certain occasion at Cumae.' 'They tell me he was about to wed with Veranilda.

What does that mean ?' 'An idle rumour,' replied Marcian, 'springing from vulgar gossip, and from the spiteful anger of the lady sister of Maximus, who hoped to inherit what has fallen to her niece.

Let your valorous magnificence be assured that there is no truth in it.

Can you imagine that I, whose mission is known to you, should have looked on at such an audacity?
I think your perspicuity will not require better proof of the powers with which I am intrusted than that I gave you at Cumae ?' Of the profound contempt proclaimed, rather than disguised, by Marcian's extravagant courtesy, Chorsoman had no inkling; but his barbaric mind resented the complexity of things with which it was confronted, and he felt a strong inclination to take this smooth-tongued Latin by the throat, so as to choke the plain truth out of him.

Why, he demanded fiercely, had not Aurelia and her companion travelled straight on to Rome, as he had been assured they were to do?
'For a simple reason,' answered Marcian.