murder and the trial and all that frightful scandal," demanded Balbinus.
"Lucius," said Proculus. "I have heard nothing for five years except the wind howling over the plains, the moaning of the forests at night, the roaring of great rivers at their fords, the yells of Scythian robbers, the blare of bugles, the whine of well-sweeps and such like noises of campaign or camp. I have seen nothing but camps, or stockaded forts, or miserable, raw, timber towns, or the wild mountains and the weary plains of Dacia. I have had no time to read, no time to talk. It's been day-and-night riding and fighting, or desperately hasty ditching or breathlessly driven sword, spear, shield, helmet, shoe, harness, tent, or tool-making. Little news has reached me and no gossip. Please assume that I know nothing. Tell me everything you know and by all means tell me about Bucco and the panther."
"You remember Decimus Fonteius Bucco?" Balbinus asked.
"Fonteia's uncle?" Proculus asked in turn.
"No," said Balbinus. "Not old Decimus, young Decimus."
"Fonteia's brother?" Proculus queried.
"As you and I knew him," Balbinus agreed.
"A vile whelp," said Proculus. "The worst specimen of a noble family ever I saw. I
