She should have been more physically and temperamentally restrained at a time like this, as she had been up only about a week following the birth of another ill-starred child: Drusilla, whose tragic fate I shall set down in its proper place.

As I ran from the peristyle toward the side door of the villa, I heard her remark that she would have my throat cut if she ever laid eyes on me again; and as I vanished from her sight out into the great city, I heard the screams and bawls of Little Boots shattering the peace of the world.

I was unfamiliar with Rome. I did not know where to go, which way to turn. All I was quite certain of was that I did not wish to have my throat cut. I wandered about aimlessly, wondering what I should do for food and where I was to sleep. I had to concentrate on the fact that I was the great-grandson of Cingetorix, so that I should not be afraid, but it was most difficult.

In all that great city, I had not a single friend. I was thinking this very thought when I saw a legionary swaggering along the street. Instantly I recalled Tiber: I did have a friend! But how could I find him among all these thousands of people? I remembered that before we had left the camp in Germany he had, through the centurion of his century, addressed a plea to Germanicus to be transferred to the Praetorian Guard on our return to Rome.

I ran after the legionary and plucked at his tunic. He turned around and scowled at me. "Not a copper," he said gruffly. "Get out!" Then he took another look and, evidently noticing that my clothes were too good for those of a beggar, he asked me what I wanted.

"Do you know Tibur, the gladiator?" I asked.

"That gorilla? Sure, I know him. What about him?"

"He is my friend. I wish to find him. I think he is now a member of the Praetorian Guard."

"He is, and he is at the Praetorian Camp," said the legionary.

"Where is that?" I asked.

"You mean to tell me that you don't know where the Praetorian Camp is?" he demanded. "Who are you, anyway? What is your name?"

I almost said that I was Britannicus Caligulae Servus, but just in time I realized that if I told him that he would send me packing off back to the villa of Antonia. So I just said, "I am the great-grandson of Cingetorix."

He grinned. "Now ain't that a coincidence?" he said. "Just fancy you and me meeting like this: I am the grandniece of Cleopatra."

I didn't know who Cleopatra was, but I knew that he was spoofing me, for he certainly wasn't anybody's grandniece.

"Will you please tell me how to get to the Praetorian Camp?" I asked, very politely.

"I'll do even better than that, sonny," he replied. "I'll take you there, for that's right where I'm going now."

It seemed quite a long walk to me, but we finally reached the camp, and in no time at all located Tibur.

"Here," said my guide to Tibur, "is the greatgrandson of Cingetorix, come to pay you a visit," and he laughed until his sides shook.

"What are you laughing at?" demanded Tibur.